“None. I should have let you sit at the desk.”
A frown forms between her brows as she scribbles a note on one of the papers in front of her. “It’s your desk, Sel. I’m fine right here.”
“You work at it more than I do, Mo. At this point, it’s yours. The office too.”
While this is the first time I’ve lent my voice to the thought, it’s not the first time it’s run across my mind. I feel like animposter in this space. A child playing pretend while all the grown ups look on indulgently, waiting for me to finish so they can get back to work. No one has ever said that to me, of course, but the energy is there. Present in Monique’s coffee mug on the coaster to my right. Obvious in the way employees direct their inquiries to her even when I’m in the room. Demonstrated by my repeated failure to have a single moment of productivity.
“Why are you talking like that?” she asks, tossing her pen down and pinning me with a hard stare. “You planning on killing yourself or something?”
Her ridiculous question pulls a snort of laughter out of me. “No, Monique, I’m not planning on killing myself.”
“Then why are you trying to give me your office and that ugly ass desk?”
My mouth drops open. “My desk isn’t ugly!”
“Wrong. It’s hideous, but it’s yours, and it’s going to stay that way.”
“We can get you a new one.”
“Selene,” she groans, throwing her head back on her shoulders. “I don’t want a new one. I like the one I have in my office.”
“But it’s too small for this space. It’ll look ridiculous.” I push to my feet and round the desk, standing a few feet away from it to really try to envision Monique’s dainty furniture here. “You need something grand. Something commanding. Something that says Monique Walker, CEO.”
The next time she speaks, she’s right beside me. Her voice is soft, but firm, with a hint of worry underneath the sass and severity.
“What’s going on with you?”
I twist my lips to the side and shrug. “I’m just being realistic, Mo. I’m not the leader Culture Code needs right now. I’m never here.”
“You’re here twice a week. That’s more than most people in your position would give a job.”
“It’s not enough for me, and it’s not just a job. It’s my business.”
She throws her hands up, eyes stretching wide. “Exactly! It’syourbusiness, which means you will always belong at the helm of it. You don’t just give that shit away to anyone, not even your best friend.”
I want to accept her words as the validation they’re so clearly meant to be, but it’s hard to believe when I can’t do my favorite part of my job. “I can’t even write a line of code, Mo,” I whisper.
“Bitch, neither can I,” she exclaims, and despite my sour mood, I find myself diving into a pit of laughter behind her. Somehow, we end up holding each other upright. When we’ve recovered, Monique grabs my hand and leads me back around to the chair I abandoned, placing her hands on my shoulders to force me down into it. Once I’m settled, she takes a seat in one of the arm chairs opposite me and stretches her legs out, propping her red-bottomed heels up on the edge of the desk.
“Level with me, Sel. Are you really thinking of leaving Culture Code?”
Just the thought of it makes my stomach twist into knots. The last thing I want is to leave this company, to abandon the work that was once the only reason I got out of bed in the morning, but the reality is I might.
“I just feel like I don’t have anything to offer,” I confess, my voice low, weighed down by shame. “Coming here is starting to feel like an exercise in futility. You have things well in hand. You don’t need me barging in and interrupting your stride twice a week.”
She rolls her eyes. “One, you’re not interrupting anything so cut that shit out. Two, if you don’t come down here that meansI’ll have to come bang on the doors of the White House to see you, and they’ll probably arrest me. Is that what you want?”
Reminding her that she’d have to get past the gates and multiple security points before she could even get to the doors seems unnecessary, so I don’t bother.
“No, Monique, that’s not what I want.”
“Okay, so in order to keep you sane, me free and the company functioning, let’s end this conversation. There is no Culture Code without you, Selene. Whether you’re here for a second or here for eighteen hours a day, you’re still the heart and soul of this place.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so,” she insists, eyes running anxious lines over my face. “Can you really not be here more often? I thought you said he was supportive of you continuing to work.”
“He is.”
