by Kelly Myers
She plops down across from me with her Chardonnay. I lift my glass of red wine in greeting. Elena’s bag is stuffed and her cardigan is half-on, half-off. Her curly dark hair is sticking up in places.
“Long day?” I ask.
Elena is a seventh-grade English teacher at a Chicago prep school. Every day is a long day.
“Oh, yeah,” Elena says. “This kid actually tried to argue that his essay deserved a better grade even though he hadn’t read the book because he’s, and I quote, ‘a poet.’”
“Jeez, twelve-year-olds are getting bold,” I say.
“But who cares about that, what’s the emergency with you?” Elena asks.
That’s typical Elena. She puts everyone before herself. I only take advantage of her kindness on occasion. And this is definitely an occasion.
“Michael Barnes,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “He’s going after a new client that I want.”
Elena smiles and cocks her head in sympathy. She has been appraised of all the horrible traits belonging to one Michael Barnes many a time.
“You’ll get it though,” she says. “You always do.”
I feel my chest loosening at her unwavering faith in my abilities.
“Hi!”
Beatrice throws herself into the seat, and Elena laughs as she shifts over. Beatrice does everything fast. She’s petite, but she’s a fast walker, fast talker, and her brain works a mile a minute. She sells advertising, and her quick tongue is probably why she’s one of the top salespeople at her office.
She sets her beer down and gets comfortable across from me. Her eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are stained red from the crisp October air.
“So what’s the situation?” Beatrice asks. “I’m assuming work drama.”
“What else?” Elena quips.
I roll my eyes. They’re always teasing me about being too obsessed with my job. It’s good-natured though. I know they’re not judging.
“Michael Barnes,” I say.
“The hot one?” Beatrice asks.
“For the hundredth time, he is not hot,” I hiss.
Elena is looking at Beatrice with her dark eyes widened.
“Is he hot?” Elena asks.
“No!” I cry.
“Smoking,” Beatrice says at the same time.
I sip my drink and cast her a disdainful look. I regret the day I showed Beatrice a photo from our office retreat. She’s been yammering about how good-looking Michael is since that fateful moment.
She tosses me a sly grin and flips her straight auburn hair over one shoulder.
I sigh and decide to move on. I check my watch and see that it’s almost a quarter after.
“Where’s Marianne?” I ask.
Marianne is always late to just about everything, which I would normally hate, but Marianne manages to get me to forgive her every time.
Just then, Marianne appears in the doorway of the bar. She’s carrying a guitar, a huge canvas tote bag, and a fake bust of what appears to be Augustus Caesar.
“Hello, dear companions!” Marianne calls.
Then she turns and gives the bartender her biggest smile. He shakes his head and starts to pour her a beer. We’re all regulars, but Marianne is the one who has all the bartenders wrapped around her finger.
That’s the thing about Marianne. She shows up late, but she always shows up in style.
When she finally settles down next to me, Beatrice nods at the items.
“Do we even wanna know about the bust?” Beatrice asks.
“It’s for a play I’m in,” Marianne says. “Obviously.”
During the day, Marianne is a barista at a coffee shop, but her true calling is singing and performing. I don’t know how she finds the energy to do all the shows and gigs she does, but we show up to as many as we can.
“But obviously Zoe gets to talk first,” Marianne says. “Since she called the emergency meeting.”
It’s a rule we have. Whenever one of us is in need, we can call an emergency meeting. That means we all show up and the first order of business is about whoever called the meeting.
We had to limit the number of emergencies you can declare to three per month after Marianne had a rough exam week in college (Chemistry was the bane of her existence, plus she had major boy troubles) and called 10 emergency meetings in 3 days.
I take a breath and dive in. Ten minutes later, I’ve filled my friends in on the whole situation with Meyers and Blunt and the odious Michael Barnes.
When I’m done, I look up at my friends. They are all nodding in commiseration. They may not understand the consulting world, and they may not get my passion for my job, but they will always sympathize with me. To be honest, I don’t need them to give advice, sometimes I just need them to listen. Which they always do.
“Look, you could probably squash this guy with the blink of an eye,” Marianne says. “He's a total scum and not worthy to lick your expensive-ass shoes.”
I smile at her in gratitude. Marianne has a tendency to be dramatic, but her pep talks always hit the spot.
“Agreed,” Elena says. “If you just keep doing good work, I’m sure you’ll get the client. And if not this one, the next one that comes along.”
Elena would be eaten alive by the consulting world with her “just have a good attitude” mantras, but I love every time she tries to inject some measured gentleness into my life.
I look at Beatrice. Her cutthroat sales job is the most similar to mine, and she’s often come up with good strategic advice in times like this. She’s also dreamt up wild schemes that involve sending prank emails to my rivals to mess with their heads, but about half the time, her advice is legitimate. I’m hoping she comes up with something good tonight.
“I still think he’s hot,” Beatrice says.
I scoff and lean back against my seat.
“You are banned from talking,” I say. “His looks have nothing to do with it.”
“Wait, lemme see a pic,” Marianne says.
“No,” I say.
“I would like to see him too,” Elena says.
