Page 2 of Take It Offline

Karl Roberts, overseer of the Digital function and second-in-command to the CIO, seems to take pleasure in that.

Maybe if my parents had invested in Roberts’s ability to constantly move the goalposts, I wouldn’t have needed to take this job.

Another glance at the clock reminds me that Friday technically finished half an hour ago, but instead of curling up bra-free on my plush velvet couch and imagining how long I’d last in a zombie apocalypse, I’m once again working into the weekend.

“If you can get this right, it’ll benefit you,” he adds. “The ability to effectively communicate our results to the leads team and beyond is integral if you want to move up.”

Lately he’s been hinting at a promotion.

I want it. I’ve earned it.

It’s taken two years of overtime to get even a scrap of Roberts’s approval. Then, after the catastrophe that was last year’s staff briefing, I had to start over.

It still chafes. When I started working here five years ago, he asked for me specifically. Within weeks, I knew that Governance was the right place for me. Here, I get to lead change. Here, I create innovative solutions to real-world problems and—when I can convince Roberts—actually implement them.

And yet, despite all of that, I can’t shake the feeling that he wants me to fail.

But what else can I do except grin and bear it? This is simply another test in a long line of them, and I’ll rise to meet it, just as I have all the others.

I’m getting this promotion, and when I do, it won’t be because anyone—including my boss—did me a favor. It’ll be because I’ve earned it.

Me. Emma.

Not my parents. Not my net worth.

Me.

Then I’ll finally have the recognition I’ve been working my ass off for, and a raise that will return to me a financial stability I haven’t had since college.

“Two weeks,” I say, having finally escaped to meet Ivy for a post-work drink. It’s a credit to her powers as my best friend that I’m not currently: a) eating leftovers for dinner, and b) hunched over my keyboard while I do it. “That’s how long I’d last in a zombie invasion.” Maybe three if I used my Jimmy Choos as a weapon.

Ivy shakes her head, her long black ponytail swishing behind her. Around us, the bar is bustling with noise and activity, and the bartender has spent more time staring at Ivy’s bright pink lipstick than she has on the drinks she’s pouring.

“No way,” Ivy says. “Together? We could get through a couple months, easy. Just have to make it to the Winchester.”

I laugh, but the sound is cut short when my neck twinges. Too much stress, my mother would warn me. Tell me something I don’t know.“I swear Roberts hates me. I was stuck in a Zoom meeting about the citizen developer update for two straight hours last night.”

“That’s because he knows you’re smarter than him. No one knows the system the way you do.” Ever so casually, she flicks her hair over her shoulder, exposing a dual turtle dove tattoo, and I have to stifle a laugh at how quickly the bartender’s head turns toward her. The way Ivy is smiling tells me she’s noticed it too.

I love her. For every person who stares and wonders what the hell I’m doing at Helix, Ivy’s proven she couldn’t care less about my past.

We bonded quickly during an all-day women in tech workshop I wasvoluntoldto attend and I haven’t let her go since. Like me, she’s a senior document controller within the company. While I work in governance, Ivy’s expertise is in development.

I wouldn’t have survived at Helix without her.

At five-nine, I tower over her, but don’t be fooled—she’s far more cunning than I am.

I shake my head. “That’s only because I spent eighteen months working on it with the enterprise team in the first place.” A less than thankless task in the end, because the lead team cut anything from our scope that wasn’t minimum viable product, signaling that the project was officially over budget and out of time.

Management didn’t care what was implemented as long as they got a bonus.

Unsurprisingly, what we delivered was not all it could be. At the end of the day, all anyone cared about was where the system failed.

And guess who got the blame?

“People still message me about your training. Even the Subsea guys are happy, and they hate dealing with documents. Steve gave up his hard copies. Do you know how long that man has been complaining about digitization? Probably since he wasborn. But you walk him through it, and now it’s ‘Ivy, did you know I can reply to vendor comments directly in the system?’ If I believed in the supernatural, I’d swear you hexed him.” She laughs, sparing a flirty glance at the bartender when she returns for our glasses. “I know training people directly isn’t in your job description, but?—”

“But nothing,” I say, even though she’s right. Training like that is not my responsibility, and if Roberts knew, I’d be in trouble. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone. “I love you, and I’d do the same for anyone.”

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