Brent put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Please sit down and listen to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your friend. I’m trying to help. You don’t want to be like the execs who stop listening to unvarnished feedback and lose sight of how they’re perceived.”
“Like you. Condescending. Arrogant.” She wondered if those two things were the same. It didn’t matter, she needed to drive home her point.
“You can label me all you want, but we’ve been friends a long time and I really am trying to help you. Getting angry, hanging around Vanessa and trying to manipulate her into giving you information isn’t doing you any favors. You know I’m always straight with you. You have to listen.”
“Vanessa and Hank are probably doing it, so everything there is all distorted.”
“That’s what I mean. Why would you say that?”
“It’s true.”
A look of pity brushed across his face.
“I’m pretty sure it’s true,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s true. It makes you sound petty and not focused on what’s important. The director level is a whole new ball game.”
“I know that.”
“Then act like one.” He stood. “I’ll go over the slides again. After you fix them. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“You’re just going to walk out on me? Tell me what to do and march out of here like you’re in charge?”
“You asked for my input. I’m trying to help you.”
“So you said.”
“You’re on the verge of blowing it.”
“Is that what Hank told you?”
“We didn’t discuss it.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why you’re such a know-it-all. The guys on the exec staff talk. It’s just like every other layer of the organization. You have your secrets and gossip, too.”
“Maybe. But not that. And it’s not all guys. Don’t turn this into a gender war.”
“That’s what it is.”
“Only if you make it that.”
“Did Hank say something to you?”
“No.”
“But you wouldn’t tell me if he did.”
“That’s not the point.”
“So he did say something.”
He sighed. He leaned on the back of the chair. His weight forced the chair forward. The plastic arms thudded against the edge of the table. The projector shook and the image on the screen tilted to one side. The sound of the projector fan seemed to grow louder, as if the machine had overheated and the fan was racing to catch up.
“It doesn’t matter if he said something or not,” Brent said. “What I’m telling you is my own advice, based on my experience. Based on how you’re coming across to me, and I overlook your flaws because I’m your friend.”
“What flaws?”
“We all have flaws.”
“I know. What flaws, specifically, are you talking about?”
“All I’m saying is you should put your energy into making this presentation kick ass. Stop harassing Vanessa, stop loitering around Hank’s office. And most of all, don’t say another word about their relationship, whatever it is. Just stop.”
“You make it sound like I’m a loser.”
“You can’t force him to give you the job.”
“I deserve that job.”
“No one deserves anything. You have to work for it.”
“I have. There’s no one more qualified.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What did he tell you about the other candidates?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He looked at her. His eyes were difficult to read, pale blue shrouded by thick, blond lashes. It was monumentally unfair that he was a director and she was not. She was six years older. They had the same education, nearly identical career paths, yet he’d achieved the level he aspired to without any obvious effort. It was simplistic to attribute all of his success to male privilege. That wasn’t all of it, but there was still that aspect, even now, well into the twenty-first century, it was not a level playing field by any stretch of the imagination. He did his job, acted like a pro, and suddenly there he was, as if by magic. And he blindly believed the same would work for her.
If she didn’t get this job, what were her options? Leave the company. That was always an alternative. But it wasn’t necessarily easier to step up by changing employers. Unless she went to a start-up, but despite employment laws making it illegal to practice age discrimination, it happened. Everyone knew it, and she was on the verge of being too old for a fast-moving start-up. Maybe a more established start-up, one in the third stage of funding, but then, again, the title bump became more difficult.
As if someone outside of herself had been speaking, her words of disbelief echoed through her mind. She recognized how they’d sounded—petulant and slightly crazy. It was one thing to be skeptical, another to essentially accuse a good friend of being a liar, of plotting behind her back, getting involved in schemes to bring her down, to prevent her getting the promotion. Maybe she was crazy. How did you even know? She’d murdered a man. If someone had told her two weeks ago she would one day crush a man’s throat until he died, she would have been horrified.
“What can I do to help?” Brent asked. “Do you want me to run interference so you can take time off to get your shit together?”
“I’m not an invalid.” The projector fan stopped whirring. Without the background noise, her voice was unnaturally loud. “Taking time off would make me look weak.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong, because you need to change your game plan.”
A rush of desire to tell him everything surged through her chest. His eyes remained steady, so blue, wise, almost, as if he knew more than she did, as if he really did know the secret to success—a Zen priest of high-tech careers. She couldn’t imagine how those eyes would look if she told him she was a killer. She laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
She sounded mad, but she couldn’t help it. “I don’t know. I think I’m tired. I’m frustrated because I haven’t been able to go running.”
“Why not?”
“Too cold, too wet.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“I guess I’m getting old.” She smiled in what she hoped was a self-effacing manner.
His expression remained steady, waiting for her to provide the real reason.
