profile as an influencer in the world of retail politics. He’s a natural born conniver, and in my laymen’s opinion an even bigger narcissist than my father.
And the satisfaction on his face as he watches me makes my blood run cold. But I’m not going to indulge whatever game he’s playing,
I check my laptop for the presentation I prepared. This project blends everything I’ve learned about marketing with my own natural eye for color and shape. A life of corporate branding and marketing isn’t my passion, but it doesn’t feel like settling anymore either. I’m ready to hit the ground running.
I stand and gather what I’ll need to take with me.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a meeting with Rich Felgar.”
“Oh, yeah, I was supposed to tell you to head up to his office as soon as you get in.”
“Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?” I glare at him. I force myself not to rush and end up forgetting something.
He shrugs. “If you’d been nicer, I might have.”
“Eat shit, Duke,” I hiss and rush out the door.
I hear him behind me saying good morning to everyone I just ran past. I press the call button again, and the door bounces open. He catches up to me just as I step onto the empty elevator and press my floor and his.
“Oh, I’m going all the way up to 42 too.”
“Why?” I demand, stomping my foot in annoyance. I’ve had enough of him today.
He leans in, close enough his breath ruffles the hair above my ear. “You’ll see,” he whispers and pulls away. I stifle a shudder I know would just embolden him and remind myself that in a few minutes, I’ll have the keys to unlock this cage and fly free of him, free of my father, and free of this entire town.
When this position was posted two month ago, Rich Felgar, our Chief Operations Officer, encouraged me to apply. When my father found out I was a candidate, he sent Rich an email with me on copy saying that he knew that Rich was partial to me and thanked him for “humoring” my application.
When I made it past the first round of interviews, my father sent me an email advising me not to expect Rich’s favoritism to give me an advantage.
Not only did I not want any favoritism, I didn’t need it. My father may have convinced a lot of people I got my summa cum lade Bachelor’s degree in economics and statistics by dropping my last name and my panties, but the way I worked my way up the ranks at Wolfe for the last five years helped prove otherwise.
When Rich called to tell me last night that he’d made his decision and the job was mine, I’d cried happy tears. It wasn’t just the title, salary, and moving to New York I’ve been working for over the last ten soul-crushing, character-building years. I’ve also been waiting for the moment when my father would be forced to admit I’ve done well.
It leaves a bitter taste in the back of my throat to admit that after everything he’s done, I still crave my father’s approval. My only consolation prize is that I don’t crave it at any cost. I could have done what he’s been demanding all of these years. At least this way, I earned it. And he can’t do anything to diminish that.
When the elevator stops at the floor dedicated entirely to the C level executives, I’m bursting with anticipation. I walk at a normal pace to Rich’s office, but I wish I could run. Rich’s assistant, Kate, isn’t at her desk, so I walk right up to his door and knock, ignoring Duke who is a few paces behind me.
“Come in,” my father’s voice booms through the heavy door. My heart jumps, and I turn my head to look at Duke. The smile on his face, sharp and cold as steel blades, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
He strides toward me, reaches over to open the door and then gives me a small shove that sends me stumbling into the room.
My father is sitting behind Rich’s desk—the very picture of doom—glaring at us.
“For fuck’s sake what took you so long?” he grumbles and waves at the two chairs across the desk from him.
Duke shoots him a shit eating grin. “Sorry, sir, it took me a minute to get—”
“You could have stopped at sorry.” My father snaps and then looks back at