by Kelsie Fann
Savannah had welcomed her with open arms when she couldn’t afford to go back to the University of Georgia after only a year and a half, and it had comforted her when her first boyfriend broke up with her two days after she stepped off campus.
To Liz, living in Savannah meant that she’d made it, even though it had been a rough ride. After hearing she couldn’t go back to college, Mr. Chambers, her best friend’s father, gave her a receptionist job in Savannah, and the rest was history and hard work.
Liz looked through the glass wall that separated the Executive Office from the other side of the building where she used to sit as the receptionist. As she looked up at Mr. Chambers, who was still sitting in front of her after dropping the bombshell news.
“You can’t sell.” She shook her head. She needed more time in the Director role. Only a few months before, she was able convince Mr. Chambers to let her hire two girls barely out of college to help her and Rose with the online ads—which meant she was just starting to produce enough work to make an impact.
He sighed and shook his head. “Dee needs help with Andy. Even though she won’t admit it, he’s not getting any easier. He’s spending more and more time in his wheelchair.”
Liz looked down at her shiny desk. Her heart broke thinking of her childhood best friend, Dee. She was Mr. Chambers’s daughter, and her son had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The doctors said the dry climate might help, so she had moved to Denver five years before, but it hadn’t slowed the progression of Andy’s disease.
“And then,” Mr. Chambers continued, “I met a friendly, passionate young man in an airport bar a couple months ago while I was flying home from Dee’s. We talked about family and business, and he seemed interested in the company.”
Liz thought of the stern man in the black suit who’d just walked out of the office. “He didn’t seem friendly today.”
Mr. Chambers shook his head. “I met James. Darcy is his partner.”
How did that even happen? How did Mr. Chambers just meet someone who would buy his company? Maybe it was the Santa beard? Liz looked at Chambers, his white whiskers gave him a friendly resemblance. Or maybe it was just being in whatever first-class lounge he waited in with other rich people.
Chambers scrawled his signature across her social media ads and set down his pen. The metal object hit the desk as Liz tried to salvage her job.
She needed to steady her nerves, but she couldn’t believe the only company she’d ever worked for, the one she’d poured her heart and soul into, was going to be bought out by a stranger. Worse—by a man who had just demanded her to bring him coffee.
Liz stuffed the ads inside her portfolio. “When?”
“They’re planning to close next Friday. So, a week and a half,” Mr. Chambers said. He put his hand on hers. “I should have told you weeks ago, but I just couldn’t.” He squeezed the top of her hand. “You’re like a daughter to me. I’m sorry it’s ending this way.”
Liz looked down at his hand on hers. She had so many questions. How could he do this to her? How could he hide this from her? What about the decade of work she’d given to his company? But she knew his answers still wouldn’t save her job.
Chambers coughed. “Just take the rest of the day off. Actually, it’s Wednesday, so just take the rest of the week off.”
Liz’s heart hit the floor. Chambers had never given her time off. He got mad when she took vacations. Her mind reeled with all the questions she still had, but she could feel anger bubbling inside her and tears about to flood into her eyes. She knew she needed to get out of there, so she grabbed her stuff off of her desk and walked out of the office into the Savannah sunlight.
As Liz walked slowly to her townhouse, she couldn’t help clenching her fists as she thought about the person responsible. Darcy. He probably had a huge trust fund or whatever those kind of people—ones who bought companies—had. He would never be able to build a company like Chambers’s Media, one built on customer and employee trust. Instead, Darcy would just buy it, like he did everything else. Liz’s mouth filled with a bitter taste.
She couldn’t get rid of the taste, even as she walked up to her favorite place in Savannah, her townhouse. She lived in the bottom-right unit of a converted mansion that looked over Columbia Square. The square was gorgeous, with a fountain in the middle imported by one of Georgia’s earliest families.
She inserted her key in the antique lock, and she had to wiggle the ornate gold knob more aggressively than usual before it popped open.
Bless the air conditioning, she thought as the cool air hit her in the face. It was August, and Savannah was beyond sweltering. She threw her purse down on her tufted cream couch, and she went to her bedroom to put on yoga pants.
She fell down face first in her bed, debating whether to sulk, watch a reality show, or maybe put on a face mask. Liz weighed her options and clicked on the TV. For the past year, she’d been so busy getting her promotion and figuring out her new role that she hadn’t had a free moment.
After a few hours, Liz decided Netflix wasn’t going to cut it. She needed to get out of the house.
Liz looked at her phone. It was six o’ clock, so she texted Rose, her closest friend. “Want to meet for dinner?” she asked.
Less than thirty seconds later, Rose texted back. “I’m working on the style sheet for Ray’s Grocery. Stella asked what their ad colors were . . . again. Maybe after I get done?”
Liz picked her phone up. She was glad Rose was making the style sheet; they needed to streamline their processes. But without Chambers Media, it didn’t matter what color the banner was behind the tomatoes.
“Don’t worry about working on that tonight. We can extend your deadline,” Liz texted back.
“Okay, boss. Let’s go eat!” Rose texted back.
Before Rose could suggest something swanky, Liz quickly texted, “Working Man. Be there in ten.”
