For Money or Love

by Heather Blackmore

“I’m not interested in whatever people say about you on social media.”

  “Thank you for saying that, but I mean my infractions here. In marketing.”

  “Let’s let Muriel address them.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “Jessica, come back inside with me. Worst-case scenario, we change your final day to be one week from today. Today can still be your last day on site, but I’ll tack on a week’s pay.” Susan reached into her car and turned off the engine.

  Jess was aghast. Her first-ever car repair had gone down in defeat. “After I just jumped you?”

  Susan laughed. “Happily, you didn’t. I’d hate to have to have that conversation with Cordelia.”

  Jess was confused by Susan’s reply. “Cordelia?”

  Now Susan appeared confused. “Cordelia Blake. Your partner, right? According to all the forms I have.”

  It was Jess’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Seems I owe you one, so let me park and I’ll come with you. She goes by TJ and has never owned up to her real name. Cordelia. Priceless.” She laughed again. At least the day hadn’t been a complete failure.

  *

  “Have a seat,” Muriel said.

  Unlike in Jess’s old office, Muriel had no chairs in front of her desk. Four chairs were situated at a round conference table, so Jess sat in one. The modern, minimalist furniture suited Muriel perfectly. The palette was white and dark brown, she had little in the way of art, and the lack of file cabinets or drawers beneath the desk gave the room a more open feel than the thick wooden behemoths most executives preferred.

  “Barbara Nichols says things didn’t work out with you. What do you say to that?”

  Good old Muriel, always straight for the jugular. “I’d agree,” Jess said, wondering why they were bothering with this conversation.

  Muriel sat behind her desk, donned reading glasses, and appeared to read something on her monitor. “She says you’re contumacious, overly experimental, and opposed to advertising.”

  Given the serious nature of the meeting, Jess shouldn’t have smiled. She really, really shouldn’t have. But she did. Contumacious was something you might call a particularly obstinate child or something TJ would consider Kara on her worst days; it wasn’t something one colleague would typically say about another.

  “You find that amusing?” Muriel asked.

  “Not at all. She’s entitled to her opinion.” However hyperbolic, Jess didn’t add.

  Again Muriel referred to her screen. “She says when she’s asked you to stay late to complete a project, you refused. On two separate occasions.”

  All traces of amusement fled Jess’s system.

  Viewing Jess over the rims of her glasses, Muriel must have noticed. She set them down. “No rebuttal?”

  Jess shook her head.

  “I’m not on a witch hunt, Jessica. I want facts. Were you unable or unwilling to assist with those projects?”

  Part of Jess wanted to argue. Another part understood the futility. She’d fought the good fight. While she’d do it again in order to be sharing her life with TJ and Kara, and because it had been the right thing to do, the price was steep. An anathema could hardly expect a fair shake. The court of public opinion had sentenced Jess long before she’d even reached the grand jury. “Apparently.”

  Jess jumped at the sound of Muriel’s open palm slapping the desk in a completely uncharacteristic move compared to her normally controlled demeanor. “Contumacious is sounding more accurate with each passing second,” Muriel said angrily. She repeated her words in a staccato manner. “Were you unable or unwilling to assist with those projects?”

  Pushed for a more comprehensive response, Jess said, “In my six months here, I’ve been unavailable on three work nights. Two in DC when I was invited to testify before the Senate committee on financial-advisor transparency—which I took unpaid leave for—and one when TJ and I had a parent-teacher conference. I wasn’t going to miss either event. I put them on my calendar and notified Barbara weeks in advance. Three guesses as to the only nights I’ve ever been asked to work.” Unsurprisingly, Barbara had failed to document that Jess routinely stayed late.

  Muriel sat back in her chair and studied her.

  Jess hadn’t meant to add the snide remark and owed her lack of professionalism to being driven to the wall. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t own up to it. “I apologize. It’s possible she and I got our wires crossed.”

  “But you don’t believe so.”

  “I…” Jess stopped herself. She saw no point in arguing. Barbara was CMO; Jess was merely a director who’d been granted short tenure in a one-off deal.

  They sat in silence for several uncomfortable moments—at least they were to Jess.

  Muriel broke it. “Have you come across any practices we could utilize or overhaul to improve our marketing efforts?”

  Jess examined her nail polish. She’d made a number of recommendations to Barbara she believed would improve sales but was powerless to implement them. The tear ducts she was so sure had dried up were threatening to reopen. Swallowing hard, she gave Muriel her attention and a brief nod.

  “Have you shared them with Barbara?”

  Jess nodded once.

  “If you were head of marketing, tell me how you’d change things. There’s no right or wrong answer.”

  “Between us?” Jess didn’t want her ideas to taint whatever reputation Barbara had built for herself. Jess was untried. She knew marketing in the financial-advisor sphere. She had no experience in the world of global conglomerate.

  “If you wish.”

