by Emma York
The next morning, after a night of drowning my sorrows in hot chocolate, they rang me. They offered me the post. I had no idea why they picked me. Anna said it was because of my enthusiasm for books and publishing, things you couldn’t fake. "I'd have hired you," she said, patting me on the back as I hung up the phone.
She worked in publishing too, in a way, self publishing a couple of her books online after receiving more agent rejections than she could cope with.
She never gave up though. I had to give her that. Her bedroom was filled with manuscripts, finished, in progress, and dead in the water. There was more paper than floor space. I was amazed she could wheel herself in and out of there without getting buried in it all.
I had offered to take her books in and try and get them published in the past but she refused to even countenance the idea. “I will survive or die on my own merits, Lucy,” she had said, snatching back the book of hers that I loved most.
“Well, I don’t know why it’s been rejected. This is the best thing you’ve ever done.”
“You have to say that, you’re my best friend.”
“I know but I mean it. It’s brilliant if a bit raunchy!”
“If I can’t jump on men anymore, my heroines have to do it for me.”
“You still pull more men than me.”
“You’re just more picky.”
She was right. I had yet to meet the right guy for me, someone who would sweep me off my feet and make life exciting, Rhett Butler mixed with James Bond.
I offered again when I got this job. I could take her latest book in, add it to the pile, but she still said no, preferring to spend her time being drill sergeant to my very reluctant soldier, toughening me up to be an executive.
If she wasn’t in the chair, she’d have been the type to pace the floor. As it was, she sat perfectly upright, pointing her riding crop at me, the reminder of her accident that she refused to hide away, seeing it as a talisman of some kind, the reason she was partially paralysed, not dead. It featured heavily in her books, often brandished by the dastardly anti-hero.
She scowled at me. “You are the new executive mega-bitch, correct?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“No sarcasm. Just listen. You are the new executive at Snow Day Publishing. Correct?”
For six months, remember, not forever.”
“You are in charge of an entire company, correct?”
“Just adult fiction but yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want them walking all over you like at Kidtastic, do you?”
“No, Anna.”
“Then you need to be strict, you need to be mean, you need to be mega-bitch.”
“I need to be mega-bitch?”
“Yes. Someone screws up. You yell at them. Someone steals your idea, you boot them out with not even enough time to clear their desk. You go in on your first day and you set the right impression and it’ll all be easy from then on. You can ease off once they know you’re not to be messed with. Especially the men. Show them you're not a piece of skirt, you're an executive equal to them. Be mega-bitch.”
“Mega-bitch? Are you sure?”
“Yes! March in on your first morning, burst through the doors and start demanding action. Whatever deadlines they have, move them forwards. Whatever they’re working on, give them more, keep them busy, show them that you’re the boss and you take no prisoners.”
“No prisoners?”
“Exactly. Now let’s practise.”
We spent our time in the run up to me starting in the same way every day. She played the role of an employee, surly or aggressive or lazy. My favourite was sleazy when she pretended to lech over me and I had to threaten her with being arrested, her chasing me around the room in her chair. That was pretty funny.
But the day I was due to start, she made me rehearse one last time and I was mega-bitch. I also made her cry and I felt so bad, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it at all.
“I want to go home early,” she said in her role as whiny employee. “Please, Miss Rhodes.”
I didn’t even let her finish. “Listen to me, Missy Actress O'Big Tits. We work hard here and we get the job done and to do that I need everyone in the office until I say otherwise so you park your ass on your seat and you get that contents page finished before noon or I send you downtown to the wolves for them to eat you alive, you understand. Are you listening to me? Back to work.”
I stopped there because, one, I needed to take a breath and, two, I noticed she was crying. I felt so bad when I realised.
“I can’t believe I made you cry.”
But then the tears stopped and she grinned. "I was only pretending."
“I’ve got to go,” I said once my apologies were over, looking at the time. “Can’t be late on my first day.”
“You’ll knock ‘em dead,” she said as I started putting my coat on.
“You really think so?”
“Nobody there knows you’re a fluffy bunny pussy cat who loves crying at The Sound of Music and curling up in the world’s softest slippers. Today you wear spiked boots of doom. You are mega-bitch. What are you?”
“Mega-bitch?” I asked, unsure.
“Louder! With conviction. You are mega-bitch.”
“I am mega-bitch.”
“Now go make some books happen.”
“I will.” I headed down the hall and pulled open the front door.
“Just one more thing,” she called after me. "Good luck.”
“Thank you, Anna.”
I headed out to the car. My own parking space was waiting for me in the underground garage at the office. My first named, reserved, parking space. I felt like a somebody at last.
I didn’t feel like a mega-bitch though. I felt like a fraud. It would only take one person to say, “but you’re a fluffy bunny,” and I’d crumble like a cracker in a clenched fist.
Was she right? I had been walked over in jobs before. I was often too nice to people. But could I be mean? Could I be strict? Was it even a good idea?
She knew what she was talking about better than me. I could trust her.