Despite myself, I have to smile. As a group, we’re not boy-crazy, but we do like to matchmake for each other. None of us have been particularly lucky in love, but hey, that just makes us even tighter as friends. They’ll eventually understand that Michael Barnes is in no way a viable romantic option for me or anyone. For a multitude of reasons. The first and foremost being that I despise him.
I pull out my phone to pull up the old picture from the retreat. We were on a boat out on Lake Michigan over the summer. It’s a group photo, and I will admit that Michael looks good with a beer in hand and the sparkling water as a backdrop. Something about how his face looks like when he’s squinting good-naturedly into the sun. Only he’s not good-natured. He only looks at it. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
The girls examine his photo and all agree that he is quite handsome.
“There is something devious in his eyes,” Marianne says. “He has to be wicked if he hates you so much.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s total scum and all the other things Marianne said,” Elena adds.
“Thanks, you guys,” I say. “I just needed to vent, I feel much better now.”
And it’s true. I always get rejuvenated after seeing my friends. Now I’m ready to go home and map out at least five plans, all titled Operation Take Down Michael Barnes.
“Alright, should I grab Round 2?” Beatrice asks.
“Of course,” Marianne says.
Beatrice heads to the bar to order more drinks, and we all lean in to continue our discussion.
And I know that I’m exactly where I need to be.
3
I get to the office bright and early and sit down at my desk with a piping hot cup of coffee. I managed to wake up for an early morning kickboxing class despite having one too many drinks with the girls the night before, so I am feeling fresh and ready to go.
Operation Take Do
wn Michael Barnes has been fully fleshed out. A quick google-search confirmed that some of the head honchos over at the Meyers and Blunt Media Group are women. That means, whoever gets to consult with them will be dealing with females. I am a female.
It’s a dumb argument, but Nick will like it. Hopefully.
If not, I have about five more arguments lined up. All I have to do is prep and research all morning, then I’ll go to his office right at lunch and launch my full-scale attack.
I’m not going to come out and say that Michael Barnes is absolutely no-a-shadow-of-a-doubt wrong for the job, but I’ll make some sly comments about how jokesters won’t be appreciated on this one. If I blatantly attack Michael, Nick won’t be happy. He’s always yammering about how we’re a team.
Yeah right. If I wanted to be part of a team, I would have worked for a non-profit. There’s a reason we’re all in the consulting business. And it’s because we’re not team players.
Anyway, I’ll have time to sing the Team Player song once I’ve been promoted to a leadership position and I’m in charge of a bunch of desperate underlings.
When it’s about time to swing by Nick’s office, I stand up and survey my outfit.
I’m happy to say that I’ve outdone myself. I put on my three inch heels to give some extra height to my 5’5” frame. I’m still dwarfed by most of the guys in the office, but the heels make me feel a bit more powerful. I’ve paired a plaid high-waisted skirt with a cropped matching blazer. Every hair of my shoulder-length bob is in place. I look classic and modern all at once. I look like the woman who knows what she’s doing. I look like Jackie Kennedy if Jackie had left her cheating husband and gotten her MBA instead.
In short, I’m the obvious choice for a challenging job that requires a touch of style and flair.
I did some shadow-boxing to pump myself up and then headed out the door. I cut a straight path towards Nick’s corner office.
Michael Barnes was going to eat my dust. He was going to be road kill. He was going to curse my name. Once I was done with Nick, Michael was going to...be right in front me.
He’s right in front of me, heading towards Nick’s office.
Damn it.
The little vulture.
How on earth did he come up with the same plan as me? No one comes up with Zoe Hamilton Plans except me, Zoe Hamilton.
I speed up so I’m even with Michael. If he’s going to enter that office, I’m not going to be a step behind.
“Good morning, Zo,” Michael says.
I sneer at him. No one calls me “Zo.” Michael just decides to shorten everyone’s name.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice injected with a sickeningly sweet tone.
“Just swinging by Nick’s office to pitch yourself 10 different ways?” Michael asks, as if he was inquiring about the weather.
I stumble a bit. I’m surprised he knows my techniques so well.
“And are you just swinging by his office to talk about beer and hot chicks?” I say.
Nice recovery.
“Well now that you mention it, there was this party last weekend,” Michael says.
I ignore him and reach for Nick’s door. I give Michael a satisfied smile as I rap on the door. Not that Nick will know who knocked when he sees both of us, but it makes me feel better at least.
I am aware that I can be extremely petty.
It’s fine. If I have to make my arguments in front of Michael (who I’m happy to note is wearing a shirt that’s not even fully tucked in) then all the better.
Nick pulls the door wide and greets us both with a wide smile. I frown. It’s almost as if he was expecting us.
“Good to see you two,” Nick says. “Just the people I was looking for.”
I glance at Michael with my eyes narrowed. I don’t know why, but I feel he is to blame for Nick’s strange reaction.
“Come in, come in,” Nick says. “Sit down.”
We both settle into chairs across from Nick’s desk as he returns to his own seat.
I decide that I do not like the way he is smiling at us.
