–Emmett: No occasion. Just something I’m thinking about.
I give my phone the side-eye. My boss isn’t the type to do things just because. He believes in efficiency and proficiency. He probably just doesn’t want to tell me what it’s about. For all I know, it could be an I’m-sorry-I-messed-up grovel gift.
Or maybe he’s doing this to annoy me enough to make me quit my job now, so he can claw back some of my signing bonus. Who knows what floats around in his diabolical mind?
–Me: Diamonds.
Three… Two… One…
–Emmett: Why?
Argh! The inevitable question! It’s like death and taxes. Like Thanos.
I should’ve picked the damned pearls. But I can’t take it back now. The one time I tried, he asked me so many questions I felt the need to create a PowerPoint presentation.
–Me: They look more expensive. They’ll mean more.
The redhead seemed like a diamond kind of woman.
–Emmett: Seems like a thoughtless reason.
Shallow, too, I add silently.
–Me: Cheap things are cheap for a reason.
–Emmett: Pretend you’re spending your own money.
Oh for God’s sake. I wouldn’t be spending my own hard-earned dollars on those things. I’d be making an extra payment on my student loan. Or saving it for a down payment on Dad’s future house in Florida.
But I can’t tell my boss I’d rather spend the money on unromantic practicality. Plus, his dates probably aren’t mired in debt.
–Me: The diamonds. They sparkle more.
–Emmett: So sparkly wins?
–Me: Yes.
Can I go now? I add silently.
–Emmett: Thanks. :)
Jesus, look at that smiley face. It’s more destructive than a hydrogen bomb.
Articles on bosses from hell always mention the ones who constantly berate you and never thank you. The authors of those articles clearly have never met Emmett Lasker. He flings his smiling “thanks” around like preemptive strike grenades. And it’s diabolical. There’s no way to complain about his behavior after a seemingly friendly “thanks.”
He is a bosshole for the twenty-first century. None of that classic pathological shouting stuff. There are too many people with cell phones recording your every move, eager to post your bad behavior on social media for public shaming. A modern bosshole can fake being a decent human while making your life miserable at the same time.
And it’s the worst. You can’t file a complaint with HR for abusive behavior or language. If he tells you at four thirty p.m. you have to redo all your work because he isn’t happy—never mind that his reason for dissatisfaction with your deliverable makes zero sense—then it’s you who must’ve failed to measure up, not him. If he calls you at eight thirty in the evening while you’re on a date, asking you to come in because he decided he doesn’t like some variable you used in your latest financial projections, that, too, is a sign of your failing.
I drop my phone into my purse. The elevator stops on my floor, and the doors open like the maw of a monster starved for innocent souls.
Taking a deep breath, I march forward to my desk. First one in the office today. As I boot up my laptop, my gaze falls on the standing desktop calendar. Five red circles around today’s date. With a big star above, a reminder of my all-important lunch meeting with Marion Blaire from the Blaire Group.
My heart does a funky little dance as excitement shivers through me. The Blaire Group is a well-regarded private equity firm in Arlington, Virginia. A month ago, I gave my résumé to a few headhunters I know, asking them to be discreet—which they promised to do, since they know it wouldn’t be good for me if my boss found out I was looking for a new position. Within a week, the Blaire Group contacted me for a Zoom interview. Afterward, they wanted to fly me out to Virginia for the in-person stuff.
I wish I could take the time off, but Emmett would never approve it, not on such short notice. I could always take a sick day, but last month a guy from another venture capital firm called in sick and got caught at the airport because somebody took a selfie and posted it on Instagram, and a coworker from his firm recognized him. He was summarily fired and became the topic of tittering gossip.
So, one of the Blaire Group’s junior partners is going to interview me during his business trip to L.A. this week. He said he could swing a lunch interview after his final meeting.