I took a seat in the chair across from his desk, raising my eyebrows as I waited. I knew Martha had told me not to speak, but I couldn’t help myself. Mr. White seemed to tickle every obstinate, feisty nerve in my brain. “Did you call me in here so you’d have an audience while you impressively scan the horizon?” I asked.
He waited long enough to tell me he was ignoring my comment. “I value your backbone, Miss Adams. But that mouth of yours needs to be tamed.”
I reared my head back, frowning. “Let me guess, you’re the one who is going to tame my mouth? That sounds awfully unprofessional, Mr. White.” God. I hated how even a relatively innocent sentence started to transform and feel more wicked when he was involved.
“I don’t bullshit,” he said simply. “I told you when I hired you yesterday, I plan to continue climbing up the corporate ladder, and I plan to do it quickly. I need good people if I’m going to succeed. I don’t have time to sugar coat or handhold. Anyone too weak to deal with me isn’t a good fit.”
I scoffed. Grudgingly, I could at least appreciate him being transparent. Even if I didn’t completely buy his explanation. He was trying to tell me he was only an ass because he was vetting people—trying to figure out who he could bring along for the ride. “Why do you care so much about ‘climbing the corporate ladder?’ Money? Is that all?”
He finally turned away from the window and moved to his desk. He picked up a paperweight and hefted it in his hand, studying it as if it might hold the answer to my question. “Only my closest friends have a right to that answer.”
“You have friends?” I blurted. Whoops.
He looked up sharply, but I thought I saw the shadow of amusement in his expression. “Believe it or not, I do.”
“Not,” I muttered.
“Your primary responsibility here, Miss Adams, is to serve as my filter. You’ll screen my emails, calls, and personal requests. I have a binder detailing exactly how to know which ones need my immediate attention, which ones can wait, and which ones can be ignored. I expect you to study that binder like it’s the Bible.”
“Is this a bad time to mention I haven’t ever studied the Bible? Is there a particular method, or-”
“I admire backbone, but I have no time for sass, Miss Adams.” Mr. White’s eyes were cold fires.
But you have time to stare out your window and play with paperweights on your desk? “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” he said. “You’ll be my shadow. When I’m here, you’re here. You don’t leave until I do, and you will be here when I’m here. If I need an errand run, you’ll be the one I trust to run it. You’ll learn how to make sure everything is completed to my standards.”
“Alright,” I said. This time, I didn’t ask if there was anything else, because I was worried the man would pull more tasks out of his well-sculpted ass just to spite me. “Should I go start studying the binder?” I asked sweetly.
“Yes. I need to get ready for this afternoon.”
“What’s this afternoon?”
He shot me a warning look.
“You said I’m your shadow. Shouldn’t I know what you have planned?”
Mr. White hesitated, then folded his arms. “I’m performing a surprise audit tonight. I give my employees deadlines, but I like to know who is waiting until the last minute and who is staying up to speed with their work.”
“What happens to the procrastinators?”
“They get replaced.”
I nodded. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go get to know this Bible of yours. Good talk.” I got up and left his office as quickly as I could.
When I was back on the office floor, I saw the people all working quietly at their desks. The place was thick with oppression. I could tell they were all terrified of Mr. White, and I saw why. He treated them all as disposable. It was a constant test, and nobody knew the rules.
I found Martha back at the reception area. She was chewing her nails and flinched when I walked out of the double doors. “Hey,” I said. “Is there a way to email all the employees here but not Mr. White?”
Martha stared. “If there was, that would be a dangerous idea. One of the rules in his binder is that you CC him on every email.”
“Can you start an email for me to the employees but not Mr. White?”
Martha gnawed on her nail harder now. “I don’t know, Jules. If Mr. White finds out you-”
“He won’t. But if he does it’ll be all my idea. I’ll tell him I figured out how to do it on my own.”
“Do I even want to ask what you’re wanting to email them all?”
“It’ll be better if you don’t know. You know, in case he tortures you or something.” Once again, I’d meant it as a joke, but Martha just gulped and went pale. She clacked away at a few keys, then rolled her chair out of the way.
“All yours,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” I said. I hammered out a quick email letting everybody know Mr. White was going to be performing a surprise audit on them tonight and that if they were behind, they should fix that ASAP. I hit send, then dusted my hands.
5
Juliette
I had the good fortune of starting work for Coleton Publishing on a Friday. I woke up the following Saturday morning with the full intentions of recovering from the mental whiplash I’d just gone through.
When I checked my email, I had a barrage of forwarded emails from Maxi. She’d followed through and reached out to a shocking number of businesses in the city and written a scathing account of how horrible an employee I was. I blocked her email after reading a handful, then deleted all of her messages.
If I was a spiteful person, I would’ve emailed the Better Business Bureau and lodged a storm of complaints about the various things I’d seen at her company. Would it be petty? Yes. Was I still going to do it? Hell yes.
By the time I finished, it was past lunch, and I was starving. My first paycheck wasn’t due for two weeks from Coleton, but it felt different to know the money was coming. I didn’t need to wonder how I was going to stretch my meager savings for months or years. I only had to make it last two weeks.
To celebrate, I called the only real friend I’d made since running away from my family in New York. I was going to celebrate with a little lunch that didn’t come in a box, a can, or have microwave instructions.
Anastasia met me at a place near both our apartments that sold some of the most amazing soups. We took a booth in the corner and sat down with our soups. I’d gone with broccoli and cheddar, and she got the southwest. I had a terrible habit of always wishing I’d ordered what other people ordered, and I found myself watching her soup longingly as we both blew on ours and waited for them to cool off.
I’d only met Anastasia four months ago, but she already knew me well. She grinned, and reached to swap our soups, sliding her southwest in front of me. “I had a feeling you were going to want mine,” she said.
I laughed. “You’re sure?”
She took a bite of my soup and nodded. Anastasia was a former employee at Maxi Interior Designs. She kept her hair buzzed short and soft. She dyed it a new color every few weeks and she had a rotating assortment of piercings from the several she jammed into her ears to the ones on her nostrils and eyebrows. She’d been in human resources, and I’d met her during the hiring process. We both hit it off and stayed in touch, even after she quit two months ago.