One
I plug the finalnumbers into my Get That Promotion, Bitch spreadsheet. Even though I’ve done enough mental calculations to know the end result will be positive, I still hold my breath, crossing my fingers as I hit enter.
“This could be it. The chance to finally pay off those damn student loans and live comfortably.” There’s no one else actually in my office, but as usual, I hold a one-sided conversation with the air plant sitting on my desk, housed in a concrete planter dipped in bright pink paint. Neither the plant nor its neon home is finance-firm approved, but it’s the only spark of joy in my tiny office.
When I finally force myself to look at the computer screen, my suspicions are confirmed. There it is, beaming through thousands of harmful blue-light rays: A complete budget. A budget based on the salary increase I’m about to earn. A budget allowing me to pay rent on my Kips Bay apartment while also paying off my student loans. Inother words, shining down on me in my cramped office in this towering skyscraper is the Holy Grail of millennial life: a chance to be debt-free. I just barely manage to hold back a shriek of joy.
Now all that’s left is to actually secure said promotion.
Iwillget this promotion. And I will walk into that meeting with confidence.
Once I get a little reinforcement. Pushing my chair back and standing, I grab my phone, tapping on the screen and pulling up FaceTime. Our group chat is preset, so I hit call, checking my makeup as I wait for my best friends, Gemma and Harley, to pick up.
Other than a tiny zit brewing under the would-be-pasty-were-it-not-for-bronzer skin of my forehead, my face looks flawless. I touch up my matte pale pink lip anyway and fluff out my light-brown-but-highlighted-within-an-inch-of-its-life hair.
Gemma answers first. “Okay, I’ve got ten minutes until my room is flooded with twelve-year-olds and their post-lunch sweaty hormones. Hit me.”
“First, did not need that visual. Second, where’s Harley? I only have time to do this once.”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Harley’s face pops up on my screen, and judging by her slightly breathless greeting, she had to duck out of her own office before answering my call. “Are we waiting for Nick?”
“Like he’d step away from his desk for a pep talk.” Gemma snorts. “Sadie, stop touching your face.”
I glare at her but also heed her advice. “First things first, appearance check.” I hold the phone as far away from my body as I can, turning slowly from one side to the other, like I’m a ballerina in a music box. Or a chicken on a spit. I learned very early on what a perfectappearance could do for a woman, and I work hard to maintain mine. Confidence in my above-average looks often helps mask the self-doubt in my brain.
“You look fine.” Gemma’s not even looking at me, currently scribbling something on her whiteboard instead of bothering to glance my way.
Harley jumps in before I can snap at Gemma. “You look perfect as always, Sadie. You got this.”
I push my shoulders back, my non-phone hand clenched in a tight fist, resting on my hip. “I am a strong warrior goddess.”
“You are a strong warrior goddess,” they both chant along with me, Harley mustering much more enthusiasm than Gemma.
The outward confidence seeps inward, drowning out my pesky negative inner thoughts. “I am going to get that promotion and show these motherfuckers who’s boss.”
“Yeah, I’m not saying that in the middle of my classroom when a kid could walk in any minute. But yes.” Gemma plops down at her desk and shoves a chip in her mouth. The loud crunching travels through the phone, making my shoulders tense up.
I drop the mask for a brief second. “Guys.”
“Sadie, seriously. You’ve got this. You’ve earned that promotion three times over, and it’s going to be yours.” Harley flashes me a calm smile and a thumbs-up. “You look beautiful, but more important, you know your shit, inside and out.” Harley rarely swears, so she must really mean it, and her words give me a much-needed boost.
Gemma moves the phone closer to her face so her eyes dominate my screen. “You got this in the bag, bitch.” She lowers her voice on her term of endearment, then anxiously checks to make sure no little earsheard her utter a grown-up word, though lord knows her middle schoolers have heard way worse. And probably said way worse.
“Text us as soon as it’s official.” Harley gives me a through-the-screen high five.
“You’re so buying drinks this weekend.” Gemma shoots me a finger gun.
“Love you guys.” I blow both a kiss and hang up after their chorus of “I love you too.”
Badass-bitch mask firmly in place and bolstered by my friends’ confidence in me, I resume my superhero pose, this time tilting my head up and thrusting my chest out for the full effect, both hands firmly planted on my waist. I’ve never been more thankful to have zero windows in my office.
After sixty seconds of power posing, I peek in the mirror I keep hidden in my desk drawer. I adjust my gray pin-striped pencil skirt and fluff the sleeves of my white silk shirt. “You got this,” I tell my reflection before stuffing the mirror back in its hiding space. “I got this,” I repeat to my air plant. After one last deep breath, I put on my work face—one slight step up from resting bitch face. A face that says,I know what I’m doing but I’m also totally approachable!A woman-at-work-in-finance face.
My phone dings with a text as I pull open my office door.
NICK:Show those motherfuckers who’s boss, baby!
Oh, I plan to.
