Ms. Scrooge Page 2

  “Your first priority?” That statement gives me the beginning of a migraine. Roberta had a lot of tasks to do before the weekend, and if faxing that document was her first priority and she didn’t manage to do it right, it worries me. What happened to all the other stuff she was supposed to do? Has every piece of paperwork I placed in her hands vanished into oblivion?

  “I did it,” she insists again. “I don’t know why they didn’t get it. Maybe it’s in their spam folder?”

  And this is why I can’t work with Roberta. Because she doesn’t understand the difference between email and fax. This is a multimillion dollar company, and I feel like it’s not too much to hope for that my receptionist knows fax machines don’t have a spam folder.

  “You faxed it, right?” I say. “Fax. Not email. Fax.”

  “Yes, of course!”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and my forefinger. This chocolate account is huge. Beyond huge. If we land it, it will guarantee my promotion to the job that Marley Jacobs has recently vacated since her death. The job I deserve. I can’t do anything to screw this up. I can’t let Roberta’s incompetence ruin the opportunity of a lifetime.

  I look at my receptionist, who is clutching her fists together, her gray eyebrows knitted together anxiously. She needs to retire. Like, yesterday. Really, if I fired her, I’d be doing her a favor. She’ll get a severance package and then she could just stay home and enjoy her… Well, I don’t know anything about her family, but I presume there are grandchildren. Roberta looks like this sort of woman who has a lot of chubby grandchildren with pink cheeks. She looks like a woman who’s always got a butterscotch in her purse to offer them.

  What she does not look like is a secretary in a multimillion dollar advertising agency.

  Of course, it’s three days before Christmas. If I fire her, some might construe that as being heartless. Not that I care what everyone thinks, but it does seem particularly cruel.

  I’ll wait until after Christmas.

  “Fax it again.” I hand Roberta a second copy of the document that should have gone out yesterday. “And this time, I want the confirmation sheet. Bring it to my office as soon as you’re done.”

  Roberta frowns. “Confirmation sheet?”

  Lord, give me strength. “The sheet of paper that comes out after you fax the document.”

  “Oh!” She nods. “Of course, Elizabeth. I’m so sorry about the mix-up.”

  As Roberta scrambles out of my office, I settle back in my leather chair that is contoured to the shape of my spine. I contemplate the likelihood that Roberta will return with the confirmation sheet. I should just fax it myself, but sending faxes is way below my pay grade. They didn’t give me this huge office with a mahogany desk and a fantastic view of Central Park so I could do the work of a secretary. Marley didn’t send her own faxes, and neither will I.

  As I load up my computer to look at the presentation I’ll be giving tomorrow to Danvier Chocolates that will possibly make or break my career, my eyes fall on the photograph in the corner of my desk. It’s the only photograph in my entire office. Roberta’s cubicle is littered with pictures—she seems to have a photograph of literally every person she’s ever met—but I’ve only got the one. And it’s not of my dear departed mother or my younger sister, who I don’t see nearly enough for her taste. It’s of my mentor. The woman who has made the biggest impact in my professional life.

  Marley Jacobs.

  After that meeting about Casey cosmetics, Marley took me under her wing. We worked together on the lipstick ads, which ended up winning a bunch of awards. That campaign was what propelled me into my current position, and also propelled Marley into the role as the youngest CEO in the history of Janetta advertising. I was the one who took her out for drinks on the night of her promotion.

  When we were in the office, Marley would dispense wisdom like Yoda, but when we went out for drinks, that was when I learned about her life. She put herself through business school, much like I did, and everything she ever got in life, she worked her ass off for. She dedicated her whole life to her career. I admired her more than anyone I’ve ever known.

  “My parents were both drunks,” Marley told me once. “The only things they ever gave me were the sperm and the egg that made me. But it taught me to be self-sufficient, and that’s something I’m grateful to them for.”

