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“Who?”
“Xavier. We went to the Sugar Lounge because I offended Booboo, and he said he’d help me figure it all out, and then it turned out he actually was interested in more than work stuff, and Bennett showed up, and I think he sort of…rescued me?”
A smile of comprehension dawned on Ivy’s face. “You know, this makes far more sense than what I was told.”
“What were you told?”
“That you were being preyed upon for nefarious purposes, and I needed to invoke my status as HR goddess to become your knight in Chanel armor.”
Something released inside me. “Oh.”
“What is it, darlin’?” she asked as the edges of her jagged green eyes softened.
Twisting my fingers together, I took a moment to clarify what I wanted to say, but instead of stating my concerns clearly, my shoulders slumped, and I said, “I don’t fit in.”
“Say what?”
“There are dynamics here I don’t understand, and these men…they’re—”
She smirked. “Misogynists?”
“Well, I mean—yes!”
Ivy leveled a frank stare at me. “What exactly were you expecting? From a group of men who released that ad.”
A sudden headache bloomed behind my eyebrows. “I don’t really know.”
“I hired you to fix it. You can’t think it’ll be easy.”
Face crumpling, I dropped my head.
“The Shay Honeycutt I remember didn’t shy from difficult things. She made a stink about everything.”
“Not everything,” I muttered.
“Didn’t you stage a formal protest in the cafeteria when you found out the advanced courses were disproportionately white?”
“Well, that—”
“And weren’t you the one who deliberately defied Ms. Berry by removing the dinner and dessert forks from all our place settings at the cotillion dinner and forcing us to use salad forks for every course?”
I chuckled. “She couldn’t fathom my irritation that the utensil is the exact same no matter the size and labeling them differently is pretentious and classist and only serves to make those ignorant of the ridiculous differences feel inferior, thereby furthering the divide between the rich and the poor.”
Ms. Berry was also a twat, but that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
“They’re forks, darlin’,” Ivy said with endearing exasperation.
“They’re a symbol of the elite.”
“And you are a symbol of equality. So do what you do best. Equilibrate.” She gave a satisfied, catlike smile. “And give no quarter.”
I left her office that morning fortified and spent the last days of my first week researching ideas to turn things around. Henley’s social media pages still overflowed with complaints, and the four of us took turns sorting it out. My first official marketing meeting would take place Monday, and thanks to the recent troubles, Camden informed us he planned to take an active part in these meetings from now on.
Great.
That news rustled up butterflies, but I chanted what I always did before anything major: preparation is key.
“What’s he think he’s going to offer that we can’t do on our own?” Booboo barked when he read the email.
