Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(97)
I huff out a breath, flustered and sweaty, taking no small satisfaction in all the looks of horror I’m getting. That’s right, assholes. I am woman, hear me roar!
“We know,” says Ruth.
I blink at her, convinced I’m hearing her wrong. In the following silence, you could hear a pin drop. “Uh . . . what?”
“I was in one of the stalls in the ladies’ room that night, Joellen. I heard everything.”
For some reason, the room is rising. Then I realize, no, that’s not the room rising, that’s me sinking back into the chair because my legs are no longer interested in the work of holding my gobsmacked self up.
Portia takes charge. “We had an emergency board meeting after Ruth disclosed what she overheard in the restroom that evening, Joellen. Obviously I can’t disclose the specifics of that meeting, but what I can tell you is that Michael has been removed as chief executive officer of this firm. He will not be returning.”
I breathe, “But . . . I don’t . . . understand.”
Michael’s father—a man with gunmetal-gray eyes and an imposing air who I’ve interacted with only briefly at holiday parties and the random company picnic—says brusquely, “My father started this company. I’ll be damned if my son is going to end it.”
When the two attorneys shoot him agitated looks, several things dawn on me at once. I think of Maria, the copy editor who left suddenly before her promotion was announced, leaving a spot open for me, and of how Portia has hovered over me for years, watching Michael and me like a hawk, and not because she was in love with him.
And of Sue Wong, youngest associate editor in the history of Maddox Publishing. Pretty, vivacious, ambitious Sue.
“Wait. I’m not the first one he’s done this to, am I?”
Sensing his cue, one of the attorneys stands. “Ms. Bixby, I have some documents we’d like you to sign—”
“Ha!” My barked laugh stops the attorney cold. “Yeah, I bet you do, pal! Good luck with that!”
“Your new position as associate editor has been approved by the board, Joellen,” says Portia calmly. “All you have to do is sign the paperwork.”
I look around the table, and I have to laugh again. “Dudes. I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m not signing anything without having my attorney review it.” My nonexistent attorney, I fail to add, but this is hardly the time for full disclosure. “And if you don’t want me to sue all your asses to kingdom come”—I make an unnecessarily dramatic gesture, encompassing everyone in the room, the building, and most of the state—“you’re going to leave me alone with Portia now so we can talk.”
I level Portia with the same cold look she’s been giving me for years.
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” starts attorney number one, but Portia stops him.
“Give us five minutes, gentlemen.” She sweeps her cool blue gaze around the table. “Ruth. We’ll be fine. Please.”
The way they all shuffle nervously out the door looks like they’re off to the firing squad. When we’re alone and the door has closed behind the last person, Portia and I engage in a staring duel.
Of course I break first. The woman could work for the gestapo.
“Why have you always been such a bitch to me?”
She wasn’t expecting that. I can tell because she says, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“We’ll get to the Michael stuff in a sec. But it’s always really bothered me that you were so mean to me. I could never figure out why.”
She glances down at her lap, smooths a hand over her perfectly smooth hair, does that prune imitation with her mouth. Then she sighs and meets my gaze. “Because you remind me so much of myself, and I hate it.”
My jaw unhinges and lands on the table. “Me? I remind you of you? Are you nuts? We’re polar opposites!”
She makes a queenly, dismissive gesture with her hand. “How I used to be, before I decided to stop letting life kick me in the teeth and grow some balls.” A ghost of a smile lifts her lips. “So to speak.”
When I just stare at her with my mouth open like a gaping idiot, she looks at the ceiling and shakes her head. “I always hoped one day you’d have enough of me clapping at you and clap back. And you did, eventually. After I’d been through the entire dictionary of names that start with the letter J.”
I’m floored. “Portia, that’s just . . . diabolical.”
She laughs at my horrified face. “I had no idea you’d have so much patience, or I would’ve sat you down ten years ago and told you to stop being so accommodating.” Her smile fades. “Being nice is the worst thing a woman can be. Nice means you have to swallow your own feelings and focus on everyone else’s. Nice means you don’t speak up when you’re wronged. Nice means being a people pleaser and a conciliator and worrying yourself to death over others’ opinions. Nice means never getting what you really want.”
“So we’re all just supposed to walk around being giant bitches?”
She lifts a shoulder. “That’s one way to do it. At least you’ll get respect. But what I really mean is that when you’re focused on being nice, you won’t tell a truth that needs telling, because the worst thing a nice girl could ever do is hurt someone’s feelings. A better thing to focus on is being real.”