The Corporate Bitch

by J. J. R.

  His gaze softens. “Of course I do. It’s just, I guess we are different worlds. But, no matter the pay, I don’t think it is a fair trade for your life.”

  “And you miss me?” I say softly.

  A little smile cracks through. “Busted.” He leans forward to kiss me and we’re back to normal. I order a bottle of wine to make up for it before going back to my loft to make sweet, sweet love.

  Shit Hits the Fan

  Bitch Problem:

  The Belittler is famous in the workplace. They can tear you down in seconds with little to no knowledge of you or your work. They are capable of making you feel micro within seconds whether with loud shouting or a calm cool tone.

  I’m in the office the next morning by six. Yes, six o’clock. I leave my gorgeous fiancé in bed, sleep dusting his eyes, and the moon still shining brightly over the city scape. Maybe if I shift my schedule up when he is sleeping, it won’t feel like such an imposition. I am the first in, switch on the lights and fill the Keurig with filtered water, before setting out the plate of bagels I’ve brought in.

  Once I’m settled in my chair, I fight the urge to yawn and start in on emails. I scroll through the first fifty seeing general requests. Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of subject lines, “Idea” from Puppet Master, Pawn. and Jock. They are so thoughtful to help me.

  And then I see it, the frantic subject, “Call me immediately,” headline, from Puppet Master.

  Then, “Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

  And, “Where are you? Emergency!!!”

  I want to vomit. These emails came in around eight thirty, right as I dropped my phone.

  “Shit!” I mutter and click on the last one.

  I read:

  Mel, please call me as soon as you can. I’ve been calling you all night. We are having a marketing emergency and I can’t believe of all days, you won’t answer.

  —PM

  I scroll further to read the start of the message:

  Mel, look at our website! It has been hacked or something. What did your team do? Fix it, please. Queen Bee is having a heart attack.

  I click out my emails and urgently open up our website. My fingers are shaking. My internet, of all days is slowly loading. I start biting at my cuticles and sweating intensely.

  “Fuck, hurry up!” I whisper and slowly, as if it is the nineties, as my screen loads. And then, the most heinous thing I have ever seen in my life unfolds before my eyes. It is so bad I almost vomit.

  “Fuuuuuck….” slips out from my lips, as I see a web banner of the most pornographic, sexual nature getting it on at the top of my freaking homepage! I scroll further to see giant Viagra ads throughout the sidebar.

  I fling my chair back and stand up in a sweaty panic. How on earth? How in the whole wide fucking world did this happen to me! Oh my God, where is Martyr? Where is Digital Strategist? I need him to fix this. How many people have seen it? How were we hacked? How do we not have better security and firewalls than this? I start pacing, trying to trace the steps of our upgrade this week.

  I grab my cell. Damn it! Broken! I don’t have Digital Strategist or Martyr’s numbers anywhere but in my cell. I race to the Receptionist’s desk there’s got to be a phone list somewhere. And as my face is the color of a clown’s nose and my sweat is officially dripping from my temples, I hear the clicking of the heels. Two sets, coming from the elevator. My heart falls officially from my chest to my ass and I think I might throw up. Why couldn’t I have this fixed before they clicked my way? No chance in hell. I wipe the sweat from my cheeks and make my way over to greet them.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I dropped my phone last night and got in early to just now see your email.”

  Queen Bee, stops, studies my face a bit and offers a half grin. “Hmm…” She turns to Puppet Master. “Her phone is broken. I understand. Did your computer break too?”

  “Well, no…but I’m so sorry. We’ll have this fixed first thing this morning. I promise.” I nod, trying profusely to stop my sweating.

  “You’re sweating,” says Puppet Master, a.k.a Captain Obvious. I think I might pass out.

  “Yes, I am in a panic. I will get this fixed.”

  “So, hmm…it’s still up on our site?” She narrows her gaze. “That doesn’t seem to be the work of someone that makes as much as I am paying you.” There it is, exactly what I deserve. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever on my watch should this have happened. “Please, Melanie Michaels, for the love of Allure, go...fix…it.” She says the last part through gritted teeth before clicking away.