  Marley taught me everything I know about business. And she taught me the most important thing in life is working hard, and that’s the real key to success. A lot of other people at the company are backstabbing schemers who would steal the shirt off your back, but Marley wasn’t like that. Marley was smart and worked hard, and she was rewarded for it. I wanted to be just like her. I always dreamed of someday having her position as CEO.

  But not like this.

  I drag my eyes away from the photograph of Marley and back to the computer screen. I’ve got to focus. The big presentation to Danvier Chocolates is tomorrow, and I can’t screw it up. I’ve got to get this account and the promotion.

  If I don’t, Richard will.

  Chapter 2

  Half an hour later, Roberta still has not returned with that confirmation sheet. I can’t imagine where she’s gone. Did she forget to fax the document? Or did she simply forget to give me the sheet? Neither would surprise me.

  Finally, I venture out of my office to sort the whole thing out. I’ve been sticking close to my desk this morning because I wore my new pair of Christian Louboutin pumps, and they are beyond uncomfortable. I can’t even imagine why anyone would make shoes that hurt this much. They are so uncomfortable, it’s a misnomer to call them shoes. I mean, yes, they’re gorgeous. But the functional purpose of shoes is to provide some sort of padding and protection to feet when you’re walking around, not just to injure you worse and worse with every step.

  On the other hand, they add three inches to my height. Taller is always better when it comes to intimidating other people. Marley used to rock six-inch heels and she was taller than me to begin with. And I’m grateful for the extra height, because as I shut the door to my office behind me, I nearly run smack into Richard Hall.

  “Ebbie!” he exclaims.

  I cringe. “I told you I prefer to be called Elizabeth.”

  The skin around Richard’s eyes crinkles when he smiles. Richard Hall has been just as successful at the company as everyone thought he would be ten years ago. Nobody is surprised by that. He recently turned forty, but for a man, that’s far from devastating—and sadly, he’s gotten even sexier in the last ten years. Richard is the sort of man who gets sexier every year, which is a crime considering he started out very sexy to begin with. He allowed his hair to turn a bit gray at the temples, even though I was at the salon paying for a color treatment less than twenty-four hours after the first time I noticed a single gray strand.

  “But I’ve always called you Ebbie,” he protests.

  Ebbie was my childhood nickname. When I got to business school, I left Ebbie behind for good. But in a moment of stupidity, I allowed Richard to overhear a conversation I had on speakerphone with my sister, and she blew my secret. No respected CEO goes by Ebbie. Every time he calls me that, my blood pressure goes up ten points. But I’m not going to allow him to get away with it.

  “Whatever you say, Ritchie.”

  I smile as he winces. Richard hates being called Ritchie as much as I dislike Ebbie. It’s yet another fact that got passed between us while we were rolling around under the sheets. Yes, I got taken in by his charm. Even though I was warned not to. Hey, I’m only human. At least I emerged unscathed.

  Relatively unscathed.

  “So,” Richard says. He smooths out his red power tie. His suit is Armani, if I’m not mistaken. I can’t even imagine how much it must’ve set him back. “How are things going with the chocolate account?”

  “Great!” I chirp.

  I’m not going to let on to Richard that my secretary is incapable of faxing a simple document. Sometimes I wo
nder if Richard pulled some strings to get Roberta assigned to me. I can only imagine she’s some sort of strategic sabotage.

  “Great,” he says. He smiles again, but it’s less genuine this time.

  Richard wants me to fail. He hasn’t said as much, but it’s clearly true. But I can’t be too angry, because I want him to fail. He and I are both up for Marley’s job, and the board will make a decision after the holidays. Marley would have wanted me to have the job. Even though he has seniority, I work harder and know the business better than Richard. I deserve the job more than anyone else. Everyone knows it’s true. If Marley were here, she would be fighting for me to get it. But for the first time ever, she isn’t here to advocate for me.

  The thought of it makes a tiny lump form in my throat. So I don’t think about it.

  “You’ve got the meeting with them tomorrow, don’t you?” Richard says. “First thing in the afternoon, right?”

  I grit my teeth. “Yes.”

