by M. Malone
I think of some of the scathing comments she’s made over the past year but in fairness, I have to admit that I’m the only one who seems to provoke this evil side of her. Everyone else describes her as smart, focused and fair. She’s the type who’d work a long day but then take one of the interns out for drinks to celebrate their birthday. Not the type to cheat on a guy and break his heart. Which leads me back to the first theory that her boyfriend was the cheater.
And now he’s sending her bouquets so big they need their own zip code. I glare at the flowers one more time before closing my office door.
If Mya is distracted by her boyfriend woes that will make it easier for me to win this account. And I do love to win.
That’s the only reason I care.
Obviously.
4
Usually I have time to get a cup of coffee and check my emails before I get started for the day but as soon as I arrive the next morning, Anya tells me an emergency meeting is taking place in the conference room first thing. Immediately, I’m worried. Did something happen with one of my accounts? But when I get to the conference room, I notice that Kevin Barnett, team lead for the technology division is there too along with several others.
That makes me feel a little bit better.
I take a seat at the conference table next to Cole Fitzgerald, the company’s public relations executive. “If you’re here, the shit must have hit the fan with one of our accounts. What is it this time, sexual harassment or corporate malpractice?”
Cole shrugs looking bewildered. “Honestly I have no idea what’s going on. I didn’t call this meeting. This is coming from the big boss himself.”
I look around the table trying not to be obvious. Kevin is across from me reading something on his phone. At the end of the table the firm’s lawyer, Ethan Westbrooke, is reading a thick document and every few moments stops to write furiously in the margins of the paper. Ethan is outside counsel so James must have called him in.
“Whatever it is must be a big deal if we’ve all been summoned.” I note with satisfaction that Milo wasn’t invited. I hope it’s a new account. Since Milo has the highest number of clients it would make sense for James to assign it to either Kevin or me.
Then the door opens and Milo saunters in. When he notices me, a smile tugs at his lips and he takes the seat right across the table.
“Great,” I mutter softly.
Cole glances over. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly before taking a sip from the small paper cup of coffee on the table in front of him.
“How long do you get in jail for murder?”
He chokes slightly and puts his coffee cup down. “A long time. A very long time.”
“What if it looks like an accident?”
His lips twitch. “Not sure who has done something to warrant an accidental homicide but maybe I don’t want to know. However in my official capacity as head of public relations, I would have to advise against it.”
“What if the guy is an asshole and no one would miss him anyway?”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? That’s a totally different story, of course.”
Just then James enters the room and we all snap to attention. His hair has been almost white the entire time I’ve known him despite the fact that he’s not even forty years old. He has a sexy Anderson Cooper kind of vibe going on but our boss is definitely high strung. Now is no exception because his eyes shine with a maniacal glee as he plunks down the folders on the table before he sits.
“Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the late notice on this meeting but I have a major announcement to make.” He pauses and everyone glances around at each other. It’s not like James to grandstand or make a big production so everyone knows it must be a big deal. “We’ve been asked to pitch to Lavin Fashions next week.”
At his words Kevin drops his phone on the table. Milo sits up a little straighter. I glance over at Cole and he looks stunned as well. Even he knows the significance of this.
Lavin Fashions has been the darling of the fashion world for the past few years partially because of the media’s fascination with the company’s namesake. Andre Lavin is a descendant of Italian royalty, blindingly photogenic and the closest thing to our generation’s Versace. People aren’t just obsessed with his designs, they’re obsessed with his life.
Landing a client like this would not only put Mirage on the map it would guarantee us all job security.
“The reason I moved our weekly meeting yesterday was because I had a call with the head of design for Lavin Fashions yesterday afternoon.”
He pauses and waits for the excited murmurs to wane before continuing.
“Mr. Lavin has offered to send his private jet to transport us to Vegas where he’s currently meeting with potential investors for his next brand launch. We’ll be taking three junior associates with us. I’ll allow the team leads to choose. It goes without saying this is the biggest deal Mirage has ever lobbied for and I expect all hands on deck this week. I know I can count on you all to continue doing exceptional work.”
My eyes meet Milo’s across the table. In the span of a heartbeat, a message of understanding passes between us. It’s on.
He may have beaten me to the Adler account, but I’m going to be the one who locks in this partnership.
When I get home, my roommate looks up from her perch on the couch. Her face betrays her surprise. I don’t even get my key out of the door before she starts on me.
“Oh my god, Oreo. Call the cops, we have an intruder!” Ariana whispers dramatically to the black and white Pomeranian in her lap. Oreo jumps up when she sees me and gives a single, joyful bark.
“Har, Har,” I ignore her and set my messenger bag by the door and slip my heels off. It feels fantastic to release my toes into the wild after having them crammed into those narrow pointy shoes all day. The price we pay for fashion.
“Seriously, Oreo. There’s no way this can be Mya, our roommate. Because we normally only see her on Sundays. Every other day she gets in so late that any sane person is already in bed watching Netflix.”