  My hands cover my face as the tears start to well up. This is it, I’m fired. She is going to kill me. I race down to Martyr’s office, he isn’t there, but his right hand is. I hurriedly explain the situation to him and get Digital Strategist’s number before rushing back to my office, leaving him to pound away on his keyboard, searching for a solution.

  He answers on the third ring, “Hi! Sorry, I know the sun isn’t up, but have you seen the website?”

  “Uh, no. Why, what’s up?” His voice is grumbly. I picture him with a baby in his arms and making coffee with his other free hand. “We have porn!” I almost scream it. “Porn, right there smack on the homepage. And Viagra ads! Oh my god, Digital Strategist, it is so bad, I think we’re all going to get fired.”

  “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Okay, I’m coming. I’ll call our agency right now. Is Martyr in? Can he help us?”

  “No, but his right hand is and he is working on it to. We have to fix this before the start of our business day.” My voice is trembling now and I think I might start crying

  “The good news is, Mel, we will probably have a major traffic increase.” I hear him laugh and a baby coo in the background.

  “Not the time!”

  “Oh, too soon.” He laughs a little. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Digital Strategist is in his chair, on the phone with the agency and has two laptops open, along with his two main monitors trying to urgently fix the situation before I can blink. He is so damn reliable that I could cry. I am standing over his shoulder as I hear Queen Bee click up behind us.

  “Any progress?” she asks calmly, holding her espresso to her lips to blow the steam.

  “We are running all of the security tests possible,” I say.

  “I was asking Digital Strategist,” she says and props herself up on the corner of his desk.

  “Oh,” I say and look to him.

  “Mel’s right, Queen Bee. Right now, we are in testing. Once we have been able to identify the source, only then can we resolve it. We have about twenty more minutes of scans.”

  “Shut it down,” she says calmly.

  “The tests?” he asks in confusion.

  “The website. Immediately. It’s an embarrassment.” With that, she rises on her heels and walks away, leaving his eyes wide as saucers.

  “It’s okay, you are doing the best you can. It isn’t your fault. I’m the only one that can take the fall for this.”

  He shakes his head and swallows hard. “Damn, she is pissed. I am so sorry, Mel. We’ll get it fixed.”

  “I know you will. I trust you.” I pat his arm and leave him in peace to try and find Martyr.

  I am down talking to his number two when he wearily comes into the office around eight forty-five. He is offering his morning hellos, sipping a Starbucks with not a care in the world.

  “Morning,” he offers. “Did you have a question about my notes?”

  “Not exactly,” I say and shuffle quickly behind him. “Just wanted to talk to you about our website being shut down and the large pornographic banners that are shining brightly across the homepage.”

  His face pales. And thank God he reacts this way. For a brief second, I think anyone out there would think maybe he was the conspirator. His reaction of pure panic helps reassure me of his innocence. Unless of course, he is just a brilliant actor.

  “Are you kidding me?” He races to his of
fice and types in our url.

  “We shut it down about twenty minutes ago, Queen Bee’s orders.”

  “Oh my God, Queen Bee knows? She is going to fire me. Poor, inadequate, Martyr can’t even keep our website safe. This is it.” He sits down his chair and breaks into tears. “I can’t lose my job,” he wails. “I have two kids in college. My wife is going to kill me. I know I’m old, but I can’t…” His sobs have gone out of control.

  I rush over and spin his chair toward me. I grip his shoulders. “For the love of all that is holy, pull your shit together!” I am almost screaming and I look up to see two members of his staff walk by, pause with mouths open before I shoo them along. “She’s blaming me, you idiot! Don’t you see that! I’m going to take the fall for this. Now do whatever you can to fix this and save our asses.”

  His eyes widen with fear. I literally can’t believe I am screaming at him right now. The poor loaf who feels worthless has a mental freaking breakdown and what do I do? I stand over him, scream at him and all but slap him in the face.

