What Pretty Girls Are Made Of (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Damage Reversing

S
he was waiting for me the next morning—sitting at my desk. I’d been very careful not to leave extraneous papers lying around since the postcard incident, but who knew how long she had been there and how much she had gone through.

“Hello, Alicat!” Sweet as pie.

“Good morning, Sally. Do you have a meeting at the studio? I didn’t know you would be here so early.”

“Nope, just came in to check on some things and wanted to sit down with you to have a chat.”

“Oh, okay. Great. Would you mind if I checked some emails to get a handle on the day and then we can sit down?”

“Not at all, gumdrop. I’m going to speak with the girls and you let me know when you’re ready.”

I had no idea what to expect. Was she being nice to me because she’d taken her medication? I had a feeling that praise wasn’t going to be the focus of our meeting.

I told her I was ready just as she brought two iced Beyoncés into her office. Maybe she was going to caffeinate me and then fire me. A girl can dream, can’t she? Well, dream . . . and then worry about how the rent and bills would be paid.

“Hey, girl, why don’t you come sit down and have some iced coffee.” Never mind that I was freezing with the studio temperature set at sixty-four degrees.

“I’m not sure if you know this, Alison, but we are going to be making some big changes within the company over the next few weeks and months. So I wanted to sit down with you and figure out where your best place is here. Talk to me.”

Whoa! Talk about timing.

Was she going to have a normal conversation with me about this?
No way—don’t let her mind-bend you, Alison.
Right then and there I made the split-second decision to be 100 percent honest. She could evaluate and then either fire me or listen to me.

Deep breath.

“I’d love to share my thoughts with you, Sally.”

“Great.” She waited for me to speak. Her toothy white smile made its appearance in anticipation.

“Well, what I like least about this job is being your assistant.”

Silence.
There, I said it.
I nervously picked at my cuticles as I waited for her response.

“That’s certainly honest,” she replied, her lips tightly clasped around her iced-coffee straw.

“You asked, so I’m telling you. And since I’m being honest, I have to say that I think I would be a better asset to your company in a different capacity. I think you actually know that. I think that you’re wasting my talent keeping me in charge of your schedule. I don’t know the numbers offhand, since I didn’t know we were going to have this talk today, but since I’ve been here, I’ve increased your web growth exponentially, your sales are up, your QVC business has grown, and I’ve taken on about five positions with no pay increase.”

She sat back in her chair, folded her arms, pursed her lips, and made an “mmm” sound. I kept going. Now or never!

Experience had taught me that the prospect of money was the way to hook her, so I continued.

“I think that I could use my PR, producing, and social media expertise to plan events for the studio. There is revenue to be generated there, and I think that with no one on the task, you’re missing out on dollars.”

Play the part, Alison. Be the woman you want her to see you as.

She watched me silently, no expression on her face. So I kept going.

“Ideally, I could see Laramie as your assistant. So Laramie, or someone new, could cover your desk while I build your event business.”

Sally looked at me, put her tongue to her teeth, and after a few oral clicks—a sound I hadn’t heard before—finally responded.

“It sure sounds like you actually were prepared for this meeting. Well, if you were so prepared, what kind of events would you do? Can you answer that?”

“Sure,” I said. “I think that we should be doing events for teenagers and bridal parties, and I know the editors of a mommy blog and a big magazine in Manhattan, and I think we could do something with them as a cross-promotion. Or a female-centric book launch party with someone like Jojo Moyes or Sophie Kinsella, focused on mini-makeovers, their books, and some bubbly, would be a huge hit.”

“Interesting” was all she replied, bitterly.

“But those are just some of the events I’ve thought of at this point. With time to really prepare, I could have a true proposal to you for prospective events and a position change.”

I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth. If Sally didn’t see me as an asset to her business at this moment, she never would.

“Well, I’ll make you a deal, then. I am happy to consider you for a position like that. I have always wanted someone to take on studio events, and I realize that it’s not the job for someone who is already a store manager. You need to prove to me that you are capable.”

“I think I’ve already proven to you that I’m capable, Sally.”

“Well, I’m not so sure. Do some events and let me see how much money you can bring in, and we can take it from there. Why don’t you produce about ten or so and we will then reevaluate. Sound good?”

My eye began twitching as a vein pulsed in my temple. But I didn’t let it distract me from the end goal of the conversation.

“Ten events? Sally, if I’m projecting that you’ll net about ten thousand dollars per event, are you saying that I’ll have to bring in an extra hundred thousand dollars before you evaluate if I’m even capable?”

“Sure sounds like that’s what I said.”

