The Corporate Bitch

by J. J. R.

  THE CORPORATE BITCH

  by

  J.J.R.

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2016 by J.J.R

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-68299-987-5

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

  Editor: Dave Field

  Printed in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Quote

  Dedication

  Nailed It

  Preparation is Key

  Game Time

  Yes.

  Allure 101

  Love Her

  Planning Time

  Shit Hits the Fan

  Wrong Move?

  Am-Bitch-ous

  Empty

  Some Good. Some Bad.

  Heed the Warning

  Corporate Social Suicide

  My Twin

  Just Stretching?

  The Plan

  Progress

  Liftoff

  Worth Fighting For

  The Painful Truth

  Tough Lessons

  Sweet Victory (Just For Me)

  About the Author

  Whiskey Creek Press

  A woman is like a tea bag—

  you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.

  —Eleanor Roosevelt

  To every Bestie in the workplace I have ever

  had the privilege to befriend. You know who you are

  and I would have been lost without you.

  Nailed It

  Bitch Problem:

  You encounter an ice prince or princess. Someone who dresses impeccably and acts perfect, yet is demeaning, mean and cold. No matter how hard you try to break through, it is an impossible feat.

  Ding.

  The elevator stops on the 83rd floor. I suck in a large gulp of air and watch my reflection separate as the doors part.

  This. Is. It.

  The office unfolds before me in one majestic swoop. It is breathtaking. Every inch is covered in polished marble, glittering chandeliers and modern oddly shaped furniture, the color of the darkest night sky, emblazoned with tiny crystals along the edges. The room is a blur of six-inch heels and tight pencil skirts. Suddenly my trusty, loyal white blazer from Kohl’s feels like the wrong choice.

  This thought is echoed by the disapproving once over from Receptionist who looks just shy of her sixteenth birthday. She taps the ear piece laced along her cheek and forces a grin.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Um, yes. I’m here to see Queen Bee. My name is Melanie Michaels.”

  She grunts and waves her hands at me, flashing her flawless manicure in disgust. She points to the ear piece. “Yes, that is the best time to reach her. She usually leaves for yoga by 11:45. Good. Good. K, ciao.” Her deeply-lined eyes lift back to mine as she taps the ear piece off. “Name?”

  “Melanie Michaels.”

  “Fine. Have a seat.” She gestures annoyingly toward the swinging clear chair held only by a glistening strand of pearls. I am seriously regretting the egg salad sandwich on Italian bread I had for lunch. On a good day, I’m a size ten. Eight if I feel like breathing isn’t necessary, such is the case for cocktail parties or short occasions, mainly whenever I don’t have to sit for long.

  I position myself in the swinging chair, laughing a little as my feet lift from the floor and…crap…I lose one pump from the left foot. “Damn,” I mutter and desperately try to use the momentum of the swing to dip my large toe into the tip.

  “Melanie?” A perfect figure straight from a magazine has called my name. She is all legs and despite her lack of overall beauty, her makeup and designer clothing more than makes up for it. I’m staring slightly as I swing forward in my bubble chair and finally scoop up my left shoe.

  “Hi, sorry.” I scoot out of the chair awkwardly and make my way over to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you,” I say extending mine.

  She smiles politely, allowing me to grab her dead fish hand by just the tip of her fingers. “I’m Puppet Master. I’ll be doing a bit of a prescreening before you meet with Queen Bee. Follow me.”

  She turns on her easily five inch heels and clicks loudly down the hallway. The hall is an extension of the lobby area with large checkered black and white marble tiles. The walls are lined with a rich, burgundy wallpaper with tiny silver swirls throughout. I can’t help it. I reach out and run my hands along the paper just under the large framed photos of various product lines or services: Laser Hair Removal, Skin Perfecting Blue Light, Sonophoresis Skin Treatment, Juva Shaping Technology. The glossy, flawless advertisements go on for miles. I devour them with vigor.

  “I’ve had your laser hair treatment. The ad on Facebook sold me instantly,” I gush. “It was genius targeting people who’ve searched for laser eye treatment.”

  “Thanks. My idea.” She flashes a set of perfectly straight white teeth. “Here we are. Come on in, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Espresso? Perrier?”

  “I’m alright, thank you.” I stand a moment longer, waiting for her to gesture to which seat she prefers. I am all about following her lead right now.

  Shit.

  My sweat glands are on fire right now and I can feel a thick ring of overdosed deodorant forming in my blazer.

  Please don’t show.

  Puppet Master selects the seat at the head of the table and positions me to her right. I recognize this move. My old boss was famous for it. Keep them on the side you write with. I don’t know if it is a science, but it always felt strong to me. Still, there is something I really like about her. She has kind eyes.

  “So, Melanie. Tell me. Why marketing?”

  Her question instantly catches me off guard. I never thought I would address my reason for going to school, studying for hundreds of hours and why I felt it was the perfect path for me. I’ve prepared an answer for everything but this. Her steely gaze studies my face in judgment.