I saunter into the kitchen and snag a piece of pizza from the open box on the counter. “Maybe I’m taking your advice, did you ever think of that? I’m trying to live a little, get off work early, hang out. All the normal things I usually don’t have time for.”
Ariana gets up and scrutinizes me before grabbing a piece of pizza for herself. “So you just decided to get off work early? Was it happy hour or something?”
“No, we had the office happy hour a few days ago. I did attend by the way. You know James likes for us to talk to the junior associates. I put in my appearance, had a beer and then went back to the office. But tonight, I decided to take off on time. We’re pitching a major client next week so this might be my last chance to relax for a while.”
Ariana chews thoughtfully. “Happy hour, huh?”
“Is that all you heard?” I finish my slice of pizza and then kneel down to give Oreo a scratch. She gives my chin a lick before continuing to sniff the floor around my feet. Apparently I’m not that interesting since I’ve already finished my pizza.
“Yes. Was he there?”
“The entire office was there.” I ignore her searching look and walk over to the refrigerator for a soda.
When I close the door, she’s standing right behind it. I almost drop the can of soda I’m holding. It’s also the first time I get the full effect of her outfit. She’s wearing a blue T-shirt that says I don’t trust electrons, they never do anything positive coupled with a pair of paint-splattered jeans.
“Redecorating? Again?”
Ari is obsessed with creating the perfect environment and repaints her room at least once per year. Yeah, I’ve kissed any hope of getting our security deposit back good-bye.
“Don’t try to change the subject. Painting my room isn’t nearly as interesting as whether your hot as fuck co-worker was at happy hour.”
She follows me as I walk back around the kitchen cou
nter and take a seat on the couch. I close my eyes and enjoy being off my feet but when I open my eyes again, Ari is standing right next to me with her arms crossed. Ever since she saw Crazy Eyes on the show Orange is the New Black, whenever she wants me to cave, she stares at me. It works every time. Her hazel eyes have the ability to be insanely gorgeous but also really intense. Like serial killer intense.
“Okay fine, he was there! Now can you please stop staring at me with that creepy look?” It’s almost ridiculous how quickly she can break me down when I’m trying to play it cool but we’ve been roommates and friends ever since I came to D.C. Not many people know me as well as she does.
“I’m starting to wish I’d never told you about him,” I grumble, knowing that she won’t take offense.
Sure enough, she just laughs. “Yeah right. Who else would have listened to you gushing about your dreamy new co-worker back when he was first hired? That was all you talked about for months until… well, you know.”
“Yeah. Until I found out he was a backstabbing jerk. Thanks for the reminder.”
Ari grins. “What are friends for?”
Since we’re already on the topic, I might as well unload my latest problems. Most of my old friends from college are already married and the only things they want to talk about these days are babies and when I think I’ll take the plunge and get married, too. I don’t begrudge their happiness at all but it’s difficult to find someone who can relate to the things going on in my life anymore.
My mom used to always tell me that sometimes friends are in our lives only for a season and I shouldn’t try to hold on too tightly. When their time passes, they fade away to be replaced by new connections. At the time it made me sad to think of letting go of some of the friendships that got me through college and my first jobs. But over the years, I’ve seen the wisdom in her advice. Ari is probably the only one who’d understand the significance of my upcoming trip.
“A major client is flying us to Vegas next week to meet with him. It’s a big deal. I want this account, Ari.”
“You’ve been talking about wanting to prove your chops to your boss. So this is your chance, right?” Her eyes gleam and she rubs her hands together in anticipation.
She takes up her former spot on the couch and tucks her long legs underneath her. Her honey colored hair is tucked up in a low bun and she’s got no makeup on but somehow still looks perfect. Her mom is a former model from Sweden and her dad is some big shot businessman from Venezuela. Ariana is the perfect blend of them both, glamorously beautiful with the mind of a cutthroat capitalist.
Men never see her coming.
“Absolutely. This is exactly the kind of opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I’m going to show James exactly what I’m capable of and why I’m the perfect person to lead this account.”
“Sounds good. So why don’t you look more excited about this?”
“Because Milo is going, too. Which means I have to be on my A game otherwise he’ll steal this account, too.”
She’s nodding along with every word. “You know what I think? You two need to bone.”
My mouth drops open. But she’s not done.
“Yup. That’s what needs to happen. All this animosity and tension could be solved with some boom boom. A little bit of banging. A little bit of bam-bam in the ham.”
Despite trying not to, I have tears in my eyes from laughing. “Bam-bam in the ham? That’s a new one.”
Ari shrugs prettily. “There’s more where that came from. But seriously, you haven’t been laid in forever. And no offense to Will, but with that giant stick up his ass, there’s no way he was laying the pipe right. Girl, you need to get some.”
I ignore her comment about Will, because let’s face it, she’s totally right. “Milo and I are not boning or doing whatever with ham that you just said.”
“Bam-bam in the ham,” she repeats helpfully.
“What-ever,” I draw my hand across my neck in a cutting motion. “Besides I’m not into casual sex.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” she drawls. “Sometimes a girl just needs to get the cobwebs out, you know. A bit of spring cleaning. As long as it’s on your terms, then I say go for it.”
