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I skid to the bathroom after I finish chatting with Serena. In spite of my reassurances to Fiona that my boss's return doesn't make me nervous, I must admit I'm not feeling exactly at ease as I apply a very light blush on my cheeks at six thirty in the morning. I choose to dress in the most boring clothes I can find, hoping to offset the impression I made during the interview. The dress I was wearing that day, while not in the slightest sexy, was beach-appropriate at most. Hopefully seeing me in this black suit, with a knee-length skirt and a very conservative jacket, will erase that memory from his mind forever. It's the image of the professional Jess I want him to remember. As I study my appearance in the mirror, I debate whether I should apply some eyeliner. I decide against it. Not because I think it would look unprofessional, but I've only had one cup of coffee until now. And trying to apply eyeliner this early without having at least two cups beforehand will most certainly result in poking myself in the eye. I comb my hair, thinking of twisting it in a bun, then decide to let it fall freely over my shoulders. I have high cheekbones I’ve never been fond of, and wearing my hair up makes them seem more prominent. I apply a delicate shade of eye shadow that goes well with my blue eyes and pale, almost translucent skin. While I ride the subway on my way to work, the woman sitting opposite me reads the newspaper. On the front page is the picture of some local celebrity couple busted having sex in a public place. On a whim, I take a snapshot of the newspaper and text it to Parker. My cell phone vibrates a few seconds later.
Parker: We're smarter than this, you and I.
My stomach jolts as I read the last part again and again. You and I.
Fiona is at her desk when I arrive at work, waving at me impatiently.
"Mr. Norton is here already," she whispers.
I gulp. "Why are you whispering?"
"He's not in a good mood," she says, and gives me a thumbs-up as I go to my desk, which is much closer to Mr. Norton's office. I can barely concentrate on my tasks all morning, though Mr. Norton doesn't come out of his office once. He barks orders at Fiona, who is close to tears every time she leaves his office. Fiona promised she would slip in a few good words about me, letting him know what a good job I've been doing these past two months, but I'm pretty sure this is the last thing on her mind right now. Mr. Norton doesn't call me in at all. I wonder if he forgot altogether that he hired me. He doesn't sound at all like the polite and charming man who interviewed me. I congratulate myself again on the choice of my suit. Matches perfectly the grim atmosphere in the office and the mood of my boss from hell.
Fiona sends me an email to meet her in front of the building for lunch. I think she's avoiding coming anywhere near my desk out of fear Mr. Norton will sense she's here and find a reason to make her miserable again. She suggests we go to our usual restaurant, a rather shady Chinese place located a few blocks away. She tried to convince me to make a restaurant serving traditional food—where she often went with my predecessor—our usual place, but my love for all things British does not include their food.
We come back forty minutes later. Over lunch, she told me that Mr. Norton's wife is leaving him, which is probably why he's acting like a first-class asshole, though she didn't look less miserable for it. But I pride myself in successfully having improved Fiona's mood. She's beaming ear to ear as we enter the office.
Until we see Mr. Norton.
He's standing in front of my office door, red with anger and clutching a familiar report in his hand.
"I hope you don't have any plans for tonight, Fiona. This piece of crap—because I can't call it a report—needs redoing from scratch."
I step in front of Fiona. "I put the report together."
"I should've known, Ms. Haydn," he says dismissively. "It looks like a third-grader made it."
I take a deep breath, clenching my fists. I worked many long hours to make that report about more efficiently managing the temporary collections we bring from other museums, and Fiona approved it. I open my mouth, but Fiona cuts in, probably sensing that I wasn't about to answer very submissively. "We'll revise it immediately."
"No, Jessica will do it." Then he turns to me and adds, "Don’t make me regret that I took a chance on you.”
Chapter Seven
Parker
"If I may say so, Mr. Blakesley, the measures you are proposing are extremely drastic."
I watch the older man coolly as he paces in front of my desk. He's been on the advisory board of this company since my father was running it. It's a miracle my brother kept him after he became CEO. He made sure to fill the other seats on the advisory board with imbeciles. Which is why I only kept him around after I took over.
Right now I'm doubting that decision.
"I didn't ask you to come to my office for your opinion,” I say, “but to carry out my orders."
"What you are suggesting is a prime example of the proverbial heads will fall, Parker."
The subtle use of my first name doesn't escape me. "Then heads will fall. This is my final word." The man doesn't budge. "My brother and the fools he called his advisors drove this company to the ground with their moronic decisions. It will take equally drastic measures to restore it. Do you disagree, Donald?"
The man purses his lips, pushing his thick spectacles up his nose. He doesn't say anything for a long time.
"I don't disagree," he says eventually, "but I was hoping I wouldn't get to be in the company anymore when the time for those measures came."
My hands stiffen on my desk. "You want to quit?"
"I appreciate that you trusted me enough to keep me as an advisor, but—”
"But the ship is sinking, and you have decided not to sink with it?" I demand.
"You are a young man, Parker; I don't expect you to understand me."
