by Suzanne Park
You could cut a lot of glass with that sucker.
It could set forest fires with the right sun angles. Be careful.
“Your ring is so . . . perfect for you!” Bam. Best words ever.
She beamed at me. “Thank you, Mel! That’s so sweet.” She’d never done that before, made a comment so outwardly kind. My stomach tightened, knowing something unsettling was about to happen.
“I was wondering, Mel, since you’ve been such a wonderful friend the last few years . . .”
Oh no. Jane’s asking me a favor. Oh no.
“. . . I would love it if you’d be my maid of honor.”
Her maid of honor? But . . . we’d hated each other for more than 50 percent of the duration of our acquaintance. I couldn’t handle a prima donna like Jane. Being her maid of honor would be a nightmare. How could I get out of this? In general, I hated weddings (except for the cake). I’d never been in a wedding party before.
“Oh, that’s so sweet that you thought of me. Wow. What about Candace, though?”
“I already asked her. She declined because she committed to being maid of honor for her cousin and for her best friend from high school. She said she wouldn’t be able to give me the attention I deserved.”
Well, hell. I wasn’t even first pick. I tried to think of something to free me from this obligation. I couldn’t think of anything. Not a single thing! My mind drew a complete blank. Damn you, stupid blank mind!
She looked at me with earnest eyes, like a puppy at the animal shelter needing a home. Other than the fact that she would drive me absolutely crazy and we might end up not on speaking terms after her wedding, I had no genuine reason for declining her request.
“I have some ground rules before I accept. And some boundaries. But . . . maybe?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh? You do? Like what?”
I tried to think of things that didn’t make ME sound like the lunatic in this arrangement. “Like, maybe, if we go over a certain budget for the bachelorette party, or for buying bridesmaid dresses and stuff like that, you could help chip in?” Jane had a taste for opulence. No way was I going to spend thousands of dollars for a wedding that wasn’t even mine.
She nodded. “Deal.” She cocked her head a little. “Anything else?”
“Uh, well, money was the biggest thing. Um, and dress shopping . . . I’ll go with you and stuff, but my taste is different from yours so don’t expect me to know what you’d like.”
She nodded again. “That’s true. I’m more Valentino and you’re like . . .” I could see her searching hard for the next adjective. “Like, not Valentino.”
Well, that was better than her insulting me. “Okay, one last question, how many bridesmaids are we dealing with?” I pictured myself in Vegas herding a group of drunk, stiletto-wearing Jane clones.
“Well, it’s just you, and Candace said she’d be in the bridal party.” She went from engagement giddiness to instant sadness. “You two are my only real friends.” Her lip trembled as she took a sip of wine.
Oh wow, she just tore out my heart and handed it back to me. I had to say yes. I was no monster.
“It would be my pleasure to be your maid of honor!” I hoped my sudden perkiness made up for my previous jerkiness.
“You’ll do it?! Thank you!” She hugged me and walked to the door. “I’ll call Sean, my fiancé, oh my god . . . I have a fiancé! He wants to get married sooner rather than later, but it all depends on what places are available, but you’ll be the first to know the date. Sean and I are going to have a bridesmaid and groomsman get-to-know-you dinner in a couple of weeks, so you can all meet each other.”
She paused as she turned the knob. “Oh, a quick warning. The best man was Sean’s fraternity brother and is kind of a dick. But you’ll only have to deal with his shit on the day of the wedding. Sean’s doctor friend is the other groomsman. He’s married.” She crinkled her nose and shrugged. “But you’re not really his type anyway.”
And there was the tactless Jane I hated.
“So what’s my first duty as maid of honor, Your Royal Highness?” I debated whether to confiscate her keys or not.
“First we’ll go look at wedding dresses together. Then shoes. Then bridesmaid dresses.” She looked me up and down. “I might choose a halter in a beigey-champagne color, but that will definitely wash you out even more. If we do a summer wedding, do you think you could get a tan?”
I nudged her out the door. “Sure, maybe I’ll get Botox, too, while I’m at it.”
