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© Jacqueline Lee
Chapter One
The first day at a new job is like the first day at school.
As I enter the lobby of my company, I think back to the photo from
my first day at kindergarten. It shows me standing by our front door,
hands tucked in my pockets and eyes turned down, almost dwarfed by my
backpack.
Now, I clutch my sleek laptop bag as I stride confidently towards
the elevator. At least I hope my strides look confident. I’m wearing my
Manolos because I have a theory it’s impossible to walk timidly in
Manolos. Already my calf muscles are protesting. There’s a reason there
are only a few letters difference between heels and hell.
You can do this, I remind myself as I select the button for the
eighth floor. I’ve had to reprimand myself a lot over the years, because
2
deep inside there’s still that timid girl who threw up all over the mat on the
first day at kindergarten. Even now as the elevator glides upwards, part of
me wants to stab at the elevator button to take me back to the lobby, so I
can race home and huddle in bed watching The Big Bang Theory re-runs.
Freak-outs are normal for me but I’ve learned to push past them.
Otherwise I would never get anything done.
And getting things done is what I do.
In the five years since college, I’ve scaled the career ladder so fast
I’ve almost given myself vertigo. How? I’ve worked hard. Eighty-hour
weeks kind of hard. Skipping vacations kind of hard. Having no life
outside the office kind of hard.
I hug my new job description tighter than Charlie clutched his
Golden Ticket to the chocolate factory. Director of Marketing. This is it.
The pinnacle.
Even better, it’s the Director of Marketing for a brand-new
company, Horizon Sports. Horizon Enterprises have already carved out a
global niche in music, travel and electronics. Now they’re sending
tentacles into the sports and outdoor market.
I’m still trying to convince my stomach to unclench when the
elevator doors open. The eighth floor has been gutted and refurbished in
3
honor of the new company. The interior designers obviously got the sports
brief - a massive photo of LeBron James dunking from an impossible
distance greets me as I step into reception.
The picture is so overwhelming I almost miss that there’s an actual
person standing in front of the photo until he speaks.
“Hannah, nice to see you.” Bruce comes forward to shake my
hand. He’s the HR Director for the Horizon Group, and was on my
interview panel. “We’re having the official introduction for everyone at
eleven thirty. In the meantime, let me show you to your office.”
I walk alongside Bruce. In my heels I’m almost the same height as
him.
My office. A little thrill penetrates my nerves when I see the
plaque ‘Director of Marketing’ on the door, with my name underneath.
Bruce hovers in the doorway. “The senior executive offices are all
in this corner. The Director of Sales is next door. I’ll find him so I can
introduce you.”
Left alone in my office, I take a few deep breaths as I look around.
Because it’s a brand-new company, everything is new. New desk, new
laptop, new bookcase, new stationery.
I’m just admiring my new stapler when Bruce comes back in.
4
“Hannah, this is Matt, our sales manager.”
I look up and meet the gaze of the man standing next to Bruce. My
breath whooshes out of me as if someone has punched me in my stomach.
No.
No way.
This cannot be happening.
No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.
No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No. No.
No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No. No. No.
Those two letters are stuck down on the keyboard in my mind,
filling all the available screen space.
In all the time I’ve spent lying awake stressing about my new job,
imagining every kind of calamity, my brain never once conjured up a
disaster of this scale.
Matt’s face mirrors my feelings. Shocked. Flabbergasted.
Appalled.
Three seconds later his mask slips into place and he slides me a
small grin. To most people it would look like a standard-issue smile. But I
can spot the evil lurking underneath.
5
“Why hello Hannah, what a lovely surprise,” he says. It’s his fake-
polite voice. It’s a voice that has always driven me mad.
“Hi Matt,” I manage.
Bruce whips his head from Matt to me like he’s watching tennis.
“You two know each other?”
“Oh, we know each other very well,” Matt says.
Bruce’s eyes widen at the implication.
“We grew up next door to each other,” I say quickly, sending Matt
a glare. Don’t even try it.
How inadequate those words are to describe this thing between
Matt and me. Lifelong enemies sounds overly dramatic, but it’s pretty
darn close to the truth.
When I look at Matt, I see the boy I competed with through
elementary school, middle school, high school and college. In our senior
year of high school, I was class president, he was vice president. He was
the valedictorian, I was the salutatorian. At college, every class we did
together we battled it out for first and second place.
It was not a friendly, good-natured rivalry. Oh, no. Barbed insults,
backstabbing and underhand tactics characterized all our interactions. At
6
one lowlight after a prank gone wrong, law enforcement officers became
involved.
I rejoiced at the end of college knowing Matt and I were going our
separate ways and, besides the occasional long-range sighting if we were
back in our hometown at the same time, we would never see each other
again.
My celebrations now appear to have been a tad premature.
“Well, it’s fantastic that you know each other, because the sales
and marketing departments will be working closely together.” Bruce
seems oblivious to the tension radiating from both of us.
“That’s great,” Matt says.
“So, so great,” I say sweetly. To anyone else that might sound
perfectly polite, but Matt sends me a look that could ignite trees. When he
was eight, Matt wrote a Valentine’s card to Isabella Harris, telling her he
thought she was so, so great. I may have quoted that particular phrase to
him a few times over the years.