  “Marketing. Well, allow me to go all the way back to my childhood.” I laugh.

  She doesn’t.

  “Just kidding, I say. I originally discovered marketing was my passion during High School. I signed up for journalism and was put in charge of the ad pages and well, I fell in love. I loved the idea that I could draw attention to area businesses with the right placement, the right strategy. It was then that I realized I had a talent, and I spent the rest of my college and graduate years perfecting it. I’m dedicated to my work. I’m always studying latest trends, blogging, even if my job doesn’t depend on it. It’s more than a job to me, Puppet Master, it is who I am.”

  “Yes. Mmm…” She sighs and takes a sip of her espresso. “And I see you came from a few starter years at Laser Eye Plus? Tell me about that. Did you enjoy your time
there?”

  I sit up a bit straighter. Territory I’m far more comfortable in. My work.

  “Yes.” I smile widely. “I was at LEP for over four years, first as a marketing coordinator and then working my way up to manager over a small team. I genuinely appreciated the opportunity right out of school. It suited me during that time. I learned about the importance of teamwork. Most importantly I learned how to find creativity within minutes even when I didn’t feel inspired to produce content or promotions that got people’s attention. As a team, we grew the number of leads by double digits. I made a tremendous amount of great relationships with my co-workers. They are an amazing group of people.”

  She leans forward. “So why leave?”

  “I…uh…well, truthfully? As much as I love my team and the work I am doing, I just know I am capable of more and I know they aren’t capable of offering it at this time. I want to pull these training wheels off and prove what I’m made of. I want to work at Allure Lasers because I’m addicted to your product line, your expertise, and you’re the best in the business. I could spend hours studying every word your team writes and produces, and I love the way you appeal to your clients on a level they didn’t even know they wanted.”

  “Your resume is very impressive, Melanie. Especially the way you infused philanthropic outreach to grow your business to business relationships. Not bad.”

  She smiles and I instantly feel her warmth stretch across the table and wrap its arms around me. She likes me. “Thank you,” I manage.

  “I’m going to take you into see Queen Bee right now. She will do a prescreening interview, as well, and then if it goes well…and I think it will…she will set up time for you to meet some additional members of our management team and even more importantly, your potential team.”

  “That’s great!” I beam. “: May I ask a little bit about my team before we go?”

  “Sure, but there will be plenty of time for them later. You have a team of five. A Digital Strategist, two Graphic Designers, a Marketing Manager and a Copywriter. Oh and your Assistant.”

  Your assistant. As if they already report to me. I resist the urge to squeal.

  “Wonderful. And their names? Backgrounds?” I lean forward to show my interest.

  “You’re sweet.” She sips her espresso and pushes her seat back to rise.

  Okay? I follow lead trying not to overthink a second of this.

  We loop around the same long hallway with what feels like over fifty doors in total and finally land at the corner suite, the Queen Bee’s office. I take a deep breath and swipe my sweaty palms along the pleats of my pants. Puppet Master offers a light tap on the door and opens it wide.

  Queen Bee is sitting in a navy velvet high back wing chair currently facing the opposite direction. She is furiously typing away on her Mac computer and chatting at a rapid pace into an ear piece similar to Receptionist. I catch a glimpse of a long lean leg with red hot stiletto heels and a round puff of deeply hair sprayed hair in a teased chignon.

  “I know! I know. If it were up to me, I’d well, you know what I would do. Yep! Every last bit of it. Oh sweetie! You are hysterical!” She tilts her head to the side and lets out a high-pitched cackle.

  I laugh a little with her. Puppet Master offers me a sideways grin before clearing her throat.

  The Queen Bee swivels. My breath catches in my throat.

  She is a complete and total vision of...money. She is exactly what I picture wealth getting me someday. Someday hopefully not so far off in the distant future. Money will get me new, pearly veneers so perfectly white I can almost see my reflection in them. Money will get me tailored designer suits, thick diamond bracelets from Tiffany’s and a rock on my right hand so large I could see myself ice skating around on it wrapped warmly in my sixteen gazillion dollar cashmere coat. I soak every inch of her perfect disposition, just simply dripping with cash, and make my way up to meet her gorgeous, sky blue eyes. She bats her tinted lash extensions at me and beams.

  “You must be Melanie! Aren’t you just a vision in white!” she gushes.

  I hug my cheap blazer a bit tighter around my thick middle.

  “You are the vision,” I say brightly, extending my hand to shake hers.

  She cackles that energetic laugh of hers and ushers me over to her deep seated couches; one orange, the other purple. I rest my portfolio onto her coffee table, a statue of a greyhound balancing a slate of glass on his head.

  “Tell me, Melanie. Did you enjoy your little chat with Puppet Master?” She rests her head onto her right hand, giving me an unspoiled view of my mini skating rink.

