I look at my phone for the time. Comeon. Rochelle and Sam are going straight to the restaurant from work. I can’t show up to Avery’s in my black work pants and top. I need to take a cab home, and even then I’m not going to have a ton of time to get ready.
Hallelujah! Rochelle is emerging from the conference room. I rush over.
“Oh, Penny! I thought you’d have gone by now,” she says.
Only the briefest flicker of eyelashes betrays my irritation at the discovery that I could’ve left without issue after being told to sit tight. Or anger at myself that I stayed where I was told like a good little doggy.
“Sam and I were talking about other things, too, but all he said about your slides was, ‘It’ll be interesting to hear both of them present their views.’”
So President Snow wants us to Hunger Games it out. Which means a further delay in getting my raise—and thus my fucking mortgage.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Want to ride over to the restaurant together?”
“I have to get ready for my friend’s anniversary party for his parents, actually. Going to run home real quick and then meet you at the restaurant, if that’s okay? But I can’t stay really long…”
“Okay. We’ll play it by ear. See you in a bit.”
The cab, of course, hits every red light on the way home, and I’ve practically bitten a hole through my cheek from nerves by the time it pulls up in front of my building. I race inside and rush through a shower, cursing Anthony’s name for leaving me with no time to wash my hair.
I set a new record for getting ready, and as I sweep my Ri-Ri Red lipstick over my mouth, I’m pleased to note that my lips look plump and my teeth are sans red stains. I fluff a copper-and-sunset curl. One-day-dirty hair isn’t hurting things, either.
A pair of black strappy heels, a little spaghetti-strapped red dress that makes my waist look tiny and my boobs look fantastic, and I’m ready to leave. I grab a shawl for my cleavage, since it’s not exactly work appropriate, and step into the hall just as Jack bounds up the final step, back from the gym by his appearance. He looks flummoxed for a moment, his eyes darting over to me.
“What?” I snap. “Thinking of England?”
He raises an eyebrow and inserts his key into his lock. I amnotstill smarting over his comment from a million years ago. But now he definitely thinks I am.
“Thinking of something,” I think I hear him mumble.
My cheeks are on fire. I’ve outed myself—and sounded like a shrew in the process. I notice he’s addressed most of his glitter problem, though here and there I catch the twinkle of an errant fleck on his neck or cheek or leg. Pair that with a fresh haircut and he looks… Ugh. He looks good.
“With normal people, I wouldn’t have to say this, but with you… Can you not show up to Avery’s party wearingthat?” I gesture to his ripped workout shirt and shorts.
“Stop trying to change me, 5A. I need someone to want me forme.” He gives me another once-over with a strange smirk, raising the specter of my cursedPirate Dukethoughts, and closes his door with a bang.
“Oh, Penny is just the best there is, Sam!” Rochelle says. “I mean, you give her anything at all, and she gets it done.”
“Too bad we can’t clone you,” Sam Greenfield says with a laugh from across the table.
I’m a corporate hostage. Avery’s party has started, and I’m missing cocktail hour. There is no graceful way to exit this table, and Rochelle whispered in my ear earlier that this was laying some track in getting my raise.
My lips stretch over my teeth in what I hope is a smile. “I think I saw that movie once.”
Sam Greenfield throws his head back and laughs too hard. The tip of his nose is red. His cheeks are red. He’s half in the bag. It’s shocking to see someone so corporate get so hammered. There are some folks even higher up than Sam here, and a number of his peers. I wonder if they’d make me a VP if I slurred over my appetizer, too.
“Rochelle, I really need to get going—” I whisper.
“You saw Penny’s slides,” Rochelle says. “I think we can agree that Anthony’s idea was interesting, but Penny’s is going to get us to market faster.”
“Yes, yes. I think it’s the way to go. But why don’t you tell me about your thoughts, Penny?” Sam says, taking a long draught from his glass.
Rochelle smiles encouragingly. I want my raise, and I want the project to move along, but I need to get to the party right now.
“So, when we were thinking about the best way to centralize things, gain economies of scale, etcetera, the only hiccup was that it would deprive the regions of applying their individual expertise as far as their audiences and target accounts,” I begin.
TheIntrepidis a giant warship-turned-museum, steel gray and imposing and docked on Manhattan’s West Side. It’s lit up gorgeously right now, its hull towering above me. I rush into the Welcome Center building on the dock alongside the ship, toss my bag onto the security desk to be inspected, and pass through the metal detector.
