“That’s why you’re a great Senior Graphic Designer.”
I slump, deflated. “But I thought I was Wonder Woman.”
Did those words seriously just tumble out of my mouth?
“Luuuucy,” Helen drags out. “Andy’s right. Fitting into the culture of Quinn & Wolfe is key. Our door is always open if you want to talk.”
My eyes meet hers. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”
Andy’s stomach decides to join the conversation with a monstrous growl. “We’ll revisit next quarter. Let’s wrap this up.”
Andy’s already on his feet. He’s done.
I’m floored. Outside the glass monstrosity, the window cleaner gives me a cheeky wink. I’m half-tempted to hitch a ride down with him.
“Do reach out to us if you need anything, Lucy,” Helen coos.
Reach out? Is she after a group cuddle?
“Wait, Andy, I…” The words catch in my throat, a lump of disappointment weighing me down. Getting overlooked for the promotion is a low blow, particularly after I’ve slaved away for Quinn & Wolfe’s IT team for an eternity. It stings, not making it to the top tier. “What can I do to fix this?”
There’s a loud knock on the door. Laura, our admin support, practically falls into the room.
“Reception called,” she pants, desperately clawing for breath. “He’s early. Wolfe’s on his way!”
“Goddammit!” Andy bellows, creating a mini spit shower on the table. “He wasn’t supposed to be here until three! Out, Lucy! Move it!”
“But…” I stand, frozen in place, as Andy quickly lifts his arm to sniff his armpit, grimaces at what he finds, and then readjusts his tie with a frantic urgency.
Should I throw myself at his feet, begging him not to leave?
He bulldozes past me, striding toward the open office floor plan.
I follow him out like a dejected puppy, my spirit crushed. Why can’t I just design? I don’t want to play these corporate games.
“Clean up your desks, people!” Andy’s shout slices through the office. “He’s early! He’s coming up NOW!”
The pit in my stomach tightens. There’s no way I’ll get Andy’s ear now, not with the Big Bad Wolf making an early appearance to blow our office down.
JP Wolfe: co-founder of the monolithic Quinn & Wolfe Hotel Group and one of the wealthiest men in America.
I’ve met him once before at a company event. Our encounter lasted an excruciatingly awkward twenty seconds-just long enough for him to rake his eyes over me and deliver his signature scowl that wordlessly stated, “Not. Impressed.”
The guy is one scary son of a bitch.
Now we’re on the brink of launching a new innovation project, which always comes with a partner chaperone from the board of directors, and we’ve drawn the short straw-we get the wolf himself this time.
I plaster on a smile, taking in the pandemonium unfolding around me. My usually chill colleagues are frantically tidying up as if the hounds of hell are at their heels. I suppose one is. The foosball table sits abandoned, balls everywhere.
Matty, usually indifferent, is cleaning his desk, a first since his hiring, while Mona is under her desk, applying lipstick like her life depends on it. One desk over, Taylor strategically arranges her design trophies for maximum visibility.
Dwayne, meanwhile, remains in his own world, oblivious to the frenzy, headphones firmly in place.
“Matty, for the love of all that’s unholy, lose the Lucky Charms! This ain’t a damn cafe!” Andy barks, hands on his head, wet patches under his arms beyond repair. “This is the most prestigious hotel group in the United States, or did that slip your mind!?”
Fair enough. Matty’s desk is a mess, full of paper stacks, countless spent pens, and more cereal boxes than a supermarket aisle. The cleaning crew hates him.
Defeated, I slump down at my pristine desk, watching Matty’s futile attempt to jam a cereal box into his already overstuffed drawer.
“Dwayne!” Andy strides over to him, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Look alive. Are you even alive?” He throws his hands up in despair. “God, give me strength, people.”
Wendy, in her fluster, drops a soda can.
“Clean that up!” Andy yells as he marches off to annihilate the developers. “We’re supposed to make a good impression here! He already thinks this department is the Wild fucking West.”
How do I make a good impression on Wolfe? The man isn’t affectionately known throughout the company as the Big Bad Wolf because he enjoys cuddling in a furry onesie. No, it’s because we’re his little pigs, and every now and then, he takes one of us from our homes and devours us alive.
A quick check of my getup-worn-out jeans, a plaid shirt that screams “vintage” in all the wrong ways, plus sneakers begging for retirement. I might as well be auditioning for a spot on a lumberjack team.
Maybe I have slipped into a bit of a rut. But I received the Design Dynamo of the Month Award five times this year-shouldn’t that count for something compared to schmoozing and dressing corporate?
Matty pauses his frantic drawer-stuffing long enough to grin at me. “Are we looking at Quinn & Wolfe’s new Lead Graphic Designer?”
The team suddenly falls quiet, their cleaning fervor taking a back seat as ears prick up. Dwayne swivels in his chair to face me.
“Not this time!” I squeak out in a high-pitched, overly cheery voice.
Matty stares at me in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
I paste on a fake smile. “Nope, not kidding.”
“Sorry, Lucy,” some of the team chime in, along with other murmurs of condolences.
Matty crosses his arms and frowns at me. “Luc-”
“Let’s save this conversation for later, okay?” I cut him off, my teeth clenched, throwing him a meaningful look that screams Not in front of Taylor.
But it’s too late-her sharp eyes are on me.
“Luceee,” she coos, clasping her hands in feigned sympathy. “You poor thing. You didn’t get promoted? That’s just so sad.”