I needed to get angry. Not easy as I was ridiculously happy to be working at Snow Day. I couldn’t walk in beaming at everyone though, they’d see me for who I really was, a pushover. I needed to get angry. Be in a foul mood. Roar at them all, make them scared of me. Be mega-bitch.
I had my first flare of justified anger when a car cut me up not long after I’d set off. Some souped up supercar with an idiot driver in the midst of a mid life crisis, forcing me to slam on the brakes when he came tearing into my lane from nowhere. Then racing off before I even had time to mutter a swear word to myself.
“You prick,” I said quietly long after he’d vanished into the distance. That wasn’t very mega-bitch, I thought. But what if I’d yelled out the window and he’d come over with a baseball bat and swung at me?
Ten minutes later, the roads came grinding to a halt. I got to work far later than I planned. I’d have to set off earlier tomorrow. I had got stuck in traffic on the way in, no surprise given the congested streets in the middle of London.
By the time I made it to the ramp going down, I only had two minutes to spare before I was due to start. I had planned to get there half an hour early, get the lay of the land. But it wasn’t to be. At least I wouldn’t be late. That was something, right?
I rolled past bay after bay, all filled with vehicles. It didn’t matter. My space was down at the end, second to last, and no one would be parked in that.
Or so I thought.
I was about to angle slowly into the space when I had to hit the brakes hard. In the middle of the space was a car, blocking my name sign from view. Not just any car either. It was the same bloody car that had cut me up on the drive in.
My blood pressure, already rising, started to bubble dangerously as I did a seven point turn in the narrow lane and tried to find another space, all the while cursing under my breath. There were n
o other spaces.
What would mega-bitch do?
I smiled to myself as I drove slowly back towards my space. Then I positioned my car directly behind the one that had snatched it from me. Then I turned the engine off.
I climbed out. “That’s what mega-bitch would do,” I said out loud, nodding towards the car. Let him complain about who blocked him in. Shouldn’t have been in my space. Only had himself to blame, Mr Mid Life Crisis.
I turned around three times on the way over to the lifts. Each time, I felt guilt washing over me. I shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t do the bad thing, block in the car. I should be nice, I should let it go.
Then Anna’s voice came echoing around my head. Mega-bitch takes no prisoners. Mega-bitch takes no shit from anyone.
I made it to the lift, hitting the button and watching the doors close from inside, the cars vanishing from sight.
The lift rose silently upwards as I looked at myself in the mirrored door. Hair, on point. Kind of. Make up, spot on. Turn that polite smile into a glare. That’s it.
I tugged at my business suit. Pencil skirt, black tights. Shoes that said I’m in charge, not you. Jacket with handbag that said get out of my way, I’m far too important for chitchat. I had to admit I looked the part of the mega-bitch. I just hoped convincing everyone else I wasn’t a pushover was easier than convincing me.
Anna had given me a tip. As soon as I got in there, single someone out. Make a point of disciplining them harshly in front of everyone. Make them all see that I wasn’t to be messed with.
I stepped out on the seventh floor. My floor. Adult fiction. The floor above was academic, below was seasonal. It might have been June but they were already working on Christmas books down there, glitter had even been coated on the ‘six’ button in the lift.
The doors closed behind me on seven and the lift moved on. I was in the corridor alone. Adult Fiction. Floor Seven. My new empire. A chance to shape future book releases and keep our project going. All in all, I had a lot riding on this. I took a few steps, then stopped outside the double doors. Inside was the open plan office. For one moment there was just me.
“I can do this,” I muttered out loud.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then I took hold of the brass handles to both doors and shoved them open. It was time to show them who was in charge.
TWO - BILL
The door smacked her in the face when she first arrived. It was an interesting first impression. I was on the phone but I couldn’t help looking up when she flung the double doors open.
They opened so quickly, they slammed into the walls either side, the noise making everyone look up as they then immediately bounced back and hit her in the face.
The entire office laughed. They couldn’t help it. I kept a straight face, aided by the continuing whining from Marty Berghaus on the other end of the line.
For a first impression, it was certainly a unique one.
She’d not long been hired and she only had the job because of me. I liked to get involved with the hiring interviews sometimes, get a look at the resumes of potential new employees before they began. I had a good team working for me but I had always been a hands on person. That was why I was there when she arrived, on the phone, working like the rest of them, doing my best to get us back on track.
It had been a tough year. Most company owners might walk away when sales went down, not me. I was going nowhere. They all depended on me. Not just this office but Paris and New York too.
I depended on them too. What kind of signal would it send if I left them to it and went swanning off on my yacht for six months? We needed all hands on deck to get back on track and that meant me working as hard as them in the office, not in the middle of the Pacific.
That was why I was on the phone to Marty. That was why I’d had to race to get there in time for the start of the day.