“I need to get back to it,” she said. “I’m just making excuses. And when I don’t run, I get tense, my brain gets off track. It’s like I’m not even me when I’m not running.”
He squinted. “Not you?”
“I don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe I do need a break. But I just don’t think that would help my situation.” At the back of her mind, a persistent voice continued to whisper that he was looking her right in the eye and lying. He did know more about the status of the director position. He knew the reason for the delay, and he knew what Hank’s hesitations were regarding her qualifications. He knew everything. It was that Zen thing. He was quiet and steady, and she was sure Hank confided in him, telling him more than what he let on to the rest of his staff. Brent could get her that job with a simple word. He wasn’t just a friend, he was her ticket in.
She closed her laptop. She leaned back and clasped her hands, resting them on her knees, a pose of openness and rational thought. “What else do you think I need to do to prove myself to Hank?”
Brent’s eyeballs quivered slightly. Or had she imagined it? She waited.
“He knows your track record.”
“So, nothing?”
“I’m sure you’ll have another interview.”
“Then tell me what my weaknesses are that you think I need to acknowledge.”
“You need to spin your weaknesses as positives.”
“I know that, Brent.”
“Okay, just saying. Usually you wouldn
’t focus on weaknesses, but I guess this is different from a normal interview where you’d be an unknown.”
“Exactly. How many interviews did you have when you got promoted?”
“Only one, really.”
“My first one was weird,” she said. “Not even a true interview.”
“Then just prep with your accomplishments. Figure out how to present yourself in a positive light.”
“That’s what I’m asking you to help with. What are my flaws?”
“You should know that.”
“Clearly, I don’t.”
“Play hard to get.”
She laughed. “Are you serious?”
“There’s something to it. People want things that seem out of reach. It’s human nature.”
She thought about Vanessa cutting off access to Hank. Did that make him seem more powerful? The fact that Laura had to beg for time on his calendar? That it was almost impossible to run into him casually because Vanessa fetched his coffee and lunch? There might be something to what Brent was saying.
He leaned forward. “Look,” he tapped the table with his index finger, “you lower yourself when you hang around the admin’s desk hoping to see him. People that hang out there are perceived as not being busy enough. Chatting her up, drooling over her.”
“Well, I’m certainly not doing that.”
“No, but the effect is the same. Eating candy, talking about BS. When he wants to talk to you, he’ll send her looking for you. A contrived encounter is obvious. He’s not stupid.”
“I always thought it was good policy to make friends with the admin.”
“It is, but not like that. Not actually being friends, just treating her with respect, giving her holiday gifts and that sort of thing.”
Brent really was wise. She shouldn’t have been so defensive. All she needed to do was figure out how to get him to sell her qualifications to Hank. She had to get him to do it in a way that prevented him from seeing through her. Not now. It was best to wait and plan a strategy. “Thanks. You’ve given me a few things to think about.”
He grinned. “Good. Back on top of your game.”
“Absolutely. You’ll have time to review the slides tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
They walked out of the conference room. He held the door open and let her go first. She felt it was symbolic—he had her back.
19
Vanessa
A BOX OF T-shirts in varying colors and a box filled with hats bearing the images of wild animals for the team-building activity consumed all the available space in Vanessa’s tiny trunk. Her medium-sized gray suitcase sat on the passenger seat. Some in Hank’s group were carpooling to the resort in Napa Valley, but she preferred to drive by herself. If she couldn’t ride with Hank, and he hadn’t offered, she’d rather be alone. The three-day offsite promised to be one long, unbroken reminder that she wasn’t an integral part of the team. The only upside was she would receive overtime pay for the extended days that started immediately after breakfast and ran through dinner. Even now, sitting in traffic on Highway 580, she was getting paid.
Once she passed through Vallejo, traffic was lighter, and she pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor until her Miata was zipping past cows and ranch homes, their small patches of land planted with grapevines. Soon she was going seventy, gliding through bona fide vineyards with acres of vines on both sides of the road. She was disappointed that it was too cold to enjoy the drive with the roof down, the wind whipping her hair.
She turned onto the road to the Vintner Valley Resort. It featured a hotel built in the nineteen-twenties with a modernized conference room, smaller meeting rooms, and outlying cottages with four units each. Only she and Hank were staying in the main hotel. The others were grouped in teams so they could use the common area of their buildings to plan strategy in the war game activity.
The parking lot outside the main building was uneven, broken up by trees, which gave it a woodsy, tranquil atmosphere, but made it difficult to park. By the end of the weekend, her windshield would be littered with pine needles and cones. She left her suitcase and supplies in the car and went inside.
The old fashioned check-in window appeared inadequate for the size of the conference center, but it was obvious that behind the closed door lived a well-connected computer network because everything was ready—coded key cards and a printed list of names. The young guy, maybe not so young, close to her age, but seeming younger because of his blond-blue-eyed-well-built-surfer look, wore a name tag announcing his name was Alan. Watching his easy smile and untroubled eyes made her feel old.