  It’s not as though Jess had been thinking of anything else work-wise for the past half year. Plus, she’d already been terminated. Why not speak her mind? “You need to become a content machine—creating content better than anyone else. Then connect with key influencers and have better relationships than everyone else. I see all these basic activity metrics floating around—clicks, followers, downloads. Those are fine indicators, but you need effectiveness metrics and revenue-focused calculations. There are marketing-performance tracking tools that you could and should be using. Without them, you’re flying blind.” After months of having her ideas discounted, it felt good to let go in front of someone who’d never been inclined to belittle her. She only hoped Muriel wasn’t the one behind Barbara, calling the shots like the Wizard of Oz.

  “I don’t place my faith in guesswork. I place it in people I trust.” Muriel joined Jess at the conference table. “I’ve experienced more than my share of public criticism, and none of it comes close to the censure you’ve encountered. It’s knocked you to the canvas, and only you can decide whether you can still stand and fight.”

  Muriel’s words not only hit close to home; they were dead center. She continued.

  “I care about this company. Not what people think of me. Not what people think of you. If you’re going to be my CMO, I need you to want it and fight for it, knowing you deserve it. When my executive team takes issue with you because of the cardboard cutout they see in the media, I expect you to address their concerns with respect, and I expect you to demand nothing less than respect in return.

  “You have a choice to make, Jessica. You can believe your defining moment is behind you. Or you can believe it’s ahead of you.”

  Jess blinked hard, tamping down the emotion threatening to breach. Time and again, Muriel Manchester was proving to be every bit the leader she was reputed to be—demanding excellence and earning unparalleled loyalty among her staff, some of whom had been with her for over a decade. The opportunity she’d laid before Jess was astounding.

  Muriel rose and returned to her desk. “I happen to believe the latter.” She picked up her landline. “Send her in.”

  Seconds later, the door opened. Muriel’s assistant gave Muriel a piece of paper and left; behind her, TJ strode in and appeared surprised to see Jess. “What are you doing here?”

  “Take a seat,” Muriel said, indicating the chair next to Jess.

 
; “You okay?” TJ mouthed to Jess.

  Jess nodded, still trying to wrap her head around Muriel’s offer and counsel.

  “You’ve had your degree for weeks now. Why haven’t you been to see me?” Muriel asked TJ, who’d recently completed the credits she needed for her MBA. “You want to help bereaved children and their caregivers. How do you expect to do that here?”

  TJ sounded unusually hesitant. “Yes, but I thought I’d stay—”

  “Even if you worked for my foundation, it serves an entirely different mission than where your interest lies. This is about that service obligation you don’t owe me, correct?”

  TJ looked to Jess for help, but Jess didn’t have any knowledge about this conversation or how Muriel knew where TJ’s interests lay.

  Muriel gave Jess a smug smile. “I back-channel all sorts of information,” she said, as if she could read her mind. To TJ, she asked, “Are you familiar with Charles Fleming?”

  “Of course,” TJ said, sitting taller in her chair as if bolstered to finally be able to answer one of Muriel’s questions. “He wrote the best-seller Sharing the Dark and founded the charity of the same name, which serves children who’ve lost both parents.” Jess knew of it only because TJ considered it the standard by which she wanted to judge her future nonprofit efforts.

  Muriel held out the paper to TJ. “He’s a friend. His programs director is retiring. He’s expecting to hear from you.”

  TJ took the proffered document and stared at it as if it were in hieroglyphics. Jess understood her confusion. She could hardly process it all herself. She had many unanswered questions of her own and almost didn’t dare speak for fear it was all a dream. Taking a place by TJ’s side, she whispered into her ear. “Say thank you.”

  The look TJ bestowed on her was full of such gratitude, Jess wanted to hold her face and kiss her softly, letting her know it was okay to accept gifts when they came into your life, much like how Jess felt that TJ had come into hers. Instead, she took her elbow and gave her a little nudge in Muriel’s direction. “Sweetheart.” It wasn’t about taking something for nothing. It was about understanding that an act of kindness, however large or small, is never wasted.

  TJ extended her hand to Muriel, who shook it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Jessica, I expect to hear from you shortly. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I have some HR matters to address.”

  Once again TJ searched Jess for some insight into Muriel’s comments, but Jess would save her updates for later. As they took their leave, Muriel’s voice stopped them. “Your mother was a King Lear fan?”

  TJ turned, and her entire face lit up in a radiant grin. “No, but she valued honesty. And other things I’m finally giving her credit for.”

  Her smile brought one to Jess’s as well. Jess took her hand and tugged her through the office door. “Come on, princess.” Jess hijacked the moniker TJ often used for her, hinting at TJ’s given name. “Let’s forge what’s ahead of us.”

  About the Author

  Heather Blackmore oversees finance for SF Bay Area technology startups. In a seemingly counterintuitive move, she got her MSA and CPA with the goal of one day being able to work part-time so she could write. The right and left sides of her brain have been at war ever since.

  Heather was a finalist for the debut author Goldie award and runner-up for the Rainbow Award in the Contemporary Lesbian Romance and Debut Author categories for her first novel, Like Jazz.

  Visit www.heatherblackmore.com and/or drop her a line at heather@heatherblackmore.com. She sincerely appreciates hearing from her readers.

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