It never stopped, being the billionaire boss. More money seemed to mean more work, not less. Last night was spent visiting Andy, laid up in his hospital bed. Thirty-two years he’d given this company and then a heart attack out of nowhere. He was still taking notes even with the drip sticking out of his hand. I had to prise the pad off him in the end, tell him he rested for at least the next month and that was an order. Then I asked if there was anything I could get him. He had asked for the photo of his Dalmatian off his desk and I’d returned to the office to get it for him.
I gave him the photo and then I took over his scheduling, one more thing added to my already overflowing to do list.
Then Andy rang me at six this morning to mention he was supposed to be going to see Marty Berghaus. It was lucky I had my phone next to the gym equipment.
“I’m so sorry Bill, I forgot to mention it last night.”
“You’re supposed to be recovering," I replied, hitting the button to bring the treadmill to a stop.
“I know but if you don’t go, he might never get the book finished. He's not good at self-motivation.”
I knew what that meant as much as Andy did. “When and where?”
“His house at seven.”
“This morning?” I glanced at my watch. Five past six.
“Yep.”
That meant out to his place in the hills and then back to get into the office ready for the next thing on his to do list.
Only Marty didn't answer the door when I reached at his place in the hills. So I raced to his for no good reason.
Then I got to back to the city and into the car park and only then remembered Nina. Eight months pregnant, still working on getting The Coldest Summer ready for release, refusing to take her maternity leave until it was done.
When I’d seen her struggling across to the lift on my way home last night, I’d insisted she use my parking space today, the one closest to the lift, the one reserved for the billionaire boss of Snow Day Publishing, me.
Which was fine until I raced into the car park to find her car in my spot and then I was stuck.
I made a quick decision. I needed to get upstairs and find Marty’s number. Find out where his book was.
The only free space was reserved for the new trial boss of adult fiction, Lucy Rhodes. The woman who was soon to smack her face into two doors and make an entire office laugh at her expense. The woman I’d insisted they hire.
They tried to talk me round but they didn’t know what I did. Candidate A might have been the best qualified on paper but he also had a drink problem and was loose with his hands around the secretaries, something I knew about thanks to my connections. It paid to network in business and in pleasure. Candidate B, the Harvard grad, was hiding his own little scandal, she was called Mary and he hadn’t given her mother the maintenance she was entitled to for over a year. He also had an interest in snorting half his pay packet up his nose. Candidate C, or Miss Money Launderer as I knew her was another bust. So it went on.
From the minute I saw Lucy, I wanted her here. I also wanted her. It was easy enough telling them to choose her. They might not have known my reasons but they knew I had reasons and that was enough. The only candidate with no skeletons in the closet was Lucy. The fact that she looked so fuckable was a lucky bonus.
She had more than enough talent for the job. She’d proved that at Kidtastic, bringing them out of a slump and into profit for the first time in years. The youngest exec’ to ever get two quarters of growth despite the Snuggly Rabbit bullshit. Losing the book was bad but I could tell she’d learned from it. I had done my research on all the candidates, I knew more about her than she did. Except what she looked like naked. That was something I hoped to rectify quickly.
So I stole her parking space. She wouldn't mind.
I pulled into the gap between two cars, switching off the engine before scrawling a note. I left it under the wiper. She’d arrive at work, find the note and it would all be fine.
In it I apologised for stealing the space and told her to put her car in no parking bay at the other side, where the catering van usually parked. I
t did sandwiches and hotdogs for some of the staff who didn’t like the canteen food but it didn’t come on a Monday so the space was free to use. I’d get a driver to bring me in for a while until Nina went off on maternity leave and then everyone would be happy. Apart from Marty Berghaus. He was never happy.
Everything was riding on him and he knew it. The fate of the company rested on a single book. Get a big hit in the summer and the investments would come back in, the rest of the catalogue would get a boost and up would go our stock. There were a lot of nervous suits in the accounting department. Ebooks were taking a chunk of our business and they worried paper would continue to take the hit and we’d end up out of it entirely.
There was a simple solution. Invest in the ebook side of things. That was my plan. Get interactive books, get exclusive extras with print versions, get both for a single price, do deals with the online providers, all sorts of things were planned. They all required money. Money required investment. Investors needed to see profits, big profits. Profits needed a hit release going into the summer.
Our hit was going to be Marty Berghaus. Author of the biggest seller in the last five years. Only problem was that was his debut book and nothing had appeared since. He had been working on the new one forever.
Deadlines had come and gone. He’d missed them all. I had given him one final chance. Have something ready to show us this morning and I’d keep his contract alive. Otherwise we’d have to dump him and find another book to lead our summer promotional campaign. I had no idea what book but hopefully the threat would be enough for him to get the thing finished. Or if not finished, at least fleshed out so we could get teasers out to the press, get some buzz building up.
We needed a hit. Otherwise, I might have to lay off staff and I hated the thought of doing that. I had billions on paper and they’d think I could bail them out with my own money. But it was all tied up in keeping people working. People like them.
Things weren’t helped by Lucy’s predecessor and the ridiculously favourable terms she’d given Marty in his contract.