Carefully considering my words, I took a long sip to delay the inevitable. “Nana, I don’t talk about my love life because I don’t have a love life. I’m happy that way.”
“No one is happy alone, dear.”
Oh, this conversation. We hadn’t had it in a while, but I knew the lines. I could recite the words in my sleep, even doing voices for Nana and Mom. If game-making didn’t pan out, I could write a one-woman show and take it on the road.
“I’m not alone.” I took a large bite before I continued. “I have you and my wonderful friends and a good job and a burgeoning business that needs a lot of tending. Even if I wanted to go on dates with strangers—which I very much do not—I wouldn’t have the time. Anyway, I hate to eat and run, but I have to be at work early this morning.”
“Uh-huh. You’re avoiding the conversation. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know.”
After wolfing down a few more bites, I said, “I would never imply that you’re anything less than brilliant. We’ve got an all-staff meeting first thing this morning. Sounds like a big announcement coming.”
Instantly, she grew serious. “A big raise for everyone?”
“I doubt it. That’s done on a case-by-case basis, not at an office-wide party.”
“I figured, but it was the best news I could think of,” she said. “My only other guess is layoffs.”
“Let’s hope not.” As I rose, I stuffed the last few bites of pancake into my mouth before carrying my dishes into the kitchen.
“I’ll send you positive thoughts,” Nana said. “Best of luck.”
Chapter 3
“People say never to discuss religion or politics. I say that’s hogwash. If I meet someone with the poor sense to dislike Justin Trudeau, I want to know right away.” —Nana
Although I’d spent more time than intended at Nana’s after encountering Michael, I made it to work with a couple of minutes to spare. I still had no idea why this meeting in particular was mandatory, but it made me worry that Nana was right. Maybe layoffs loomed on the horizon. Mandatory meetings usually affected everyone. Losing my paycheck wasn’t what I needed to be worrying about when I didn’t have any rental income and I needed my savings to launch my own business.
At least Nana’s early morning surprise gave me something else to think about while waiting for the meeting to start. About half of my coworkers sat inside the conference room. On my way to snag a seat, my phone chimed with a text from my “work husband.”
Ryan: Stopping at Dunkin’s. You need anything?
Me: You’re going to be late.
Ryan: They can’t fire me. I’m the only non-white employee. For that matter, they can’t fire you, either, Token Female.
Me: I’m not the only female. What about Megan?
Ryan: Boss’s daughter doesn’t count. Want to skip the meeting and gossip?
I’d love to, but avoiding unpleasant work events wasn’t my style. If I only attended stuff I enjoyed, I’d miss out on all the networking and half the staff meetings. Besides, if my boss wanted everyone at the meeting, he must be announcing something big. No one’s job was safe. Not even the almost–Token Girl or the Asian, despite the fact that we also comprised the entire LGBT+ section of the workforce. Not that we were dumb enough to talk about our personal lives to the alpha males prowling around. Our silence and friendship led to much speculation about the two of us, but that beat letting them know the truth.
Speaking of, the worst of the pack bumped into me right when I finished texting my order back to Ryan and putting my phone away. No way it was an accident.
“Sorry, Shannon,” Dennis said with zero sincerity. “I didn’t see you standing there blocking the door so no one else could get to the meeting.”
“Then maybe you should get your eyes checked.” At nearly six feet tall, wearing my trademark high heels, I was hard to miss. Not to mention my ample curves and full lavender skirt. “The other door is open.”
Still not moving, I pulled out my lipstick and reapplied it, my eyes never leaving Dennis’s face. He could walk to the other entrance five feet away if he needed to get to the meeting so badly. Once upon a time, I’d have apologized and moved out of the way. After all, that was common courtesy. But Dennis used to walk all over me when I started, shoving me out of the way, brushing just a little too close. Nothing I could prove was harassment, but uncomfortable all the same. I quickly learned to stand up for myself.
A high-pitched voice invaded our standoff. “Shannon! Was that you I saw on my way out of Game On! last night?”
Ugh. Megan. She’d gotten the job by being Daddy’s Little Sweetheart and not through actual creativity, qualifications, or even team spirit. She pretended to be sweet as pie, but her smile didn’t meet her eyes. Ever since we met, she rubbed me the wrong way. On top of that, I didn’t have a clue what she did for the company.
Warily, I said, “Yeah. It’s a great store. I didn’t know you were familiar with it.”
“Sometimes I stop in at the local stores to see how our stock looks on our shelves,” she said. Maybe she did something related to marketing? “I’m glad to see you walking so far from home. It’s good to exercise whenever you can.”
There it was. Not even an original insult this time. Commenting on my weight was so easy. You’d think she’d use a bit of imagination, as someone who made children’s games. But again, creativity wasn’t her strong suit.
I knew better than to exchange barbs with her. Instead, I took a page from her book. “Yes, I love getting out to walk. Unfortunately, since I actually work around here, I don’t have much free time.”
Before she could respond, I entered the conference room, hoping to snag two empty chairs for me and Ryan.
