“Jesus, Meg. Last night we made love for the first time and this morning you’re running away.”
“I’m not running away!” I say, and it’s louder, more shrill than I mean to be. I take a breath and make sure my tone, and volume, are level when I say, “I’m going to work. Because my job is important.”
“Right.” That single word cuts through the air. “It’s more important than us. As fucking always.”
“Okay, that is really not fair. Yes, my job is important to me. It has to be, because it’s all I have. If I lose my job, I could lose everything. Because I can’t pay my rent or eat or live if I don’t have a job.”
“Yeah, it’s your job, but they don’t pay you enough. They don’t value you. If they did, they wouldn’t expect you to work all weekend long right after you nailed the presentation that got them this huge new client in the first place.”
His words slice, cutting a part of me I didn’t know was even susceptible to damage. I push back, defending my choice to take on this job and the responsibility that comes with it.
“You have it all wrong, Keegan. This whole thing over the weekend isn’t normal or typical—usually, I have time. P-plenty of time. I wanted this responsibility because I want to climb the ladder.” I say it reasonably, like if I can keep my tone even and calm, I can rationalize everything. Like I can make him understand. “I told Matt I’d do it so that I can p-prove I’m capable. That I’m ready to lead my own team.”
“Have they offered that?”
“What?”
“To lead your own team– have they offered it?” He arches a brow, and it’s enraging to know where he’s going with this. That my careful maneuvering is backfiring. “Have they actually said, ‘Meg, if you get us this client and present this new concept Monday and the client goes for it, we’ll give you your own team.’?”
I scoff and roll my eyes, as if I can make his question come off as ridiculous, even though a quiet part of me knows it's not. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
That stupid eyebrow arches higher. “Am I being ridiculous?”
No. Not really. “Yes! You know that’s not how things are done. Nobody offers deals like that!”
“Yes, Meg, they do.Ido. My father does. Companies with healthy working environments give their employees metrics that are measurable and achievable, so that people can understand what's needed to climb the ladder, earn raises, etc. That is the bare fucking minimum.”
I open my mouth to reply, but it just sort of hangs there as I draw a blank. His anger is surprising. Shocking, even. Part of me knows he’s right. Very right. I don’t even have a good response. “Well… if I don’t work on this today, we could lose the account. And then people get laid off.”
“If you get laid off, you can get another job.”
“Right. Because great jobs in Austin are just everywhere.”
“Yeah. They are.”
“They’re not.”
“For people who are as good as you are, they are.”
“What are you going to hire me out of pity? And what, I’ll write ad copy for a bar that’s already thriving? Or maybe I’ll take over managing the bar after you go to work for your dad. Or maybe—”
“You’ll come to work for McQuade Development. I’ve already talked to my dad about it. He’s ready to hire you on the Langley project. You heard Bruce last night. You’d be perfect for it. Last night wasn’t about convincing my dad I was right for the job. It was about convincingyouyou are.”
“What are you even talking about? I can’t go work for McQuade Development.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too much. I can’t have you as my friend and my boss.”
Something in his expression hardens. “You wouldn’t be my friend and my employee. We’d be partners.”
“No. We wouldn’t. Because your dad owns the company. If things don’t work out, you’d still have a job, and I wouldn’t. And I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on. I don’t have a safety net.”
He gives a huff of exasperation. “Is that what you think? That you don’t have a safety net?”
