A sick sadness sweeps over me, the same mingled embarrassment and fury and disappointment I feel every time I think of what I did. What I didn't do.
The air in the car seems to change, heavier somehow and pressing down on me, crushing me. I can't do it, I can't think about my biggest ever mistake at work. Having such a catastrophic failure on my record horrifies me even now.
I give my head a little shake to push away the feelings and let my eyes close, making my mind turn instead to the best thing I ever did at work so it won't dwell on my screw-up any longer.
For years, almost since the first day I'd been at the company, people had been talking about the need for an internal database that explained every little detail of the game and its secrets. The system was massively complex, and new employees were painfully slow to get up to speed because there were a thousand small documents listing various tiny elements and no one place to go to find everything you needed to know.
I'd built one.
It had taken me nearly three months to do, working only in the evenings and on weekends. If I'd told Liz about my plans she probably would have let me work on company time, but I'd glommed onto the idea of making it a secret and it amused me.
I didn't work on it every night, since I didn't want it to become a chore, but I did spend at least a few hours every week on it, and sometimes nearly as many as I spent at the office. Since I only did it when I felt like it, I enjoyed it tremendously, and I'd been surprised at how well I'd worked. I hadn't felt bad when I'd quit early or worked differently than I'd planned, because it was my fun little project.
When it was finished, I burned it onto several CDs and sent it through inter-office mail to key managers and technical people. And to myself. I hadn't wanted anyone to guess it had been me, and since I was one of the senior technical people it made sense that I would receive a copy.
The big bosses made noise about wanting to give the system's creator a bonus, and several people stepped up to take the credit but couldn't prove their claims. I'd been so delighted to see it in use, and to see new staff members finding their footing much faster, that I hadn't felt any need for a bonus. I'd loved building it, knowing it would be helpful. Knowing I would make a difference. And I had. But the database hadn't been able to prevent my—
My eyes open and I sigh. It's no use. I can try all I want to focus on the good stuff, but the bad stuff won't leave me alone. Will I feel better after I let my mind go there? Maybe, maybe not. But I don't think I have a choice.
Chapter Fourteen
When I arrived at work on December seventeenth, my birthday, the place was in chaos.
"Another sabotage," Liz called to me, not meeting my eyes, as she raced down the hall. "Went live two minutes ago."
The news, and Liz's obvious and unusual discomfort with me, made me feel even sicker than I'd felt after my hard workout that morning, and I hurried to log in.
The sight of the sabotage hit me like a punch to the gut. No doubt now that the saboteur was Kate, the woman who'd thought she was a better programmer than me. She'd been just the type to replace every last player's carefully designed character appearance with a naked fat woman, and she'd certainly hated me enough to make that naked fat woman look like me. Long red hair, green eyes, flabby body. It was by no means an exact likeness, but everyone in the office would know what it meant. Who it meant.
Two days ago, I'd checked the code where this sabotage would have been lurking. I'd written the code myself. How had I missed her changes?
I gave the files a more careful read-through, and spotted it. Here she'd hidden her tracks even more carefully than with the disease she'd created, but still, I should have seen them. I should have, but I hadn't.
I stared at the screen, fighting the urge to flee the office and never return. How could I face my coworkers? How could I face...
The thought of Andrew pushed me out of my chair and toward the door. I'd felt nervous about seeing him after our near-kiss outside the restaurant the night before, but now? I couldn't bear the idea of his face showing the same embarrassment as Liz's. I couldn't stay in the office another second.
He caught me at the elevator. "Where are you going?
I couldn't speak, so shocked and humiliated and mad at myself.
He took hold of my shoulder. "It's okay. We'll fix it."
"I should have fixed it. I screwed up."
Andrew tried to guide me toward my cubicle but I stood my ground. "I can't. I can't go back."
He frowned. "Why not?"
I stared at him. "Did you see that picture?"
His cheeks turned red, and I shut my eyes against the sudden pain. "Of course you did. Everyone did. Just what I want, the whole office to know what I look like naked."
His hand tightened on my shoulder. "But you don't look like that."
I opened my eyes. "How would you know?"
His blush deepened. "I don't, of course, but..." He struggled for words. "But you wouldn't, because you don't look like that now. So you wouldn't if you... if you didn't have your clothes."
The woman in the picture was probably a few pounds heavier than me, ten tops. "Yeah, you're right, I'd probably look worse."
Andrew tried to protest but I talked over him. "Look, whatever. I'm a big fucking whale and that's all there is to it. Let me go fix that code and then I'll go kill myself."
His eyes widened. "It's in your code?"
"Yeah," I snapped. "I missed it. Guess you were right and I couldn't do it by myself."
I pushed past him and stormed back to my cubicle, trying not to think about how he hadn't contradicted my whale comment.
He followed, insisting he hadn't meant it like that, but I kept going and threw on my headphones as soon as I reached my desk. I could still hear him, though, saying, "I figured she'd put it in someone else's code because they probably wouldn't find it."
I'd been the one who hadn't found it. "Go away," I growled. "I need to be alone."