  “Yes, very much. Puppet Master is immensely generous to meet with me. I am truly honored to even be considered for this position. Everything I’ve ever heard about Allure Lasers is straight gold.”

  “Oh stop,” she says with a giggle, yet waves her hand toward her face as if to say, “Keep going”. I laugh nervously. This woman is so fabulous I’d give my right arm to be mentored by her. I clear my throat and reach for my portfolio.

  Queen Bee shakes her head and crosses her legs. “That won’t be necessary.” She looks to Puppet Master, who is sitting to my left and sipping her espresso. Puppet Master nods once, slowly with direct eye contact. Queen Bee nods back and then turns to meet my gaze.

  “No?” I ask. “I would love to share some examples…” I start to ramble, fearing suddenly that I have done something wrong. How can I have blown it in the first minute of meeting her?

  “It won’t be necessary.” She grins widely, showing those perfect teeth again. It seems every chance she gets to show those puppies off, she takes it.

  I suck in a gulp of air and grip the edge of the couch. Why is she smiling? This pause is long past dramatic; it is borderline debilitating. “I understand,” I say to break the silence, put myself out of my misery.

  She cackles. “It’s not necessary because you’re hired! Welcome to the Allure Family!” She springs to the tips of her sky high heels and bear hugs me, enveloping me in her ten thousand dollar perfume. I don’t even have time to react, breathe or even wrap my arms around her. I stand there, in shock, as she rocks me back and forth. I got the job. I got my dream job! I repeat the words over and over until they tumble out and I am shrieking!

  “I got the job! I got the job!” I say and she pulls back from her embrace and squeezes my arms.

  “You got the job!” She starts jumping up and down and I can’t help but do the same. We’re bouncing up and down like giddy school girls! And we’re jumping. We’re jumping!

  I stop suddenly, completely out of breath, gasping for air. By far the most cardio I’ve had in months.

  Puppet Master, still calmly perched on the edge of the couch, takes a sip and smiles. “Congrats.”

  Preparation is Key

  Bitch Problem:

  You are dealing with an excluder. Someone who doesn’t acknowledge you, leaves you out of emails or important meetings. This man or woman may roll their eyes, snort or giggle when you are speaking in a meeting. He/she acts innocent when called out on this behavior.

  I step out into the sunshine and immediately call Finn.

  “Can you guess the best thing that has ever happened to me? Like in my whole life?” I’m talking so loudly people are actually stopping to turn and see who is yelling on the streets.

  He laughs. “You mean other than getting engaged to this guy? You got a second interview? They loved you! I knew it.”

  “Even better! I got the job!” I start jumping up and down and certainly all he can hear at this moment is the swish of my blonde hair hitting the phone.

  From my frantic dance I can hear him yelling down the line. “Woo hoo! Let’s celebrate!”

  * * * *

  And boy do we celebrate! I slam my third shot of premium cherry vodka and immediately regret it. I shake my head.

  “No more!” I manage over the burn that is currently taking over my throat.

  “Aww...when did my girl stop bei
ng able to hang with the big boys?” Finn nuzzles my neck.

  What started out as just the two of us is now a full on party with five of his college buddies and two of my best girlfriends, Jade and Kate.

  “Leave her alone, you big lush!” Jade slides her still full shot glass toward Finn and raises her eyebrows. “All yours, tough guy! But some of us have things to do tomorrow.”

  “Boo!” Kate is now one sheet past the normal two to the wind. “I’m with Fipp!” We all double over in laughter at her inability to say Finn.

  Jade laughs too but then stands and starts pulling Kate along with her. “I’m taking this girl home. You kids be safe.”

  I blow kisses at them as they make their way through the crowd and out into the crisp night air.

  I belch. “Oh God! How embarrassing!”

  Finn and his buddy Rich simultaneously burp, mocking me with utter pleasure.

  “Screw you,” I say and stand to my feet with a little wobble. “I’m starving. Those damn appetizers didn’t even put a drop in the bucket. Lombardi’s?” I ask with a hiccup this time.

  “You are so damn cute when you are wasted. I can’t wait to marry you.” Finn scoops up his beer and swigs it down. “Gentleman.” He nods and escorts me to the door with his hand at the small of my back.

  We order an eighteen-inch cheese doused in sweet red peppers for good measure and feast ourselves on the late night binge. I’ve slipped into my thick furry pajama bottoms and a tank top. It is a requirement to eat pizza in pajamas in my opinion.

  Finn pats me on the back. “Good to see a girl who can eat.”

  “Screw you,” I say laughing. “And the diet starts tomorrow if I even want to sit at the same boardroom table as Queen Bee.”

  “You mean today?” He points to the window as a sliver of morning sun streams across my loft floor.

  I wince. “We haven’t stayed up this late since…”

  “New Years,” he says raising his eyebrows up and down. “That was a great night. That little silver dress you wore.”