She squealed, “Oh, maybe for your crow’s-feet on your left eye!” I mumbled a quick “Bye!” while grabbing my apartment keys from her hand. I locked the door behind her and scurried over to the bathroom to stare at my face in the mirror. Ugh. In plain sight, small wrinkles on the outside of my left eye, but not my right.
Signs of aging. Or stress. Or both.
Damn it.
Jane texted me as I went back to the kitchen for more wine. I’m definitely doing halter dresses. I have some arm weights you should borrow.
Did she mean to type “could borrow?”
No. No she didn’t.
Then it sank in. How did I end up Jane’s maid of honor?
Chapter Seven
Asher already had his EDM music blaring on his shitty, tinny computer speakers early the next morning. It didn’t matter when I arrived at the office, Asher always made it there first. With his goddamned Starbucks.
I cleared my throat and angrily tapped my laptop keys. “Hey, uh, the music? Do you mind? We’re at work, not a five A.M. spin class.”
I expected him to comment on that. Instead, he asked, “So what do you have on Ian?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, it’s pretty obvious that you are grossly unqualified to produce video games. So that means you have something on Ian. Or maybe you two . . . you know.” He raised his eyebrows up and down.
I glared. “I know what you’re insinuating, and Ian and I do not have some kind of arrangement. I pitched a game to him and he liked it. It’s that simple.”
Ash-hole shot me a look of contempt. “I need some air. Your presence is suffocating.” He rushed out of the room, leaving a trail of his Asher dude smell in his wake.
A loud knock on the door made me jolt upright.
“Is this a bad time?” Nolan MacKenzie stepped into the room carrying a brown paper grocery bag with handles.
Pinching my brow, I asked, “Whyyyy are you here?” A deep, impatient sigh escaped me. Mr. Intern needed to leave ASAP because I had fifty unread emails labeled “urgent” and Asher would think Ian was playing favorites because I knew Nolan. “Don’t you have intern things to do?”
He said flatly, “I’m here to go over the finance and revenue assignments.” He plunked the bag on my desk. “I brought you something. A peace offering, since we have to work together.” He reached in and pulled out my mug. Specifically, my broken caffeine mug, with riverlike cracks running down and across it, held together by poor Krazy Glue craftsmanship. “I found all the pieces and tried to fix it, but as you can see, it’s not the same.”
Nope. Not the same.
He cleared his throat. “I got you another mug from the pharmacy downstairs. It’s temporary until I get you a real replacement. I haven’t had much luck finding the same one online, but don’t worry, I’ll find it.”
Out of the bag came mug number two. “World’s Best Grandma.” I broke my stoic demeanor and snort-laughed.
He smiled in return. “Okay, good. At least you’re not glaring at me anymore.” Our eyes met as he handed the grandma mug to me, along with the “repaired” one. “On my honor, I will get you a replacement mug. And trust me, no interns would dare steal either of these, so you’re safe.”
This was a cease-fire gesture, I got that, but I just wasn’t in the mood. And I didn’t want him still here when Asher got back, last thing I needed was incessant chiding about Nolan. “I really need to get back to work.”
He fr
owned. “You won’t accept any of my meeting requests and we need to get our assignments done before the deadline. I looked on your shared calendar, it’s not blocked out right now.”
Jumping to my feet, I nodded my head toward the door. “Sorry, but you saw my to-do list with your own eyes. I’ll find some time later this week. Now go.”
He wouldn’t budge. “We can’t do later this week. Ian stopped by my desk and said, quote, ‘Goddamnit, Nolan, this was due yesterday!’ End quote.”
Asher’s laugh echoed nearby. I needed Nolan out of here.
Without thinking, I nudged him toward the doorway by pushing his back. Nolan scoot-stepped along a bit, but then dug in his heels at the exit. His trim, strapping body gave a ton of resistance.
“Thanks for stopping by.” With a light shove, I pushed him into the hallway, straight into Asher.
Nolan, being the smaller of the two, ricocheted off Asher’s chest and right arm and bounced back to me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut in.
“Nolan was just leaving,” I said, shooting him a stern look. “Thanks for the reminder about our meeting.”
Nolan pursed his lips and scooted past Asher.
