Ms. Scrooge Read online

  I flinch. I should’ve known he didn’t just come in here to invite me to dinner. “I’m not going to change my mind about that.”

  “But why?”

  “I told you. We’re using the conference room for actual work.”

  “Fine. Then we’ll have the party in the break room.”

  “No, it’s not fine. There’s not going to be a Christmas party during work hours.”

  Richard frowns. “Why are you being such a bitch about this, Elizabeth?”

  I stare at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Look,” he says, “it’s almost Christmas. Everybody’s been working really hard, and they were all looking forward to this party.”

  “Boo-hoo. This is a place of work. Marley never allowed Christmas parties.”

  “Marley Jacobs was a stone cold bitch. I don’t think that’s the example you want to be following.”

  I look at the photo of Marley on my desk. Her confident brown eyes stare back at me. Richard never would have had the balls to call Marley a bitch to her face. He’ll only do it now that she’s gone and can’t defend herself. “Don’t call her that, Richard.”

  “But it’s true.” He crosses his arms. “Everybody is really upset over your email, Elizabeth. Courtney was almost crying. I mean, she worked really hard organizing the party.”

  I study Richard’s handsome face. “What? Are you trying to get her into bed?”

  He smirks. “A little late for that.”

  “Oh…”

  Richard and Courtney are hooking up. I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow I am.

  He throws his head back and laughs at the expression on my face. “I’ve been banging Courtney since October. I thought you knew.”

  In spite of everything, his words are like a slap in the face. “But you invited me to dinner tonight…”

  “So?” He shrugs. “It’s not like I’m asking you to be my girlfriend. It’s not like either of us want anything serious.” He grins at me. “Besides, I think you could use this. Right?”

  My stomach turns. My first instinct was right. Richard Hall is an ass. “Forget dinner.”

  “Elizabeth…”

  I rise from my leather chair. “And you can go ahead and tell Courtney that if she goes ahead with the party, she’s fired.”

  Richard’s neck turns pink under the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. “I’m not telling her that.”

  “Never mind.” I look straight into his eyes, daring him to look away. “I’ll tell her myself.”

  Chapter 5

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. We still haven’t received the fax.”

  I squeeze the receiver of my desktop phone as I listen to Nick Danvier’s assistant’s clipped voice. I should buy myself a stress ball before I break my phone in two pieces. I can’t believe it’s somehow taking Roberta two entire days to fax a few sheets of paper. This is ridiculous.

  “I’ll try faxing it again,” I say. “I’m so sorry about the delay.”

  “Nick is going to be very upset if he doesn’t have this prior to the meeting tomorrow,” she reminds me.

  Gee, is that so? I take a deep breath. “Again, I’m terribly sorry. I’ll fax it personally. Right now.”

  I slam down the phone, hoping the assistant doesn’t misinterpret my anger as being directed at her. All of my anger is directed at Roberta Craft. What is wrong with that woman? I told her how important this is. And all she’s managed to do today is distribute some freaking chocolate chip cookies.

  I storm out of my office and make a beeline directly to Roberta’s cubicle. At least this time she’s sitting in the cubicle. She’s talking on the phone though, and I can tell right away it’s a personal call.

  “Don’t buy too much, Timmy,” she says. “It’s going to be such a hassle to get it upstairs. And anyway, the kids never eat much.”

  I stand in front of her cubicle, my arms folded across my chest, the vein in my neck throbbing. But Roberta doesn’t seem to be ending her phone call.

  “All right, honey,” she says. “I’ve got to get back to work. Be safe. I love you.”

  Roberta finally, finally puts down the phone and turns to me. She flashes an apologetic smile. “That was my son. He was calling me from the grocery store… He’s buying far too much. And he can’t… Well, you know.”

  I don’t know what in hell she’s talking about. All I want to know is where that fax ended up. “Roberta, did you fax that document?”

  She blinks up at me. “Yes. Of course I did.”

  “But you never gave me the confirmation sheet.”

  “It never came out.”

  I frown. “Did the fax go through?”

  She nods vigorously. “It did. It made the noise like it went through.”

  I let out a sigh. “Can you show me what you did? Where is the document?”

  “It never came out.”

  That’s odd. The document is supposed to come right out after it faxes. Presumably, it’s sitting in the fax machine with my confirmation page. Or a page saying that the fax never went through.

  Even though I have a ton of work to do, I have to spend my time marching over to the copy/fax machine with Roberta to confirm she actually faxed it as she was supposed to. She points to the machine. “I just fed it up into there and it made a noise like it was faxing.”

  Oh my God. I cannot believe this. I cannot believe how stupid this woman is.

  “Roberta,” I say through my teeth, “that is the shredder.”

  “The shredder?” Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  She furrows her brow. “But it makes the noise when I put the papers through.”

  “Yes, that’s the noise it makes when it shreds paper!”

  People in adjacent cubicles have started to turn around to look at us. I hear somebody snicker. I suppose I’m making a scene, but I can’t help it. I’m furious.

  “But…” She wrings her fists together. “I’ve been using that for the whole two months!”

