Page 11 of Worth Fighting For

“No!” Mushu groans.

I pick up my chopsticks, and grin. “You love the idea and you know it. We’re going to save this deal, you and I.” And, though I don’t say it out loud to Mushu, I know that deep down inside me, there’s a tiny kernel that burns with anger and frustration and a fierce longing to prove for once and for all that I, Hua Mulan, am a better, more filial offspring than any son could be.

CHAPTER FOUR

As a private equity VP, I have attended more introductory calls and meetings than I can remember. Most of these meetings take place at our office and are attended by an analyst, a principal if it’s a highly desirable company, and me—as well as, in the case of a company that is being hotly pursued by other firms, Baba himself.

The meeting with Wutai Gold clearly falls into the latter category, and it would be the first time that I am conducting such an important meeting without Baba present. Not only that, but I’ve had to tell Brian, the analyst who prepped the Wutai Gold file, not to attend, because I have no idea how Brian would react to me telling him to call me Zhou. If I had to guess, Brian would not take it well. Brian is the kind of guy who thinks that taking more than one sugar packet from Starbucks is stealing, so it’s probably best to leave him out of this chaos. The only person I’ll have in the meeting room on my end will have to be Mushu.…

A decision I am second- and third-guessing as the hour draws near and Mushu fusses about me, dabbing more and more makeup onto my face. I flinch as Mushu prowls toward me, carrying what looks like an industrial-grade torture device.

“Stop moving, you’re going to end up with second-degree burns,” Mushu snaps.

I flail at her, batting her away. “Or maybe a device that can cause second-degree burns should not be used on my face?”

“This is the latest thing,” Mushu says. “It’s a heated eyelash curler that’ll curl your eyelashes for twenty-four hours.” She glances down at the curler, which has started smoking. “Or burn them off.”

“Along with my corneas,” I say. “You are not getting anywhere near me with that. Unplug it and step away from the weapon before you burn down the entire building.”

“I saw it on TikTok,” Mushu grumbles, but she listens, and puts the machine away. “All right, ready to see the new, fabulous boss-lady version of yourself?”

With no small amount of trepidation, I nod. Mushu grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around to face the bathroom mirror. My mouth falls open. Dimly, I hear Mushu going “Ta-da!”

It isn’t that the makeover is bad, exactly. But it’s just so…

“What do you think?”

I search with increasing desperation for the right words. “It’s very…The makeup is very Cruella de Vil,” I say finally, staring with despair at my hyper-arched, hyper-darkened eyebrows and bloodred lips.

“Yes, but the Emma Stone version of Cruella, not the misunderstood version,” Mushu says happily.

“Okaaay. And these shoulder pads are very…uh, padded.” I poke at my left shoulder pad, which is so high it practically grazes my earlobe.

“Exactly. I was going for a Margaret Thatcher look.”

“Is that who you were channeling with the hairstyle as well?” I say, my voice coming out weak.

“No, the hairstyle was inspired by Adele, but you do exude a matronly vibe, which I guess is why it ended up more Margaret Thatcher. Goes with the suit, though, right?”

I stare in horror at my cousin. Why in the world did I trust Mushu when she said she knew just the right look for me to pass as a managing partner? The urge to wailWhy, universe, why?is almost overwhelming.

“I can’t go in there looking like this.”

“Why not? You look like someone people should fear.”

“Exactly,” I say with feeling, blinking at my shocking reflection.

The expression on Mushu’s face softens. “I get it, it’s very different from your boring day-to-day look, but trust me, this is what a badass boss bitch looks like.”

For the millionth time, I thank my lucky stars that my father has decided against putting up any of our pictures on our website. There was a nasty incident a couple of years ago involving a jealous ex who tracked down one of the associates at the firm, and after that, Baba took down all our photos on the company website and instead only listed our names and work emails on theABOUT USpage. Proper bios are only given out to trusted individuals who have shown serious interest in becoming clients. As such, the people at Wutai Gold wouldn’t know whether to expect a middle-aged man or a young woman. They would see me and assume that this is how “Hua Zhou” looks all the time.

I poke my hair gingerly. After all the hairspray that Mushu has unloaded into it, it’s more titanium helmet than hair. When I turn my neck, the hair follows a split second later like a wad of cotton candy resting on my head. A wad of metallic cotton candy.

Stay calm, I think.Take a long, deep breath in. Hold it for two seconds. Now scream—nope. Now exhale. Yes. Good. Unrelated, but this is what snipers do right before pulling the trigger on their targets.

Great, now I’m thinking about snipers and death, which is not at all a bad omen. I check my watch. Only fifteen minutes before the Wutai Gold people are due to arrive. I force myself to take another breath. I can do this. And Mushu is probably right; this is probably what badass boss bitches look like. I wouldn’t know it, because I’ve never dealt with a badass boss bitch, only spoiled, whiny finance bros. I lift my chin and assume what I hope is a strong stance.

“There you go,” Mushu cheers. “Embrace your inner finance bro. Rule number one, your one true love is your muscle tone. When in doubt, flex your biceps. Rule number two, never say sorry, even when you’re wildly wrong about something. Number three—”

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