  He flings out of his chair and races away to his team, leaving me flushed in his wake.

  “Good to see how I handle pressure,” I mutter to myself and grab a donut from on top of the file cabinet on my way out.

  I am mid-chew, icing smeared across my cheeks, hair sticky from my morning sweat session as I run smack into...our CEO.

  “Melanie?” He paints on an undeserved smile. I know that face; I’ve seen it in countless ribbon cutting and benefit photos. I’ve seen it on his Facebook page, him skiing through the Alps with his perfect family. I’ve seen it framed in glittering eight by ten photographs in Queen Bee’s office. I would know him in a crowd of thousands. His perfect megawatt smile. His tan, miraculously unlined face. His elegantly gelled hair. His crisp three-piece suit.

  “CEO.” I offer a donut-encrusted smile, realizing a second too late that the hand I’ve extended to shake his is sticky as hell.

  “A bit stressed this morning?” He laughs a little.

  “Um, maybe a little.” I spot a trash can and launch my donut. I miss it by an inch and it splats across the floor. “Oh hell…” I say and just like that, I completely lose it. I am crumbled over the donut, trying desperately to unglue it from the floor and tears are springing from my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t want to look up, to see his face. For the only thing I will see are his eyes saying, We are paying this chick one point one million dollars? Are you kidding me?

  And before I realize it, he is crouching over me, wet wipes in his hand.

  “Don’t worry, Mel. I’ve got it.” He moves in and around me wiping up the donut and offering me a wipe for my hands, leaving me in his heavenly cologne’s wake.

  I could just die right now. Could someone please kill me?

  “You know the first day on the job here at Allure, I met our CEO back then in a similar fashion? Swap out the donut for a steaming cup of coffee and have it splashed across his custom made Italian suit and it was basically the same thing.” He stands up, offering me a hand and pulling me to my feet. “I was mortified. And he never, ever let me live it down. Still called me Coffee Kid in his announcement of my accepting the position. We laughed about it up until the day he passed away. He became a very good friend and mentor.”

  I nod and sniffle a bit from the slowing tears. I feel like a seven-year-old girl crying to her daddy right now. Except, this man runs the company and has a net worth of like a bazillion dollars.

  “Don’t let this one day, this one moment defeat you. We are very impressed with the work you have been doing. Queen Bee speaks immensely high of you, and I’ve heard you have even managed to win over Puppet Master, an insurmountable task. You want my advice?” he says and flashes that great grin of his. “Stand up straight. Wipe the donut from your face.” He laughs and extends a tissue. “And get back to work. Work will always speak for itself. You fix the problem, make sure it doesn’t happen again and we are golden. No one is perfect. And I am personally thrilled to see what you are really made of when the training wheels come off.”

  And on that note, he pats me on the arm and walks away. My tears have come to a stop and I am in utter awe of his grace. He is more than a CEO. He is a leader and I am astounded at his empathy and patience.

  I head back down to Digital Strategist’s desk to resolve the problem with renewed sense of purpose. After all, when someone believes in you, it is all you can ever ask for.

  * * * *

  By the end of the day, Martyr, Digital Strategist, and I are standing in Queen Bee’s office. Puppet Master is sitting on her couch, typing away notes of our conversation. We explain as a team, only on Martyr and Digital Strategist’s insistence, that we have identified the problem, set up new Firewalls of protection and relaunched the site. An offshore account in India managed to barricade their efforts so strongly that our best security measures couldn’t break through. I wanted to go this alone, but they refused to let me. Something I will always be thankful for.

  Queen Bee is back to her usual self behind her desk in a fur-lined, black pants suit. She is smiling again and lets out a light cackle.

