Page 15 of Desserts for Stressed People

When he fidgets with some papers on his desk, I get chills to my bones. “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you.”

Oh my God. He won’t fire me, will he? There’s no way that they blame me for the project cancellation, and I’m one of his best managers. He’s told me multiple times.

He rubs his hands together. “We’d like you to join a team on the sixth floor. Temporarily.”

“The sixth floor?” I ask as I cock my head to the side. “Isn’t that events?”

“It is. They’re planning a fashion show, and the project manager that has been working with them has been...well,essentially, a letdown.”

A fashion show? How the hell am I supposed to plan afashion show? I shake my head. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help, Billy. You know I’ve always worked on web campaigns.”

He gives me atskand moves his hand around to dismiss me. “You’ll do just great. They need someone like you up there. The whole thing is getting out of hand, and the director is desperate.”

Someone like me.A compulsive personality, he means. Anal, organized to a fault. “Like a dog with a bone,” the CEO defined me as when I single-handedly saved a product launch campaign that went rogue.

I am about to protest again when he turns the screen of his computer to me. “Look, they’re halfway done. They already have a list of potential locations, most of their suppliers, and a date.”

My brows arch up. I’m no events expert, but I’m pretty sure that having set a date doesn’t qualify as “halfway done.” But stealing a look at the messy board they’ve been working on makes my resistance whittle down, and my heart squeezes for those tiny items scattered around a messy white background. Where’s their to-do list? Where’s the “urgent” column?

“For how long?” I inquire.

“Six weeks. Once you’re back, there’ll be a nice promotion waiting for you. Senior project manager.Essentially, you should thank me for getting you this gig.”

Essentially, I won’t thank him—God, he can be so condescending. He can phrase it however he wants, but he’s shipping me off to another department because they can’t deal with their own stuff. You’d think event managers would be organized enough to plan an event.

Even so...He’s talking about a promotion, and I want that. Senior project manager. Not only because I should be a couple of years away from it, and this would speed up the process. But because with promotions come raises. With the right pay raise, I’d be able to pay rent for the rest of the lease and endure only six weeks of Alex, until the event is dealt with, instead of four months.

“Can I think about it?”

He grins, and he looks victorious at my half-hearted answer. “Think about it. But I need you to say yes.”

Though I force myself to smile, he can probably tell I don’t mean it. I enjoy working with my team. I know how to get them in line. Some of them I’ve hired personally, and I have a set of freelancers and consultants I can turn to when need arises. Agreeing to join this project would mean starting from the very beginning. New office, new colleagues, new boss. For one-and-a-half months. I can do it, but do I want to? Not really. Especially not with everything that is going on in my personal life.

Billy sets me free, and I leave his office feeling deeply conflicted. I didn’t ask many questions which are now crowding my mind. Who would take my place? And what would my responsibilities be? Who would I work with?

I saunter back to my desk and take a deep breath. I have to inform everyone about the project being canceled, and that’ll take a few hours of work. Then, I’ll think about this again.

* * *

“What’s up?”Emma asks as she joins my table at the Watering Hole. Yep, that’s what this bar is called. We always come here, and by “we”, I mean everyone in our company, IMP. Which means that this bar is where the office gossip truly flourishes.

With a quick glance, I take the space in. There aren’t too many colleagues here tonight, which bodes well for me because this conversation needs to remain private. Still, I scout the white tables and chairs around us and the silver stools at the counter. Excluding Ruth from accounting, there’s no one else I recognize.

“Essentially-Billy called me into his office today,” I say.

Her brows wiggle as she sips on her white wine.“Uh-huh. Is a promotion afoot? Remember to negotiate on the wage. Always ask for more.”

Emma is part of the sales department, of course. If I’m a dog with a bone, she’s a shark. No, worse, she’s a tarantula. Sneaky and small and dangerous. She’d convince a vegan to enter a McDonalds, a priest into a strip club. Against her, even I know to give up.

Nightmares from the last time she coached me on negotiations flood my mind, but shaking them off, I continue, “The sixth floor is in a pickle. There’s a fashion show one-and-a-half months from now, and they need a project manager.”

“What happened to the last one?” she asks, shoving a couple of peanuts in her mouth.

With a shrug, I say, “They weren’t up to the task.”

She squints, mulling something over. Emma knows everyone at IMP and is always up to date with the latest gossips. I’m sure she’ll give me intel about the events office that will help me decide.

“Events management is challenging. Really hard work. You know Stephen, the guy who quit after he had a nervous breakdown?”

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