Page 93 of Wild Hit
Karen clears her throat. Rearranges her stuff on the table. Even brushes her hair back—all without meeting my eye. I press my lips not to burst out laughing.
Everything. Every request, every meeting, every little interaction. Everything would’ve been different. She would’ve been sucking up to me all the time, treating me better than any other employee.
And alsonothing, because all that would’ve accomplished would’ve been driving the perceived chasm even deeper between my coworkers and I. She would’ve made me a pariah in a different way than she did in reality, in both cases for her benefit.
“I’ve been a fair manager.” She lifts her chin. “I hope you recognize that I was just guiding you into being the best PR professional in the organization.”
Amazing. Now she’s found a way to take credit for all the extra work I succeeded at that she didn’t give to anyone else because she liked them better. She must still think that theSPORTYsponsorship belongs in her resume.
I don’t acknowledge her sorry excuse. “Is there anything else we should discuss today?” I make a show of checking my watch—and no, it’s not an exclusive edition one or anything. I got it from a thrift store. “I actually need to go home to my family soon.”
Laying it a bit thick, the whole family thing. But eh, it’s a great reason to not continue swapping air with this weirdo.
“Nothing further, you may go,” she says, trying her best to maintain her previous sense of dignity in front of me. Without further ado, I push away from the table and am about to bounce when she speaks again. “Actually, there’s one more thing.”
I plop back on the chair. “Yes?”
She laces her fingers, then stacks her hands, then spreads them over the table, and finally pulls them away to hide under the table. She does the chin thing again. “What are you planning to do now?”
I point at myself and the door. “Go home…?” This time I don’t really get her meaning.
“Are you going to fire me?”
There it is.
I see why this conversation couldn’t have been an email but geez, it sure could’ve been so much shorter if she wasn’t trying to gaslight me the whole time.
“You’re my boss, Karen. How could I fireyou?” I cock an eyebrow for funsies.
She waves a hand. “That is irrelevant now that we know whose daughter you are. And we both know we don’t have the best relationship, unlike you and those two girls who are always around you.”
The way she says it is so snotty that I snap.
“You mean my friends? The ones who have always had my back and were my maids of honor?” I ask, barely containing my annoyance that she dares to imply Hope and Rose have been interested in my father’s privileges from the beginning.
“You know what I mean,” she grouches, the thin mask of politeness finally wearing off.
Humming as if in thought, I stand up and lean over the table, looking her dead in the eye. “No, I’m not going to fire you for having bullied me.” Relief flashes through her beady eyes until I add, “But I’ll keep you in observation. That answer may change if I find proof that I’m not your only victim.”
Gah, I’m so annoyed that this incredible high is being sponsored by my dad indirectly. I wish I could’ve shown her up all on my own.
Karen isn’t the type of person who changes her mind upon receiving excellent work, though, or she would’ve started treating me decently before. The fact of the matter is that she’s never liked me from the beginning, and it’s killing her to have to pretend like she does now. That’s enough revenge, even if it’s not super satisfying for me.
It feels bitter to wish her a good evening and leave, but I copy her chin thing and hold my head high as I make my way out of the facilities, even with dozens of eyes poking holes on my face.
*
After dreaming about nosediving into my bed during rush hour traffic, I get home and find a bunch of packed bags on the foyer. I blink at them slowly, riffling through memories until I land on the one where I agreed to move in with the Machados.
“Right, I did this in the morning,” I mumble, looking down at them.
Instead of getting the immediate rest I wished for, I make several trips between my house and next door, carrying all the bags, pillows, suitcases of things that I want immediate access to, to feel somewhat normal in Miguel’s home. His car isn’t parked out front, but Consuelo’s is so I ring the doorbell.
Bumps come from behind the door until it opens to Marty beaming up at me. “Welcome home, Audrey!”
I feel it like an earthquake, the cute aggression that rises up my spine and threatens to make me lose reason. If I did, I’d be squeezing her against me until I deserve to be kicked.
“Stop being so freaking adorable, child,” I frown at her but we have a similar sense of humor, and all she does is chuckle.
