Working With The Enemy

by Raquel Belle

  “Hey, that’s no cause for embarrassment,” Amanda sits down next to me on the couch and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You did nothing wrong. It does sound like it was an amazing night… And I’ve suspected for awhile now that he’s still hot for you… So I don’t get why he…” she waves her hand in the general direction of our phones, lying on the table, before concluding, “posted that garbage.”

  “I confronted him this morning when I saw it. He said he was happy and in the moment or something,” I pause, trying to remember what he’d said. “That he’s always been crazy about me and wanted everyone to know. I think he assumed we were getting back together.”

  “Well, he sure picked a hell of a way to tell the whole world about it,” Amanda responds.

  “Yeah. He said he wanted to tell everyone he ‘fucking adores’ me. I don’t know,” I conclude miserably. “He had definitely had some drinks last night, too, so I guess that was part of it.”

  “Mm, mm,” Amanda clicks her tongue lightly. “Social media and alcohol can be a dangerous combination.

  “Apparently,” I sigh.

  “He has deleted the picture,” Amanda says, trying to cheer me up.

  “Good. I told him to, this morning, when I was shouting at him.”

  “Oh boy, I’d have loved to see that,” she grins.

  “At least @LuxeOnLex is back up and running,” I mumble.

  “Yeah and I hate to say it but you actually got quite some traction off Jake’s stupid post. You’re up 500 fresh followers already.”

  “Good. One step closer to getting my promotion and giving him the boot from P&B.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she gives me a hug. “Now, what can we do to definitively put you ahead of him? What power moves can we make?”

  “I don’t know but I don’t want to do anything shady,” I tell her.

  She shoots me a surprised look. “Even after last night?”

  “No,” I’m firm. “Playing dirty has only backfired so far. If I’m going to win this, it won’t be because of lame tricks. I’m going to win because I’m amazing at my job.”

  “You are amazing at your job. So what’s the solution?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I smile ruefully.

  “Okay, then how about some inspirational tunes. Mind if I put on some pick-me-up music? We could both use a mood booster.”

  “Go for it.”

  Amanda gets off the couch and hooks her phone up to my speakers. Seconds later, Kesha’s song “Woman” comes blasting into the living room. I sit back in the couch, half listening to the lyrics, half thinking, as Amanda shimmies around the room:

  “I'm a motherfucking woman, baby, alright; I don't need a man to be holding me too tight...”

  Amanda turns to me, goofily miming along to the words: “I buy my own things, I pay my own bills. These diamond rings, my automobiles.”

  “Amanda, stop!” I start laughing as she pretends to drive an invisible car across the room. I know she’s being silly just to try to cheer me up.

  Wait a minute.

  “YOU’RE A GENIUS, AMANDA!” I shout it out above the music.

  “I know!” She shoots back, smiling. “But why?”

  “That’s what will get me the promotion.”

  “What?”

  “A flash mob. A girl power flash mob.”

  She stops her dancing and stares at me: “Brilliant! Those always go viral. You’ll get loads of new followers and tons of engagement off of it.”

  “Absolutely. It will attract more than enough people to @LuxeOnLex so that I can definitively clinch the competition.”

  “And get the promotion you deserve,” Amanda says excitedly.

  “Plus,” I gesture towards the stereo speakers, which are still blasting music, “If I use this song, it’s the perfect public message to Jake.”

  “One that everyone on Instagram will see,” Amanda picks up on my line of thought.

  “And everyone at P&B,” I add excitedly.

  “You don’t need a man holding you tight.” She drives the point home, singing in unison with the song.

  “Exactly.” I smile. “And definitely not a man like Jake Baker.” Shit. This is perfect.

  Chapter 12

  Jake

  Of all the things Sarah said to me — well, technically she shouted them at me — on Saturday morning, there’s one that stings the most: I can’t believe I was just thinking that maybe we stood a chance. A second chance. One that I’ve now effectively blown. Now I’m haunted by the fact that she was actually considering it — until that moment.