Asher smirked as he took his seat. “In-ter-es-ting. Did I interrupt a spat? A lovers’ spat perhaps?”
God-fucking-damnit. It didn’t help that my face burned hot from embarrassment. Or maybe exertion—pushing Nolan out the door was harder than it looked. That guy had serious muscles packed under that checkered shirt.
Asher opened his desk drawer slowly and rustled some papers. “Ah, here it is. The employee code of conduct.” Clearing his throat, he read, “‘Employees are strictly prohibited from engaging in any physical contact that would in any way harm another employee.’”
I glowered at him as he rubbed his upper arm. “Your intern really did a number on me. I hope this doesn’t bruise.”
Staring hard at my laptop screen, I tried to ignore his distractions, but he was getting to me.
“Oh, here’s an interesting HR tidbit. ‘Personal relationships, including romantic and-or sexual, between individuals in inherently unequal positions, where one party has real or perceived authority over the other in their professional roles, may be inappropriate in the workplace and are strongly discouraged.’” He tut-tutted and continued. “‘If such a relationship exists or develops, it must be disclosed immediately.’”
He shoved the pages back into the drawer and closed it. “Just let me know when you’re ready to tell me, office roomie. It’s cute that your boyfriend brought you gifts. But not gonna lie, they’re pretty lame. Maybe it’s a MacKenzie family inside joke.”
As if I’d paged him, Ian waltzed into our office with Kat trailing a few steps behind him. Kat shot me a look that I couldn’t decipher. It looked like . . . pain? Pity? Appendicitis?
Ian sat on my desk and smiled at me. I didn’t like that.
He announced, “I wanted to get the dream team together here for a quick morning stand-up. Melody, there’s been a small change. Maggie, the senior producer who just came back from sabbatical and was assigned to lead your project, is leaving the company to work at Riot Games, so you’ll be transitioning with Maggie until she leaves, which will be in three weeks.”
“Wait. Then what happens when she’s gone?” My posture stiffened and a bout of nausea permeated through my body.
Ian yawned, like he was bored with this conversation already. “Well, you’ll basically colead with Maggie until she leaves. Then you’ll be interim lead producer until we find a replacement.”
Asher sputtered Starbucks venti coffee onto his desk. “Shit, I’ll report to Melody then?”
I gasped and said, “What do you mean by interim?”
“Well, interim means temporary. And it’s only until we find a producer to fill that role.”
Yes, I knew the definition of “interim,” asshole Ian, but to him “interim” probably meant I’d be paid the same salary to fill bigger shoes, and then when I got used to that job, he’d take it away from me with his new producer hire. And I might even have to teach that person how to do his or her job.
“The board specifically requested that we staff this game with more women, and you’re our only female producer now. After Maggie leaves, we can partner you temporarily with Rain, he’s our senior producer on Zooful Nation, to help answer any questions, but hopefully after a few weeks you’ll be running the show on your own. Asher will be on your team, too, supporting your efforts. Kat will be the lead designer. Go ahead and set up a meeting this afternoon with Maggie and Rain to work on the production schedule and deliverables.”
“Before I start on a production schedule I need to know if you’ve got a launch date in mind.”
Ian laughed. “Well, it depends if we go console or mobile.” He tapped his lips with his pointer finger. “Console would be well over a year, but since we’ve had some success developing for console and porting to mobile, I think we go straight to mobile because we need this market ASAP. You can blame the board for that, too. So, six months.”
“SIX MONTHS?” I thought that was me yelling in disbelief, but it was actually Asher and Kat screaming in unison. My vocal cords were paralyzed from shock.
Ian leaped up from my desk. “Yep. Six months till beta launch. Then full launch immediately following.” He clapped his hands together. “We want to go down in history as having one of the fastest blockbuster game launches. It’ll be perfect timing for a holiday push. Plus, the board will fire my ass if we don’t hit our revenue numbers by the end of the year, and this game should help with that. Our end-of-the-year projected numbers weren’t looking too good. Oh, that reminds me, I need those revenue projections and budget numbers pronto.” Ian walked out, whistling.