No such luck. There were two empty seats together when I walked through the doorway, as well as a couple of others scattered around the table. But as I stopped to survey the room and say good morning to some of the guys who worked in the toys division, Dennis swept by me, plopping into the left seat of the empty pair. Megan went to the front as usual, sitting at Daddy’s right hand. Meaning I got to choose between sitting next to my least favorite person on the staff or throw the man currently buying me tea and donuts to the wolves instead.
It was an easy decision. Dennis was the worst on so many levels. He was also a total brownnoser and wouldn’t talk once the meeting started. A few more minutes hanging out by the door, and I could manage him.
A moment later, Jameson entered the room to start the meeting. We were largely an informal lot. We called everyone, including the boss, by first names. Most of the guys wore jeans or shorts to work. Even Jameson showed up in khakis and polo shirts, a couple of days’ worth of scruff on his artificially tanned face, his long gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Our main office area was a vast open space, with the game makers on one side, the toy designers on the other, and the testing area in the middle. Jameson encouraged employees to bring their own kids in on Fridays to test the products. Most of the staff was fairly young and childless, but it was fun when someone showed up to play. I’d brought in my friends’ kids before, and they always had a blast.
Unlike a lot of employers, my boss had no problem with us working on our own projects on the side, as long as we didn’t use company time or resources or make competing products. No issue there. The company made toys and games for little kids. My games were designed with adults in mind, although anyone over twelve could play and enjoy. The two of us had virtually no overlap in our customer base.
At the front of the room, my boss cleared his throat, and I realized I’d been spacing out while everyone waited to start the meeting. Putting my head down, I scurried to my seat, unfortunately still beside Dennis.
“Too busy mooning over some guy to pay attention?” he whispered. “Who is he?”
“Your dad,” I shot back, louder than intended.
&
nbsp; “What was that?” Jameson asked from the front of the room. “Shannon, did you have something to say?”
The floor refused to open up and swallow me. This morning was a disaster, and it wasn’t even 8:15 yet. I scrambled for something to say. “I was just telling Dennis that I think fathers especially will love this new game I’m working on.”
“Excellent idea! So much marketing targets mothers these days. I can’t wait to hear the details after the meeting.”
Saved, for now. I just needed to come up with a new project to discuss before he asked for more information. Thankfully, he launched into the past month’s numbers and current quarterly projections, taking the attention off me. Unfortunately, the data looked as bad as expected. When Toys “R” Us shut down, we’d hoped to open up a couple of local retail shops to keep our stock in the public eye. But we still couldn’t compete with the big companies like Melissa & Doug. We made great toys, high-quality stuff… but quality didn’t come cheap. In a society where people rented out their own homes while sleeping on a friend’s couch to pay their mortgage, not a ton of people wanted to pay for premium toys anymore. Everyone wanted to buy cheap garbage from Amazon. The entire company was in more trouble than I thought.
By the time Ryan swept in, plopping my order in front of me on his way to his seat, the sight of the donut turned my stomach. Shoving it aside, I sipped my tea and let the warm liquid soothe me.
“So, I know what you’re all thinking,” Jameson said. “What does this mean for me?”
Around the table, heads bobbed.
“I’m an old man,” he continued. “I’ve been in this business for a long time, but I’m ready to give up Boston winters and move south to work on my golf game. After a lot of consideration, I’ve accepted a buyout offer from Board Game Giants, Inc.”
A buyout? Buyouts could be good or bad. It could mean severance packages or a new influx of cash, new management, new life. Maybe even a new, better working culture. My entire body perked up at the possibility. It would be amazing not to dread seeing my coworkers every day. I wasn’t even hoping to become friends with most of them. Simply being able to make pleasant small talk while we worked together would be huge.
“This office will remain open. Sometime in the next month or so, you’ll meet their head of Human Resources. When the merger is complete, we’ll be hiring an executive game designer, someone to oversee everything within this office. This is a difficult decision for me. It’s hard to admit that someone else can do your job as well as you can, but I know we’ve got the best person for the job right here.”
Best person to do the job…. or best man? His eyes traveled around the table, lingering on each of us. Could he actually pick me? I worked harder than anyone, had been a loyal employee for more than four years now. Two of my projects won the coveted Mensa Select seal for games that placed in the top five at their annual competition. A third was named “Recommended by American Mensa,” essentially a runner-up. No one else possessed my track record.
Unlike most of the other employees, I had a master’s degree. Ryan and I were often the last two to leave the office at night. A lot of others used this company as a stepping-stone, a way of paying the bills until they springboarded to a place with more prestige, more pay. Not me. I loved the location, I loved the freedom to work on my own projects… and some of the bigger companies had even more toxic cultures. Sure, we had jerks like Dennis, but Jameson kept everyone in line most of the time. I’d never told him how obnoxious things could get.
My eyes met Ryan’s. He looked as excited as I felt. Maybe things were starting to look up. Then Megan let out a little cough, and my spirits sank. She sat up straight, a smug smile on her lips. It couldn’t be more clear who was going to replace my boss.
