by JA Huss
“What a dick,” Adeline says.
I hold up two fingers to indicate the number in our party to the host at the front and then we follow him to a private table in the back where I bring the celebrities. Once we are seated I get back to the conversation. “Right? I’m not overreacting? I mean, maybe I overreacted in the meeting and my escape down the slide was ridiculous, but I was just… shocked. It was stupid to put all those personal things in Heath’s message stream.”
“And delusional,” she adds.
“Maybe a little,” I admit. “But McAllister Stonewall could see they were not meant for him and he not only read them, he responded. A man with class would’ve ignored them. And a boss would’ve sent a polite email about it. Not humiliated me in front of the entire executive staff.”
She nods, putting on her pouty face in sympathy. “He handled it wrong.”
“I did too. I understand that. But… but how do I look him in the eye for the next two weeks?” I pause for a moment, wondering if I should tell her the rest. Yes. I better just come clean. “And there’s something else on the phone too.” I screw up my mouth a little to indicate this is not good.
“Spill it,” Adeline says.
“I have this Pinterest board, right?”
“Riiiight…”
“And I post my delusional things on there.”
“OK.”
“Plus, I might’ve made a board with workplace gossip on it. I have these nicknames for everyone, like Jennifer Sluts-around, and Clarisse Takes-all-the-credit, and Marty Brown-nose.”
Adeline bursts out laughing.
“It’s not funny! And I sent the link to Heath. Which means…”
“Oh, my God, why would you do that?”
“Because I’m stupid?”
“So he saw you being Ellie Office-bitch?”
I smile. “Yes.”
“The board was public?”
“No! That’s what I don’t understand. It’s private, just Ming and I can see it.”
“So how did he see it?”
“I sent him the link, I guess?”
Adeline shakes her head. “He can’t see it, Ellie. If a board is private, then it’s not available to anyone unless they are added to it. Did you add Heath?”
“Of course not!”
“Then McAllister didn’t see it.”
“He said he did. He used it to threaten me last night. Said he’d blast my gossip board all over work if I didn’t take back my resignation.”
“He’s lying. What is the name of the board?”
“Work Bitches and Other Cunts.” We both burst out laughing now. “I know, I’m terrible, but…” I have no excuse.
“Am I in there?” Adeline asks.
“Of course not! Don’t be silly. I love my celebrity clients. Even that dumbass Brutus has grown on me a little. OMG, I almost killed him yesterday with a peanut butter sandwich. It was not even on purpose, I cross my heart.”
“Jesus, yesterday sucked.”
“Right? What do I do?”
“Well,” Adeline says, “I’m not the best advice-giver on the planet, which is why I always come to you. But I’d get that phone back and erase the whole message stream. Just press that little delete button and get rid of the evidence. And then you shove that resignation in his face and say goodbye.”
I nod as the waiter comes asking for drinks. We order two mimosas and split an order of French toast. “Then that’s my plan. I need to get into his office and find that phone.”
“Well,” Adeline says, pressing her index fingers under her chin and giving me a devious smile. “That plan has been dealt with. On to the one we’re really here to talk about.”
“Adeline, look—”
“No,” she interrupts me. “You look. You were the one who told me to walk away from my last label and strike out on my own. Indie, you said, right? It’s all about being indie. So I took your advice, and do you know what happened?”
“Of course I know,” I say, smiling. “Four number one hits in twelve weeks. More than two million songs sold, more than a million new subscribers, and seventeen million dollars. But—”
“No buts, Ellie. We made a deal.”
“I just don’t think I’m ready.”
“You’re ready to quit though?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Definitely. Stonewall might not have accepted my resignation, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t really resign. I’m outta here in thirteen days. No exceptions.”
“Then push publish,” Adeline says.
“I need a plan first. Some kind of release schedule or something.”
“Bitch, you work for the biggest fucking entertainment network on the planet. You know every one of the producers on—how many shows do you guys manage here?”
“I don’t know. I lost count.”
“Plus bloggers and YouTubers. All you have to do is go ask for help and everyone will be happy to pitch your release. If I thought professional people looking for a coach would listen to me, I’d pitch you to them. But sweetie, I can get you eyeballs but I cannot get you the right eyeballs. These people here, they can and they owe you. Don’t walk away without asking for a favor.”
“I don’t want to use my position here to get exposure, Adeline. It makes me feel dirty.”
“How many times have you come through for them? When guests canceled? You pulled out your phone, made a call, and that spot was filled.”
“But that was my job.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve their help.”
I make a face as our French toast is served.
“Just think about it,” she says as we dig in and eat. “And even if you don’t ask for help, you have to put it out there. Push it out of the nest and let it fly. Don’t wait for someone else to create your success. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I did,” I say, smiling.
“Then take your own advice. Leave the nest, baby bird. And fly.”
Chapter Twelve - Ellie
After breakfast I drop Adeline off at her studio where she will be singing live in two hours, and I promise her I’ll be back in time to see it. Then I go back to the airport hangar just as Paul Sabon’s jet lands and taxis towards us.
