Fugly

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  I listened carefully, filling my cup. This is horrifying. I’d already gained a toxic reputation and hadn’t even met a single person besides Keri, really.

  “Miss Snow?” said that deep familiar voice behind me. I turned to find Mr. Cole in a well-fitting blue dress shirt, shiny silver cuff links, black satin tie with red Xs, and black slacks. As usual, he looked as handsome and cocky as hell.

  I pasted on a polite smile, trying desperately to push away any thoughts of his mouth on my breasts or his body inside mine. “Good morning, sir. How are you?”

  “Great. I just came down to tell you that—”

  A loud male voice just outside the break-room doorway broke his train of thought. “At least we know she’s not banging the boss. Did you get a look at that fucking face?”

  The hot coffee in my hand almost slid away as my blood pressure dropped. Then I had to prevent myself from crushing the cup.

  Mr. Cole’s expression went from neutral to Arctic glacier. “As I was saying, I came down to tell you that you’ll be working with Mike Masters on a new project. He’s a director who’s been with us for three years, and he’ll be showing you the ropes.”

  I swallowed and forced myself to focus on Mr. Cole’s words while my anger and humiliation worked on getting the best of me.

  “Thank you for the heads-up, Mr. Cole.”

  He nodded, turned, and walked off.

  Me? I stood there feeling a mishmash of pissed and hurt. How could grown professionals be so blatantly cruel? And I don’t know what I’d expected Mr. Cole to do about it, but the way he’d ignored the comment got under my skin more than the comment had. He had to know it stung. Did he give a shit?

  Nope.

  I walked to my office, shut the door, and started poring through emails, my hand shaking with indignation. I couldn’t afford to unravel on my first real day. This was my dream. My future. And no one had the right to take it from me.

  There was a light knock on the door.

  Great. Someone coming to tell me how unwelcome I am?

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and a tall, nice-looking man with an athletic build, black hair, and bright blue eyes popped in. “Lily, I’m Mike Masters. Just wanted to introduce myself before the meeting.” He held out his hand, and I stood, leaning over my desk to shake it.

  “Nice to meet you.” I tried to sound positive but wasn’t sure it worked.

  “I think the pleasure is all mine. You’ve been here less than a week and you’ve already got everyone shaking in their Pradas.”

  “Sorry?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “You know, the show,” he said quietly.

  I shook my head no.

  “Mr. Cole just hired you and took you with him to Milan.”

  Yes, but what was I missing? “So?”

  “So, he only takes one person, and it’s usually his favorite.”

  What? Were we in grade school? “I’m sure Mr. Cole has no favorites. Just people he dislikes less than others.”

  Mike laughed. “You catch on quickly.”

  “Yes. But not quickly enough, apparently, because I had no clue I’d end up with my name attached to a scandal for having a little innocent fun at the party.” All true. Because my dirty fun happened after the party.

  “Don’t worry. You’re officially the envy of everyone here,” he said with a warm friendly smile.

  “Envy. Is that what it’s called? I could’ve sworn the mob smelled of hostility. Or were those welcome torches?”

  “They only have the best of destructive intentions, I promise.” He shrugged playfully.

  I instantly liked this guy. His humor reminded me a little of Danny.

  He glanced down at his watch. “Time for the meeting. Get ready.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “We like to think of these monthly gatherings as a monster truck show—lots of things getting crushed.”

  “I thought we were going to talk business strategies,” I said.

  “We will. But Mr. Cole likes to keep us on our toes with plenty of action.”