  After Friday night, I was sure we would get back together. When I woke up that morning and found her in my apartment, it just felt right. And now I have no doubt that she felt the same way, was thinking the same thing. That is, until she saw that stupid Instagram post. What the hell was I thinking?

  In my happy beer-buzzed state, I posted a picture that completely ruined my future chance at happiness with the perfect girl. Perfect woman. Perfect for me. I basically screwed myself in less than one minute. That’s how long it took to do the deed. Good going, Jake.

  I spent the rest of the weekend trying to reach her, wanting to apologize. I called and texted until she blocked me. Of course I took down the photo immediately. The damage was done though: There were already loads of comments, some congratulating us as a new couple, others bitching about how I was off the market, or Sarah was off the market, or how we both sucked and deserved each other. The snarky social media machine works quickly.

  Sarah said she never wanted to speak to me again and she seems intent on sticking to her resolution — but I can’t give up just yet. In any case, some apology flowers are due, whether it leads to a change of heart on her side or not. I owe her that. On Monday morning, I get up early so I have time to stop by the florist before work. When I ask for one dozen red roses, the florist shoots me a suspicious look.

  “What did ya do, bud? Get caught with another lady?”

  “Nothing like that, but worse if you can believe it, looks like I hit a whole new level of stupid,” I tell him.

  “Well shit,” he says, grinning, “better make it two dozen then.”

  Maybe he’s right. I sigh. I get two-dozen red roses and make my first move: a public apology. If she won’t take my calls or answer my texts, maybe she’ll at least pay attention to social media. Plus, I want to make it clear to all the followers of @Jake_And_Pepper and @LuxeOnLex that I’m the one who screwed up. And that I know it.

  I post a photo of the roses with the caption “Apology flowers for being an asshole” and tag her account, wondering if she’ll actually look at it.

  As usual the follower comments are a mixed bag. Some people are clearly on team @LuxeOnLex and never want her to talk to me again: “Posting that pic on Friday was a dick move!”, “You shouldn’t brag about sleeping with a girl like that!”, “I bet your dick is tiny! She should have cut it off!”. That last one gets more likes than I’d care to admit.

  Others more or less seem to be on team “love” and are determined for the two of us to get together: “Ya’ll would have the best looking babies!”; “Aww, she should forgive you. I would with those roses!”; “I hope you guys reunite, sending prayers and hugs.”

  After I’ve posted the pic I stop by Starbucks and grab two huge lattes. Juggling the flowers and the coffees, I realize for a moment how ridiculous I’m going to look coming into work like this — especially because some of our P&B colleagues undoubtedly caught this past weekend’s drama. But I don’t care.

  The second I walk into the office I swear a hush comes over the room. Damn, I hate open floor plans. Whoever came up with the concept clearly never had to actually work in one themselves. I don’t bother looking at anyone else. Instead I march directly to Sarah’s desk, determined to get her to glance at me. She barely looks up from her computer as I approach.

  “Um, Sarah?”

  “I believe I asked you never to speak to me again, Mr. B
aker.”

  “I just wanted to apologize again for Friday… For being — ”

  “An idiot? Jackass? Asshole?”

  “Yeah. All of the above.” I place the roses carefully on her desk. She doesn’t even turn her head to look at them. “I brought you a coffee, if you want?” I gingerly hold the Starbucks cup towards her.

  “Why don’t you give that to Lydia,” she says, giving me a look of disdain. “I’m sure she’d be happy to get some attention from you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for the Monday meeting.”

  She stands up, picks up the roses, and dumps them into the trashcan next to her desk. Then she shoves past me and walks quickly into the meeting room. That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. But at least she talked to me? It’s hard to find the silver lining but I try.

  I turn to survey the office. Everyone is staring. Great. With a sigh, I dump the extra coffee into the trash on top of the roses. That’s 60 bucks down the drain. There’s nothing I can do now but put on a professional face and get through that meeting.