Ming comes out of the fishbowl and greets me. “How was breakfast?”
“Good,” I say, still worrying about my promise to Adeline about the book. Not to mention the sex I had this morning with my boss, my resignation, being kicked out of the office I’ve had for the past seven years, and how I’m going to get that phone back so I can erase those messages.
“Did you…” Ming trails off.
“Did I what?” I ask, crabby now that I realize I have a lot on my mind.
“Did you guys talk about the book?”
“We did, Ming. I’m sure you were telling her all kinds of things while she was waiting for me earlier. And I know you guys mean well, but I’m just not ready to put it out there yet. I need more time.”
“Time to do what?”
I ignore her and walk into the fishbowl. Paul’s plane is waiting for something down at the end of the runway. “I’m going to check my email real fast. I didn’t have time to do it this morning.”
“What were you doing up there then?” Ming asks, following me in.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly. And then I realize she will catch on way too fast and I need to distract her. “I need to get Heath’s phone back from McAllister.”
“McAllister? You’re on first names now?”
“It’s his name, Ming.”
“What happened to Mr. Stonewall?”
“There’s more than one Mr. Stonewall. It’s confusing. Anyway,” I say with a sigh. “Will you help me try to get that phone tonight? I have to meet McAllister at six for a meeting, so maybe I can get him in my office and then you can slip in and look for the phone in his desk.”
“What if it’s not in his desk? What if Stephanie Guards-the-door is there? What if we get caught?”
> “We won’t get caught, Ming. We’ll get Adeline to make a big commotion. Anyone left on the floor at six o’clock will be treated to an impromptu appearance. Maybe she can break out into song or something. She’ll come up with something. Then I’ll have my meeting with McAllister in my office and you slip in his, look around, get the phone, slip out. Voilà. Crisis over, we all go out for happy hour drinks and forget our problems.”
I sit down at my old desk and pull up my email as Ming thinks this over.
“You know, your boyfriend came in here while you were at breakfast.”
“Who?” I ask, sighing at all the unread emails. I have seven scheduling issues to deal with, one guest canceled for the end of the month—not my problem—and an official welcome to the “executive newsletter” courtesy of Jennifer Sluts-around.
“McAllister Stonewall,” Ming says. “He came in here and looked around. Sat at your desk and everything.”
“What? Why the hell would he do that?”
“I dunno.” Ming shrugs. “Looking for your schedule?”
“That asshole. It’s not my fault we didn’t have time to go over it this morning.”
“Whose fault was it?” Ming has a little grin on her face. Like she knows something.
“What are you hiding from me?” I ask, just as Paul’s jet comes to a stop inside the hangar.
“I think the better question is, what are you hiding from me?”
I stare at her, wondering if I should lie.
“Don’t do it,” Ming warns. “I see everything, Ellie Hatcher. And so does Ellen Abraham, AKA Ellen Interoffice-sexcapades. Because she has been telling everyone that she caught you and McAllister,” she says his name in a fake dreamy sigh, “in the stairwell yesterday morning having a tryst. Now the only thing I want to know is—”
“Later,” I say, standing up. “Paul is here. Later, Ming.” I rush out of the office and don’t dare look over my shoulder to see the look on her face. Because now she definitely knows, and if Ellen Abraham really did guess, or God forbid, see us, then it’s all over campus by now.
After I escort Paul to Building Three, I have to hurry back to the hangar, timing it just right so I don’t have any chance of having to wait around with Ming and her demanding questions, so I can pick up Allison Salok and escort her over to Building Ten.
I barely make it back to Adeline’s set to hear her sing, which is just beautiful. I take her back to a limo that’s waiting in front of the Atrium and tell her the plan about searching McAllister’s office. She promises to be back at six to make a scene so Ming can sneak in and get the phone.
What could go wrong?
Plenty, I’m sure, but I don’t have any time to think about it. Thursdays are crazy, which is the real reason we dress up and count the minutes to happy hour after work, so I’m nothing but a whirlwind of activity as I bustle the guests from transportation to studios.
So by the time six o’clock rolls around, I haven’t had any time to think about this plan of mine at all. I text Ming as I ride the elevator up to the seventh floor.
Ellie: I’m going in. Where are you?
Ming: You’re in the elevator. :) I’m watching. Adeline is in her limo, ready and waiting for my signal. Text me when you get him in your office and we’ll do our thing.
Ellie: K
I prepare a go-now text in my phone so all I have to do is press send and then drop my phone in my blazer pocket just as the elevator door opens. To my dismay, the whole seventh floor is still working. Including Stephanie Guards-the-door. Jesus, doesn’t anyone up here go out for drinks on Thursday nights like normal people?
“Go on in,” Stephanie calls to me as I approach the corner offices. “His office, not yours, Ellie. He left specific instructions.”
“Left? You mean he’s not even here?” I’m so annoyed.
“He’ll be back in just a minute. He had to pop down to the legal department.”
Great. Probably going to threaten me with a lawsuit or something. His door is open, so I just go in and take a seat. But then I realize, maybe Ming and Adeline don’t even need to get involved? I’m in here alone.
