This Could Hurt

by Jillian Medoff

  “Great,” Tessa said, with the enthusiasm of an undertaker, which was fitting because Rob wanted to be buried alive.

  The problem, he decided, was her youth. That she was pretty didn’t matter. Or smart (MBA, U of Chicago, BS, U of Chicago). Or female. He’d worked for great-looking, genius women before—his boss at Revlon, with her melon-size breasts and Harvard pedigree, had fueled many a midnight fantasy. But he had too many years on Tessa Phillips. Tomorrow Rob would be closer to forty-five than forty; soon he’d be fifty, then fifty-five, then sixty. At thirty-one, Tessa Phillips was a generation younger. His elder daughter was almost fourteen. Tessa Phillips was one whole Allie his junior. The math was crippling.

  Tessa was scanning his résumé, feigning interest. “Why do you want to move into training when you’ve spent so much time in recruiting?”

  Another gimme. “I like working with people, younger people especially. I like giving back, helping them do their jobs better and shape their careers.”

  “Well, some of our employees are considerably older. Recently, we’ve acquired several companies, so we do a lot of reeducation. You’ll have lots of trainees in their forties and fifties.”

  “I like working with old people too,” Rob said. “Older people, I mean.”

  Tessa glanced at the clock.

  Help! Rob screamed. SOS!

  They volleyed, and things picked up. Rob recounted stories of HR insanity, which made Tessa laugh. He shared a colorful anecdote about a senior executive, a notorious bully, making sure to include the dramatic pauses and kooky inflections that always got laughs at dinner parties. “Our training involved videotaped role-playing. Of course the guy balked—he canceled three times—but when we finally got him in front of the camera, his inner thespian emerged. He forgot he was being taped, and launched into a cyclonic tantrum. To the guy’s credit, when he saw himself on film, he felt badly. ‘I had no idea,’ he kept saying.”

  Tessa seemed impressed. “You have a nice way,” she said, disarming Rob with her candor. “I bet people enjoy having you as their supervisor. You’re very approachable and warm. We need someone like you in our group. Everyone is so anxious these days.”

  Turning red, Rob mumbled, “Thanks.” Hearing the praise—which he liked very much—he remembered Rosa. Earlier Leo had mentioned that Rob wasn’t the only Ellery employee to benefit from Rosa’s largesse. Breaking all rules of confidentially, Leo told him that he’d also inherited cash, as had Kenny and Peter Dreyfus. “Just a token amount.” For Katie, Rosa set up a college fund. “Lucy got nothing,” he added. “In case you were wondering.”

  But Rob had been focused on Peter Dreyfus. “That criminal?” he squawked.

  “She loved him,” Leo said simply. Everything else—her apartment, furniture, investment funds—went to Marcy, Nando, her nieces and nephews. “Despite her fears, she didn’t end up broke.” Neither will I, Rob thought. Thanks to Rosa.

  “My sister oversees a hundred people,” Tessa was saying.

  “She works in banking, too?”

  Tessa nodded. “At Goldman. Her management style is brutal, which I think is cultural. Chase isn’t as rough—at least not our group. We believe in nurturing younger staff, not beating them up. On the other hand, she’s an investment banker; I’m in training, so it’s different.”

  Hirsch couldn’t be sure, but he thought he sensed layers of conflict baked into Tessa’s comments. “Is your sister older or younger?”

  “Older. Older and bossy.” Tessa smiled. “But, you know . . . sisters.”

  “I have two daughters, and it’s like kabuki theater watching them interact. Girls are so complex.” He made a leap—an iffy one, but already flailing, he had little to lose. “I spend a lot of time helping them with their homework, and I’ve noticed they both learn very differently. Allie, the older one, is self-motivated and likes to solve problems on her own, whereas her sister prefers a group setting where she can listen to ideas and talk them through. So if I were to develop a training philosophy and strategy—which is the first thing I’d do—I’d consider all the different ways people can approach the same material.”

  “Interesting,” Tessa said. “We do some variations on our curriculum, but not much.”

  “Well, at least we have a starting point.” Rob was revving up. He could turn this interview around; it didn’t happen often, but it wasn’t impossible. He recalled Rosa’s advice, all the hours she’d spent with him. Get it together, she’d say. Come on, Robert. Dig deep. Find your best self. “Tessa, I hope I didn’t seem distracted before.” On one hand, he knew pointing out his poor performance ran counter to every interview rule ever espoused. On the other, he wanted to win—he needed to win—but on his own terms. Turned out, Rob Hirsch had an Authentic Self, too. “But on my way here, I got news about my former boss. Rosa Guerrero? Ellery’s HR chief?”

  Tessa shook her head. She didn’t know Rosa.

  “Rosa died recently, and apparently there was infighting over her will. The story did have a happy ending, but it was upsetting all the same. Rosa was a mentor and a friend. She changed my life.” Rob stopped. It occurred to him that this was true: Rosa had changed his life in ways he was only first beginning to see. During his layoff, one of the last things she’d said was, “Rob, you’ll do great things in the future, you just won’t do them here.” At the time, he’d bridled at what he thought was a snarky insult, but in fact she was being earnest and encouraging. Not everyone, Rob told himself, is out to get you.

