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“So, okay then,” he announces finally, no closer to getting the clue than he was when he showed up. “I will see you at 10:45 and we can walk over. Together.”
I nod affirmatively, then noticed that he hasn’t left yet, so I say, “See you then.”
And finally, thank God, he actually leaves.
Out of habit, my eyes flicker up when he is out of the room, only to catch a glimpse of Fred’s smug expression as he tracks Maxwell’s path. His implication is unmistakable: he thinks we’re sleeping together.
Or, more precisely: he thinks I slept with Maxwell to get this job.
Because of course he does.
But here is the thing that Fred doesn’t know: he’s going to be an Associate Broker—basically the dead-end position where they just hope you quit or die of old age—for the rest of his life. Fred is kind of an idiot. He is related to Lou’s wife’s painting instructor or something.
No matter what, I know that Fred will never get my job. I won. So there.
Being here and being furious has its ups and downs. On the one hand, I know that I came back in here like gangbusters. By some magical coincidence, Maxwell gave me the easiest, most organized files to work on. I did all of the legwork on these, months ago. So I already know what’s up. And somehow, Lou got wind of it also. The first three closings I did, Lou actually knew about them. He shook my hand when I got back, stopping me on my way to deliver the commission check to accounting. That never happened before.
I can do this, I tell myself as I focus on the papers. Even though stress seems to be eating me from the inside out, I have made some good moves. I deserve this job. I know it, and it is just a matter of time before they know it too.
My stomach grumbles dangerously and after checking my cell phone, I see that I still have an hour before we leave for our lunch meeting. Looks like coffee is going to have to tide me over until lunchtime. For a moment, I consider heading to the lobby for a quick therapy session with Nayala, but really I do not have time for that.
Keeping my head tipped back and proud, I head for the breakroom. Even before I get there, I hear all their voices. This company is like 95 percent men, and that’s where they congregate… to do whatever the hell it is that men do instead of working all day.
And the first voice I can make out is Fred’s. He’s laughing, sneering, basically the audio representation of that smug look I just saw on his face a few minutes ago. But you know what? I still need coffee. I can’t worry about his jerky attitude right now.
But just before I round the corner, I see a familiar pair of broad shoulders from the back. It’s not just Fred. There are five or six guys in there, including Maxwell.
Shit.
Never mind, nobody needs coffee that badly. I pivot on my heel but then stop, sure that I hear my name.
“If she could have done the job, Greg would’ve promoted her ages ago. You sure, Max?”
The pause seems to go on forever.
I should walk away. I should not be listening in on other people’s conversations.
“I wouldn’t mind having her assist me,” comes another voice that I am almost certain is Frank’s.
“Yeah, you need all the help you can get,” Trevor laughs cruelly, and I hear the unmistakable slap of a high-five.
“She would run rings around all of you guys,” Maxwell chuckles. “You’d never take the help. She would make you look like idiots.”
“Hey!” Fred objects. “Leave some for the rest of us. If she’s that good—”
But I don’t wait to hear the rest. Suddenly, I am wide awake and don’t need coffee anymore. I stalk back to my office, my cheeks burning with humiliation.
Is that how they talk about me? Is that how they’ve always talked about me? If that is what I heard in thirty seconds, what other kinds of stuff do they say?
Heart pounding, I slump in my chair and balance my forehead on my fingertips so that I can’t catch anyone’s eye when they walk by. I feel stupid. Conspicuous. I realize it has probably always been like this. Two years I have been here. Two years working with a bunch of overgrown high school jocks who would’ve been begging me for homework help back in the day.
Of course, Maxwell did defend me. He
did point that out.
No. He is still the reason all of this happened. More or less. I mean, I guess Greg is the actual reason. But if Maxwell was such an upstanding guy he would have insisted that I get the job the day he got in here, right?
He didn’t know. So he couldn’t have done that. But if he did know? That would be proof.