“That’s never happening. We hate each other. You know this.”
“Mmm, hmm. Okay, it was just a suggestion.” Her eyes drift back to the TV as her fingers continue to stroke Oreo’s fur leisurely.
I want to just dismiss it as the usual Ariana nonsense but her suggestion has taken root. Can I really pretend that I didn’t wake up the morning after happy hour dripping with sweat after an intense sex dream about Milo?
That doesn’t really count, I rationalize. I was sleeping. I have no control over that.
Besides, what I saw in that bathroom didn’t even look like it could be real, so anyone would be intrigued, right? What red-blooded, heterosexual woman wouldn’t have lustful thoughts after seeing a handsome man with a billy club in his trousers?
But you’re not just anyone. You’re someone who knows Milo and talks to him. It’s not the same thing as having sex dreams about a celebrity or something.
All the internal back and forth is overwhelming. Suddenly it’s like I can’t hold it back anymore. “I saw his dick!”
I clap my hand over my mouth but it’s too late. My tongue has been unleashed and it won’t stop until I let it all out.
Ariana’s mouth drops open. “Mya Taylor. You bitch! You saw his anaconda? When was this and why haven’t you told me?”
“He was in the bathroom with some chick and it was happy hour and what was I supposed to do? So I just pretended that I didn’t see anything. But the whole time I was pissed!”
Ari blinks. “You were pissed.”
It’s almost like she didn’t hear a word I just said. “Of course I was pissed! His dick was in her hand!”
Ari bites her lip. “And… you wanted it in your hand?”
“Yes! Wait, what? No. I didn’t want it in my hand.”
“In your mouth, then. I can understand that. I mean, I’ve seen the guy.”
I put my fingers to my temple and massage the headache blooming right behind my eyes. “Kind of missing the point here, babe.”
She looks amused. “Am I? Because I’m starting to think I’m the only one around here paying attention.”
“Paying attention to what? Please enlighten me how my co-worker picking up chicks in some gross bar bathroom has any relevance to my life.”
Ariana pantomimes putting on an imaginary pair of glasses. Oh god. Here comes Mistress Ana. Whenever she wants to lecture me on something she thinks is for my own good, she morphs into this parody of what she thinks a college professor looks like. Mind you, Ari looks more like a dominatrix type of Mistress than a college professor but she doesn’t care. And invariably, I end up laughing my ass off so I don’t even mind that she’s butting into my business.
“First, this is relevant because it upset you. Don’t bother denying it, I can tell. You have no poker face whatsoever.”
I want to object but years of experience have taught me that what she says is true. Honesty is the best policy, not just because it’s the right thing to do but also because I can’t pull off anything else.
She holds up two fingers. “Second, it’s important because it was unprofessional and men shouldn’t be able to get away with doing this shit. Can you imagine if a woman tried that at a work event?”
I’m nodding along now, what she’s saying echoing everything that I was thinking earlier. Here I am busting my ass, doing everything I can to prove to James that I’m competent, and my biggest competitor is getting laid at a company event. What the hell?
“And third and most important,” Ari continues, “is that you wish it had been you.”
Before I can respond with what could have been a well thought out, reasonable rebuttable, Mistress Ana levels me with the craziest pair of crazy eyes. “No poker face, remember.”
I huff but I let it go.<
br />
Honesty is seriously overrated.
5
I can do this. I can do anything I put my mind to.
I am strong.
I am brave.
I repeat the words softly, hoping repetition really is the key. For the past week, the atmosphere at Mirage has been focused on one thing and one thing only. The Vegas meeting. We’ve all been working longer hours, doing research on Lavin Fashions last five collections and preparing example dossiers of our work on other fashion brands. It’s been exciting and I’m thrilled to have this opportunity. I will not allow something like a slight fear of flying to ruin this for me. So I buckle my seatbelt and close my eyes all the way through takeoff. There’s a slight bump as the wheels come up and I let out a small squeak.
Oh screw being brave.
My fist clenches in a death grip around the rubber plastic cow that is the only thing standing between me and a complete nervous breakdown in the middle of this airplane.
Not that these are bad accommodations for a first time trip to the looney bin. I’ve never been on a private plane before but I can’t imagine anything more luxurious than this. The seats are covered in dove gray leather and the carpet on the floor is more plush than what’s in my apartment. Gleaming gold accents adorn the arm rests and the trim overhead. Andre Lavin has the same impeccable taste in personal aviation as he does in everything else.
Unfortunately it’s all wasted on me. It’s my first time flying like a rock star and I’m two seconds away from curling up in the fetal position in the middle of the aisle.
A toothy flight attendant leans down to offer me a drink but honestly I’m afraid to even pry my lips apart to turn it down. So I give a tense nod and she continues on her merry way down the aisle, offering drinks to everyone as if we aren’t all in danger of plunging thousands of feet to a fiery death. I squeeze my eyes shut and start counting.