  “A big meeting on Christmas week.” He shakes his head. “Those guys mean business, don’t they?”

  Richard is trying to psych me out. I know him well enough to know his strategy. Does he actually think it will work?

  “It’s fine, “I say. “We’re ready.”

  It’s not a lie. I am so ready for this meeting. I was born ready. But that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.

  “Don’t stress so much, Elizabeth.” He tries to rest his hand on my shoulder but I shrug him off. “You’ve got that vein standing out in your neck. It’s a little scary.”

  Even though I hate myself for it, my left hand flies to my neck. Sadly, I know what he’s talking about.

  “It’s just a job,” Richard says. “You can’t let it get to you. You don’t want to end up like Marley.”

  I snort. “You mean the most successful woman in the history of this company?”

  “No. I mean, like dead.”

  I suck in a breath. Richard has no trouble talking about Marley, but I can’t manage to say those words. It’s hard to think about the fact that the woman I admire most in the world dropped dead of a sudden heart attack two months ago. That she’s currently rotting in a coffin six feet under the ground. I still find myself thinking, “I wonder what Marley will think of this. I’ve got to talk to her.”

  And then I remember.

  “Marley had a great life.” I’m so angry, I’m spitting. And that vein in my neck is also undoubtedly pulsating. “She was successful and admired by everyone.”

  “She was also a high-strung bitch.” He raises his eyebrows. “Everybody thought so. Well, everybody but you.”

  My hands ball into fists. I took kickboxing for several years, and part of me wonders if I could take Richard in a fight. He goes to the gym at least twice a week and I have allowed myself to get soft lately, so probably not. In any case, taking a swing at him would be career-ending. Even though I want to more than anything.

  Instead, I imagine what Marley would have said. He’s just compensating for his below average sized penis, Elizabeth.

  It makes me feel better.

  “You’re wrong about Marley,” I say. “I’d be thrilled to be half the person she was.”

  “Well, congratulations. You’re well on your way.”

  I watch Richard walk away from me, trying not to admire how good his butt looks in that suit. Richard always has the best suits, but I’m not doing so bad myself. A lot has changed since the days when I used to get my clothes at consignment shops. These days, I get my suits at the most expensive shops in the city, and my last haircut cost nearly three hundred bucks—not including the color.

  I hobble over to Roberta’s cubicle to discover the fate of the missing fax. Of course, she’s not in the cubicle—that would make things too simple. God knows where she is.

  I study the contents of the cubicle with curiosity. It disturbs me that her computer isn’t even on, considering it’s nearly eleven o’clock. But she has a lot of papers stacked up. They’re neatly stacked, at least. And unsurprisingly, the walls of her cubicle are still covered with photographs. There are so many pictures, it’s a struggle to find any empty space on the wall. A few are of Roberta, but I can’t identify any of the other people. There’s one of Roberta in a wedding dress looking even younger than I am now, standing next to a man with light brown hair and a thin frame. Roberta and her husband, I assume. I heard a rumor Roberta is a widow, which explains why there aren’t any recent pictures of her with that man.

  My eyes fall on another picture. A boy in a cap and gown, his blue eyes looking directly into the camera as he smiles. I guess he’s Roberta son, but it’s hard to believe this boy is the offspring of Roberta and that man in the wedding photo. Mostly because of how absolutely gorgeous he is. He’s far younger than I am, presumably college-age, but damn. I can’t stop staring.

  “That’s my son,” says a voice from behind me. “Timmy.”

  I jolt, guilty to have been caught ogling this twenty-something-year-old boy. Roberta is looking over my shoulder at the photograph. A look of total love and devotion is on her face. I can’t think of anyone who I would look at that way.

  “I didn’t know you had a son,” I say. Usually I don’t invite conversation with Roberta, but I’m curious about this boy.

  “I have three children,” she says, “but Timmy is the youngest. He lives around here… sort of looks after me, although he’s got his own life now, of course.”

  “When did he graduate?”