“Well, well,” Nick says. “My two favorite employees.”
I try not to roll my eyes. Nick calls everyone his favorite employees. Even if he is in the process of firing them.
God, I hope he’s not about to fire me.
No, that would be absurd. I need to get a hold of myself.
“I just thought I’d swing by,” Michael says.
The bastard is as smooth as butter. I paste my prettiest smile on my face.
“Yes, Nick, I was taking a turn about the office and thought I’d stop in,” I say.
A turn about the office? Who am I? I sound ridiculous, but there’s nothing I can do since Michael stole my “swinging by” line.
“Wonderful,” Nick says.
He reaches over and taps his desk with his finger. It’s a nice mahogany desk. the kind I want once I get my dream position (before I’m 30 if all goes according to plan).
“Now, I’m sure you both know we’ve landed a big one,” Nick says. “Meyers and Blunt Media Group. Streaming services. Very high profile. Very high tech.”
I glance at my hands to hide my expression. I doubt Nick even knows how to log into his Netflix.
“Yes, sir,” Michael says. “It’s an ideal client.”
My mind goes haywire as I try to think of something to say to cut Michael off before he explains how he is perfect for the job.
Nick beats me to it though.
“Exactly,” Nick says. “And I’ve been meditating over the values of teamwork of late.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. NIck is always talking about his “meditations,” which I’m pretty sure is just code for random ideas he has in the shower.
I glance at Michael and have a strong urge to laugh when I see that he actually is rolling his eyes. I push the giggle down before it escapes my mouth.
“And I’ve decided this needs to be tag-teamed,” Nick says.
“Oh?” I say.
I try to keep my face calm as my heart begins to sink. Nick can’t be saying what I think he’s saying.
“Yes, it’s too big to trust just one person,” Nick says.
“But with one person you can rely on, it could work,” I say. “You need to control the controllables on this one.”
I’m proud of myself. Being always in control is one of my top qualities. I can feel Michael’s glare on me so I know he feels himself slipping behind.
“Very wise, Zoe, very wise,” Nick says.
“Of course you need that person to be dynamic as well,” Michael says. “Someone who can think of their feet and adapt.”
I want to throw a chair at him. I hate the word “dynamic.” It’s just a wishy-washy word that people use when they don’t have a good reason, they just like someone else more than you. Of course Michael thinks of himself as dynamic.
And I detest his implications. Yes, I like to plan, but I can still think on my feet. Case in point with this whole fiasco of a meeting with Nick.
“Very true,” Nick says. “Which is why I’m so happy with my choice.”
Both Michael and I lean forward, ever so slightly. Underneath our veneers of composure, we’re both two desperate fools. I know before Nick even speaks that I’m not going to be happy with his declaration.
“I need a team,” Nick says. “And it’s got to be the two of you.”
For a second, there’s a dead silence.
“The both of us?” I say. “Together.”
I turn to Michael, and to my fury, he’s smirking. Of course he thinks this is funny. I know he wanted it for himself, but now his consolation prize is that he gets to drive me insane. He probably thinks that if he pushes me far enough, I’ll quit and then he can have me out of the way.
Joke’s on him. I’ll never quit, no matter how abysmal this assignment may be.
“Yes!” Nick says. “You’ll make a perfect team!”
I think Nick’s
definition of “perfect” needs serious revision, but I manage to bite my tongue and force a smile.
“Great,” I say.
“Yes,” Michael says. “I think this will be wonderful.”
Nick leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. All my carefully laid plans come tumbling down at my feet.
It’s alright. At least I’m on the assignment. I’ll just have to come up with a dozen more plans on how to crush this project while also dealing with Michael.
“You both fly to New York on Thursday,” Nick says. “You’ll meet with their New York branch there, and then come back here to draft up a plan for the merger.”
We both nod. Consultants typically travel a lot for assignments, especially with mergers. Some people find it exhausting, but I enjoy hopping over to another city to get a fresh perspective. I’ve got my packing routine down to a T.
I glance over at Michael again. He’s wearing that goofy grin, as if this is the best news he’s heard all week. He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that.
“Great,” I say. “I’ll start researching now.”
“Classic Zoe,” Michael says.
We both stand up. My face hurts from fake-smiling.
“Dream team!” Nick shouts as we exit the office.
As soon as the door is closed, I take off speed-walking back to my desk. Michael jogs to catch up.
“Hey, we should start planning for New York,” he says.
“I’m on it,” I say.
“Of course,” he says.
He flashes me another big smile, and I want to slap it off his face.
This was supposed to be my client. My big job. My chance to prove myself.
“Just send me what you come up with so I can weigh in,” he says.
I shake my head and raise my brows.
“You can feel free to weigh in,” I say.
I have zero intention of taking any of his input, but he can come up with some thoughts if it makes him feel good.
“Hey,” Michael says.
I stop right outside my office and look at him.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he says. “But I think this could be a success if we work well together.”
He’s doing his thing with me. The Michael Barnes Thing where he’s nice and charming and sweet to everyone so they all think he’s amazing and do whatever he says. I’ve seen him do it to tons of clients and colleagues.