She infuriated me. I paused—took a breath and decided to let it all out.
Who are you right now,
Alison Kraft?
“I will commit to one event and then you and I can sit down and take it
from there. I hope that you understand my value. I would imagine that you would want employee longevity rather than the quick turnover that you’ve been having.”

Her mouth fell open and I could see her choose not to say the words running through her mind.

I felt like doing a little jig; I was so proud of myself.

She got up without a word, picked her jaw up from the dirty floor, grabbed her coat, and walked out. The red Mercedes left its berth at the front of the studio. And then, in a moment of private celebration, I did that jiggity jig by my desk.

Seven minutes later, my phone rang, and it was Ira. “I heard you had an interesting meeting just now.” His statement sounded more like a question. I could tell that he was chuckling to himself and wanted the dirt.

“Oh yeah? What did you hear?”

“I heard that you
challenged
her but you had some good ideas. Listen, kiddo, let’s get you out of your awful position. Let me know how I can help you arrange a great event.”

“Thanks, Ira. I needed to hear that.”

Right away, I began planning. I would aim to do the event in one month.

I guess today was day one of my taking a stand. If I could try to make my position better before leaving, it was worth a shot. You had to ask for something if you wanted it. What’s the worst that could happen? She would say no. Maybe I should also have told her that I was auditioning (or wanted to be!) for the QVC spokesperson gig, which I’d left Simon hanging about. But I was afraid to put my awful job in jeopardy and face failure for a second time. I made it through years as an actress without having to apply for unemployment—which was less than my weekly paycheck and definitely not enough to live on. How sad and humiliating it would be to have to use it now.

So as for the audition . . . I would say no to it. Sharing the opportunity with Sally would be too risky. And I’d be honest with Simon about that. I really didn’t want to leave the job that gave me health insurance and pride in a career path for the possibility of nothing at all. Those unstructured ways were my old life.

As if my conversations had
echoed through the halls, in the past week and a half, two corporate employees at Sally Steele had resigned. They gave their notice three days apart from each other, so we had two going away parties. The underlying sentiment toward each of the girls was “You are so lucky.” Those of us stuck in the trenches were happy to see our friends go free, but you couldn’t help but wonder who was leaving next. You certainly couldn’t help hoping that the next party would be for you.

From: [email protected]

To: ALL STAFF

Subject: Departures

To my Staff:

I’m not sure what’s going on in everyone’s lives that they feel the need to find new employment, but if you have any ideas or know anyone that would be a good fit for Jennifer, Jordan, or Charlotte’s position, please let us know and send their résumés to Patti. Thank you.

I left work at four
to straighten up my apartment for an evening with Bret. He was going to see my place for the first time for a movie night. In my mind, this date would let me know if I wanted to focus only on Bret or keep my options open with other men.

Are you going to seal the deal on your third date?
Damon texted me.

Um, no
, was my response. That was so cliché, and I was definitely going to make him wait for it. I was wife material, not a hookup. And further to the point, the Millionaire Matchmaker’s rule of not having sex until you are in a committed, monogamous relationship was something I was going to follow, however difficult that would be.

What do you wear for movie night in your own apartment that didn’t look like you were putting in too much effort? I settled on cute sweats with a tie at the waist, and I was going to do my best to make sure they stayed on for the entire evening. Bret had said not to prepare anything and that he would come with goodies. I had cheese, crackers, and chips at the ready in case he brought only wine.

When Bret arrived, I opened the door to be met with two bags of groceries. He was hidden behind them. He unpacked four types of cheese, rosé, green grapes, Marcona almonds, dried apricots, prosciutto, and honey. Not the kind that comes in a little plastic bear—this guy meant business.

“Last but not least,” he said as he reached into the paper bag once more, “Peanut M&M’s.”

I laughed. “Peanut M&M’s? How do they fit into the spread?”

“They don’t. But they’re delicious and I love them.”

“Me too! Very good call.”

I was impressed.

“Cheers,” Bret said as he held up his full pink glass. “To cheese, almonds, and our culinary expertise.”

To options
, I thought.
Of food only. Not men
. And hopefully Bret felt the same way.

We clinked and drank.

There wasn’t much choice on demand, so we settled for a random drama that neither of us had seen. Before I could finish the movie purchase, he kissed me, his soft lips massaging mine with just the right amount of pressure. He moved his hand to the back of my head while keeping his lips on mine, and managed to reposition us to a better and more comfortable make-out position.

The background noise was filled with movie previews, but I couldn’t tell you what was showing. Bret’s lips slid down my neck and my body tingled. How badly I wanted to move to the bedroom—but I was going to practice self-control. I ran my hands through his hair as I felt his run up my shirt. Surreptitiously, I found the remote and pressed Play, the last step in the movie-ordering process. It pained me to do so, but I needed an external distraction or my clothes were coming off.