She was only twenty-nine, why did she suddenly feel middle-aged? It must be the difference in their jobs. She was locked in a cubicle, working on a computer all day, while he jogged around trails and took advantage of his access to tennis and swimming whenever he was in the mood. His was a job that appeared low pressure, although it probably wasn’t. In many ways, his role was much like hers—simple clerical work. But simple only described the tasks, not the consequences—people exploding over the smallest errors, as if a typo or a double-booked conference room signaled the downfall of the company. She imagined it was possible his job carried more pressure than hers. People were very protective of their leisure time.
Along with the keys, Alan handed her a stack of maps. He placed another map on the counter and marked the points she needed to locate—the main conference room and assigned breakout rooms, the cottages Hank’s team would be occupying, the various trails, the pool, tennis courts, executive golf course, and the restaurants. There were two restaurants. One served three meals a day in a casual atmosphere, the other offered fine dining and was only open in the evening.
Alan sent a high school kid with her to carry the luggage and supplies. The boy stacked her boxes of shirts and hats and her suitcase on a cart. He took the box of keys and maps from her and added them to the pile. Vanessa followed him back into the hotel, carrying nothing but her purse. They rode to the third floor in a very slow, but otherwise modern elevator, and walked down the hall to her room. The design of the four-poster bed, armchair, and small writing desk evoked the nineteen-twenties. She tipped him and he left her alone with her boxes and suitcase. She stood for a few minutes looking out the window at the dense growth of pine trees. The highway wasn’t visible, just the tree line and foothills to the west.
After she unpacked, she returned to the first floor. Sofas and armchairs, low tables, and a few footstools and floor lamps were arranged in clusters that appeared unplanned, but welcomed small groups to stake out their own territory. A stone fireplace filled the wall adjacent to the windows that looked out onto a garden area. The fireplace was at least eight feet wide and five or six feet high. Three logs, one the diameter of her spare tire, put off flames that gave off a ferocious roar. From where she stood, she couldn’t feel the heat, but as she walked closer, the area grew warmer until she reached the armchairs closest to the flames where it would have been impossible to sit for any length of time.
She chose a chair near the windows and ordered a glass of Zinfandel from a server passing through the room. Although she was working, the only things planned for the rest of the afternoon were check-in, the first team meetings, which didn’t involve her, and a dinner at a local restaurant. A glass of wine seemed appropriate—after all, she was in the heart of the California wine country. Some of the best wines in the world were waiting to be squeezed off the vines in the surrounding valley; how could she not have a glass?
The wine was nothing remarkable after all. She wished she’d asked the server for a recommendation. While she sipped it slowly, her thoughts wandered to Matt. He’d given her a rather limp kiss goodbye, failing to look directly at her. He’d released his hold on her while she still had her arms tightly around his waist, her fingers pressed into the muscles that ran down the sides of his back. She’d put her face up to his again, but he’d only brushed his lips across hers and lifted her arms away. He said nothing abo
ut Hank. “I guess you’ll be drinking lots of wine and eating in nice restaurants. You’ll like that.”
“Not that much wine. It’s work, not a party.”
He laughed. “In the Napa Valley.”
She smiled. “Yes, but that’s to ease the sting of working extra hours.”
“Working or hardly working?”
“It really is work, at least for the others. I’ll probably be bored, sitting in the meetings and not understanding half of what they’re talking about.”
She’d felt their conversation stopped abruptly instead of winding to a conclusion. He walked her out to her car, waited while she got in, and closed the door for her. She started the engine in order to lower the window, but he was already moving away. He’d waved and gone into the house before she pulled out of the driveway. Of course he needed to get to the office, but it wasn’t as if he’d had to leave right that minute.
She put her wineglass on the table and closed her eyes. Now was not the time to be thinking about it. Matt would be fine. He loved her, and maybe it would be good for them to have a few days away from each other. Unless it gave him time to think and he decided he wasn’t up for competing with Hank. Beyond enjoying televised sports, he didn’t have much of a competitive nature. Normally, she liked that about him. Now, she wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.
She was only half finished with her wine when Hank came through the door. He didn’t look around, striding across the room as if he’d known instinctively where she was sitting. He stopped a few feet in front of her and rubbed his palms together. “Everything all set?”
“Yes.”
“I assume your glass of wine means no issues?”
She took a small sip, trying to decide whether there was a tone of disapproval, or if it was jealousy she heard in his voice. Or neither, and she’d lost her ability to read his mood and his underlying meaning. He seemed to be trying to create an air of artificial professionalism between them. “The agenda says they don’t start picking up their hats and things until three. Why don’t you have a glass of wine with me?” She smiled over her glass, tipped it, and let the dark wine flow up toward her mouth, wetting her lips.
The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending Page 18