Page 44 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

They leave, finally, but not before Grayson calls over his shoulder: "Remember - last man standing gets the yacht!"

I wait until they're gone before pulling up the blog posts again. The timing is too perfect, the observations too specific. Either we have a leak in my office...

Or Mac's having a much worse day than I thought.

My phone buzzes – Emma:

"Keith is now accepting song requests for the revolution. Brad's requested 'All By Myself' and HR is concerned."

I head for the door, already composing an email to facilities about removing all copies of Les Misérables from the office Spotify playlist.

Just another day at Drake Enterprises, where apparently corporate rebellion comes with musical numbers and my love life has become a tech industry subplot.

At forty-five, I should probably be better at handling either situation.

Then again, at forty-five, I probably shouldn't be letting a twenty-year-old bachelor pact influence my decisions.

Especially when those decisions involve a certain corporate culture consultant who might or might not be trying to take down my company through strategically timed blog posts.

But first, I have a revolution to quell.

Preferably before Keith starts on the second act of Les Mis.

13

PRESS RELATIONS AND OTHER DISASTERS

MACKENZIE

Seattle in early December meant two things: holiday lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets and the tech industry's annual rush to prove they'd achieved their yearly diversity goals. This year, Drake Enterprises was leading the charge with the "Future of Tech" press conference - a major media event where Alexander Drake would announce the company's comprehensive culture reform initiatives.

The same initiatives I'd helped create while secretly blogging about the industry's problems.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

"The Post-it note revolution has spread to the third floor," Lucia announces, dropping a stack of reports on my desk. Outside my office window, fat snowflakes swirl against a slate-gray sky, adding to the two inches that had fallen overnight. "Keith's manifesto about the new biometric coffee machine is now available in three languages."

Two weeks have passed since Alex's college roommates had visited, two weeks of me trying to pretend I haven't seen the way Grayson Dixon has been studying me like I was a particularlyinteresting piece of code. Two weeks of avoiding Alex's increasingly thoughtful looks while simultaneously helping him prepare for this press conference.

Two weeks of pretending Roberto's baby news isn’t eating at me every time I check my email.

"Has the PR team approved the final talking points?" I ask, shuffling through the reports. My office, usually a model of organization, looks like a war room. Press packets compete for space with holiday party planning documents and employee feedback summaries.

The Christmas Gala looms just four weeks away, and between that and the press conference, I’m running on pure caffeine and determination. Assuming I can get past Keith's coffee station blockade.

But first: Get through this press conference preparation without either exposing my blog identity or getting distracted by how Alex looks in his new suit.

"Your talking points on salary equity need work," I tell him, pacing his office while he practices his speech. Four weeks until the Christmas Gala, and this press conference can make or break our reform initiatives. No pressure. "You're coming across too defensive."

"I'm not being defensive," Alex says defensively, loosening his tie for the third time. "I'm being factual."

"You're being a typical tech exec who's uncomfortable admitting past mistakes." I move to fix his tie, then catch myself.Personal space. Remember personal space. "Try it again, but this time with less 'we're implementing changes' and more 'we recognize the need for improvement.'"

Second issue I might want to address: The fact that my latest blog post about wage gaps just went viral isn't helping. Neither is the way Alex keeps looking at me when he thinks I'm not watching.

"Fine." He straightens, adopting his CEO pose. "DrakeEnterprises recognizes?—"

The door bursts open, revealing Keith from DevOps in full revolutionary mode. He's wearing his signature beret and clutching what appears to be a manifesto written on the back of sprint planning documents.

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