Page 37 of Stumped

“Ms. Thomas, the conference room is ready for you,” James, my assistant, says from the doorway to my office.

“Ishehere yet?” I ask with a heavy sigh.

He chuckles and nods. “On his way up.”

“Thanks, James.”

The idea of assistants always rubbed me the wrong way, mostly because the people I assisted treated me like shit. But a year into starting my company, I realised the benefits of assistants. James was my first hire and he’s been the gift that keeps on giving. He joined me at twenty-two, fresh out of college and the only earning member of his family. He didn’t speak any English and my Tamil was passable, but we made it work for six months. After which I signed us both up for languageclasses—English for him and Tamil for me—so we could learn to communicate. Seven years later, he’s the reason I get any work done and why this office runs so efficiently.

Tall and sharply dressed at all times, James is a handsome young man. He’s soft-spoken, but can be blunt. He’s hard working and dedicated to keeping Lucky Shot running smoothly. I would be floundering if James didn’t exist because he checks my email and highlights important ones, he organises my meetings and keeps my head on my shoulders. He’s also my first line of defence when it comes to people I don’t want to deal with.

In very simple terms, James Pillai is the best.

My phone buzzes as I gather my things and I smile when I see texts fromSuperstar. To avoid revealing our connection, I decided not to save his number under his full name.

Superstar

We should have stayed in bed in Mumbai. This sucks.

Rolling my lips together, I shake my head. I agree with him, even if the real world was calling. I think back to the knee-wobbling way he kissed me before we got on the elevator and the filthy words he said while fucking me into the soft mattress. But what’s playing on a loop is actually how earnest he was that night and the complete awe when he realised who I really am.

Don’t let yourself go down this road, Vee.

“Right, fuck buddies,” I mutter to myself and head to the conference room where folks are setting up for the presentation.

Starting Lucky Shot was never part of my life plan. Like everyone else in my generation, I struggled to find the right jobs and suffered quietly through the ones I thought were a good fit. It took me almost fifteen years of being treated like shit to realiseIhad to change things. Not only for myself, but for everyone else who had to deal with things the way I did.

My years in advertising and public relations taught me while there are tons of women doing good work, most of them never get the recognition they deserve. Our successes are often credited to men and every request for a promotion was followed by a ‘you need to do more if you want that role’ conversation. I was tired of doing all the work and being ignored, so I quit in a blaze of glory. I made enemies, I pissed off a lot of people, but at the end of the day I was able to move forward without any regrets.

It took me two years to get Lucky Shot off the ground and since then, I’ve made a name for myself. Not only as a company to work with, but a company to workfor. Building teams and hiring the right people doesn’t happen overnight. Now when I look around the gorgeous office space we have, I can say I made the right choice. It’s never been just about how much money we’re bringing in. Lucky Shot is more focused on the kind of work we do.

The conference room door opens and James steps through, followed by the founder and CEO of a well-known textile company. Mr. Selvaraj is the most pompous and self-righteous person I have ever met. Five men and one woman step into the room behind him and they take their time settling into the chairs around the table. My team and I are on our feet, a sign of respect for a man that has none to give, and I offer him a smile he returns half-heartedly.

“Welcome back to Lucky Shot, Mr. Selvaraj.”

He grunts. “I’m looking forward to the updates you’ve made to your presentation.”

I’m looking forward to the ways I can erase you from this planet. I flash him my most demure smile and nod at the person leading the meeting. As the presentation begins, I payattention to the people sitting across from me. Mr. Selvaraj is a douchecanoe, but his staff are pretty decent. Even if the man dislikes what we offer them in terms of marketing plans and PR guidance, his team is usually good at convincing him otherwise. I might even have to thank them for being the reason we scored this client.

A year ago, a call went out that his textile company was looking for new representation. We beat out some of the best agencies in the country to secure this contract and I wasn’t going to take it lightly. However, the man makes it impossible every chance he gets. He finds the tiniest issues with our suggestions, inflating them into bigger problems than they are.

It doesn’t surprise me, because this is textbook male chauvinism at work. He’s always been the most powerful person in every room, until he met me. I might not be as wealthy or own an internationally traded company, but I hold myself tall and strong every single time. I don’t have time to mollycoddle sexist pigs with too much money.

Thirty minutes later, soft claps go around the room before Mr. Selvaraj’s people are pushing to their feet. I tuned out of the meeting a long time ago, mostly because I know this presentation like the back of my hand. Also because I trust my team to put their best foot forward.

“That was a far better presentation than I expected,” the older gentleman says as he smooths his shirt over his protruding belly. “Send it over, so we can look at it again with everyone else before we sign off.”

I nod, still seated as he stares me down. With a saccharine smile, I say, “Of course. We will need confirmation by the end of the week if we are to implement this.”

With a wave of his hand, he leaves the room, his team following closely behind.

Once the door is closed, everyone collapses into their chairs. I chuckle at their reactions as I stand up, straightening my clothes.

“You did great today, as always,” I tell them.

“Thank you, Ms. Thomas. I can never tell with Mr. Selvaraj.”

“Ignore him, focus on his team instead. They were nodding and taking notes. If you’ve gotthemhooked, the hard work is done.”

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