  “Oh.” She laughs. “That photograph is from years ago. He’s a teacher now. Single. Unfortunately.”

  Yeah, I’ll just bet he’s single. A guy who looks like that? He’s probably banging half the girls in the city.

  “I wish he would settle down,” she sighs. “He wants so badly to meet a nice girl.”

  Right. Sure.

  Well, everyone tells lies to their mothers. I used to promise my mother I would get married and have a family someday.

  “He’s going to be helping me make Christmas dinner this year.” She brightens. “He promised to do all the shopping, although he’s pretty hopeless in the kitchen.” She giggles in a way that makes her sound younger than she is. “But I could probably let him chop some vegetables.”

  “That’s nice of him to help.”

  Her eyes light up. “Would you like to come to our house for Christmas dinner, Elizabeth? My kids would love to meet you.”

  I have no time for such a thing. Although when I look down at that photo of Timmy Craft, I wonder if maybe I could make time.

  But no. I’m not in the mood for meeting yet another hot guy who’s going to break my heart. Richard already wounded it to the point of near death. “No, thank you.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, knowing there’s no way in hell I’ll be at her house for Christmas dinner. And if she’s smart, she knows it too. I clear my throat. “Do you have the confirmation for that fax?”

  “I was just about to send the fax,” she says. “So… perfect timing.”

  I stare at her. That vein in my neck is definitely throbbing. “I told you to send that fax an hour ago. What have you been doing?”

  “Well, I was passing around cookies.”

  I hadn’t realized it, but Roberta is indeed holding a large plate filled with chocolate chip cookies. It looks like many of the cookies have been eaten already, but there are still quite a few on the plate. I stare at the cookies in astonishment. “Cookies?”

  “I made them using some of the Danvier chocolate samples they handed out,” Roberta says cheerfully. “So really, I was helping with advertising!”

  My mouth falls open.

  “Would you like a cookie, Elizabeth?”

  You’re fired. The words are on my lips. I know if I start talking, it will be the next thing out of my mouth. Roberta needs to go. I can’t run a business this way. I can’t win a major account when I have this incompetent woman working f
or me. But I can’t fire her three days before Christmas. Especially when she just invited me to Christmas dinner.

  Despite what everyone apparently thinks, I’m not that big a bitch.

  “Fax it right now.” I say the words through my teeth. I do not say please. This is not a request. This is Roberta’s job. Her job is to send my faxes. Not to make cookies. And if she can’t do it, she has no business working here. She can go work in a goddamn bakery.

  “Just let me leave these cookies in the break room.”

  “Now, Roberta.”

  This time she finally seems to get it. She puts the cookies down on the desk in her cubicle and doesn’t offer me another one, which is a good thing, because if she had, I would have wrenched the plate out of her hands and thrown it across the room. Then she starts sifting through some of the papers in one of her neat little piles. I fold my arms across my chest, waiting.

  “I’m doing it right now,” Roberta says. “You can get back to work.”

  “I’d like to see you do it.”

  She laughs like I’m being ridiculous. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll take care of it.”

  She continues sifting through the papers, and I’m starting to get worried she lost the document entirely. But then she holds it up in the air, and my shoulders relax. Okay. Roberta can handle faxing this sheet of paper. I don’t need to babysit her.

  At least, I don’t think I do.

  I turn on my painful heel to head back to my office. About ten paces away from the door to my office is the Christmas tree somebody put up at the beginning of the month. It reminds me of the Christmas trees my mother used to have in our house when I was a kid. Even though we were struggling to pay the rent, Mom would always find a way to get us a great tree. She used to help out at a Christmas tree lot, and they would give her a tree as compensation. In retrospect, I don’t know why she didn’t just ask for cash so that we would have more money to pay the bills, but at the same time, I loved those giant trees with all my heart and soul. We used to spend hours decorating it—my mother, my sister Polly, and me. And then when we were done, Mom would plug it in, and it would light up the entire room. Polly and I would just stare at it, our mouths hanging open.