The position was as difficult as I had been warned but far more fascinating than I ever thought it would be. I learned pretty much everything I needed to know in order to identify the best companies for takeover or purchase. That’s what Volkov Holdings is all about, the acquisitions team finds floundering companies. Then the mergers team goes in and tears the company apart or builds it up, staying in only until Volkov feels he has made as much money as he can before selling it, in whole or parts, whichever makes the most money.
I was asked to sit in for Simon’s assistant while she was on vacation for two weeks. He was a dick from day one, but over the two weeks he realized how good I was. In the beginning Simon was almost nice—as nice as he could be, anyway.
He talked me into taking over as his assistant with the casual mention of me working my way up. I would bring him the companies, he would make sure Volkov knew how good I was, then before long I would have my own office. This all came with a significant pay raise, of course. Like an idiot, I believed him; I was also desperate for the increase in salary. I had no idea he was on the verge of losing his job, as his proposals rarely panned out and Volkov found him lacking.
Enjoying the quiet of the office, and not being forced to listen to Simon’s fake laughs and uttering “baby” every fourth word, I click into a music station before pulling up the acquisition for next week I’m already working on. While I’m pretty sure Volkov doesn’t know it’s me behind the proposals, that I shouldn’t loathe him as much as I do for not giving me the credit, position, and money I’m due, I can’t help it.
How could he not know? He’s supposed to be all-knowing, all-seeing, like the eye of Sauron. How could he not have figured out that once I started working for Simon, his submissions drastically improved?
Maybe he isn’t as intelligent as everyone says he is. Maybe he also isn’t as scary as everyone says he is. It’s really annoying the way everyone in this company talks about the man in reverent whispers. I don’t get the big deal.
Okay, he did make it from poverty-level asylum seeker arriving in England at the age of five from Russia to billionaire by the time he was thirty-five. Then again, he learned it at the side of Dmitri Markhoff, another brilliant businessman from Russia and also a billionaire who did the same thing. He had some help.
I can’t concentrate on the next acquisition when I know the one in front of me is the best I’ve found so far this year. I tap my pen on the proposal as I consider my options. There’s no warning when the door opens and I freeze. People have to come through my office to get to Simon, so it’s not uncommon for people not to knock, yet it never fails to annoy me when they don’t. At least I’m sitting up with my feet off the desk, even if I haven’t put my hair back up. I exhale with relief at the sight of Anna.
Anna is a petite, curvy, fellow Latina who makes my workday a little less like hell. It’s kind of pathetic she’s my only friend when she only started two years ago. I used to have friends, not a lot, I’ve always been too much of an introvert to make friends easily. Just enough for me not to feel like a loser. But when I left school to take care of Abuela as she went into end stage breast cancer, my friends fell away.
I woke up one day to realize the only person in my life was my Abuelo. Even though I wouldn’t change a thing or resent what my life has become, sometimes it feels incredibly boring. With Anna, however, things are never boring.
“Oh my god, I heard about Simon.” How the hell did she hear? I barely have my mouth open to ask her. “Martin lives in his building, remember?” Oh right, Martin got Simon the job.
“It happened when Simon was leaving their building this morning. Martin saw it as the ambulance came and was loading him in the back. Kathy was there losing her shit. Simon was running to get a cab and didn’t see the bus. How the hell do you not see a bus? And it wasn’t like he was run over like Kathy was screaming. The bus lurched forward, the driver didn’t even have his foot on the accelerator. He got the lacerated liver from his briefcase getting smashed into his side when he fell. Drinks tonight to celebrate?”
I laugh. “First round is on me. Best Monday ever.”
“You are so lucky. I can’t count how often I’ve wished Martin would get run over by a bus, and he’s not even half as bad as Simon. I swear, I don’t know how you do it.”
We’ve had this discussion before. The first time was when she was in the office one morning early. Simon yelled at me to shut my fat mouth and get to work, I wasn’t being paid to gossip. I told Simon to suck a dick. It was only seven thirty. Until eight I’d do what the fuck I wanted on my time. Her eyes went wide as she looked at Simon, who called me a bitch before slamming the door to his office.
I shrugged and told her the only reason I was here was because of the pay and benefits, not caring if Simon heard me or not. Simon was well aware, the bastard taunted me often about not having the money to quit when he pushed me too far. No way would I find something as good as this company or this salary. I was a fat-ass loser and no one would pay me what he paid me.
No matter how much I hated Simon, I was afraid he was right. I earned more than the other assistants did by a significant amount. There were also the benefits that no other company came close to. Volkov grew up in England, so he set the benefits to what they are there: Employees had five weeks of vacation every year. Sick leave was thirty days a year, and we could use our vacation if we ran out of sick. There was also three months of full pay maternity leave and then a further six months at eighty percent of salary, for men and women. And to top it all off we didn’t pay for healthcare, any of it, not a doctor’s visit or single prescription. It wasn’t a crappy healthcare plan either—the best doctors in the city took our plan.
“You know why. Three more years and the mortgage is paid off and I can breathe again.”
Anna’s eyes narrow on me. “What’s that look? You should be a whole lot happier.”
I tap the proposal in front of me. “Simon doesn’t want me submitting the proposal for acquisition I put together for today’s meeting. Which is bullshit. It’s really good.”
“That’s because he doesn’t get control of the whole this-is-all-me scam he’s running. Of course it’s good, Martin low-key hates you for how good you make Simon look. Simon is the golden boy with almost all of your picks getting scooped up and making this company hundreds of millions. Submit it, fuck Simon. I bet if you do Ivan will finally figure out it’s all you and fire Simon’s ass.”
“I wish. Knowing my luck, it will be me who gets fired.”
Anna plops down on the edge of my desk. “You are such a pessimist. How are you going to get fired when Simon’s the one who has been passing off your work as his? Show up to the meeting and present it and blow Ivan away.”
“Are you crazy? I can’t go upstairs.”
Anna rolls her eyes. “Why not? You are seriously harshing my view of you as a badass and my hero for telling Simon to fuck off on a weekly basis. Come on. Look at the risk scenario here and tell me the risk versus reward aren’t metric ton. You’ll be doing Ivan a favor. He could use more women on his team instead of lower on the totem pole. And he’d be getting a minority at that.”
We both laugh. Despite my mother being a black Cuban, I also had an Irish father from Cork who had green eyes and red hair. No one looking at me would ever guess my parentage—my complexion is barely tan, only growing slightly darker if I spend hours in the sun, which doesn’t happen often because this is Chicago. Not everyone assumes I’m Latina, as I consider myself to be considering it’s the classification for Cuba. Added to all that I have thick, dark, reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes that are often more green than brown. That doesn’t mean I haven’t felt the sting of racism. My worst experience came from the people in this office.
At first, I was accepted, even welcomed by almost everyone. Except the people who thought I was disgusting because I’m a size sixteen, but that was
something I’ve been used to since I was a teenager. Then someone had caught sight of the picture of my grandparents on my desk. They were standing proudly in front of the home they bought. The question was asked, who were they? The moment I said my grandparents, the surprise was clear along with the aggressive accusation it meant I was black and was hiding it.
I wasn’t ashamed of my mother or my grandparents. I never tried to hide my race. Though my grandparents are black, their identities were as Cubans. I grew up in a household of rice and black beans, speaking Spanish; when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a black person. None of that mattered. The shift in attitude toward me happened almost overnight. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.
“Come on, chica, there’s no reward if you don’t take a risk, as everyone is so fond of quoting Ivan. I dare you.”