Vick drags his mouse across the screen and highlights a line in the email.
“Cait was so great in helping me get this started—”
“Of course the shared doc was started on Monday. Patricia worked on it until the moment she emailed it to me yesterday,” he says.
My heart is like a jackhammer against my ribs.
“You can check the change history,” I blurt, my voice quivering. “It’ll show you, you’ll see my name all over it, every slide. Well not every slide, some of them she added that I didn’t have in there, and they were worse!”
He leans forward and taps the highlighted text with his finger.
My eyes dart to the screen and I read it again.
“Cait was so great in helping me get this started and inputting the analysis into cohesive slides for me to manage. She really is a greatdoer.”
That bitch.
“Excuse me?” Vick snaps.
My face heats as I realize that inside thought was an outside thought.
“I’m sorry, I’m just really—”
“Unprofessional right now,” he scolds. “You should be grateful she even mentioned you on such an important piece of work.”
This can’t be happening.
I fist my skirt with clammy hands. “But sir, it’smywork.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his eyes. “Sit back down, Caitlin.”
I swallow past the tearful lump in my throat and take my seat.
“The mid-level Publicist role is being closed—”
I gasp, leaning forward to shout, “But that’s my role!”
He silences me with a hand. “You’re not being fired.”
I’m gripping the arms of the stupid leather chair so hard I think my nails have ripped through the material.
“We’re opening three new Junior Publicist roles that will report to Patricia. You would be put into that role—at your same exact pay rate and benefits—if you accept the title change.”
My tongue scrapes across the roof of my mouth. “But what’s the point? If it’s the same pay, and benefits, why call me something else?”
Vick sighs again and leans back in his chair. “It’s something finance is doing. Some new tax break for offering more entry levelpositions to help with the job market. The new juniors coming on wouldn’t have your pay or benefits, of course.”
How do I keep fighting? How can I prove it? He already seems so set in the belief that Patricia did that work, thatshe’sthe senior material instead of me.
All because she had more confidence. And my winning presentation.
“You would report to her,” he says with a wince. “I’m sure it’ll be awkward for a bit, but I know you’ll be professionals about it.”
Don’t cry.
Don’t. Cry.
I nod a few times because I can’t talk yet without screaming. Finally, I work past the feral urge to claw his office apart.
