Chapter 4
I replied, “Contact the shopping center using the handoff contingency plan. If you can reschedule, don't force it to open.”
He ignored that and kept asking when I'd get there.
I turned my phone facedown and finished my soup.
Every other time I'd saved an event, I'd ended up eating something cold.
This time, my soup stayed hot.
The third time Graham came looking for me, he didn't try to do it over the phone.
He stood outside my apartment complex with a wrinkled shirt collar and a box of fruit.
He looked like someone visiting a recently retired firefighter.
I suggested we sit outside the convenience store and bought him a bottle of water.
At the sight of it, his shoulders relaxed a little.
“I knew you wouldn't really leave us hanging.”
I unscrewed my own bottle.
“You're thirsty, so I bought you water. The project is a separate conversation.”
He started listing the market's losses.
A postponement. Refunds. Another setup. The client had withheld part of the service fee too.
It was his first project as a director, and his numbers looked awful.
He'd been counting on winning events at several more Springwell shopping centers, then asking the owner to let him build a new division.
“The staffing and budget depend on those contracts. We can't have things fall apart now.”
By the end, he was rubbing his temples, his voice low.
“You know how hard it's been for me to get here.”
I did know.
He really was good with clients. He could win back a project that was almost lost.
But once he'd signed it, all those things he'd confidently promised became things I had to make happen, one by one.
Sometimes that meant calling a supplier at two in the morning. Sometimes it meant apologizing on his behalf to a junior employee he'd reduced to tears.
I'd feel sorry for myself, then remind myself that things were hard for him too.
Years had gone by like that.
“Come back, Nina. I'll give you another three hundred fifty a month.”
“Who leads the projects?”
“Me, of course. Lauren handles the client side. You take care of the site. You won't have to worry about anything else.”
He paused, then added, “With your personality, you'll need someone looking out for you wherever you go.”
I'd prepared a few vicious lines.
Something about his failure to recognize talent. Something about how he'd never get another chance with me.
I'd practiced in the mirror in my rented apartment. By the second try, I'd made myself cringe.
Now that he was here, I didn't use any of them.
I looked at him and said, quite seriously, “I'm afraid that if I stay with you, another six years will go by and no one will know what I can do.”
His hand stopped around the water bottle.
It didn't feel triumphant. My nose started to sting instead.
I should have said some things to him long ago.
“You're not the only person who works at the company.”
“I know. That's why I put everyone's names in every report.”
“You always made me delete them. You said the client only needed to remember one person.”
That person had never been me.
Beside us, the store owner was flattening empty boxes. For a while, all I heard was tape being pulled away.
Then Graham asked, “Has someone recruited you?”
I said no. Not yet.
His expression eased a little.
“Then think about it. There's no need to make a decision so quickly.”
When he left, he left the fruit.
I took it home and picked out the biggest pear. Halfway through peeling it, I started to cry.
Being unemployed really did scare me. So did turning down his raise.
But I'd already made a list of companies I wanted to work for. I'd already sent out my résumé.
When I finished crying, I ate the pear and went back to my portfolio.
