Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus

by Cathy Yardley

  TANEESHA

  Taneesha was back at work at Starwisp after her week’s exile. She’d only spent three days in Toronto, but it was a break she needed. Since she’d had sex with Diego, the guy was a fiend, in the best and most delightful way. They were still working on his stamina, but his recovery time was fantastic. She was starting to get sore from all his attention. She’d left him sleeping in her bed when she went off to work that morning. But the sleepy afterglow she’d been enjoying died in the face of her anxiety, since this was her first day back since the suspension.

  The anger she’d been holding on to for so long was starting to burn her to a crisp around the edges. She wanted to make peace with Steven, and with Starwisp. Not excuse them for bad behavior—there was no excuse for it, and she wasn’t going to put up with their shit if the shenanigans continued. But at the same time, she knew that with Steven especially, what had happened—what Christina had kicked off—just wasn’t right. It weighed on her conscience. As a victim of doxing, she knew that striking back that way wasn’t the answer.

  She remembered how Michelle and Aditi, already friends again after their falling out, had talked things through. It had helped. They weren’t working together anymore as editor and author, but they’d salvaged the relationship with each other that mattered to them.

  Communication. She could do this. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And not for Steven’s sake. For her own.

  So she went over to Steven’s cubicle. This was his first day back, too. They’d both need to talk to HR. She knocked on the metal rim of his cloth-covered cube wall. “Got a minute?”

  He glared at her, wary, and she felt her back go up in automatic defense.

  What if he doesn’t listen? Worse—what if he’s an asshole?

  She’d had that happen before—try to be nice, do the right thing, only to have it thrown in her face. She almost took a step back.

  No. This isn’t for him, this is for me. If he’s an asshole about it, it’s on him.

  “Is there something you needed?” You could store beef in his tone of voice—it was sub-zero, about as frosty as his gaze.

  She took a deep breath. “I found out who did your doxing. I’m not going to tell you who, but I can tell you I put a lid on it,” she said. “I know, firsthand, how shitty getting doxed is. I get where revenge might’ve felt good…”

  “I didn’t dox you!” he hissed, looking around.

  “I know,” she said. “But… the person who doxed you thought they were doing me a favor. Thought they were protecting me. Your name was at the beginning of the chain, and that’s where they went.”

  He reddened a little.

  “And I know why you bitched about me owning you in Warcraft,” she continued, wincing. Bobby would be proud of her for this. Steven’s flush got darker. “Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I was pissed at you for leaving me out of meetings. For ignoring what I was saying. I feel like the invisible woman around here. Like—” She paused. “Never mind. I have been frustrated here, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve crossed the line and killed you.” She paused. “Repeatedly.”

  Okay. She wasn’t a frickin’ saint.

  “You also stole all my shit,” he muttered.

  “Yeah. That was petty, and I’m sorry.”

  He stared at her. She waited.

  He didn’t say anything.

  Of course he fucking didn’t, she thought. “So anyway, sorry.” She turned on her heel.

  Why? she fumed at herself. Why was she the one who always had to apologize first? He was the one who had acted badly first! She was the one who was getting fucked here—the one who was being mistreated! So why the…

  “Hey, Taneesha?”

  Steven’s voice was raised, causing several people to turn and look at him. She got the feeling he’d called her name a couple times already. “Yeah?” It came out bitter, angry. She could feel tears of frustration creeping up, and she forced them back, clearing her throat.

  He walked up to her. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

  She took a step back. Please, good lord, do not be hitting on me right now. That would be the whipped cream on top of the shit sundae she was enduring right now.

  Something in her face must’ve tipped him off, because he held up his hands defensively. “Just, um, a peace offering. C’mon, we can go to Starbucks, take a break.”

  She nodded, feeling morbidly curious, if nothing else. They walked over to Starbucks in a tense silence, as people watched. The receptionist outright gaped.

  “What do you want to drink?” he finally said, when they got to the counter.