  “How so?” Tessa asked.

  “Rosa convinced me to focus on training. She said I understand and encourage without being pushy.” Rob flashed a killer smile. “That’s only half-true. I do push—and hard—when I have to.” He was raring to go. “So Tessa, you mentioned recent mergers. I assume you’re referring to Bear Stearns and Washington Mutual. I’m interested in how we’re integrating these employees; which onboarding platforms are in place; where we might need to supplement. Can you walk me through everything you’re doing, starting with timing?”

  “Sure!” Tessa’s face was a wide-open book.

  Rob was in. He felt it in his bones.

  IT WAS THREE o’clock and still blazing outside when Rob emerged from the subway like a drawing of evolution, only backward. Instead of the fish-amphibian-ape-caveman-salesman motif, he came out fully dressed and stripped naked. Up on the street, he shed his raincoat, jacket, tie, and shirt, all of which he stuffed into a Duane Reade bag. By the time he reached his block, he was down to a discolored undershirt.

  Rob picked up his pace. Maddy would be home from the doctor, and he couldn’t wait to share his good news. Tessa had invited him back! They needed someone as soon as possible. “We’re prepared to make a deal quickly,” she said just as he was leaving. “I’m positive everyone will like you as much as I do. Plus, you come highly recommended.”

  He had a job! Holy Christ, he had a job! Rob knew it was risky thinking this way. With nothing in writing, a deal isn’t a deal; it’s a hope, a wish, a dream as yet unfulfilled. But he could hedge later. Right now, he wanted to envision himself gainfully employed, with a salary, benefits, keycard, and staff—a staff!—all his own.

  Could this be true? Could it really be happening? No way, no fucking way.

  But look at him—look at Rob Hirsch, the way he races up his front stoop. Look at him reach the top step and turn his key in the lock. Look how he rises up, up, up the stairs to the third floor, where Maddy, his better half, is waiting inside. Rob knocks on the door to let her know he’s home. “I’m coming in!” he calls out. “Get ready.” And still he is rising, light as a feather, stiff as a board; still he can feel his future unfurling before him like a long red carpet laid out in his honor. Look at Rob, look at him, swollen with joy, flush with good fortune, a man among men, and rising, still rising.

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BY 2008, my career as a writer had hit the skids. I hadn’t sold a book in eight years, my second n
ovel tanked, and my third was rejected by twenty-five publishers. Desperate and disillusioned, I called Jen Gates57,58 and presented my case for quitting—not writing, necessarily, but publishing—along with the seeds of an idea for a literary novel about work. I mentioned the idea only in passing; at that point, I didn’t just lack the skill set for such an ambitious project but men dominated the niche and my books59 skewed female. Plus, my track record was dismal. Plus, I’d just quit.

  While I rattled on, Jen mostly listened. Finally she said, “Oh, you could definitely write that book.” She said a lot of other things, too—wise, measured, thoughtful things about what it would take, not just about the art but about the commerce. “It won’t happen overnight,” she made clear. Even so, a corporate novel wasn’t out of the question. On the contrary, she was taking the idea—she was taking me, the broken writer, washed up at age forty-five—seriously. “Let’s focus on the book you’re writing now,”60 she advised. “And then, in a couple of years, we can turn our attention to the next one.”

  Never gonna happen, I remember thinking.

  DEEP GRATITUDE AND big love to:

  Jen Gates and Aevitas Creative Management, especially Esmond Harmsworth, Todd Schuster, Lane Zachary and Allison Warren.

  Emily Griffin and Harper/HarperCollins, especially Tracy Locke, Jo O’Neill, Nikki Baldauf, Stephanie Cooper, Frank Albanese, Jonathan Burnham, Kate McCune, Sara Nelson, Tina Andreadis, Amber Oliver, Lillie Walsh, Janice Suguitan, Kate Walker, Carolyn Zimatore, Peter London, Virginia Stanley, Leslie Greenfield, Miranda Ottewell, and everyone who worked so hard in support of this book.

  Nicole Dewey61 and her partners at Shreve Williams PR.

  Special thanks to Jane Rosenman who, upon finishing an early draft, said, “It’s good, but where’s all the stuff about HR?” thus helping me elevate this manuscript from a typical, run-of-the-mill novel to a cultural phenomenon.62

  Todd Lane for all the laughs especially when everything went sideways.

  Aon Consulting, Deloitte, and the Segal Group, especially my bosses and their bosses who encouraged me when it would’ve been easier to do otherwise: David Blumenstein, Randy Carter, Patrick Donohue, and Jen Schuster.

  Drs. Nan Jones and Karen Hopenwasser for saving my life and then saving me.

  The Writers Room in New York City, Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.

  My beloved work-friends and life-friends for their careful reading, enthusiasm and shrewd counsel: Ann Bauer, Karen Bergreen, Laura Cochran, Marcy Dermansky, Robert Ellis, Emily Listfield, Colleen Magee, Jeff Masarek, Erin Naumann, Victoria Skurnick, Lynn Schnurnberger, Diane Swisher, Nick Tarrant, Ettore Toppi, Lily Valkili, Laura Zigman.

