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“I’m sorry,” Heather said. “I’ll get right to it.”
“You were supposed to get right to it yesterday.”
“I know, but my computer was acting up. I couldn’t get it to do anything.”
“Really? Did you report the problem to IT?”
“I was going to, but—”
“Save it,” Marsha said again. “Just do it. Now.”
Damn it.She’d forgotten all about that stupid presentation the minute she’d left the meeting. Truth be told, she hadn’t been paying that much attention to anything that was going on in that boardroom. All that endless, essentially meaningless chatter about consumer package goods. They should call it “the bored room,” she thought, smiling at her own cleverness.
“Something funny?” Marsha asked.
Heather jumped at the sound of her voice. Why was Marsha still here? Was she going to stand there watching her until she was certain the job was done? Was that really the responsibility of a supervisor? Did she have nothing better to do? “Was there something else you needed?”
“Just get it done.” Marsha Buchanan swiveled around on her flat heels and marched down the corridor.
“Jealous bitch,” Heather whispered, bringing up the appropriate file on her computer.
“Have you ever considered another line of work?” Kendall asked.
Heather tossed the question aside with a wave of her hand, although she was thinking that maybe Kendall was right. She’d never really enjoyed advertising, having gone into it only because her cousin, Paige, had made it look so easy. She would have much preferred working in retail, perhaps managing a high-end boutique, like Paige’s friend Chloe used to do. But her father had made his displeasure with this idea clear, so she’d followed her cousin into advertising instead, toiling for several years as an account coordinator before finally being promoted to her current position.
(“Congratulations!” her mother said. “It’s about time,” said her father.)
He was right, of course. Over the years, Heather had watched a succession of young women move on and up, including Marsha Buchanan, who’d started working for McCann Advertising at roughly the same time she had. And now Marsha, who’d had it in for her from day one—probably because she was dumpy and frumpy while Heather was beautiful and slender—was her boss.
People always talked about fairness in advertising. But how fair was that?
The only thing that gave Heather any satisfaction was that Paige had lost her job around the same time that Heather received her promotion.
She looked across the large, open-concept space, with its wall of windows overlooking the Charles River, bleached hardwood floors, and exposed ceiling pipes. McCann Advertising was made up of three distinct divisions, each occupying its own floor: strategy, the creative department, and the account people. Account people consisted of account coordinators, managers, supervisors, directors, and finally, group account directors, all of whom worked in cubicles, side by side. This lack of individual offices suggested an equality that didn’t exist. In practice, there was a definite hierarchy.
The job of account manager was considered a relatively junior position. As the name suggested, account managers were responsible for the day-to-day managing of an account. Among other responsibilities, these included getting estimates to the client of work to be done and getting the client to sign off, getting production “workback” schedules ready and delivered to the client, and arranging for and managing the day-to-day meetings.
It sounded simple enough, but Heather was always screwing up. One time, she forgot to respond to an email from a client who had a question requiring an immediate answer. Another time she neglected to include a small but essential item in an estimate, which resulted in extra costs, for which there’d been no contingency. Yet another time, she’d set up a meeting but failed to include some key people and prepare everything that was needed for it. Each incident had resulted in a reprimand. Still, Heather remained convinced that it was the jealousy of others, and not her own laziness and incompetence, that was the source of her problems.
They were envious of her looks, her wardrobe, her family’s wealth and stature, as well as her handsome and successful lawyer boyfriend, the boyfriend she’d stolen from her cousin. Humble, perfect Paige, who always made a point of playing down her constant string of promotions when everyone—everyone but Heather’s father—could see how full of herself she really was. Paige, who “sure knows her stuff,” as her father was fond of saying. Paige, who would never forget to respond to a client’s email or be caught unprepared.
Except, of course, she had been. Caught very unprepared indeed.
How Heather loved to relive the night her cousin had come home early to discover her in bed with Noah! The look on her face had been priceless. Whenever Heather was bored during one of those endless meetings with clients, she conjured up the expression of shock and betrayal on Paige’s face. It never failed to make her smile.
And now Paige had a new boyfriend. At least, according to her mother, who’d spilled the news as soon as her aunt Joan was out of earshot.
“She has a new boyfriend?” Heather had repeated.
“She’s bringing him to the party.”
“She’s bringing him to the party?”
“Apparently.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
