Page 15 of Dear Debbie

Some people are friends with their bosses. Some people have dinner with their bosses or head to the golf course together. Maybe they share a couple of drinks at the local bar after a long workday.

My boss prefers that I speak to him as little as humanly possible.

No, Ken Bryant is not a warm and fuzzy boss. He doesn’t want to know how my weekend went come Monday. He doesn’t give a shit if I went to the beach over the summer with my family. He doesn’t want to chitchat. He just wants me to get my damn work done on time, which I’m usually excellent at doing.

Ken wasn’t thrilled when I requested a meeting with him earlier in the week. When he asked me what it was about and I said, “my future at the company,” he looked even less thrilled.

Right now, I am psyching myself up for the meeting in my shoebox of an office. In about five minutes, I will explain to Ken why he should—nay, must—make me a partner at the firm. I can’t anticipate it going well. But I have to try. When I get home, Debbie is going to ask me how it went, and I can’t just tell her I chickened out, can I?

She deserves better than me. For more reasons than she even knows.

“Coop? You okay?”

I look up at the sound of the voice at my door. Jesse joined the firm about a year ago, and now I finally have a colleague that I want to spend time with outside work. He and I have had dinner together, I’ve met his wife, and he’s met Debbie. He even convinced me to join a local gym, and I no longer get out of breath when I climb the steps from the first to second floor of my house.

“Fine,” I say quickly. “I’m just… I’m going to have that talk with Ken now, and…”

I confided in Jesse about the meeting, and he agreed with Debbie that I deserve a piece of the firm. He didn’t seem to think it was as big a pie in the sky as I did. I have been here for ten years after all.

If my boss were anyone else but Ken, I’d agree with him. But every time I envision this conversation, I can’t see how it will go my way.

“Don’t worry.” Jesse winks at me. “By this time tomorrow, you’re going to be my boss.”

“Maybe…” I rub my fingertips against my temples. I’ve never had a migraine before, but I feel one coming on. “If it were anyone besides Ken…”

Jesse leans against the doorframe of my office. He can’t come inside, because there quite literally is no room. The office is big enough for my desk and the chair that I sit in, but nobody else can comfortably fit inside. Even if Ken miraculously agrees to the partnership, I won’t get a bigger office.

“Look,” Jesse says, “you’re a damn good accountant, Cooper. Ken would be screwed if you left, and he knows it. You’re in a really good position. Give yourself some credit, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Also…” Jesse squints at me across the room. “What’s going on with your tie? It usually looks so perfect, but today it looks like you had one of your kids knot it for you.”

I fiddle with my tie, which I had to retie when I got here. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Debbie tied it crooked this morning. She’s never done that before. I guess she had a lot on her mind with that photo shoot and all. But it doesn’t look like I did a much better job.

“Debbie usually does it,” I explain as I attempt to repair the damage. “Is it really that bad?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He looks down at his watch. “Just get in there and make sure you don’t come out until he gives you what you deserve.”

What I deserve? I already have more than I deserve. When I was in college, my whole life was going down the toilet, but I somehow turned it around, and then I met Debbie. Jesse has met Debbie a handful of times, but he barely knows her, and he doesn’t realize she’s way too good for me. He doesn’t know I’ve done a lot of things in our marriage that have proven that she deserves better. I only want this promotion so I can live up to that impossible standard. I need this—for her.

Shit, now I’m freaking out even more.

Ken is the only one of us who has a secretary. Her name is Mrs. McCauley, and we’re not allowed to call her anything but Mrs. McCauley. Mrs. McCauley has been with Ken as long as I’ve been working here and possibly since the beginning of time. Despite the fact that I’m certain Mrs. McCauley knows that I have an appointment now, and she most certainly knows my name since I’ve worked with her for ten years, she gives me a blank expression when I approach the desk she occupies right outside Ken’s office.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“I have an appointment with Ken,” I say through my teeth. She’s not making this easier, which I suppose is the point.

Mrs. McCauley peers up at me through her horn-rimmed glasses that hang from a beaded chain that encircles her neck. “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes. That’s why it’s an appointment.”

I swear, I’m not usually a smart-ass, but something in Mrs. McCauley brings it out in me.

“Let me check with him.” Mrs. McCauley picks up the phone at her desk, even though she is within shouting distance of her boss. Hell, he’s probably listening to this entire conversation. But she goes through the motion of dialing his extension. “Hello? Mr. Bryant? This is Mrs. McCauley.” She pauses, waiting for his response. “Yes, I have Mr. Mullen here to see you.”

I stand there, waiting for Ken to allow me to enter his office.