“It’s time I had a closer look.” Closer sounds like it might involve a chainsaw.
Beside him, Andy mimics Wolfe’s ramrod posture in a desperate bid to match his towering aura. The result is less alpha wolf, more skittish Chihuahua. Andy looks ready to wet his pants too.
“Ah, sir,” he squeaks out, his voice in stark contrast to Wolfe’s deep baritone. “We abide by the rule book! You won’t find a more company-minded, er, committed team than us, sir.” Without pausing for a breath, he bulldozes on, “There’s no need to think of us as the black sheep! We embrace the company culture here, Mr. Wolfe! Or should I say, JP, sir? Can I call you JP, JP?”
Mr. Wolfe-or JP-glares at Andy in a way that suggests imminent job termination.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Seems like I’ve let the tech playground run wild for too long. It’s time I get a little more acquainted.” His predatory gaze returns to me, and I feel my fight-or-flight response kick in. “You. And who might you be?”
“Lucy,” Andy jumps in, his panicked eyes sending a clear SOS: Girl, you better pull your shit together.
Anxiety swells up, threatening to choke me. I’m not a creature you can put on the spot. Being the sole focus of Wolfe’s unwavering attention may be some employees’ fantasy.
But not mine.
And certainly not like this.
“Um, hello! Yes, I’m Lucy,” I stammer, hitting all my least favorite activities at once-self-introduction, impromptu speech, and being caught red-handed with a caricatured voodoo doll of the boss.
“I, uh, I’m a Senior Graphic Designer here. I worked on the Xamidimura project. And, um, comic books… they’re my thing,” I blurt out. “That’s what inspired the, um, wolfy artwork.”
The deafening, prolonged silence stretches out, amplifying my embarrassment to unprecedented heights.
Smooth move, Lucy, real smooth.
“The artwork you’re unsuccessfully hiding behind your back?” he growls.
I meekly place the sketch back on my desk with a strained smile. “Not anymore.”
A smothered giggle sneaks out from Taylor. “That’s right. Lucy even dresses up as the Hulk!”
“She-Hulk,” I correct her instantly, not thinking it through. Is the window cleaner’s cart still hanging outside for a quick escape?
I glance over to see her smirking and hate her a little bit more.
My comic book collection might have been a lousy cover-up attempt, but it’s also a sacred truth. Going to Comic Con with my dad every year since I was four is one of the few precious memories I have left of him.
“Is that so.” Wolfe’s expression remains unreadable, his deep brown eyes are practically black as they bore into me.
I bite my lip and look away, distraught.
I’ve fucked up with a capital F. I’ve landed myself in the same bumbling idiot category as Andy. In Wolfe’s eyes, I’m a dirty doodling, She-Hulk wannabe. And I didn’t even doodle the damn cartoon.
“Steve Reynolds calls her Wonder Woman,” Matty chimes in, giving my arm a supportive pat.
My head rolls into my neck. Shut up, Matty.
“A pleasure, Lucy,” Mr. Wolfe says with a glint in his eye, making it clear I’m anything but.
“Okay!” Andy attempts to clap his hands together but misses the mark, smacking himself in the chest instead. “Shall we keep the ball rolling, Mr. Wolfe? Introduce the rest of the team?”
“You have two minutes.”
“All righty then! Taylor, you’re up!”
“Mr. Wolfe,” Taylor says in a loud, confident tone. “We met last year at the company awards ceremony; you presented me with the Excellence award.”
She’s practically glowing in the limelight. I watch her, torn between admiration and loathing.
“So,” she continues, her voice teetering on the edge of obnoxiously loud, “a little bit about me. I’m on the company’s social committee and act as a mentor for fresh recruits-”
“Thanks, Taylor.” Andy anxiously eyeballs his watch. “Moving on!”
To my dismay, the rest of the team jumps on the Taylor-bandwagon, putting on their game faces for Wolfe. Even Matty straightens up and switches on his charm.
I’m mortified. Once again, I’m the networking equivalent of a flaccid dick.
Wolfe’s nostrils flare. His entire demeanor hums with this simmering, barely contained power, like he’s merely a few shirt button pops away from unleashing chaos. My bet is a night with this man would be nothing short of hot, angry sex.
It’s clearly been too long for me.
As if sensing my stare, he turns the full force of his eyes on me, sending my pulse skyrocketing.
I manage a strained smile before diverting to Mandy bragging about her bug-free code.
“And that’s the team!” Andy declares, clapping his hands successfully this time.
Wolfe nods his approval. “Good,” he says coolly. “I expect everyone to be all in on this project. No room for excuses or delays. Tangra will be operating from the Vegas office, so prepare to spend half your time there.”
Most folks seem thrilled about living it up in Sin City-all expenses paid.
Not me.
I would be hyped too, if not for Wolfe’s apparent disdain for me, and my impending apartment listing in New York-I can’t be away from home.
“We launch in six months,” Wolfe says.
Hold up.
Did he just pull that deadline out of his ass? This is a massive feature-design, testing… it’s a year’s endeavor, minimum. We need to start small, test it out on a few casinos before scaling up.
But Wolfe doesn’t strike me as a man who appreciates the art of taking things slow. He’s got that same I-want-it-done-yesterday attitude of the other stuffed power suits.
They think my day consists of shuffling buttons and pondering the philosophical question “should the button be blue or green?”
Scanning the room, Taylor looks like she’s seen a ghost, Dwayne’s frowning like he’s decrypting the Da Vinci Code, but Andy? Andy’s nodding, ready to take on this mission impossible.
A Lead Designer would step up, speak out, tell the arrogant suit his demands can’t dictate timelines without consultation. It’s not some sliding scale where he gets to pick and choose the finish line.
Except, I’m not a Lead Designer. And the suit in question signs my paychecks. And he’s caught me with a scathing caricature of himself.