He put his hand on my shoulder again but I twisted away from him. Some part of me was watching my actions, watching how horribly I was treating Andrew, and cringing at my cruelty, but I couldn't stop myself. He'd never see me the same way after seeing that damned picture and I couldn't stand it.
"Rhiannon."
The sweetness and sadness in his voice made me livid and broke my heart at the same time. I couldn't let myself cry, though. Not at work. "Please. Go. I can't do this."
I stared at my computer, my teeth clenched, as he brushed a hand gently over my hair. "I'm going. You know where to find me if you need me."
He left without another word, and though his tone had made it sound like he understood and sympathized, I still felt terrible about kicking him out. He hadn't deserved that treatment.
No, I had. I fixed the sabotaged code, ran a few rudimentary tests to make sure I hadn't introduced worse problems, then sent out the customary "The game will shut down in ten minutes" message to give players time to quit, although most of them already had, no doubt repulsed by what they saw. Throughout, I was raging at myself.
I'd missed that change to my code. How much else had I missed? I'd made myself responsible for making sure everything was perfect, and I hadn't done it. How could I have let that happen?
After ten minutes of stewing and punishing myself, I shut down the game and restarted it, and confirmed that the characters now looked like themselves again instead of thousands of fat hideous Rhiannons. Then I sent an email to the entire staff to let them know it was fixed and dove back into checking the rest of the code assigned to me. Once I finished that, I would start again and redo everything I'd thought I'd done, because clearly I hadn't done it well enough.
Liz's reply to my email, which she too sent to everyone, thanked me for my quick repair of the issue and commended me on taking charge and making sure it was complete. I deleted this without response. I'd had to take charge; it was my fault.
A few minutes later, she sent another email, just to me this time. With typical Liz
candor, she wrote, "We both know it was in your code, and I can imagine how you feel. But you shouldn't. It was a mistake, it's hardly like you have a pattern of messing up, and you should know that the management team isn't even considering any sort of disciplinary action. Let it go and move on, okay?"
I sent back, "Okay," but I wasn't remotely letting it go. I couldn't. I had to fix my mistake, and there was no way to fix it because it had happened and couldn't be taken back, and I hated myself for it. I deserved disciplinary action.
Luckily, I could discipline myself more harshly than the most vicious management team. I worked all morning, without a single break, and I refused to go for lunch even though several different people came to ask me. I could see it, their knowledge of what the picture had meant, on their faces and in their inability to meet my eyes, and I couldn't bring myself to sit with them and try to eat while we all envisioned my fat naked body.
The others backed down quickly, after offering awkward birthday greetings, but Andrew, that beautiful stubborn bastard, would not be fobbed off so easily. "It's Friday, and we always have lunch on Fridays. You have to eat."
I poked myself in the stomach. "Clearly I don't."
He caught my arm, and I gasped at the tightness of his grip. "Damn it, quit that. You are so not fat."
I jerked my arm away. "You saw that picture."
"That wasn't you!"
A sudden hush from the cubicles around mine made it clear our coworkers had heard his outburst, and I hissed, "Shh, would you?"
He lowered his voice, but not his intensity. "It wasn't you. Kate's a bitch. She did this to hurt you—"
"Mission accomplished."
"—and I don't think you should let her win," he went on as if I hadn't spoken. "Nobody actually thinks that was you."
But the picture so clearly matched my own image of myself. How could it not match my coworkers' images of me as well? Andrew had called me gorgeous; would the picture change his image of me? A wave of crushing sadness swept me and I looked up into his eyes.
He moved to me at once and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, drawing me against his flat stomach. I let him hold me for a few seconds, but then had to pull away. He felt too good, and I didn't deserve him.
"I screwed up," I muttered. "I checked that code but didn't see the change. So I have to check everything again."
His eyes softened. "Let me help you."
"It's my fault so I'll fix it."
He touched my hair so gently it brought tears to my eyes for the first time that day, his tenderness working its way through the layer of fury that had been insulating my emotions. "Please don't punish yourself like this. You made a mistake. It happens to everyone. Did I tell you about the time I hit the wrong button and wiped out a company's email database?"
I shook my head.
"Let me tell you at lunch."
I shook my head again. "I really have to do this."
His fingers smoothed down over my cheekbone, and despite everything lust shot through me at his caress.
Our eyes locked, and the hunger in his made my heart pick up speed.
He felt it too. He did want me.
I looked away first, though, unable to handle this now. I'd had guys think I'd be an easy lay because of my weight. I couldn't imagine he'd be the same way, but I wouldn't be able to bear it if he was.
"If you're sure," he said, his voice rough and dark, "I guess I should let you work."
"I guess so."
He took a breath as if about to speak, then gave a nod and walked away.
I worked without interruption, not letting my mind wander to him and the delicious feelings his touch had given me, until my need for the bathroom grew too much to ignore.
I was only gone a few minutes, but somehow he knew. When I returned to my desk, my mug had been filled with coffee from our office kitchen and a small paper bag from the Griffin Café lay beside my keyboard. I peeked into the bag to see a bagel and a packet of peanut butter. He must have made the ten-minute trip there on his lunch break then saved the bagel until he could slip it into my cubicle.