Six.
Months.
Six months of working late nights. And weekends. I’d miss the rest of Seattle’s beautiful summer. I’d get roly-poly from stress eating. All my free time would be spent hanging out with Jane, helping her pick out unflattering bridesmaid gowns to show off my flabby, pale, bat-wing arms. Six months of major work-life unbalance. And I hadn’t even started on those stupid forecast and budget scenarios.
I crossed my arms on my desk and buried my face.
Asher said in a low, gravelly voice, “Ian can go screw himself if he thinks I’m working for you.” His tone said everything. He hated me more than I hated him.
JUST THINKING ABOUT this game release made me feel projectile-vomity. How the hell did this game even get greenlit for production? And why entrust ME with such a huge responsibility? Sure, I had game app experience and some international localization knowledge, and I loved spreadsheets, too, but that sure as hell didn’t make me qualified for coleading—and then leading—this mobile game launch. I didn’t even know where to start, except to look for someone named “Rain.” Maybe the right thing to do would be to let Ian know I should assist rather than lead. They needed to find someone else.
I rehearsed a short thanks, but no thanks soliloquy and marched straight to Ian’s office. His door was cracked a little, allowing me to peek in and see if he had any company.
He wasn’t alone. The CFO and the head of development sat on his couch, sipping coffee. Just as I thought about leaving, Ian mentioned my name. And then, of course, how could I walk away?
Voice 1: That game, the apocalypse one, could make money. Think about all the added levels we could charge for: mummies, giant tarantulas, evil ninjas, ’80s hair bands.
Voice 2: It’ll be good to diversify into mobile too. Our zoo games are doing well but we need to see growth in other areas. The board will fire all of us if we don’t show that we can keep growing.
Voice 1: You worried about letting that new girl run the whole thing?
That new GIRL?
Voice 2: Does she even know the difference between FPS and FTP?
Yes, I knew FPS was first-person shooter. Had to google FTP, though, when I first joined the company: free-to-play. But eff you,
anyway.
Ian: Look, don’t worry. I had to choose her to run the fucking thing because of the board. That’s it. No one expects it to do well. It’s just a vanity PR ploy to make this company look good to all the whiny board members who keep preaching equality. They wanted more women in here, remember? Kat’s working on the project, too, so we can market and promote it as “girl-friendly.”
Voice 1: You mean female-friendly?
Voice 2: Yeah. Menstrual-friendly. Feminazi-friendly. Whatever.
Ian: Feminazis aren’t friendly. Look at Kat.
Laughter.
Acid bubbled from the pit of my constricted stomach. I couldn’t listen anymore to those bigoted assholes. They’d given me the production lead job simply because of my gender and simultaneously assumed I couldn’t do that job because I was female.
Well, screw them.
I raced to Kat’s office, a few doors down. She was sketching zombies on her tablet. In her doorway I announced, “I’m making this apocalypse game, MY game, MY idea, a huge success.”
She nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it,” she said with a grin and went back to drawing.
The three executive jackasses left Ian’s office and walked right by me in the hallway, without any kind of acknowledgment whatsoever. I’d show them they underestimated me. That I would roll up my sleeves and lead this entire thing myself.
Collapsing on my desk chair, I closed my eyes to slow my rapid heartbeat. Opening them again, I focused my gaze on the mugs Nolan had brought me.
I had an idea. Grabbing my wallet, I took the elevator to the ground floor and evaluated my novelty mug options at the drugstore attached to our lobby. For a mere seven dollars, I bought Ian a present: a “World’s Greatest Boss” oversize coffee cup. With a Sharpie marker, I wrote on the bottom “Juuuuust kidding!” for people to see when he drank from it. I peeked inside my brown bag and admired my penmanship as the elevator took me to the office floor.
While Ian was in a meeting, I stealthily placed the mug on his desk, with no note and no card for explanation. A few hours later, I saw him in the kitchen, sipping from the boss mug while intermittently telling one of his many rotating “glory days of gaming” stories he had in his arsenal. Employees gathered around, sniggering and smirking into their lattes, savoring their warm drinks and the shared inside joke.