  She had a weakness for sugar, and since she couldn’t order booze, she ordered a Midnight Mint Mocha Frap. To her surprise, he ordered the same, then paid for both and gestured to a small table. It wasn’t too crowded, so they could hear each other instead of fighting the thrum of a crowd.

  She waited him out. This peace offering was his idea. She decided to see what he had to say.

  “I have a kid,” he said finally, seemingly out of the blue.

  “Congratulations?”

  He chuckled weakly. “I mean, she’s three. She’s not that new. My wife and I are considering having another.”

  Taneesha stared at him, unsure of where the conversation was going.

  “Somebody took a picture of my kid. My kid,” he said, and his voice broke. “And sent it to me. Asked me how I felt. I have never been so pissed, or so scared, in my life.”

  Oh, hell. Taneesha felt guilt hit her like a punch in the stomach. Steven was an assbag, but she would never want this shit to touch an innocent kid. “Like I said, I’m sorry, and I’ve done what I can to call it off.”

  “I couldn’t see past that initially,” he said, turning the frap around and around, untouched, not looking at her. “I’ll admit, I was pissed when the whole Warcraft thing happened. That’s why I posted on Reddit. And when they… doxed you,” he said, looking pained, “I figured that wasn’t my fault. That was somebody else just picking up the ball. Not my problem.”

  Taneesha let go of her coffee cup, out of fear she’d pop the top off and explode whipped cream all over by squeezing it—like she imagined squeezing his throat. “Must be nice, keeping your hands clean,” she said through gritted teeth. “Nothing was your fault at all, then, huh?”

  Oh, she was going to fucking tee off on this guy. He didn’t get it, not at all. She’d apologized for the doxing, and he was apologizing… for someone else getting mad. Not because he’d been culpable. God damn it. She was going to down this frappuccino and chase it down with a big mug full of Fragile Male Tears in a second, grind this fucker to his knees…

  “After we got suspended, I was feeling so fucking righteous, you wouldn’t believe it,” he said, in a low voice, surprising her. “I went back and reread my initial post, to prove to myself that… I don’t know. That I didn’t deserve this. That I was the victim. I was ready to call detectives. I was ready to go in and sue or something… have your job.”

  Taneesha froze. Where was this going?

  “But I just felt… guilt. I could see where what I said wasn’t just me being hurt. I was calling you out as a woman on the job.”

  Taneesha noticed he didn’t say, “black woman.” She got the feeling this explanation was as far as he could go—that misogyny was still better, more acceptable, than racism. But she let him continue.

  “Then I looked at the note that I’d gotten with my daughter’s picture,” he said. “And it said: ‘What would you do if all this was happening to her?’”

  He looked stricken. Taneesha finally took a sip of her coffee. It tasted like sugar and octane. She needed both.

  “I thought it was a threat. I mean, it was. But then it finally snapped in.” He snapped his fingers. “I wasn’t saying anything. I wasn’t telling these guys what they were doing was wrong. I thought, on some level, that you deserved it.”

  Taneesha grimaced. “Are you listening to yourself, when yo
u say that?”

  “I was an asshole,” he said, and now she was shocked. “I was a straight-up asshole.”

  He continued, “My daughter’s going to be a gamer, I can already tell. She’s really smart.”

  She’s three, Taneesha thought, but smiled a little.

  “So if she grows up, and she pwns some guy,” he said, “and he gets pissed—and she gets doxed, how do I get behind that? How do I just let her get mistreated?”

  “Yeah, the rape and death threats haven’t been a picnic,” Taneesha pointed out. “And that’s what she’ll expect. That’s what happens when men feel threatened by women. That’s considered an acceptable response. Hell, that’s what you were thinking. You get that, right?”

  He looked nauseous. “When I reread my post, I looked down the thread,” he said, blanching. “What some of those guys were saying was horrific.”

  “I got a black Barbie impaled on a steak knife with a noose around her neck sent to my house.”