  “Good to hear. You all displayed real teamwork today. I know I can count on you.” She dismisses the others and asks me to stay behind. Once I’ve closed the door after them, she smiles widely. “Mel, I’m sorry I was a bit tough on you earlier. I didn’t quite realize it until CEO told me about your little pep talk with him in the hallway. While I wish this had never happened, and it is absolutely mortifying as a company, I realize mistakes happen. I know I can count on you to never let it happen again, right?” She crosses her legs, letting one red stiletto peep out from behind her desk.

  “Yes, Queen Bee. We have crossed our T’s and dotted our I’s. You have my word on that.” I stand a bit straighter.

  “And while it was kind of your co-workers to come here and stand by you, it is you I hold responsible for this. You understand?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “Great, now that we got that out of the way, Puppet Master wants to schedule some time to go out office decoration shopping with you. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Saturday?” My mind races, remembering I’m supposed to do cake tasting with Finn.

  “Problem?” Puppet Master eyes me over her laptop.

  “No, tomorrow is perfect.”

  “Good. Thanks, Mel. Close the door behind you when you go?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say and head to leave.

  “Oh and Mel? Make sure you get your phone fixed as soon as possible?

  “Yes, right. Yes. Immediately.” I close the door gently behind me and then lean against the wall feeling a new round of tears springing to the surface. I deserved every word and more. And to still let me decorate my office? I feel like a kid that got out of grounding when I stole the car to go out with friends. Puppet Master is even giving up her Saturday to take me. Everything is going to be okay.

  Crisis met head on, solved and forgiven.

  * * * *

  Finn is beyond upset. I explain to him over coffee, having already called the bakery to reschedule. He doesn’t get it. Maybe never will. He’s paid hourly and his work is done when the clock strikes three.

  “Mel, it’s our wedding. Are you going to be late the day of?”

  “Babe, I’m so sorry. Truly. If I hadn’t let the damn website go to the world of porn, I’d never be in this mess. This is their way of saying they forgive me. I’m lucky actually. And the baker was extremely understanding. She rescheduled us for a few weeks from now and it’s still plenty of time.” I snuggle up next to him with pleading Puss in Boots eyes. I know I am on thin ice, but he has got to understand.

  “Fine, but I still don’t see how you are to blame for an overseas hacker. How is that not Martyr’s fault for the security settings?”

  “I am the end all be all responsible part
y for the website,” I say, wanting to be proud, but it comes out weakly.

  “Whatever, I still don’t think it’s right the way they treated you. And now they are trying to buy you back.”

  “It is a forgiveness tactic. Not an I’m sorry tactic,” I mumble into his sleeve.

  “Keep telling yourself that. Have fun shopping.” He leans over and rests his head on my mine. He is so patient, but I know he was looking forward to today. I am letting him down way too often lately. I’m letting everyone down it seems.

  At precisely twelve o’clock, I’m standing in Ligne Roset on Park Avenue, on the lookout for Puppet Master. We are going to have so much fun today. Real gal pals. A little shopping. A little lunch. I am going to put yesterday behind me and make a fresh start.

  I am absolutely enamored by the bright pink Ploum sofa, of which the sales attendant has informed me is likened to a bright, voluptuous piece of fruit. He’s right; I could eat this right up. I hear the door open and turn to see Puppet Master’s Executive Admin. I didn’t realize she would be joining us. What a nice surprise.

  “Hi Melanie, I’m not sure we’ve officially met, but I’m Admin. It’s so nice to be able to get to know you today!” She is easily only twenty-one years old, eyes bright and eager behind thick plastic frames, and her long glossy hair wrapped in a chignon. It’s like I’m looking at myself ten years ago.

  “I’m so glad you could join us Admin. Did Puppet Master say she would be here soon?” I ask.

  “Oh no, she didn’t tell you? I’m afraid just me today. She had something come up.”

  “Is it in an email?” I ask nervously and reach into my bag, grab my phone, and scan for emails.

  “I’m not sure,” she says. “She changes her mind quite often at the last minute, I’m afraid.”

  I do a quick scroll and sigh from relief that I didn’t miss anything. “No worries, we’ll have fun just us girls then!”