Page 2 of Shifting Gears

“I’ve put everything into this company. I didn’t ask for this, but it’s my life now,” she says. “What do you expect me to do?”

Kayla’s answer is so quick and definitive that Eleanor is sure she and Ash have rehearsed this exact conversation.

“Take a break.”

For a few seconds, the sentence doesn’t fully process. When it does, it strikes Eleanor as completely ludicrous. “Very funny.”

“Every CEO I know besides you takes a summer vacation. Your father used to take several.”

Kayla’s point is one Eleanor must concede. While Robert Cromwell was the hardest worker Eleanor has ever known, five times out of ten, if Eleanor needed to contact him, he was working out of a villa on some Caribbean island with his wife du jour. He rarely seemed to be actually enjoying himself, though, instead spending the whole trip glued to his phone or computer deep into the night.

But the point stands.

“Executives are like schoolchildren,” Ash pipes in with a wry smile. “If schoolchildren got overwater bungalows in the Maldives.”

“You want me to go to the Maldives?”

“We want you to go literally anywhere that isn’t here,” Kayla says. “Leave us in charge and disappear somewhere for a few weeks. We can spin whatever story you need us to—just go take care of yourself for a change. Please.”

It’s the most earnest Eleanor has seen her best friends in a long time. Even Ash, the perennial jokester, is looking at Eleanor with an uncharacteristically serious expression. It’s almost enough to make Eleanor consider their proposal.

Almost.

“You’re both being ridiculous.” She pushes her chair out and brushes past Kayla, snatching her laptop and the abandoned report as she goes. She has a presentation to finish; with Kayla and Ash occupying her office, she’ll have to work in the conference room.

“Eleanor, you’ve only been running this company for five years and you’re going grey!” Kayla follows Eleanor to the door with Ash trailing behind. “You’re barely thirty! You can’t keep going like this. You’re going to burn yourself out.”

Eleanor runs a self-conscious hand through her long hair. She’s been noticing the occasional silver thread amongst the dark strands lately, but going to a salon is dead last on her list of things to accomplish. She pushes through the door, grabbing blindly at the paper waiting in the printer. “My hair colour really isn’t your problem, Kayla. I have work to do.”

“Think about it, will you?” Ash shouts after her.

Before the door swings closed behind Eleanor, she hears Kayla’s weary sigh and a snippet of their conversation.

“What are the odds on a nervous breakdown before the end of the year?”

“I’d say one in three,” Ash mutters.

* * *

Eleanor doesn’t sleep at the office that night. She’s not sure going home will give her any brownie points with Kayla and Ash, considering she ends up holed up in her home office over half-eaten takeout instead, but she makes an effort.

This presentation is more important than most. Though she’s been shot down and undermined by her own board of directors on the subject for as long as she’s brought it up, Eleanor has been wanting to branch CromTech into sustainable eco-technology for years. The problem, as always, is funding. Research and development are expensive in new and untested industries, as the board constantly reminds her.

Before she can push for this passion project, she needs a profitable venture to fund it—a distraction with a big enough profit margin that even her father might have approved.

Eleanor would much rather be on the design team she’s trying to fund than spearheading the funding effort itself, but if she can make this new project profitable enough, maybe she can at least get the satisfaction of finally watching her work blossom, though from the sidelines. She can make her mark in a CEO position she’s never felt she’s deserved, point the company in a new direction, and earn even a fraction of the respect her father commanded.

This presentation needs to be watertight.

Eleanor is putting the finishing touches on her PowerPoint when her phone starts to buzz. The name flashing across her screen is familiar, if perplexing.

“It’s been a long time since you called me in the middle of the night,” Eleanor says in lieu of greeting.

She’s met with a light laugh.

“Hello to you, too,” Lydia drawls. “I’ve always appreciated the way you skip the pleasantries and get right to it.”

“If you’re calling for the usual reason, I’ll cut you off at the pass.” Eleanor tucks the phone into her shoulder and continues to fuss with the wording of her bullet points. “I still don’t have time.”

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