  The rest of the week continues in pretty much the same way. Sarah ices me out completely. She’s constantly with Amanda. They’re even spending their lunch breaks together adding to the @LuxeOnLex account. I’m still working to boost @Jake_And_Pepper’s followers but if I’m honest with myself, my heart isn’t in it anymore. It just doesn’t seem important.

  The same doesn’t seem to be true for Sarah. She seems more motivated than ever — something I didn’t even think was possible. Her account blows up as she continues to post all kinds of luxury shots: Her and a group of hot girls drinking fancy cocktails, a trip to Tiffany’s, a fancy spa day in fluffy white robes.

  But there’s more going on than the usual fake luxury life. Sarah is up to something big. She and Amanda book a private conference room just for the two of them multiple times throughout the week. They’re clearly hatching up some fresh scheme. I just hope it’s nothing nefarious designed to screw over my account. This might not be my best week but I’m not about to lose my job completely just because those two try to cheat again.

  There’s no point even trying to talk to Sarah but maybe Amanda will give me the time of day. On Thursday I corner her in the kitchenette:

  “Amanda, how are you?”

  “Are you seriously trying to make small talk with me, jerk? Sorry, I mean, Jake.” She grins.

  “Look, I know I was a dick. I’ve tried to apologize to Sarah like 100 times.”

  “Whatever. You deserve to be permanently cut off after that dirty move. Anyway, don’t expect me to help you get back in her good graces.”

  “No, I wanted to talk to you about a work thing actually.”

  “Oh!” She looks momentarily surprised.

  “I just noticed that you and Sarah seem to be planning something big. I can only assume it’s for the competition.”

  “Yeah…” She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.

  “I wanted to make sure it’s all above board, you know, that you’re playing by the rules. Because we’ve had enough disasters around this whole competition and Serena did say if there were any more antics, then — ”

  “Then all of our jobs would be on the line. Yes, I remember, I was in the same meeting as you,” she cuts me off with annoyance. “Look, I can tell you that it’s nothing controversial — nothing shady that will result in anybody getting fired. But it’s definitely going to give Sarah the boost she needs to kick your butt once and for all. See ya, Jake.” She strolls out casually, a smug smile on her face.

  What could they possibly be up to? Clearly I’m not going to get the goods from Amanda. I’ll have to try another tactic.

  Sarah’s desk is a true testament to her Type A personality. It’s completely orderly without a stray paper or coffee stain in sight. Amanda’s desk is another story. It looks like a small storm is always brewing above it.

  The next day when the terror twins are at lunch — along with pretty much everyone else in the office, making the most of one of New York City’s last warm fall days for the year — I make my move. Pretending to walk casually by Amanda’s desk, I instead pause next to it for a moment. I kneel as if I’m tying my shoe but as I stand up, I take a closer look at her desk.

  Got it. The notepad she always uses to scribble things down during every meeting is right there. I just have to take a quick peek… I look around quickly to make sure nobody is watching me and then rifle through the first few pages.

  Two words jump out at me, written in all caps: FLASH MOB. That’s it. That must be what they’re planning. It would explain why they need private conference rooms constantly. They’d have to coordinate some dance moves. They can’t do that in a restaurant on their lunch break or in the middle of the office.

  Damn it. It’s brilliant. A well-executed flash mob is sure to go viral. I hate to admit it but Sarah’s done it again. If it goes well, this could very well put her in front of @Jake_And_Pepper for good. But the big question is: Do I even care?

  Over the past week I’ve completely lost focus. All I can think about is getting Sarah to forgive me. If it came down to choosing between her and this promotion, I have no doubt what I’d pick. But that’s assuming she’d ever talk to me again. Which seems pretty unlikely at the moment.

  That Friday night, determined not to spend another disastrous evening at home getting drunk and watching Game of Thrones alone, I meet up with an old New York University contact, Roger. We weren’t really great friends in college — actually I remember this guy being sort of annoying — but I’m hoping a beer with him will distract me from the current disaster that is both my personal and professional life. Of course, the dude manages to make things worse.