  She saw his jaw drop. Was he really surprised? Really?

  “Dead animals, too,” she said, taking another sip. “But as you say—not your fault, yeah?”

  “Jesus. Jesus.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, for all of this.”

  She sighed. He looked like it was finally starting to sink in. Didn’t make it all better. But it felt a little better.

  She glanced at her watch. “We’d better get back. Are we good?”

  “You tell me.”

  “We’re okay.” She paused. “Just… could you make sure I’m in the next meeting? I really am good at what I do, Steven. I’m not going to do anything crazy, but I am frustrated that no one is listening to me. It’s hard to be a woman coder. A black woman, even more so. And if some part of you felt like I deserved what I was getting… maybe you should look at that.”

  He nodded. “I know you’re good,” he said, surprising her even more. “That skin tone slider thing… I looked at it. Don’t look so shocked. I thought through a lot of shit when I wasn’t working.”

  She couldn’t help it. She was gobsmacked.

  “Anyway, it was strong work. We could do it without many backend issues at all, like you said. And it’d be good for a number of reasons. Customization…” He exhaled. “Diversity. Representation.”

  She nodded. It was a start.

  He took one last sip from his cup, then sighed. “We gotta head back. It’ll be about time for that meeting. I just… I wanted to talk to you before we went in.”

  She tossed out her cup. “The meeting about the slider?”

  He paused as they headed toward the door. “Didn’t you get the email?”

  “No. What email?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “HR. They want us there at ten-thirty.”

  “Is that why you took me out to coffee?” she snapped. “This whole thing—is this a peace gesture so HR won’t get on your ass for the doxing?”

  “No, I swear. It wasn’t,” he said. “But I figured it’d be better if we, you know, ironed stuff out between us, like you said. You came to me first, remember?”

  She rubbed her face. “So what do they want?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked a little nervous. “But we’re good, so they’ll probably just let it drop, right?”

  She glared at him. “They better,” she said. Or, by God, she was going to raise some serious hell.

  MICHELLE

  Pam the Publicist knocked on Michelle’s door. “Hey. Gwen wants to see you in the conference room.”

  Michelle didn’t wince, barely even blinked. She’d had a few conversations with Richard since she returned from Toronto. Richard said there were still negotiations she’d need to go through with both him and Felice before she got any hands-on teaching, but in the meantime, he’d given her some advice, and suggested several resources. Even with those small gestures, it was amazing how much calmer she was, how much more clarity she was feeling. Ted had grabbed the remainder of his stuff and made some snide remarks as he’d gathered his belongings. She had been placid as a monk. She hadn’t even reached for her cigarettes.

  Should’ve done this years ago, she thought.

  “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, gathering a notepad and pen. When she got up, Pam was looking at her, a scrunched expression on her face. Her tousled, flame-like hair was more agitated than usual.

  “I just wanted you to know: It was shitty. What Gwen had you do.” Pam’s face looked like a storm cloud. “I’m not the only one who thinks so. Sterling Knight is a dickbag, and we all know it. My team has caught shit from him too. He’s a total asshole. Always has been.”

  Okay, it wasn’t Zen, but Michelle couldn’t help but smile. “He is. A complete and total asshole.”

  “Anyway, if we lost him as an author, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d buy you a drink and the rest of the department would order a cake.”

  Michelle smiled. “Thanks.” With that bolstering her, she stepped into the conference room.

  “I’m hearing good things about your friend Aditi Sodhi’s book,” Gwen said, without preamble. “The reviews have been stellar—better than we could’ve hoped. Starred in Publisher’s Weekly? And the pre-orders were good, too. I think she’s got a good shot at making the bestseller list.”

  Michelle nodded.

  Gwen looked at her. Even though she wore floaty, hippie clothes with geeky logos, her eyes were shrewd—and her expression was anything but granola and peace and love. “She’ll make back the investment,” Gwen said, her tone happy. “But we need the sequels to match—and exceed.”

