The Honey - Don't List

My parents weren’t perfect, but they valued hard work. My dad routinely put in sixteen-hour days. My mom is a schoolteacher and she’s always worked long hours with too little pay and even less appreciation. They taught me that you work until the job is done, and you give it your all. Every time. They also taught me to be humble about it, but right now, hearing those words and the recognition I’ve secretly craved, a tiny beast flutters to life in my chest, clawing and scratching for more. But it’s also terrifying. James has only been here a few months. He isn’t as invested in the company’s survival. He doesn’t have as much to lose if it all comes tumbling down.

“It’s not really like that,” I say, my heart racing. What the fuck is Rusty thinking?

“Isn’t it? Because Rusty seemed pretty sure of himself. And that program you were working on? It wasn’t Mine-craft. You were configuring a layout, weren’t you?”

“Just playing around with some floor plan ideas.”

“Melissa’s reaction at the signing when Rusty asked you about the display … and the way you seem to know how all the furniture goes together and how to fix it …” He pauses. “I would never tell anyone, if that’s why you’re not telling me what’s going on.”

Panic wells up inside me like a tide rolling in. I’m not sure what to say. Do I deny it completely? Explain it away?

“Carey—” he starts.

I cut him off. “I mean, yes, the original window displays were mine.” I say this quietly, like Melly is standing over us, ready to pounce at any moment. “I did most of them. But I did it all under the Comb+Honey name. If I were a scientist and came up with a new chemical compound, would the formula belong to me or the company I work for?”

“I don’t know if that’s how something like this works.”

“I’ve worked for them since I was sixteen, James,” I say, desperate now. “I make good money, especially for someone with my experience—which is none. This is all I’ve done. I never went to college; I have no training, no degree. I’ve never had a promotion or a title change because I’ve never needed a title. I can’t go somewhere else and do what I do here, and even if I did it would be because I’ve worked in her store and on her jobs and on her show.”

“You could show someone what you can do, and tell them it’s been yours all along.”

The sad truth settles over me, and I glance out at the water. “She’d say she taught me everything I know. It would be her word against mine.” I look at him. “At least here I get to do what I love. How valuable am I to anyone if I can’t even claim what I do as my own?”

He frowns down at the pool, and I can tell he’s trying to come up with an argument, but after a few quiet moments, his shoulders fall. “God. That sucks.”

I bump his shoulder with mine. “Must be rough for an engineer. So many emotions.”

“You called me an engineer, not assistant. Twice, actually.”

I laugh.

“What’s the difference between an introverted engineer and an extroverted engineer?” he asks.

I look up, and his excitement at getting to tell me this joke makes my heart feel like a wild animal inside me. “What?”

“When the introverted engineer speaks to you,” James says, “he looks down at his shoes. When the extroverted engineer speaks to you, he looks down at your shoes.”

I burst out laughing, and he grins, so sweet and proud that I imagine myself melting on the pool deck.

“What are you doing here?” I gesture around us. “Take that show on the road. There’s your escape.”

“Yeah, see,” he says, sobering. “Not that I want to complain to you, but my work situation isn’t much better. Either I put Rooney, Lipton, and Squire down on my résumé and get everything that comes along with it, or I don’t and leave a four-year hole in my work history. I have an amazing portfolio, and projects with my name on them, but now all of it is tarnished under this cloud of scandal—me included. I thought this was my way out.”

“I’m sorry, James.”

Sometime while we’ve been talking the rowdy boys left, and now the entire patio is empty. Colored LEDs shimmer beneath the water’s surface and throw ripples of light on the trees overhead, on the sides of the hotel, even on our skin. I wonder if we could just stay out here all night. Maybe—oops—we could miss the bus in the morning.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, and I turn at the change in his tone. Serious, almost nervous. “But you don’t have to answer.”

“Sure.”

“Both you and Rusty have mentioned insurance.” My breath halts, and he’s quick to clarify. “He didn’t tell me anything, just mentioned that even though Melissa can be awful, sometimes she helps you with your appointments.” He waits for me to pick it up, but I don’t, so he adds, “What appointments?”