At the front of the room, Jameson raised his hands to get everyone’s attention. “This is a hugely important decision, and one not to be taken lightly. We’ll start interviewing at the end of the week. Meanwhile, I invite everyone who is interested to submit an application, along with their best new game idea. May the best game designer win.”
Megan’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. No one else seemed to notice.
On the other hand, I felt a rush of excitement. Applying for a promotion hadn’t occurred to me because Jameson seemed the sort of ageless, full-of-energy type who would never retire, and we’d never had multiple levels of game makers here. But now, his offer was a brass ring dangling in front of me. More than anything, I wanted to grab it.
* * * *
After the meeting, Jameson swung by my desk. “Hey. What are you working on?”
My mouth went dry. In this open-office environment, I couldn’t admit that I’d lied. Everyone would know in about ninety seconds. Hoping to stall, I reached for my tea. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Dennis smirking at me from his desk. No, I’d never admit the truth.
Pretending to misunderstand, I gave an update on my existing projects, all of which had placeholder names until the marketing department finalized the covers. “Project Match is close to done. My friend’s nephew will be here on Friday to test it as part of a focus group.”
“Sounds good. What else?”
Megan joined Dennis at his desk. Ignoring their scrutiny, I said, “I’ll spend most of next week making tweaks based on their feedback. Then I’ve got the art department doing some preliminary sketches for Project Poop.”
Jameson chuckled, shaking his head. “Love that name.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, it’s a game about avoiding stepping in pig manure, so it applies. I’m working on the rules while I wait. Once you approve everything, we should be able to schedule a focus group for that, too. Hopefully early next month.”
“Excellent,” Jameson said. “So what’s the new project you mentioned in the meeting? One for dads?”
Not a clue. My non-work time had been dedicated to finding a roommate and trying to resolve the problem of my speakeasy game, which I couldn’t exactly pitch as appropriate for five-year-olds. Again, my tea bought me a couple of seconds.
Megan nudged Dennis, and a wave of loathing swept over me. I would tell Jameson literally anything to avoid letting those two see me embarrassed in front of him. Not when my worst idea was ten times better than anything either of them came up with. The last game Dennis suggested was essentially Old Maid with different pictures on the cards.
Their derision lit a fire under me. I sat up, ramrod-straight, and met Jameson’s eyes squarely. When I spoke, my words projected across the room, as intended. “I’m really excited about this new game, but I have to get a few more ducks in a row before I go into detail. Why don’t I tell you about it when I interview for the executive game designer position?”
He blinked at me, as if surprised to hear me contradict him. For the first time, I wondered if going out of my way to generally be nice to everyone was holding me back at work. Well, no more. “That sounds great. If you can get me your résumé by the end of the week, we’ll talk.”
“Perfect. I can’t wait.”
As Jameson returned to his office, I turned and glared straight at Megan and Dennis. They both looked a little shell-shocked. Never would it have occurred to anyone that the office mouse might one day wake up and grow a backbone.
My computer beeped with an internal message, breaking our staring contest.
Ryan: Executive game designer? You go, girl! Just remember who brings you donuts when you’re a bigwig.
Me: Haha. As long as it doesn’t go to Dennis, I’m happy. He couldn’t design his way out of a paper bag.
A second message dinged, covering the first. I clicked it open, only mildly surprised to see the source. In the two years he’d been working here, I don’t think Dennis had ever sent me a message. We rarely worked on the same projects, and when we did, our communication occurred in person or via email, not the messaging system.
Dennis: You think you can steal my job?
Me: It’s not your job yet.
Dennis: It will be when I tell Jameson you’re lying about your new game idea.
A chill went down my spine. He was, of course, exactly the type to sabotage his competitors rather than beat them fairly. But I had a couple dozen game ideas in various stages of readiness sitting in a doc on my computer. Any one of them should be good enough to pacify Jameson.
Me: Whatever. Bring it.
Chapter 4
“Never let them see you sweat, unless you’re exercising. Then sweat all over them if they get too close.” —Nana
During my lunch break, I found five more emails replying to my Craigslist ad. The first insisted on bringing her imported pet monkey, which I was pretty sure wasn’t legal. Also, my ad clearly stated no pets because of my allergies. The second person used seven sexual innuendos in a one-paragraph email. Two scam artists wanted to send me a cashier’s check for a thousand dollars over the security deposit, so I could cash it and wire them the difference. Something about my ad apparently labeled me a sucker. The first person got a polite reply; the other messages went straight to the trash.
I was about to give up when I read a message that sounded promising. A local female, twenty-five years old, no smoking, drugs, or pets. She had a good job, seemed nice enough, and didn’t make any requests that scared me. Immediately, I replied to ask if she was free to view the place after work.
My roommate prospects seemed to be dwindling, so I crossed my fingers for a good match. I appreciated Tyler’s offer, but preferred not to live with a cishet man. Ryan would be my ideal roommate, truthfully, if he didn’t live with his extremely allergenic beagle, Zoe.
Speaking of Tyler, I found an email from him after I sent my reply about the apartment. I hesitated for a moment at seeing his name before moving to the subject line and realizing this message had nothing to do with the apartment.
Make Your Move Page 3