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Chapter 1
What I Wouldn't Give For A Goddamn Sleeve of Thin Mints Right Now
Mae
Working for someone is the equivalent of being a servant to Hell. Sure, Lucifer may pay you well, but he’ll suck your soul right out of your breathing body.
That was never going to be me. It has always been my goal to sit up in a high-rise, calling all the shots and playing the corporate game like we’re all chess pieces on a board and I’m the grandmaster. I’d perch high on my throne, next to my best friend, and we’d conquer the world together, beholden to no one but ourselves.
However, no one told me about the sacrifices. No one mentioned life’s curveballs and how to navigate them. When your company is floundering, it’s still your company. If you don’t do the work, no one is there to pick up the slack. There is no fucking around to make the time pass by. Every minute is money, and every lead is an opportunity.
There’s no leaving early to have drinks with friends. No spare evening for a romantic date. No free lunch break with subsequent fifteen-minute smoking sessions throughout the day. Which makes me hangry with a blood-sugar level of stress. Worst of all, there is no clocking out or days off. Not even when your kid can’t go to daycare because she’s running a fever.
I want to give my daughter the things I never had. A stable home without financial worries. Healthy meals with substance instead of the TV dinners I was raised on. She is the driving force that pushes my ambition—this need to be on top of my game, a fierce competitor in the digital marketing industry.
“Elliot, where is the Deximo proposal? I can’t find it in the cloud.” I try to keep the impatience out of my tone while setting up the highchair to feed my daughter breakfast.
“Mama!” My two-year-old hasn’t learned how to use her inside voice yet, and when she wants my attention, she demands it.
I smile at my confident girl as I walk over and pick her up off the floor.
“I’m sorry about that, Ms. Keller.” Elliot’s on the verge of stammering.
It tells me I need to temper my anxiety, which sounds a lot like irritation. My assistant is great and I don’t mean to be abrupt with him, but this is an important deal. It’s vital.
I sigh, counting to ten in my head. We’re in the final negotiations of Ever Heart Digital’s biggest contract with a huge player in the sports industry.
If we’re counting children, Ever Heart is my firstborn. A company that my best friend and I built from the basement of their home. Now, we sit thirty stories high in a Chicago skyscraper. If all goes well, we’ll satisfy our investors and keep all our employees. If not…
Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. I can’t even think about it. I just hope everything I’m sacrificing—the lonely nights, the rushed days, the lack of sleep, proper nutrition, my youth, and mostly quality time with my daughter—will be worth it in the end.
I smooth red curls away from Isabel’s face as I place her in her highchair with breakfast—a mashed banana and Go-gurt. Her squeal of delight lights me up, and some of the frustration from this phone meeting dissipates.
“It’s fine.” I wince at my not-so-subtle aggravation and rein it in a bit. “Really, Elliot, you don’t need to apologize. I know there’s a lot on your plate.”
The impatient undertone in my voice makes him stutter. “I-I just got the updated budget. I’ll have it ready and uploaded this afternoon.”
Regret twists my gut. I’m being too abrasive to someone who doesn’t deserve it. I never alluded to what we’re up against. People’s jobs are on the line. His job is on the line, and it’s not because of work performance.
Our staff is the backbone of our company, each one interviewed and carefully curated by my best friend and myself. Our people have a strong work ethic and great integrity. We can’t lose them and, most of all, I can’t let the people that depend on us down.
My hand flies to my forehead and starts rubbing, fending off the impending tension headache. “See that you do.”
Shit. That came out wrong. My tone could use some correction. I’ve lost my tact somewhere in my struggle between pursuing my ambitions and becoming a single mother overnight.
I lighten my voice. “Let’s go over the proposal again. It has to be perfect.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My shoulders scrunch to my ears. I fucking hate that word.
“With the complete marketing package—”
“Mamama!” Isabel wails and flips her bowl of yogurt off the tray of her highchair. White gooey shit flies and lands on every possible surface, including my silk blouse.
My blood pressure is skyrocketing but eases as Isabel giggles and plays with her food. The stab of anxiety turns into a small sting. I almost smile. “No, Isabel. You have to eat your food, not throw it on the floor.” My tone is more soothing with her than it is with Elliot. I hope.
Elliot continues talking in the background.