  Naomi Medoff, Lewis Medoff, Kim Worth, Mara Medoff, Joy Dawson, Steve Nakata, Patrick Butler.

  Keith Dawson, for illuminating my world every day, in every way.

  Sarah Dawson, Liv Dawson, Mollie Dawson: the reason, the reason, the reason.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JILLIAN MEDOFF is the author of the national bestseller I Couldn’t Love You More, as well as the novels Good Girls Gone Bad and Hunger Point. A former fellow at MacDowell, Blue Mountain Center, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and Fundación Valparaíso, she has an MFA from NYU. In addition to writing fiction, Jillian has had a long career in management consulting and is currently a senior consultant at the Segal Group, where she advises clients on all aspects of the employee experience.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  ALSO BY JILLIAN MEDOFF

  I Couldn’t Love You More

  Good Girls Gone Bad

  Hunger Point

  CREDITS

  COVER DESIGN BY JOANNE O’NEILL

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THIS COULD HURT. Copyright © 2018 by Jillian Medoff. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  Digital Edition January 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-266078-7

  Print ISBN: 978-0-06-266076-3

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  Australia

  HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

  Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

  Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

  www.harpercollins.com.au

  Canada

  HarperCollins Canada

  2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

  Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada

  www.harpercollins.ca

  New Zealand

  HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand

  Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive

  Rosedale 0632

  Auckland, New Zealand

  www.harpercollins.co.nz

  United Kingdom

  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF, UK

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  United States

  HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  195 Broadway

  New York, NY 10007

  www.harpercollins.com

  1 The endless media coverage of Wall Street’s wicked ways bored Lucy senseless—except for stories about Jamie Dimon. JD was Lucy’s all-time favorite dirty banker. What a marvel, that man! From his great Hellenistic head and smug, satisfied grin to his billion-dollar assets and rumored illicit trysts (hel-lo, Money Honey!). That Lucy had once worked in corporate communications for J.P.Morgan & Co. was their only link; still, his presence (male, older, aggressive) loomed large.

  2 Percy Bender (aka Deadbeat Dad, Dirtbag, Percival, Walker Percy, Walkman) left behind no farewell kisses or apologies, just two hundred bucks, a few ratty shirts, and a copy of On the Road.

  3 Sally, now HR division head, reported to one of Lucy’s former bosses, Walter Grant, aka the Stone Cold Fox. That Lucy had once had a fling with the Fox could be advantageous when (if?) she started looking for a new job.

  4 Everyone complains about men’s underhanded, backdoor business deals, but you know what? Women are worse.

  5 “We all have a blind spot,” he said once. “Yours, perhaps, is love.” To which Lucy retorted, “A bit broad, no?” Dr. Ahmet sighed. “Lucinda, such is our challenge. Together, we shall whittle down this vast, wild world until it is a diamond we can hold in our palms.”

  6 Dr. Ahmet’s eloquence notwithstanding, like her mother, Lucy was a proud penny-pincher.

  7 Full disclosure: Lucy went out with Evan a second time, but never told Rob. (She never even told Rob she was attracted to Evan. Why borrow trouble, she figured.) Evan took her to a members-only drinking club in the East Village where, over tequila shots, he told her how crazy-sexy she was and how hard she made him. Later, when they were making out in the cab, he confessed he had a girlfriend. Of course he did. Timing is everything, right?

  8 Lucy hated texting and refused to communicate using LOL and IMHO and other god-awful abbreviations. Having worked hard to acquire a brilliant command of the English language, she could not—would not—butcher it.

  9 Thanks to Ozzy, Lucy worked closely with Rutherford Beaumont, Ellery’s CEO. In fact, owing to her years on Wall Street, he sometimes consulted her on strategy issues, which was exhilarating. At the bank, she was more likely to spot a unicorn than her elusive but all-knowing spirit sensei Jamie Dimon.

  10 And lo, Ozzy Oswald was bor
n.

  11 Lucy would never forget the time a former boss told her he wished she was “younger and hotter,” as in, “I’d be a lot more excited to come to work if my staff”—aka Lucy, his entire “staff”—“was younger and hotter.” To which Lucy replied, “That was rude and disrespectful. If you ever say anything like that to me again, I’ll report you.”

  12 Oh wait, she never said that. She never said anything. This was in the early 1990s; people were still reeling from Anita Hill’s testimony. No one knew what to say or how to say it. Instead Lucy mumbled Shut up, shut up, shut up under her breath and vowed to one day tell the world and change the system.

  13 Where did Kenny get off? He was so disrespectful—ignoring Rosa’s requests, working from home whenever he pleased. Lucy would never treat her boss like that, nor would she put up with it, if she were in charge. Sadly, Rosa was far too impressed by Kenny’s Wharton pedigree to fire, or even reprimand, him.

  14 Exhibit A, Rob’s recent case study: “Acceptable Office Attire,” which he illustrated using pictures his daughters cut out of Glamour magazine.

  15 And why hadn’t Rob said something to her? They were best friends—she’d never keep news like this from him.

  16 This is exactly what Jamie Dimon would do: seize life by the big brass cojones.