  I cringed. “Sounds fun.” Almost as fun as sitting in a room with Mr. Cole and trying to keep a poker face while I also pretended some dickhead stranger outside the break room hadn’t just degraded me. I’m living the dream.

  ~~~

  The meeting with forty-two of Mr. Cole’s direct staff members, including Keri, was held in the executive conference suite—a sterile but chic-looking room with bright white walls and the infamous red C.C. lips and logo painted behind the head of a long dark-gray table that stretched from one end of the room to the other.

  Mike and I hustled in, only beating Mr. Cole by a minute, and found a place to sit in the corner along the edge of the room. The table had already been filled up.

  I had to admit, I was curious to get a look at everyone, knowing what I did about our boss.

  Would they all be supermodels? I’d wondered.

  But no. Most looked like your average, well-dressed professionals with a fairly equal mix of women, men, younger and older.

  When Mr. Cole walked in, the entire vibe of the room shifted from antsy to terrified. Lots of sitting still, no chitchat, very focused eyes. The lion had entered the jungle and the tiny creatures quaked in their fur.

  Then I noticed why: Mr. Cole’s handsome face had a “don’t fuck with me” look on it. It was a scowl I’d seen quite a few times already, but even I felt uneasy.

  He shut the door behind him, threw down a tabloid on the table and then looked around the room, his hazel eyes boring into everyone there.

  He skipped me.

  “I’d like to ask everyone here a question,” he said. “Who in this room thinks I should fire Steve?”

  A bunch of people looked at a middle-aged blond guy at the opposite end of the table—younger than the rest. That had to be Steve because he looked like he wanted to die. Or wet himself. I wasn’t sure.

  “And who here thinks I should beat the crap out of him?” Mr. Cole popped off his cufflinks and began to roll up his right sleeve.

  Everyone in the room exchanged nervous glances and probably, like me, wondered what the hell was happening.

  He finished rolling up his right sleeve and went to work on the left. “Because I just can’t decide. On one hand, Steve will probably sue me, but on the other, I’ll get the satisfaction of driving my fist into his face.” He looked around the room. “Everyone gets how tempting that is, yes?”

  “Sir?” Steve croaked. “What’s going on?”

  Cole flashed a sadistic smile that oozed rage. “You know, Steve. When I stood downstairs in the break room, speaking to our new team member—” he gestured toward me and the entire room turned for a look—“Lily Snow there, who by the way has an MBA from Stanford, graduated top of her class, has worked with two of our competitors, and possesses more balls in her pinky than all the men in this room combined, with the exception of myself, of course—just imagine my surprise when you said…” He paused for dramatic effect, and I felt my head coming unhinged. He was not about to make me relive that moment in front of all these people, was he? “All right, never mind what you said,” I mentally blew out a breath of relief as he went on, “but it was offensive. Even to someone like me, which says a lot. But you know what changed my mind from having a talk with you, Steve, to beating you unconscious in front of a room full of people?” Mr. Cole pointed to the tabloid. “That.”

  Steve’s frantic eyes glanced down at the paper showing a picture of me on the front page, but he didn’t speak.

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out it was your roommate who wrote that?” Mr. Cole seethed.

  Steve didn’t respond, but now that I knew he wasn’t just the guy who made the comment outside the break room, but who’d also somehow arranged this crap to be printed about me, I no longer felt sorry for him.

  Monster truck.

  I raised my hand. “Mr. Cole? I vote you fire him and then kick his ass
so your liability is reduced to only your personal assets versus the company’s.” But whatever you do, get those big hands dirty, sir. Show me how it’s done.

  Mr. Cole flashed a glance at me and smiled. “There. You see. She’s already paid for herself.” He looked at Steve. “Steve, you’re fired. Don’t bother collecting your things; Keri will see to clearing out your office.”

  Steve rose from the table and kept Mr. Cole in his peripheral vision as he scurried from the room.

  “Steve,” Cole yelled, “watch your back, because I’ll be coming for you.”

  If I were Steve, I’d be leaving the state.

  “Okay.” Mr. Cole blew out a breath and planted his hands on the table. “In the future, if anyone here feels the need to publically shame me or a member of my staff because they didn’t get to go to Milan, please save us all some trouble, pack up your shit, and go home.”

  Wow.

  “Now,” he took his seat, “where were we?”

  We are feeling very hot for you right now. That’s where we are. I forced myself to turn away a thousand different thoughts pertaining to how that man had just triggered a dire need to show some gratitude. With my body.

  The rest of the meeting was run like I’d originally imagined—professional, efficient, and drama free—with the heads of each department giving overviews or status updates on major projects. Marketing got a huge pat on the back for yet another flawless launch of a new product line. Operations got a kick in the pants because the new factory in Jersey was two months behind in construction due to weather delays, and C.C.’s contract manufacturers were still struggling to keep up meeting basic orders. So the company was bleeding money. Sales got a stick and carrot because the numbers were up, but margins were down. Of course, most of that had to do with lack of product to sell, but Mr. Cole pointed out that they’d not been pushing the higher-margin, more readily available product like lip gloss.

  Raising my hand at the same time my mouth went to work, I offered up this nugget, “How about another Maxwell Cole spread? My friends still talk about that Nude and Natural campaign.” The moment I said those words, I instantly regretted them. Why? Because the entire room gasped, rumbled, and snickered, indicating I’d stepped on a landmine.