Tears stinging my eyes, I decided I could give myself a five-minute break. I sent him an email to thank him, spending nearly the entire break trying to decide how to apologize for my behavior. In the end, I went with, "Thank you so much. You're too good to me, especially with how I've been today."
My first bite of bagel made me realize how hungry I was, and I wolfed down one whole half before I knew what I was doing. I tried to slow down for the rest of it, but it was still gone before I knew it.
Andrew's response arrived as I ate the last bite. "Nowhere close to good enough to you, never mind too good. Besides, that wasn't me. The bagel fairy did it. Like the Easter bunny, but with bagels."
I sent back, "Thank the bagel fairy for me then. It was delicious. I'm sorry I've been such a beast." I closed my email so I wouldn't keep checking for another note from him and threw myself back into work, stopping only when my cell phone's alarm went off.
As if my day hadn't been bad enough, it was time to go to my WeightAway session. I dreaded my weigh-ins, but at least this one would have to be good. I'd hardly eaten anything that day and I'd been absolutely perfect the entire week. Joel had scolded me about the chocolate I'd eaten with Andrew, and since then I hadn't even let my eyes devour something bad for me. No doubt, I'd have lost weight.
*****
Except I didn't.
I stood on the scale staring at the hateful glowing red numbers, unable to believe it. Up three quarters of a pound.
"What did you do wrong?"
Joel's voice was calm and unconcerned, but I was furious.
"Not a damned thing. I ate perfectly, and I did my hour of exercise every day."
He raised his eyebrows.
"You'd better believe me, because I did everything right." Anger swelling, I said, "So if this isn't working, it's the program, not me. Maybe it's time I try something else."
Joel's eyes widened. "No, no. Whatever's going wrong, we can do something about it. Come on, let's go talk."
He led me back down the hall to his tiny office. My fury faded all too fast, leaving only misery behind, and by the time we reached his office I was in tears.
He shut the door behind us and passed me a box of tissues. "It's okay, Rhiannon. We'll figure it out."
"There's nothing to figure! I am doing absolutely everything I can. I can't eat any less and I can't work out any more. And I'm still fat and I can't fix it and..."
The tears cut off my voice, and I covered my face with my hands.
Joel wrapped an arm gingerly around my shoulders. "Don't cry."
"Too late," I choked out.
His arm tightened around me, and his other hand slid up and down my arm. It was no doubt meant to be comforting but it made me feel sleazy so I pulled away from him, pretending I needed to blow my nose.
Once I had myself a little more under control, he said, "Look, sometimes you just need a day or two off. That might be all it takes to get the weight loss moving again."
"Or I'll be an elephant by Monday."
"You won't be. I'm sorry it has you so upset, though. If I were doing my job better, you'd probably have lost more weight by now."
I frowned. "I don't see how that makes sense. You tell me what to do and I do it. So what else could you do?"
He thought for a moment. "I could take you out for dinner."
I stared at him. "Why would you?"
His eyes slipped away from mine. "I could check how much you really eat."
"I already told you—"
"I know. But sometimes people are eating little extras that they don't even consider. I could make sure you're not doing that."
Sandra and her bridesmaids were treating me to dinner tomorrow to celebrate my birthday and discuss the wedding, but the rest of today would be nothing but crying over my weight and my work screw up and the damage I'd done to my relationship with Andrew, who'd left the office bef
ore me without even saying goodbye. I couldn't face it. "Okay," I said with a sigh. "Where are we going?"
Chapter Fifteen
Waiting for Joel outside the restaurant he'd suggested was unbelievably uncomfortable. I'd been his last client of the day, but he'd told me before I left that he wasn't allowed to see clients outside of the clinic so he couldn't leave with me. The clandestine nature of it creeped me out. It was starting to feel like a date and I did not want that.
When he walked up to me, his boots squelching in the dirty slushy snow, he said, "You didn't tell me it's your birthday."
His cologne arrived a split second after he did, a wave of it that told me he'd reapplied before leaving the clinic. It wasn't quite as overwhelming outside as it was in his office, though. "True. How'd you find out?"
"Saw it in your records as I was ringing up your food. I'm sorry you had crappy results today of all days."
I sighed. "I had a crappy day overall, so it fits right in."
He held the door open for me. "Well, let's make it a good dinner then."
To my surprise, it was. He ordered wine, even though I knew from him that it metabolized like fat and I shouldn't be drinking it, because it was my birthday. I only allowed myself one glass, but it did take the edge off my stress and sadness. Joel had at least three and was soon nothing like the slightly uptight counselor I saw at the clinic.
We didn't mention my diet. Instead, we chatted about other things. He was fascinated by my work, saying he could barely send an email and couldn't imagine how I could write software. Trying not to think about the deeply nerdy and enjoyable talks Andrew and I had about all things computer-related, I explained the game and my job in as simple terms as I could manage. He seemed to understand, and then we went on to talk about his sports and my running and everything else we could think of.
He pronounced my meal perfect, and then insisted I have dessert.
"You are kidding, right?"
He shook his head. "It's your birthday. You should celebrate."
"But my diet doesn't want to celebrate."
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 68
