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AMALIA
I arrivefor the team meeting at the last possible moment. Unfortunately, that means I have to take the last empty seat, which is the one closest to Cameron. I wonder if he’s ever noticed how people prefer to sit as far away from him as possible. I doubt it, because he’s so lacking in any level of self-awareness, and probably attributes our distancing to his being such an intimidating presence, which he so is not. No, the truth is that when he gets going, kicking our asses for all the small ways he feels we’ve let him down, he spews saliva in an impressive radius, so much so that those of us in spit distance have to throw away several pages from our notebooks to rid ourselves of his germs.
That’s how gross this man is.
And today of all days, while he’s gearing up for his usual scolding of the troops, I remember the other reason every Empire employee puts distance between him and themselves—he reeks of nail polish. He obviously just got back from hisregular manicure, where he has his nails painted with clear polish, thinking no one will ever notice.
So. Clueless.
We go around the table, reporting on what we’re each working on. When he gets to me, he raises his hand like astopsign.
Huh?
“Thanks, everyone. I’ll talk to Amalia here one-on-one. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Of course, everyone in the room instantly looks at me in alarm as well as with a good amount of pity, subconsciously inching away as if being too close will contaminate them with whatever disorder I have that’s called for a private meeting with the boss.
Fuck them. All of them.
Except for maybe Ralph, which I never thought I’d say. “Hey, Amalia, want a couple jellybeans?”
He holds them out to me in his bare hand which is—ew! germy!—but I take them anyway. If I’m going down, it will be enjoying my last taste of sugar.
I fold my hands together on the conference table in front of me and swivel to face Cameron like nothing can bother me, not his asinine accusations or threats of firing, or even calls for the end of civilization, were he to go in that direction.
But I do scrunch up my toes in my boots hard, so hard my feet start to cramp, because I have to bleed off my nervous energy somehow.
“Have a good weekend, Cam?” I ask brightly.
In my imagination he’d say,why, yes, I did. And how about you, Amalia?
And I’d respond by letting him knowI was fucked six ways from Sunday by the most gorgeous men on the island of Manhattan, one of whom is his star author.
Take that, motherfucker.
But he doesn’t ask, so I don’t get to tell.
“My weekend wasfine, Amalia, until you dumped that dope, Julius Bird on me at the fundraiser.” He tilts his head and it’s clear he expects an apology followed by several levels of ass-kissing.
Don’t think so.
“Dump? I don’t know what you mean.”
Another lie.
I most certainly did dump Julius on him, and I couldn’t be prouder of how much it’s pissing Cameron off.
So. Satisfying.
He tilts his head at me like he’s talking to a toddler, and for a moment I expect him to slap my hand for being naughty. But that’s not how he punishes people.
His nostrils flare. “What makes you think I want to publish a book by that asshole? All he does is harass our top authors with his shit reviews. I’d just as soon run him over with my car than give him a leg up in the publishing world.”
My eyes grow wide. “Oh. Okay. Didn’t know you felt that way. He is… kind of a jerk. Sorry for putting you on the spot.”
Ten points forme.
“But look, Cam,” I say, leaning onto the conference table, “If we make him think, you know, that he has a chance, do you think that will make him back off? Like maybe tone down his critical reviews?”
