Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(14)

There were no clients in the office, so she made the dreaded announcement. “It’s that day of the week, everybody. Chop, chop. Let’s get the agony over with.”

SuSu Kaplan groaned. “I’m getting my period.”

“You were getting your period last week,” Portia replied. “No excuses.” Only her controller and the computer guru who ran the Power Matches Web site were exempt from this weekly ritual, since they didn’t deal directly with clients. Besides, they were men, and didn’t that just say it all?

Portia walked toward her private office. “You, too, Inez.”

“I’m the receptionist,” Inez protested. “I don’t have to be in the clubs at night.”

Portia ignored her. They all wanted the prestige of working for Power Matches, but nobody wanted the hard work and the discipline that went along with it. Discipline turns the dream into reality. How many times had she said those words to the women she mentored at the Community Small Business Initiative? And how many times had they chosen to ignore her?

Kiki Ono had a chipper smile on her face, and Briana didn’t seem too worried, but if SuSu Kaplan kept frowning that way she’d need Botox before she hit thirty. Inside Portia’s office, half a dozen curry-colored ceramic pieces provided the only decorative accessories in a space dominated by glass, straight lines, and hard surfaces. Her personal preferences ran toward softer, more feminine interiors, but she believed a woman’s office should project authority. Men could surround themselves with all the bowling trophies and family photos they wanted, but female executives didn’t have that luxury.

As she made her way into her private bathroom, she heard the rustle of shoes and jackets being removed, the chink of discarded belts and bracelets. She slid the glass-and-chrome precision scale from beneath the pedestal sink with the pointed toe of her lavender Christian Louboutins, then picked it up and carried it out to the black marble office floor. By the time she extracted the chart she needed from her desk, SuSu had stripped down to a navy bra and panty set.

“Who’s brave enough to go first?”

“I will.” Briana Olsen, a willowy Scandinavian beauty, mounted the scale.

“One hundred and twenty.” Portia noted the weight on her chart. “You’ve picked up a pound since last month, but with your height, that’s not a problem. Your manicure, though…” She gestured toward the chipped mocha polish on Briana’s index finger. “Honestly, Briana, how many times do I have to tell you? Appearances are everything. Get it fixed. Inez, you’re next.”

Inez’s extra pounds were a foregone conclusion, but she had fabulous skin, a marvelous touch with makeup, and a way of putting clients at ease. Besides, the reception desk was high enough to cover the worst of her chub. “If you ever want to get another husband…”

“I know, I know,” Inez said. “One of these days I’ll get serious.”

Kiki, always a team player, took the heat off her. “My turn,” she chirped. Flipping her silky black hair over one shoulder, she stepped on the scale.

“One hundred and two pounds,” Portia noted. “Excellent.”

“It’s a lot easier when you’re Asian,” SuSu said sullenly. “Asian women are small-boned. I’m Jewish.”

As she reminded them at every weigh-in. But SuSu had a degree from Brown and connections to some of the wealthiest families on the North Shore. With her great hair—incredible caramel highlights—and her infallible eye for fashion, she radiated a Jennifer Aniston kind of sex appeal. Unfortunately, she didn’t have Aniston’s body. Portia gestured toward the scale. “Let’s put you out of your misery.”

SuSu balked. “I want to go on record. I find this demeaning and insulting.”

“Possibly. But it’s also for your own good, so up you go.”

She reluctantly climbed on. Portia noted the number with a sigh. “One hundred and twenty-seven pounds.” Unlike Inez, SuSu had no desk to hide behind. She was out in the clubs representing Power Matches. “Everybody else, back to work. SuSu, we have to talk.”

SuSu hooked a lock of that gleaming hair behind her ear and looked sullen. Kiki shot her a sympathetic glance then filed out with the others. SuSu picked up her black Banana Republic sheath and held it in front of her. “This is discriminatory and illegal.”

“My lawyer disagrees, and the employment contract you signed is clear. We talked about this before I hired you, remember? Personal appearance is paramount in this business, and I put my money where my standards are. No one offers the bonuses and benefits that I do. In my mind that means I deserve to be a little demanding.”

“But I’m the best associate you have. I want to be judged by my work, not by how much I weigh.”

“Then grow a penis.” SuSu still didn’t understand that Portia had their best interests at heart. “Did you even try?”

“Yes, but—”

“How tall are you?” Portia knew the answer, but she wanted SuSu to come to terms with this herself.

“Five feet four.”

“Five feet four and one hundred twenty-seven pounds.” She leaned against the hard glass ridge of her desktop. “I’m four inches taller. Let’s see how much I weigh.” Ignoring the resentment in SuSu’s eyes, she slipped off her shoes and sweater, dropped the pearls on her desk, and stepped on the scale. “One hundred and twenty-two. I’m up a bit. Oh, well. No carbs for me tonight.” She stepped back into her shoes. “Do you see how easy it is? If I don’t like what I see on the scale, I cut back.”