  Mr. Cole shot a look at me. “Are you suggesting, Miss Snow, that taking off my clothes is the only way for this company to sell product?”

  Oh damn. He was angry. Again. But why?

  Well, I’d dug my hole, and backpedaling would only make me look weak. I knew that about my boss now. If I was wrong for my suggestion, then so be it, but being wrong and spineless was not a wise choice.

  I drew a breath, uncrossed my legs, and stared him in the eyes. “It’s not the only way. But let’s face it, you could sell ice to an Eskimo.”

  He tilted his head, looking at me with a peculiar expression as if to say, “Are you mad or crazy?”

  The room waited with bated breath. “Anyone else here agree with Miss Snow?”

  Mike leaned over and whispered, “Mr. Cole banned anyone from suggesting that again. It’s been proposed a million times. The last person that did it was fired.”

  Oh God. Now I got it.

  Surprisingly, almost everyone in the room still raised their hands, and Maxwell Cole shook his head. “I hire the best people in the industry and they can’t come up with anything more creative than seeing me naked.” He looked at me. “Thank you for your suggestion, Miss Snow. I’ll think about it.” He nodded and moved on.

  Wait. Why hadn’t he chewed me up and spit me out? I knew he wanted to, but he hadn’t.

  No. This won’t work at all. He was not allowed to show me any favoritism or special treatment just because…of everything else.

  I’d have to speak to him later because I really wanted this to work out. Though, I’d later learn that was impossible.

  At the end of the meeting, a few people came over to introduce themselves—Susan, head of Marketing; Jer, the head of Operations; Gloria, head of R and D; and a few others in Sales. It wasn’t the warmest welcome, but it seemed my willingness to speak up to the boss won me a little respect despite my bumpy start.

  Right after we adjourned, I went to see Keri and ask if Cole was available, but she was already off to lunch. Hearing that familiar deep voice on the other side of his door, I figured Mr. Cole was busy on a call or something, so I turned around and headed back toward the stairwell. Just then my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from the big man himself.

  Mr. Cole: Come see me.

  I didn’t want to seem like a stalker standing outside his door, so I replied, Be there in five.

  I heard a thump emanate from his office. Had he hit his desk because I told him to wait?

  Me: Sorry. Make that ten. I need to wrap up this call.

  Thump!

  Dear God. This man had a temper. I quietly stepped out into the stairwell to wait in my office for a few minutes. I had plenty to do now that I had several accounts, introduction meetings to schedule with clients, accounting issues to resolve, and a project with Mike to work on a new tween line, an exclusive for our top ten customers.

  The moment I got to my office and sat, Mr. Cole appeared in my doorway, fuming.

  “Do you ever not look angry?” I hissed.

  He closed the door and then sat in one of the two guest seats that faced my desk.

  He leaned back, staring at me for a moment. “Are you purposefully trying to get fired on your first real day of work, Miss Snow?”

  I held my cool. “No, sir.”

  “Then why the hell are you behaving like this?”

  “Like what?”

  He leaned closer. “What are people going to think if you’re looking at me like that in meetings?” he asked in a low voice.

  “What are you talking about?” I hadn’t been looking at him any special way, had I?

  “Ogling. And you can’t behave like you’re not…you’re not afraid of me.”

  My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “I’m not afraid of you, but that has nothing to do with…” I flipped my hand through the air, “that…event last weekend. And you’re the one giving me special treatment.”

  “You mean calling that sonofabitch out for what he said or having his buddy print those articles to punish you because you took his place on the trip?”

  “God no. I thought that was surprisingly fantastic. And I’d love to get a front-row seat to the ass kicking, whenever that’s going to be.” In all seriousness, with all the excitement, I hadn’t truly had time to process all that. Mr. Cole really had put himself out there to stand up for me. It was really…nice. Really, really nice. “I meant that you should’ve yelled at me for suggesting the nude photo campaign, but you didn’t.”

  “Why would I? You had no idea I’d banned it.”

  “Yeah, but I think someone like you would expect me to do my homework before I pop off a suggestion. I didn’t. ”

  He stared. “Fine. Point taken. Next time, I’ll be an unreasonable hard-ass.”

  “I’d expect nothing less, Mr. Cole.”

  He stood up. “And the next time I tell you to come to my office, you drop whatever the hell you’re doing and come. Understand?”

  I nodded, trying desperately not to check him out. I just couldn’t help but want to look at him. Eyes on his face, Lily.

  “Yes, sir.” I wouldn’t do what he’d asked, but why fight about it now when we could save that enjoyable little argument for another day?

  “Good.” He reached for the door.

  “By the way, I bought six tubes of lip gloss after seeing you naked.” Oh, wait. “In the photo, I mean.” Because that would be weird to bang your boss and then run out and buy lip gloss. “I really hope you’ll do it again because I’d like a fat bonus this year.” Which I’d only get if we all hit our sales numbers.

  He shook his head—“Women”—and left.

  Once he cleared the room, and I cleared my hot mess of a head—okay, maybe I had been ogling
him in the meeting and needed to keep that in check—I realized Mr. Cole hadn’t once looked at my tits. Not at my ear or neck or the floor either. He’d looked me right in the face. And while I understood from experience that his symptoms tended to subside when emotions were high, he really had been pretty calm.

  I wondered if his “therapy” hadn’t worked on some level. However, it was a question I wouldn’t get to test out for a very long time.