The last thing Liz wanted to do was dress up. Working Man was the slummiest burger joint in Savannah. It was a place where even a collared shirt would probably get you heckled. Liz pulled on a T-shirt, black jeans, and dark red lipstick and walked out of the door.
5.
Darcy’s office phone rang the next morning. He answered it on the first ring.
James launched into the conversation just as eagerly. “Did you look at the numbers for Chambers Media yet? Deal of the century, right?”
Darcy couldn’t wait to shut down his friend. “Not of the century we belong to.”
Silence. Then a faint, high-pitched giggle, that didn’t belong to James, came through the receiver. “Sorry. Amelia just walked in my office . . . ”
Another, louder giggle. Darcy tapped his fist against his desk, each time progressively harder. “James, I swear, if you touch her, you’re gone.”
Another giggle. Darcy hit his fist against his old wooden desk.
“He’s no fun,” James said, then spoke fully into the receiver. “Darcy, let’s take a chance on Santa.”
Darcy inhaled deeply. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t take any chances; his board of directors were breathing down his neck. Plus, if he made the wrong decision, he could ruin his father’s company. Which meant he would kill the only remnant he had left of his dad. “It’s simple. The profits are too high, and expenses are too low.” A familiar sensation sat in his stomach; it felt like a weight, like an anchor.
James snorted on the other end of the phone. “That’s supposed to be a good thing.”
“Not this time.” Darcy flipped open the prospectus. “Chambers listed just over a million in expenses for the entire firm last year. That wouldn’t even cover his employees’ salaries and benefits.”
A few seconds hung between the friends. Darcy could sense James’s frustration. They were both in their mid-thirties; they wanted to take chances and to build something. But Darcy knew this wasn’t a chance he could take; this wasn’t the kind of company that could take an impulsive gamble. This was his dad’s legacy.<
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James sighed. “Alright. Let me know how the old man takes it, dream killer.” Click.
Darcy stayed on the phone for a few seconds before he hung up and moved a stack of papers around on his desk. He stood up and swung his arms from side to side. He was a dream killer. He was killing James’s idea and now Mr. Chambers’s dream. But he didn’t have any choice. Chambers’s Media was nothing but a dying dinosaur.
Usually, Darcy didn’t mind telling people bad news, but this was different. He liked Mr. Chambers. He respected the clientele he’d built. Chambers reminded him so much of his parents, the kind of people who could take dirt and spin it into gold.
Darcy looked at the picture of his family on his desk. Darcy and his sister Georgia were sitting on either side of his mom and dad at their Naples, Florida beach house. It was the last picture taken of the four of them together before his parents were killed in a car accident.
As he looked through at the picture of his mom leaning into his dad, who had his arm draped around her shoulders, he heard his father’s too-often-repeated advice roll through his brain without warning, “Marry a partner, not a passenger, son.” A wave of grief passed through his body. He felt like someone kicked him in the gut. How could his parents be happy for so many years, then just gone?
Darcy shook his head to get rid of the thought. He took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed Mr. Chambers’s Savannah phone number. He was ready to get this over with.
“Hello,” Chambers’s deep voice answered.
He was ready to rip the Band-Aid off; he looked at his chrome watch face. Hopefully, he could have this deal tanked in the next five minutes and move on. “Hello, this is Darcy, with Pemberley Media. Mr. Chambers, I have some bad news.”
“Really,” the old man interrupted, stretching the word out with a deep southern drawl. Darcy could picture him scratching his long white beard. “Let’s table that bad news. I think, before you make a decision, you should come meet some of our staff.”
Darcy shook his head. “No.” There was no way he was going back down south. “Actually . . . ” He searched for the words to tell this man that he didn’t want to buy the company he’d spent the last fifteen years building,
“Come on, let me show you what I’ve built. I’m going to put together a little office get-together for you and James,” Chambers jumped back in.
Darcy leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and put his hand on his forehead. “Mr. Chambers, that won’t be necessary.” The weighted feeling returned to Darcy’s stomach, and he paused.
Chambers took the break as an opportunity. “Come on, Darcy. Come meet my whole staff. I want to show them off a little, son.” Son. Son. Son. The word pounded in Darcy’s mind as if his father were saying it.
“Mr. Chambers, thank you for the offer, but . . . ” Darcy started again, trying to force himself to tell the truth. But hearing Chambers call him “son” made it almost impossible.
“I didn’t get this far taking no for an answer. I’ll see you Friday night. I’ll send you an email with the details.” Chambers hung up the phone. The silence echoed through Darcy’s brain.
His eyes flicked down at his watch. It was the second time he’d been hung up on, and it was only nine o’clock.
Darcy put his fingers over the keypad to dial Mr. Chambers’s number again. He took a deep breath and prepared to make Mr. Chambers take “no” for an answer. But before he dialed the number, he paused.
Why was he making this call? This was James’s mess to clean up. The only reason he was trying to back out of this deal is because James agreed to it before he looked at the numbers.
Darcy sat back down in his chair and thought for a few more seconds. Maybe he could use this awkward situation to his benefit. This would be the perfect opportunity to force James to be accountable for his actions. Then maybe James would become more interested in financials, and he wouldn’t have to clean up his partner’s impulsive decisions.
