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“You need to leave, Denise. It was a mistake thinking this could work.” Looking back, I should have done this as soon as I was given carte blanche over personnel. But I wanted to avoid questions about why I refused to work with her. I didn’t want to give her the chance to spout more lies about me and make me live through a repeat of the past. And if I’m honest, I also wanted to prove to Denise the mistake she made. Maybe by seeing how good I am at my job, how well my team works together, she’d regret her choices eight years ago.
Yet, looking around the room, I can see I’ve only made my team, and my friends, miserable.
Regaining her composure, Denise narrows her eyes at me. “Excuse me? I’m—”
“Out of line? Completely unhelpful? Vindictive? Yes, we know.” I wave my hand at the room. “Everyone knows.”
Ben snickers before turning it into a cough when Chris elbows him in the ribs.
“We’ve all had to listen to your diatribe long enough.”
“See here, Miss Dougherty—”
“King. It’s King. And you know it’s King. You also know why it’s Ms. King instead of Miss Dougherty.”
An evil glint lights her eyes. “Exactly. And if you don’t want all these people to know—”
“Know what? That you’re a horrible person? No need. You did that on your own.” I take a step closer to her, pleased to see her lean back in her chair. “And now we’re done here. You’re done.”
What I’m saying finally seems to penetrate. Her nostrils flare, her eyes slit. “You can’t do that. I have a contract—”
“Correction.” I walk around her, taking my seat at the head of the table. “Warren and Baron have a contract. Nowhere on that contract does it specify that you have to work on the account.”
She shoots to her feet. “Stanley won’t allow this.”
“Stanley?” What does Chase’s father have to do with this?
Denise’s face flushes red, the death stare gone. She looks down, smoothing her skirt.
And suddenly it makes sense. I wondered why someone so incompetent at her job had retained such a large account. She has something going on with Stanley Moore. I can’t help but snort at the irony of it all.
My expression must show I’ve connected the dots, because Denise recovers, pulling her shoulders back, hands going to her painfully slim hips. “Cut the high-and-mighty act, Campbell. You may be able to convince Chase to take me off the project, but we both know the only reason you have such authority is because your legs are as wide as your mouth.”
I flinch, signaling the barb had landed.
She smiles. It’s a wonder that someone with such beautiful features can look so ugly. She raises her voice, making sure it carries out the open door. “I wonder how much your colleagues and clients will respect you when they find out you like spreading your creativity around.” She looks me up and down, her contempt fully unveiled. “On your back.”
An uneasy quiet surrounds us. Even the hum of copy machines stops. No one moves. They don’t even glance at each other to gather reactions. It’s like someone hit a stop button in time.
I’m strangely calm. This is my worst fear come true… and I don’t care.
The only thing flashing through my mind is Chase’s face when I told him I love him. And I almost gave that up to protect myself from this? From this angry, hypocritical woman with a chip on her shoulder so large not even Michelangelo could chisel away at it?
I could easily out her in return, considering I’m pretty certain she’s having, or has had, an affair with Stanley. However, looking at her, with her pretty features distorted into an ugly mask, I realize she isn’t worth it. Rather, I wonder what the hell happened to her to make her this way. And if I would’ve eventually become just like her if Chase hadn’t come along.
Now, instead of anger, I feel sadness. For her. For me. For all the wasted time. For what it might’ve cost me.
I rub a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. “Just leave, Denise. Before I call security.”
“Come,” she snaps at the three Warren and Baron team members. “We’ll just see what Mr. Warren has to say about this.”
The three marketing employees shift uncomfortably in their seats, glancing at anything but Denise. Finally, the one woman of the bunch speaks. “I think we’ll stay, Denise. You can sort things out with Mr. Warren on your own, I’m sure.”
A confused look flashes across Denise’s face, like she can’t believe the whole room is against her. But in a flash, she regains her holier-than-though countenance. “Very well. I’m sure I don’t want my name anywhere near this ridiculous marketing plan your inept team is wasting their time on, anyway. If you want to fail without my expertise, that’s on you.” She gathers her bag and notes from the table in swift, concise movements.
Alice jumps to her feet, picking up the cashmere coat draped on the back of Denise’s chair. “Here, let me help you with your jacket.”
This time Chris bows his head, cough-laughing into his fist.