  Of course “we” do, Michelle thought. And took a deep breath. “As you know, I’m not doing the editing, but I’ll talk to her new editor. And I know I won’t be closely involved with the marketing, but I feel very strongly about the direction Aditi’s publicity is going in.” It was still the book she brought in—still her baby—and she’d make sure Aditi was given the treatment and attention she deserved, even if she wasn’t editing it anymore. “We got a good boost from the bloggers, and from Teen Vogue,” Michelle said… and saw Gwen’s face pucker, just a little. “What?”

  “We’re moving in a new direction with her marketing,” Gwen said. “I’m telling you this because you brought the project in, and you’re her friend, so it’s a courtesy. Right now, I feel like it’s too niche. We want to attract a broader audience, you know? If we keep it so, ah, narrowly focused, we’re missing a huge swath of readers. We want to go wide. Surely you understand why we want that. I would think Aditi would want that, as well, right?”

  Michelle studied Gwen, tilting her head, that Zen calm enveloping her like a blanket.

  And she said, in a perfectly calm voice, “You want us to move away from any mention of diversity or feminism, I take it.”

  Gwen looked pained. “I’m just saying, it’s a limiting demographic,” she said. “And you have to admit, it’s polarizing.”

  “Is this coming from you,” Michelle said slowly, “or Sterling Knight?”

  “I know that whole incident was… awkward,” Gwen said. “And it was unpleasant, but allowances had to be made.”

  “No, they really didn’t.” Michelle was almost surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth. She paced in front of the conference table. “I was sitting right here,” she gestured to a seat, “when you let that man insult me, threaten my job. You served him a goddamned bagel. He treated you like a waitress. And you let him.”

  Gwen’s eyes went wide. “I was showing respect to a valued author,” she said tightly.

  “You were rolling over for a bully.”

  Gwen gasped.

  “What’s worse, you let him attack another one of our authors. A woman of color,” Michelle said. “You let him put that racist, sexist bullshit out there, and you gave him a pass. Why? Because you want to make more money?”

  “We are in business,” Gwen said, but her voice was shaking. “If we don’t make money, I can’t pu
blish people like Aditi.”

  “You keep making deals with the devil,” Michelle pointed out, “and you won’t keep publishing people like Aditi. Because he won’t let you.”

  “He’s a valued author, but he’s still just an author,” Gwen said, her voice rising.

  “He treats the publicity team like shit. He treats his editors like peasants—subhuman, mentally-challenged serfs,” Michelle said, feeling emotion coursing through her. “And his sales are sliding. He’s riding on a decades-old reputation and the rabid, outspoken anger of small people who present big on social media. And even if he did represent a huge buying audience—God, Gwen. Is that the audience you want? Is it even worth staying in this business if that’s what we need to cater to?”

  Michelle felt anger and grief welling up, choking her.

  “Is this the business we want to be in? I love sci-fi and fantasy. It gave me a chance to dream, to imagine completely different worlds. Worlds where I could be anything,” she said, impassioned. “But if guys like Sterling Knight have their way, the dreams are going to be limited to white men ruling everything and people like me being ignored at best, deliberately mistreated at worst. I don’t belong there, and will never belong. And if that’s the way it’s going to go—if he’s going to threaten my job because of it, and hamstring my authors because of it, then… I don’t know if I want this job.”

  She could see Gwen visibly swallow. “Are you quitting?”

  “No,” Michelle said, feeling almost numb. What was she doing? “Not yet,” she added, in a strong voice.

  Gwen stared at her. Michelle stared back.

  Gwen blinked first, taking a deep breath. “Sterling Knight… is an asshole.”

  Michelle smirked. “That’s the general consensus.”

  “But it’s a tough time in publishing. I don’t want to be the one who drives Faraday under.” Gwen’s voice was small. Unnerved. “It means a lot to me, too. I don’t want to lose it.”

  “If he wins,” Michelle said, “you already have.”

  Gwen took that quietly.