It was time for James to see the effect of his actions. This time James was going to have to break off the deal. Darcy dialed Chambers’s number. The old man picked up immediately.
“Book us three rooms. I’m going to bring my partner and his sister with me,” Darcy said.
“Good deal, son,” Mr. Chambers said as he hung up the phone.
Darcy put the receiver down, and even though he did not want to go back to Savannah, this would be a great lesson for James.
6.
Liz’s stomach rolled. It was the clams, her brain told her before she opened her eyes.
Her brain had also told her not to eat the clams at Working Man the night before, but she didn’t listen to it.
After listening to Rose, who was on fire with new ideas for their division, Liz didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that the company they had been devoted to for the last decade was getting bought out, so she stuffed her mouth full of questionable seafood.
Liz’s stomach rolled again. This time, something that tasted like clam juice made its way to her mouth, and she was forced to open her eyes. Liz flopped out of bed and crawled to the bathroom.
After throwing up and lying on the cold tile floor for twenty minutes, Liz felt a little better. She opened one eye, and she made a plan to calm the exorcist inside her stomach. Water. Gatorade. Tylenol. Sausage biscuit. What? How could she be thinking about a sausage biscuit right now?
She hobbled to her kitchen, grabbed an orange Gatorade out of the fridge, and hobbled back to bed. Her phone buzzed; she picked it up and looked at the alert. It was a Snapchat message from one of the barely-out-of-college girls she’d just hired, Stella. In the picture, Stella and her other new hire, Elise, were posed together, both using a photo filter that made it look like they had bright orange hair. Liz held her stomach as she laughed at the two fluorescent traffic cones she’d hired.
The laughter made her sick again. Liz laid her cheek on her pillow and used one thumb to eke out a response. “Nice. That’s a bold, new look.” Then she took a picture of her orange Gatorade bottle with a caption saying, “Feeling orange myself.”
She scrolled through her other social media feeds, catching a glimpse of her first boyfriend, Brad, who dumped her after she left the University of Georgia. Why had she not deleted him from her friend list?
Instead, she was forced to see his perfect reality, surrounded by four kids and a tiny, petite wife who looked like she hadn’t given birth to any of them.
Even though it had been years since her first breakup, it still stung to see perfect pictures. Maybe it was just the clams. At least she hoped.
Or maybe it was a physical reaction to her dating life. After she’d gotten her promotion, she’d taken a break from her sporadic dating life. Partly because she needed a break from the apps. Mostly because, in the last ten months, after she had been promoted to director, she didn’t have time to sleep, let alone time to invest in a relationship.
Liz didn’t want to think about dating or her career. Her stomach rolled again. She went back to the kitchen, and she microwaved frozen breakfast hash browns. She nibbled at the shards of potatoes and downed all the water and pain reliever she dared to take.
She looked at her phone again. Stella and Elise were now sending a flood of Snapchats, each featuring themselves in a different animal filter. Elise had cat ears and glasses. Stella danced in an Ostridge suit. Elise had a donkey nose and tail.
And Rose, sweet Rose, sent a filter-less, but still flawless, “Good morning!” photo to the group. She looked effortlessly beautiful without any makeup.
“Good morning,” Liz messaged back to the group with a shot of her splotchy, pale face. No filter could cover up her clam hangover.
“Where are you, Boss Lady?” Elise asked, this time making herself look like a baby with a pacifier.
“Out sick today. Won’t be in,” Liz messaged back, but immediately questioned whether she should be communicating about work via Snapchat.
Liz still didn’t know
how to act as their supervisor. She spent years inching herself up to a position where she would even be considered for the job: working overtime; consulting for clients she wasn’t assigned to; and never missing a deadline for print, video, or multimedia in the entire time she worked at Chambers’s Media.
Finally, last year, she had been rewarded with a promotion to Director of New Media. And even though she’d considered every angle, every project, and every client, there was one thing she hadn’t considered: being a supervisor.
No matter how hard Liz tried to act like she was just another member of the team, she wasn’t. She’d been the one to tell Elise she couldn’t take a month-long vacation. And she had also been the one to tell Stella she couldn’t take two-hour lunch breaks to get her nails done every Thursday.
Luckily, she had Rose. Sweet Rose had been amazing every step of the way. She was an angel. She was the girl in the office who always brought treats for everyone’s birthday, even the interns. On those days, Rose would spend the rest of the afternoon making sure there were no crumbs left around. Once, she even tried to comb out Mr. Chambers’s Santa beard while she apologized for a particularly crumbly scone.
In the middle of her thoughts, an email alert burst on Liz’s phone.
From: Chambers
Subject line: Official Announcement
Body:
Hello to my staff members. I’ve talked to some of you already, but it is time to make an official announcement. Sometimes, to take a step forward, we must look inward.
Most of you have heard about my grandson by now. He is sick, and a few years ago, my daughter moved to Denver so the climate would be more suitable for him. As all of you know, I am old, and I love my family. These facts have led to a very hard decision for me, one I’ve agonized over. I need to do what is best for me and my family at this time. I will be selling Chambers’s Media.
