“So you told him to stop?” Helena asks in that same brusque tone.
I fumble around for the right reply. “Not exactly,” I say, humiliation hitting me squarely in the chest, “but that’s not the point.”
“So you didnottell him to stop? Or that it was making you uncomfortable?”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “That’s correct. But—”
“Please do refrain from interrupting,” she says, voice clipping.
I’d hoped to find an ally, an advocate. A woman who might have some empathy for the situation. And who might be able to do something about it. But how wrong I was. It makes me wonder if a portion of the ten million pounds that Turpi is paying Leo & Sons for the project is making its way directly to Helena. Or maybe she’s just been instructed by her boss not to do anything that would jeopardize client relationships. After all, the top value of Leo & Sons is “client-centricity,” meaning that clients are at the center of everything they do. So employees at Leo & Sons come second to their clients.
“Look,” I say, trying to sound respectful but firm. “There need to be repercussions for Harold. I’m prepared to escalate this.”
This seems to change Helena’s attitude, if only a little. “Please do be assured that we take allegations against clients very seriously and will investigate,” she says, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere and that she’s already dialing into her next meeting.
“And I trust you not to speak about this with anyone else,” she says. “We do want to ensure rumors don’t spread.”
“It’s not a rumor. It’s what happened.”
“Let’s just let the investigation sort it, shall we? Thank you for reaching out.” Abruptly, she leaves the call.
I’m left there, alone on the Zoom call, staring at my own filtered reflection, trying to process what just happened.
Everything feels murky and corrupt, and I don’t know where to turn. I end the Zoom call so at least I don’t have to look at myself anymore. Then I text Rory.
Just talked with HR.
I prepare myself that I won’t hear back for a while since he’s probably in the middle of class, but he calls me right away. It’s more than a bit jarring to receive an actual phone call. I’ve inherited the Millennial phobia of talking on the phone, except when it’s for work, but I pick up now, right before it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, how’d it go?” Rory asks quietly. In the background, I hear the liberated chatter of children, and it makes me unexpectedly nostalgic for a stage of life I can never get back.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “The HR woman says they’ll look into it. But she seems determined not to incriminate Harold.”
“Well, you’ve done the right thing,” Rory says, and his earthy voice is the grounding comfort I needed. “Proud of you. And if they don’t hold Harold responsible, we can go from there. We have options.”
Again, I feel like I’m part of a team. Like I have someone to help me through this, someone who has a very solid moral compass and can steer me straight when I veer off track. “Thanks,” I say, hoping he can hear how much I mean it.
“Hey, Kat?” he says. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s that?” For a split second, I worry he might ask me on a date. And then when he doesn’t, there’s this ridiculous one percent of me that feels disappointed.
“We’re having Career Day for my class next week,” he says. “Some of the kids’ parents are coming in to talk about their jobs. We don’t have any women in business on the panel, though. Any chance you’d do me a favor and join in?”
I feel entirely unworthy of the invitation. There’s no way that someone who tries to flirt her way into the promotion should be allowed to give career advice to primary school students. I’d be a fraud up there. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, almost annoyed with him that he hasn’t figured this all out on his own.
“The kids are a good bunch,” Rory goes on. “Year Two, they call it, instead of second grade. They’re obsessed with all things American, so they’ll love you right away.”
On Rory’s end of the phone, I hear one of the children pipe up in an adorable English accent. “America! Did you say America? Please will you take us there, Mr. Cooper?”
“Mr. Cooper,” I repeat back. “That’s you?”
“Indeed.”
Rory Cooper. It’s a simple, sturdy name. Nothing stately or exciting, but it feels secure.
I find myself wanting to help him out. “When’s the Career Day?” I ask.
“Next Friday at onePM,” Rory says. “No pressure either way, I know you’re swamped at work. Just have a think about it, as they say over here.”
