Page 13 of Faking It With My New Boss

“I wanted to show you some of my ideas,” I said. “Last night I went over the information you gave me and sketched out a couple of possibilities for the fundraiser. I wanted to go over them with you so I could narrow down the scope and start developing the most promising ones.”

He gestured to the other side of the desk and I walked around to the chair. Perching on the very edge of the cushion, I set the files in front of him. At first, Bryan seemed almost impressed at the amount I had already gotten done. But when he started flipping through one of the folders, the look on his face changed.

What had been an expression of something close to interest shifted to a scowl. He looked at a couple more pages and the look became one of disgust.

“What is this?” he asked.

I craned my neck to make sure I knew which idea he was looking at. “That one is a masquerade ball. I know that's a fairly straightforward concept in terms of large gatherings, but I feel it could be done in a truly interesting way. That next one is a little more unique. An ice theme. All in shades of blue and white with little silver as an accent. Professional ice carvers creating sculptures and possibly even doing demonstrations. Ice luges for drinks. Cold foods served in flavored ice vessels.”

I started to pull another of the folders toward me so I could elaborate on other ideas, but his almost flailing gesture over the folders made me stop.

“No,” he said. “I mean what is this? What kind of ridiculous ideas are these? You said you looked at the information I gave you.”

“I did,” I said. “I went over every single bit of it thoroughly. Several times to make sure I fully understood the scope of what was expected.”

“Clearly, you didn't,” he snapped. “If you did, I wouldn't be looking at such ridiculous crap.”

The bitter, unprofessional, and harsh response took me aback. For a second, I couldn't even figure out what to say.

“Excuse me?” I finally managed.

“None of these look anything like the events the company has had before,” he said. “They are so different than anything any of the galas have been in years past. It's almost like they aren't even the same type of event.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to decide if he was joking. But his face didn't change and no punchline came. I realized he was actually being serious.

“That's the point,” I said. “You came in here as the new head of the company and this event is the first big gesture you're making. You want to stand out and make a statement. So why do the same thing that's been done a thousand times before? The same thing everybody who walks into that room is going to predict and feel completely bored by?”

That changed his demeanor. What had been flippant and dismissive turned to anger.

“Don't tell me what I want,” he said. “You need to do what you were hired to do. Not fly off the handle thinking you are more creative and insightful than anyone. I told you to do exactly what I wanted you to do. And that was to look at the events from the last few years, get inspiration from them, and make something like that.”

“You told me to come up with themes and plans,” I said, fighting to keep myself sounding calm and steady. “That is what you asked me to do, and it's what I thought you wanted me to do. I thought you wanted some creativity and a fresh perspective on what is essentially a dried up, worked over, canned event no one is going to want to attend again. If that's what you put in front of those people, they're going to see right through you.

I put a lot of work into coming up with these ideas. But if all you wanted was a carbon copy of the last event with just a shift in the color scheme or a couple of gimmicky additions, I could do that in a second. And in the end, it will be a derivative and heartless, kind of like you.”

I didn't bother to wait for any type of response from him. I didn't want one. And I definitely didn't want to stay in the same room with that man for any longer than I absolutely had to. Leaving my work spread out across his desk, I turned on my heel and stalked out.

Chapter Ten

Bryan

I was so shocked by what just happened, I didn't move for several seconds after Courtney walked out of the office. It was like I've been hit by a truck and couldn't fully process it. The way she spoke to me caught me completely off-guard. Nobody ever talked to me like that and I didn't know how I was supposed to react to it.

At first, I just sat there. I figured out any second she was going to realize what she had done and feel embarrassed about it. She was going to realize she had just chewed out her boss and was going to be horrified that she did it, and terrified I was going to fire her. That meant she was going to hurry her cute little ass right back into my office and grovel.

So, I waited. And waited. And then waited a little bit more.

She wasn't coming back.

I got up and went down the hall to Courtney's office. The door was standing open, so I didn't even have to go inside to see her rapidly packing things back into the box she had been carrying through the lobby when I first saw her that morning. Even from the distance I could see that her jaw was set hard and her cheeks and the back of her neck were flushed.

“Courtney,” I started. “About what just happened…”

I was expecting her to stop and look at me, but she just kept right on going. She finished packing things into the box, then sat down hard on the chair behind the desk and typed something into the laptop keyboard with hard, pecking strokes. I could only imagine that was her signing in using the log-in information the secretary gave her the day before.

“Courtney,” I tried again. “I need to have a word with you. We need to talk about the work you did.”

“I believe you already had more than enough words with me,” she said, standing up sharply and sweeping the box off the top of the desk into her arms.

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