Page 24 of Power Moves
‘Give me a call if you have any issues, but I assume you’ll sort it out?’ says Boss.
‘Maybe Petria could—’
‘No,’ Boss interrupts, shaking his head. ‘She’s too new. Don’t you think?’
His confidence in me is so depressing. He has no idea this blunder will keep me working all night.
When I don’t respond, Boss raises his hand in farewell and strolls back to his car. ‘I’ll see you in the office this arvo,’ he calls.
I watch him go with a familiar pressure building in my sinuses. My throat muscles start tightening before I can stop them. It’s stupid. I don’t need to cry. I’m used to this. I’m used to averting crisis after crisis; this is not a big deal at all. It’s just—it’s Maxy’s birthday. I was supposed to hang out with my family tonight.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Bryan:We should lock in a date to catch up! What about that sushi place you like?
At that moment, Archie appears from behind the reception building with his phone clamped to his ear. He pulls it away when he sees me.
‘Can’t wait to see how you spin that one, Millsy!’ He grins and waves, and I watch him stride off in the wake of Boss’s $200,000 Audi.
Grumbling, I crouch down to grab the lectern and feel something warm and sticky on the handle.
‘Argh!’ I jolt back, horror-struck.
My fingers are covered in a gloopy brown mess, and without any further inspection I know, on a cellular level, that it is most definitely bat poo.
Once again, I have been left to deal with all the shit.
CHAPTER 12
‘Dad, I can’t make it tonight.’
It’s 5.30 p.m., and after double-checking my inbox and missed-call list, I’ve confirmed what I already suspected: there’s no way I can make it to Maxy’s birthday dinner.
In the eight hours since the Nancy Miller gaffe, I’ve gone on the offensive. Boss has made his government-security-approved TikTok debut. Of course, Boss doesn’t even know his own account password, but I convinced him to film himself doing a live-action version of the facepalm emoji, and I’ve posted it as his first video. There are already a few comments along the lines oflol, feels. That’s what I need more of. I’ll need to stay on TikTok all night, liking and responding to comments to boost engagement and replying to DMs as I triage media enquiries in the background, but I’m hoping I can send this viral. By Monday, I want tradies calling up Lush FM with their own embarrassing stories of ‘hilarious’ accidental sexism.
My FaceTime screen momentarily freezes, which only emphasises my guilt. Dad’s face is frozen in abject disappointment.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asks, as the pixels slowly recalibrate. ‘Could you work from home and we’ll all help you? Many hands make light work.’
Dad always makes offers like this, despite knowing nothing about what I actually do. It’s sweet, but it’s as helpful as a meerkat offering to file your taxes. ‘Thanks Dad, but it’ll be more efficient for me to deal with it from here.’
‘What about that new girl you hired? Petria? Can she do it?’
‘No,’ I sigh. Not only has Boss already shut down that idea, I know that if I want to keep Petria, I can’t force her to give up an entire Friday night, especially after I had her spend the whole week updating our mailing lists. I’ve already told her to go home. ‘I’m so sorry Dad, I was really looking forward to seeing you all.’
‘I was looking forward to seeing you too, Mill. Have you told Maxy?’
‘No,’ I reply gloomily. Despite cancelling the majority of our plans these days, the guilt never gets any easier to shake. History has taught me to always call Dad first. He’s the most understanding. ‘I’ll call Maxy next.’
Dad nods.
‘Nice shirt,’ I add, wishing I had more value to contribute to this conversation. I bought the shirt for him two birthdays ago.
Dad smiles, slightly sheepish. ‘Thought it was time to finally break it in.’
‘It suits you,’ I say. ‘Where are you?’ He’s surrounded by walls of pale blond timber.
‘Just at the men’s shed. I’ve been building a—’
