1
Kendall
“Nooooo, there's absolutely no way I can do that.”
Oops.
That came out a little too forcefully. Never a good plan to pile on the negatives when talking to your boss. Specially not when she's a fierce little bulldog aka a ball-buster. I don't know why James hired her although I can guess. It's kind of not fair though because when you're going to expand the business and create a new management position, searching among the current employees that work night and day plus all weekend would be a nice idea.
Oh well. I guess the next time the chance to sleep with the boss comes up, I'd better grab it. Whoever that boss happens to be. Unless it's the current one of course. She's standing on the other side of her glass desk with one eyebrow cocked in excessive shock at my resistance to her orders.
I just stare back, waiting to gauge the extent of her fury before groveling with an apology and explanations.
“It's not like I just asked you to go feed orphans in Africa,” she half snarls at me.
“Seriously Monica, I'd actually prefer that over throwing myself out of a plane.”
“Nonsense, what are you afraid of?”
“Um, heights. The parachute not opening. Crashing face first into the ground.”
“But it's for charity,” she wheedles, same as she does asking me to work all weekend.
“And it's not only one skydive, it's three.”
Even one I doubt I could down enough cosmos to manage even one. Okay maybe one, but only because I'd be flying through the air before I realized I'd taken the dare to hurl myself out of a speeding plane. I've been known to pull a few crazy stunts after a cocktail or ten.
“Well any monkey can throw herself out of a plane one time.”
“It's three times the likelihood of plummeting into the ground. I just can't,” I insist. “You'll have to ask someone else.
Not that she asked.
I am actually quivering here. Although whether it's from fear of a triple skydive for our client's latest marketing burst, or the way Monica is looking at me wondering whether she'd get into any kind of hot water for giving me my marching orders right now, I can't quite tell.
“It has to be you. The client demanded you particularly.”
“Me?” I squeak. “The client requested that I do this insane stunt?”
“Don't ask me why you, because I can't figure that out either.”
“But I've hardly had any contact with Derek Lowell,” I say, all hope retreating.
“Well, he wants you and it's all decided. There'll be press there to record the event too, so try to look decent.”
Faceplant.
She wags the back of her fingertips at me regally, letting me know I'm dismissed from her presence chamber.
I back away, thinking I'd drop in a curtsy and kiss her hand if it would get me out of this gig. I go back to my office with beads of sweat on my brow.
Damn.
“What are my options here?” I ask Carla. when we meet for happy hour cosmos at PJs.
She and I used to work together in event planning at Madison Square Garden, until I moved to Torquay – event planners to the stars.
“From what you say about your new boss, only the sudden loss of all your limbs. No, even then she could tell you to throw yourself over the edge.”
“Thanks, very helpful,” I say with heavy irony.
Then I smile sweetly at Raul, the bartender and he gives me the coming-right-up nod.
“Anyway it might be fun. You might meet some hot cameraman at the after.”