  I get a sharp jabbing pain in my right temple. I can’t be hearing this right now. I can’t just be discovering now that everything I thought Roberta was faxing since she started working with me has actually been shredded. It’s too horrible to wrap my head around.

  “Is this how you faxed stuff for Marley?” I say, my voice verging on hysterical.

  She shakes her head vigorously. “I never faxed anything for Marley. Rachel did that. I just got her coffee and lunch and took her phone messages. Oh, and I used to pick up her dry cleaning.” Her eyebrows bunch together. “Do you need me to pick up dry cleaning for you?”

  “No,” I spit out. “I don’t need you to pick up my dry cleaning.”

  This is my fault. I should have been checking to make sure the documents were faxed properly. And not shredded. And there’s also one other thing I should have done much sooner.

  “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.” Roberta looks up at me with those watery blue eyes. “If you could print out another copy of the document, I’d be happy to put it through again.”

  You mean through the shredder?

  “That won’t be necessary.” I clear my throat and square my shoulders. “I don’t think this is working out, Roberta. I’d like you to clear out your desk. Right now.”

  Roberta lets out an odd squeaking noise. The wrinkles around her eyes deepen. “What?”

  If everyone wasn’t staring at us before, they definitely are now. “Your services are no longer required here. I need to have a secretary that I can trust. This isn’t working out.”

  Roberta’s eyes fill with tears, and before I know it, they’re spilling over. Oh God, she’s crying right in front of everyone. I should have waited till the end of the day and done it alone, in my office. What was I thinking? This is so unprofessional. Marley never would have done something like this.

  On the other hand, I want to make sure people respect me. And maybe this is the best way to show them the consequences if they don’t d
o as they’re told. I hate to make an example out of Roberta, but it needs to be done.

  “Please, Elizabeth.” She puts her hand together, begging me. I’m scared she’s going to get down on her knees. “Don’t do this. Please… give me another chance. I know which one is the fax machine now. I swear. It’s that one.”

  And oh Lord, she points to the shredder.

  I take a step back. “I’m sorry. I think this is for the best.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t think this job is right for you,” I say. “It’s best for both of us if you move on.”

  Everyone in their cubicles is watching us and several people have come over to stare. Roberta is standing there, quietly sobbing. I whip my head around to glare at all the gawkers. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

  “Please, Elizabeth,” Roberta murmurs. She takes another step towards me, and I try to back up but hit the fax machine. Or shredder. “I can’t tell my children I got fired. It will be so… It’s Christmas… I can’t…”

  “You’ll receive a severance package,” I say. “It will be generous.”

  That’s a lie. Our severance package, created by none other than Marley Jacobs, is not generous. Far from it. But I don’t want to say that in front of the entire office.

  Roberta finally lowers her eyes. “Okay. I understand.”

  I let out a breath as she finally backs away from me. It was a scene, but it could’ve been worse. At least she didn’t throw anything. I have demonstrated that I know how to deal with an employee who is not pulling their weight. It’s what Marley would have done.

  Now I have to fax this damn paperwork.

  Chapter 6

  “If you want to intimidate people, maintain a neutral facial expression. This also reduces wrinkles.” —Marley Jacobs

  Word travels fast at our company.

  When I get to my two o’clock meeting with the staff to discuss the presentation tomorrow for Danvier Chocolates, it’s obvious everybody in the room knows I fired Roberta Craft. There are ten people sitting around the conference table, and every single one of them is giving me the stink eye. Especially Courtney.

  Well, I don’t care. Some people have a compulsive need to be liked by every person, but not me. I don’t need these people to like me. I don’t need to be their friend. I need them to respect me. I need them to work their asses off for me.

  “Ryan,” I say. “Were you able to place the video feed in the PowerPoint presentation?”

  Ryan Kingston is the tech geek in our group, and he has been helping me tweak the short ad we created to impress the executives. We all worked very hard on this advertisement—basically, it’s a little girl skipping through “the land of chocolate.” Every time I watch the video, my mouth waters. If this video doesn’t land the account, I’m out of ideas.

  “Sure,” Ryan says, but his voice is flat and he’s not making eye contact.

  “And Michelle.” I turn to the skinny redhead to my right. She seems to be glaring at me somewhat less than the other people in the room. “I’d like you to be in the room with me during the presentation. I’d like you to assist me if I need it.”

  That gets Courtney’s attention. She sits up straight in her chair. “Elizabeth, I thought you wanted me in the room during the presentation.”

  I did say that to her. Courtney is sweet and pretty and cheerful, and she always makes a good impression. I send her on a lot of lunches with clients to schmooze them for that exact reason. Of course, that was before I found out Richard was sleeping with her.

  I shrug. “I’d like Michelle to take the lead on this.”

  Michelle beams at me. “Thank you so much, Elizabeth. I won’t let you down.”

  A low voice mumbles: “And if you do, she’ll fire you.”

  I look up sharply. “Who said that?”

  I scan each of the faces in the room, looking for guilt. It was a man—I’m certain of that much. But I can’t tell who it was.

  “Well,” I say, “whoever it was is correct. If you don’t do your job properly, you will be fired. You deserve to be fired.”