  “Jake! Long time no see. Jesus, you look like hell,” he greets me warmly but with a little too much honesty.

  “Thanks man, good to see you too. New job, you know, I haven’t been sleeping much.” That last part is true — I’ve barely slept all week but it’s because I’ve been stressing about Sarah, not a new job.

  “How have things been? What brought you back to the big apple from Chicago? Fill me in, man!”

  I give Roger the basics, keeping it to the professional details. This long-lost college buddy doesn’t need to hear the sob story of my personal life. Plus, I don’t even want to think about Sarah tonight.

  “Woah, man, I knew you had enlisted when you skipped out on graduation — everyone was talking about it — but I had no clue you were injured! Well then, drinks are on me tonight, buddy. Thanks for your service.” He raises his beer to cheers me.

  “Thanks, Roger.”

  “And now you’re with Peter & Bowers, they’re huge! That’s great, good for you for getting a foot in the door there.” He gives me a congratulatory clap on the back. I forgot how patronizing this guy can be. He pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment before continuing: “Didn’t someone else from our class at New York University end up there?”

  Don’t say Sarah, don’t say Sarah, don’t say Sarah. I will him against it even though I know it’s pointless. Everybody in our class knew Sarah and heard about how she got one of the few coveted internship slots at P&B years ago.

  Sure enough: “Sarah Anderson!” He finally thinks of the name.

  “Yeah, she’s there too,” I acknowledge.

  “Well shit man, is that awkward? You two were hot and heavy back in college. Now you’re working with your ex?”

  “Nah, it’s okay actually.” I am not about to get into the whole mess with him. “It was a long time ago, right?”

  “Too bad, man, too bad. You two were the couple back in the days. I think everyone in our class was sure you two would end up together.”

  I shrug, trying to look casual. But on the inside I’m crumbling.

  “You know how things go,” I tell him, “sometimes people just drift apart.” It’s a complete and utter lie.

  After our recent reconnection, I’m more convinced than ever that Sarah and I are right for each other
. We just fit. Everyone else can see it. I can see it. She just doesn’t want to see it. And now she might never see it. All because I fucked up.

  Chapter 13

  Sarah

  “Okay, Sarah, I don’t want to be a bitch but we might need to reconsider this choreography if you’re just completely unable to even find the beat in the song.”

  “Ugh, I know. I have zero rhythm,” I collapse onto the floor of my living room in a sweaty mess, hating my two left feet. Why did I think this was a good idea?

  Creating a flash mob is a great idea in theory but it’s definitely not easy to execute the actual act. Especially if you are an uncoordinated klutz like me.

  “What if we feature you in the center of the group and I just stay behind the scenes and make the video?” I look up at Amanda, who is currently running through the steps we’ve come up with flawlessly in front of me. She’s a former cheerleader so she’s used to learning steps and could probably do the whole thing in her sleep.

  “No way. Your Insta followers already know what you look like and they want to see @LuxeOnLex in action, not a random friend of hers. Sorry, but you’re the star here, Sarah. Time to act like it.”

  “Fine,” I drag myself to my feet. “Let’s start from the beginning. I need some more practice or I’m seriously going to make a fool out of myself.”

  “Yeah and in front of over 30,000 followers,” Amanda grins.

  “Public humiliation at its finest.”

  For the last week, Amanda and I have been booking private meeting rooms in the office every day, planning dance steps to “Woman” by Kesha. Now we are spending a gorgeous fall Saturday inside my tiny apartment, making sure I’ve got every move just right. My living room looks like a small hurricane has passed through it, with furniture stacked up on the sides so we have enough room to move.

  The steps aren’t hugely complicated because, of course, it’s a flash mob — meaning we need a whole lot of people to learn this choreography quickly so they can join in on the big day. But my dancing abilities are… shitty. There’s no other word for it.