  ~~~

  The next three weeks, I saw almost nothing of Mr. Cole. He went to his side of the world, and I went to mine, visiting with clients in L.A., Toronto, Atlanta, and New York.

  My mother and father hounded me for photos via my brother at every stop. I’d been so tired after spending long days with customers, hearing complaints about supply, talking about upcoming forecasts, and going through my lists of questions about their facilities, that most of the pics I’d sent to my parents were of me standing next to the window in my hotel room, wearing my pajamas.

  Hitting airport after airport, customer after customer, for three solid weeks promised to take my mind off of Mr. Cole—those soft lips, those hot kisses, the feel of his naked body slamming into mine while he groaned my name—but the truth was, the separation had given me time to process my feelings. I wanted more of him.

  It was something I desperately needed to get over, which was why, after my return, I avoided Mr. Cole most of the week, spending my time in meetings with Marketing and Mike, hammering out a project plan for our new tween line. It was fun, crazy work, and I really liked Mike’s humor, which was also why I decided to accept his offer to go for drinks on Friday.

  No. I absolutely did not think that having an office romance—a real one—was a good idea. Bad in every way. But how would I ever start getting over my own issues if I didn’t begin opening myself up to men? And drinks with a male coworker did not mean sex. It meant spending a little downtime getting to know someone. Innocent and perfectly acceptable. Right?

  Friday, around four o’clock, I sat in a small conference room with Mike, poring over color concepts from Marketing when a text from Mr. Cole caught me completely off guard.