  I narrow my eyes at the group, daring them to contradict me. Nobody does. In the end, they’re all intimidated by me. One thing I learned from Marley Jacobs was how to intimidate. The three inches from the heels help, but it’s all about the way you carry yourself. Stand up straight. Good posture is key. Stand with your legs apart and arms out. Hands on hips or arms crossed. Never fidget. Maintain a neutral facial expression. Maintain eye contact.

  I looked down at Courtney, who is fidgeting in her seat, playing with a lock of her blonde hair. She will never be like me. Never.

  “Now if we do land the account,” I say, “it’s going to be a ton of work right off the bat. I expect you to work through dinner every day this week.”

  “But Thursday is Christmas Day,” Ryan points out.

  I shrug. “So?”

  “So we won’t be here,” he says.

  “I’ll be here.” I put my hands on my hips. “So I expect all of you to be here as well.”

  My entire staff is staring at me, open mouthed. Did I let them have Christmas off last year? I suppose I did. But last year, I wasn’t vying for the CEO job. This is not a time to be slacking.

  “It’s a Thursday, people,” I point out. “It’s a completely normal day. It’s not a half-day or anything like that. And you can spend Christmas Eve with your families. When you’re done with your work for the day.”

  It’s a good thing I don’t care if people like me, because everyone in this room hates me right now. But that’s just the way it is. I can’t afford to allow everybody a random Thursday off right now just because it happens to be Christmas.

  I keep them in a meeting until nearly four o’clock, just to be really sure that if they do go to the Christmas party, they’re good and late. In the end, I don’t threaten them with what will happen if they go to the party. But I pile on enough work that I suspect every single one of them will head right back to their desks.

  Merry Christmas, folks.

  Chapter 7

  As I’m heading back to my office, I pass Ryan’s cubicle just as I get a horrible pain in the ball of my foot. I think a blister popped. I slow down for a moment, debating if I should take off my shoes and walk back to my office barefoot. That’s when I hear Ryan’s voice:

  “God, Elizabeth is such a bitch.”

  I suck in a breath. Then I hear a second voice: “I know. She’s even worse than Jacobs.”

  “She probably needs to get laid.”

  My face grows warm. Typical men. Anytime a woman is assertive, it’s because she needs to get laid. I should march right into that cubicle and tell the two of them off. But somehow my feet are frozen in place.

  “Too bad nobody would ever fuck her.”

  What? What is that supposed to mean? That I am unfuckable? I am very fuckable, thank you very much. Richard was probably going to do the deed with me tonight. Although in retrospect, he was likely doing it as a service to the rest of the office. Taking one for the team.

  At times like these, I really feel like I need a cigarette. Of course, I don’t smoke and I never have. Marley was the smoker. That’s what led to the heart disease that killed her way too young. But at the same time, it seemed to relax her a lot. She would take a long puff, and I would see all the tension drain out of her body. She didn’t have time to go downstairs to take her smoke breaks like everyone else, so she would open up the window in her office and smoke there. She said she used to get her best ideas when she was smoking.

  I need something like that. A distraction.

  I go back into my office and slam the door behind me. At least I’ve got an office and not a tiny cubicle. At least I have a place to be alone.

  I wish there were someone I could talk to about this. Polly would be willing to listen, but she wouldn’t get it. Not really. She would make some comment to make me feel better, and I’d realize how little she understands and how differe
nt she and I are, and the whole thing would make me feel worse. My mother was the same way. They both meant well, but they didn’t get it.

  Back when I was dating Richard, we could talk about work stresses together. But now he’s my competition. If I told him how I was feeling, he would just take advantage of my weakness. No, Richard is totally off the table.

  Marley was the only one who really got it.

  Why did she have to die? It’s so goddamn unfair.

  I sink into my leather seat and bury my face in my hands. I wish this holiday season would end already. Christmas… Bah humbug! Soon it will be January, and everyone will have forgotten about Roberta Craft. They’ll have their holiday bonuses, and they’ll be happy. And God willing, I’ll be CEO of this company.

  The phone rings on my desk. Not many people have my direct number, so I’m guessing it must be the chocolate people. I take a deep breath to clear my head, then I snatch the phone off the hook.

  “Elizabeth Scribner,” I say in my most professional voice.

  “Hello.” The male voice on the other line sounds unfamiliar. “You said this is Elizabeth Scribner?”

  “Yes…”

  The voice deepens a notch. “You’re the one who fired Roberta Craft today?”

  I frown at the phone. Who is this? Did Roberta lawyer up already? That doesn’t sound like something she would do. I assumed she would go directly home and bake more cookies. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Well, this is her son,” the guy barks at me. “And my mother is currently lying in her bed, sobbing over what you did to her.”

  Roberta’s son. Timmy Craft. The hot guy in the cap and gown, who wants to get married “so badly” but alas, can’t find the right woman. The Boy Scout who was out buying groceries for his mother earlier today. And now he’s calling to yell at me for firing her.

  “Your mother is incompetent,” I say in an even voice. “What I did was absolutely justified.”

  “She’s worked at that company for twenty years,” Craft shoots back. “And you’re saying she’s suddenly incompetent at what she does?”