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I wish I could do the same.
There’s a familiar knot of anxiety growing in the pit of my stomach. It’s been there so long it may as well be another organ at this point. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel like this. Like I’m only one wrong move away from my world crumbling down around me.
Naively, I’d assumed that the promotion would help get rid of these feelings. If anything, they’ve only intensified over the last few months.
Finn Hawthorne, Managing Director.
The title I’ve been working toward for the last ten years is finally mine. So why does it make me feel sick? It’s not like I haven’t earned it. I’ve painstakingly climbed my way up the corporate ladder, starting off at the very bottom rung. I’ve done the jobs nobody else wanted to touch and excelled in all of them, proving myself every step of the way. After ten years of almost nonstop seventy- and eighty-hour workweeks, barely having enough time to see my family and friends or get more than five hours of sleep every night,nobodycan say I haven’t earned this.
And yet they do.
I can’t pretend like I don’t hear the whispers that follow me back at the office in New York. They’re not subtle about it at all, mumbling about my CEO uncle doing me a favour, or how it’s my last name that gets me places.
Don’t get me wrong, it absolutely does.
I’m not an idiot. I know theHawthornename still means something in certain circles, and I know that it’s afforded me certain privileges in life. Like this job for example. Maybe that’s why I work as hard as I do, to try to show people that I’m more than just my name.
That’s the whole point of this project if I’m being honest.
I led with it in my interview for the managing director position, and, surprisingly, the board loved it. It’s what tipped me over the edge compared to the other candidates. They’d been wanting to expand The August Roomabroad for years now but hadn’t managed to figure out a viable expansion plan yet.
Entermeand my plans for opening a new location in London. I’d spent weeks poring over my application, making sure I’d considered everythingpossible to make my vision for the London expansion a success. I learned about UK trading laws, analysed our competitors to see what they were doing right and what we could do better, found a prime location in the middle of London, worked out a marketing plan, and even found a phenomenal designer — even if theyarewildly overpriced.
I worked hard on my presentation and the board saw the value in it.
But nobody cares about that. They can’t get over fact that my uncle sits on the board.
My mood sours even further as my thoughts drift to my uncle.
It’s not like we’re close. Far from it actually. Ernest Belmont, CEO of The August Room, married my aunt Marion when I was fifteen, so we didn’t exactly spent my formative years going on fishing trips together and bonding. Even now, I wouldn’t say we have a closerelationship.
Ernest has always been awkward around our family — I think it stems from an old feud he’s still nursing with my father and that awkwardness extends into the workplace. He avoids me for the most part and treats me like every other employee on the rare occasions we do have to interact.
That’s why it’s laughable when people suggest thathe’sthe reason I am where I am today. Out of everyone on the board,hewas the one holdout when it came to my promotion. If Ernest had had his way, I think I’d still be down in the mailroom with the interns.
“All right, Mr. Hawthorne.” Amber swivels around on her heels, tablet in hand. She looks noticeably less irritated now, and it’s a welcome change. We’re on the fourth floor and the twilight sun peeking through the windows bathes her in a golden glow. She looks almost ethereal.
“I think I’ve got everything I need for today,” she continues. She taps something quickly onto her tablet. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I shake my head. “I think you’ve got everything. Cynthia has the deck I sent through earlier this week.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it. You’ve got a very…” She trails off and clicks her tongue. “You’ve got a very strong vision for this project.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, definitely not. I always prefer to work with clients who know what they want.” She pauses again and reaches for a few strands of the cropped, dark brown hair that frames her face. “I’d love to discuss your budget. With the vision you’ve shared, I think we need to lock down a number that’s reasonable for both parties.”
I raise a brow, surprised. It’s like she’s read my mind. “I do have to admit, the figures Cynthia initially sent through are a little steeper than we’d been expecting.”
The side of her face twitches. “Thisisa large scale project, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“I’m aware,” I say. She doesn’t need to tell methat. I know just how big this project is. “I just think we can reach a compromise.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to respond, but then clamps it shut. Debate flashes across her face, and I find she’s terrible at masking her emotions. But I don’t think she knows it. The realisation makes my lips twitch.
“How about this,” she says diplomatically after a few seconds. “Send over your rough budget report and I’ll work on some design concepts and some costings. One with your budget in mind. One with mine. We’ll go with whichever one you’re happiest with.”
“That sounds fair enough.”