I get up, peek out the door to see what Stephanie is doing, and find her busy chatting with people at her desk, completely ignoring me.
I smile. And go over to his desk. It’s a huge desk. In fact, it’s not the same desk as yesterday. Not Heath’s desk, in other words.
Hmmm. Now that I think about it, a lot has changed in here in one night. All of Heath’s things are gone from the shelves. They’re empty now. There’s not one thing left of my former boss. But the oddest thing is that there’s nothing of my new boss to replace it.
I peek out the door again, just to make sure Stephanie is still busy, and then inch my way around to the executive chair and take a seat. Jesus, it’s luxurious. It must be nice to plant your ass in this thing all day long.
McAllister has a nice view of the hills, not the city. I never noticed that before. Heath had his desk on the opposite wall, and the blinds were almost always partially closed because he hated the constant sun.
Do I smell paint? Did McAllister paint the walls in here too? I don’t remember this place being so bright. Heath liked that old-school dark paneling look. Like the god-awful smoking room that is now my office.
I look down to my left and spy a stack of drawers. My fingers are just reaching for the handle when McAllister bursts in, slamming the door closed behind him. I pull away just as he lifts his eyes from a file in his hands.
“Making yourself comfortable, Miss Hatcher?”
“Sorry,” I say, standing up and scooting off around the side of the desk. He shoots me a squinted look as he drops into the chair I just vacated and I stand in front of him, my hands clasped together, feeling very nervous for some reason.
“Well,” he says, slapping the open folder down on the desk. “I have good news. You can publish the book.”
“What?”
“The book you wrote, Miss Hatcher? On company time, using company clients as your main focus?”
I can’t even with this guy. “Who the hell—”
“You do realize Stonewall employment contracts have a proprietary clause, right?”
“Proprietary clause?” Shit. I never even thought about that.
“But, as I said, good news. I pulled your contract,” he says, smiling down at the file on his desk. “Quite a lot of information in here. Lots of things I really didn’t want to look up, Miss Hatcher.”
“You read my employment file?” I ask, stunned. “That’s private.”
“Do you want to publish that book or not?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t give you the right—”
“To make sure this company doesn’t sue you? Nice repayment for my efforts, Eloise.”
“Well, McAllister, I just think it’s a little bit invasive for you to be pawing through my file.”
“But pawing my way up your dress is fine?” He cracks a smile at his joke.
“That’s inappropriate too. In fact, pretty much everything I’ve learned about you since you came here yesterday has been inappropriate. Did you know that Ellen Interoffice-sexcapades is telling everyone she caught us having a tryst in the stairs yesterday?”
McAllister frowns. “No. I’ve been out of the office all day. Just got back about an hour ago, and then I had to go down to human resources for this and talk to the lawyers. What is she saying?”
“Just telling people. Ming knew about it. I’m so fucking humiliated. Again. And it’s all because of you.”
“Ah, fuck her. She’s just jealous.”
“Ha!” I practically scream. “I cannot believe you just said that. She’s jealous of what?”
“That I like you instead of her.”
“What?” I have to take a deep breath as I roll my eyes. “Is this some kind of contest for you? A conquest? A fucking—”
“Hey,” he says, standing up and coming around to my side of the desk. “Just calm down. I’
ll deal with her. But right now I want to deal with you.”
“Deal with me?” I can’t.
“Don’t be so uptight, Eloise. I have something to show you and you’re sucking all the fun out of it.”
“Well, you… you…” I have nothing that doesn’t involve the words ‘bastard,’ ‘asshole,’ and ‘prick.’
“Fun-sucker,” he says, smiling.
“I’m not a fun-sucker. For your information, I’m a lot of fun.”
“I already know that, Ellie. Preaching to the choir here. Now keep quiet and be appreciative.”
I slap him. I swear to God, I have no idea what comes over me, but my hand just flies up, hits his cheek, and makes this epic smack that hangs in the air as everything else goes silent.
He palms the red mark I made, and then smiles. “You’re not going to ruin this for me. No matter how hard you try.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—”
But he takes my hand and starts pulling me towards the door connecting to my office.
Jesus, I might get lucky after all. I don’t even have to find a reason to get him in there. I reach into my pocket, ready to press send and let Ming loose on his ass.
Chapter Thirteen - Mac
“Come on,” I say, leading her over to the door. “Go ahead, open it.”
“Why?” Ellie asks suspiciously. “What’s in there? A lawyer? Are we going to have to fight out the details of this book? Because it’s none of your damn—”
“Eloise,” I say sharply, cutting her off. “Would you close your mouth and just open the door?”
She crosses her arms over her breasts.
Fucking breasts. Goddamned things are perfect. And Thursday’s dress might be sexy, but it certainly isn’t as interesting as Wednesday’s blouse. I wonder how many interesting blouses she has in her closet?
“I don’t appreciate the way you speak to me, Mr. Stonewall. It’s rude.”
“You know what?” I ask her, my patience wearing thin. She taps one of her designer shoes on the floor as she waits me out. “Never mind, I’ll open it myself.”