“Well, we’ll leave you to settle in Hannah. Don’t forget to be in
the conference room at eleven thirty for introductions.”
“I’ll be there,” I say.
7
They leave, and I slump against my desk, trying not to
hyperventilate. Matt Paterson here, working at Horizon Sports.
I’m flooded with memories. Matt chopping off one of my pigtails
in third grade. Matt putting a goldfish in my drink bottle in fifth grade.
Matt sabotaging my cheerleading uniform so I flashed my underwear to
the whole school at a pep rally in junior year.
My stomach lurches as I try to imagine coping with him in my
work life. Someone who knew me as a geeky kid, an awkward adolescent,
a spotty teenager.
Someone who knows all of my secrets.
The only redeeming thing is that I know all of his.
It takes a while to wrench my brain away from Matt and focus on
my new job. Somehow with Matt here it’s become even more important
that I do well. I open my laptop and go to my emails. I’ve already been
sent a bunch of resumes from HR. One of my first tasks is to staff my
team so I need to work out my interview shortlist. I start to read.
I’m browsing the fifth resume when my phone pings.
How’s the new job going?
8
The message gives me a flush of happiness. It’s from Penny, my
oldest friend. My best friend. No one else would understand what a
catastrophe having to work with Matt is. But Penny knows our history.
After all, she survived it all with me.
I type my reply. New job all good except for one thing.
What thing?
I sneak out my door, sliding furtive glances both ways. No one is
in the hallway. I snap a quick photo of Matt’s door, where it says Director
of Sales and his name underneath and send it through to her.
OMG!!! I just fell off my chair laughing. Now everyone in the
staffroom is looking at me. You’ve got to be kidding? Matt is working
there too?
He sure is. I fill the rest of the screen with emojis, ranging from
surprised to angry.
I thought he was working for that software company in
Chicago?
Apparently not anymore.
What are you going to do?
9
I lean back in my chair. What can I do? This is my dream job. I
don’t want to jeopardize it in any way. But have Matt and I ever worked
together successfully?
There was the time in health class when we were paired together
and given an egg to treat as if it was our baby. Half an hour into it, the egg
somehow ended up cracked over Matt’s head and we both had to do an
extra assignment to make up the grade.
Then there was student council, where I was the student body
president and Matt was the vice president. We made the UN Security
Council look like a model for harmonious functionality.
Debate team, ditto. Half the time we’d argued against each other
rather than the opposing team. Not a winning strategy.
In fact, I can’t think of a single instance when we managed to put
aside our animosity and worked well together, no matter how big the prize
was.
Not sure. I guess I need to find a way to work with him??????
Has he changed at all?
I replay our brief interaction in my head. Has Matt changed? He’s
dressed sharper than I’ve ever seen him, but as my Nana likes to say, ‘you
can dress a pig in a wig but it’ll never turn into a princess.’
10
Hard to tell. I guess I’ll find out.
Bell’s just rung, gotta go mold the minds of the next
generation. Good luck!
Luck. I think I’ll need it.
Do I give Matt the benefit of the doubt and assume that he’s
matured? After all, a lot has happened in the five years since I last saw
him. I’ve definitely grown up a lot.
I’m sure Matt will be just as motivated as me to do a good job, but
he’s always been someone who coasts on his natural ability when he can
get away with it. He’s one of those people who can charm his way into
opportunities, while the rest of us have to rely on hard work.
Maybe I shouldn’t have referred to the Isabella incident, but
there’s an ingrained part of me that automatically conjures insults to Matt
Paterson. Interesting how, after five years of lying dormant, it fired to life
in an instant. I’ll have to control it so I don’t look unprofessional.
I finish reading the resumes and start trawling through my other
emails. Already my inbox is clogged. There’s a message from Bruce about
a team-building picnic tomorrow where they want everyone to bring
something to share. Great. A chance to show off my non-existent domestic
skills. I email back that I’ll bring dessert. It’s difficult to screw up dessert.
11
Right. Time for a caffeine fix. I head to the staff kitchen, passing
Matt’s office on the way. His door is half open, and a glimpse of his office
wall stops me in my tracks.
It holds a framed photo of the ice hockey legend Gordie Howe,
with his signature scrawled over the photo in a flourish. Seeing it is like
having a bucket of cold water poured over me.
Because I recognize the photo. An identical one hung in my
brother Jason’s room. It was his prized possession and he used to yell at
me if I went within a meter of it.
The source of Matt’s photo is the same as Jason’s. My dad. My
dad who once won three signed photos of Gordie Howe, and decided to
keep one for himself, give one to his son and one to the hockey-playing
kid from next door.
Not to his daughter.
Which kind of sums up my relationship with my father.
It’s ridiculous how seeing it still affects me, bringing all the hurt I
felt at the time flooding back. Of course, Matt has no idea what that photo
represents to me, so logically I know he didn’t put it there to taunt me, but
it doesn’t feel like a good omen. Every time I go into his office I’ll be
12
reminded of my father’s overt preference for the next-door neighbor’s kid
over me. Fabulous.
I make it to the staff room. Here, the sports theme has been
continued in a practical manner, with a foosball and ping pong table taking
up most of the room. At least they have a decent coffee machine.
I’m at the counter stirring my coffee when someone ambles into
the room. Matt. It’s amazing the physical effect that seeing him has on my
body. My teeth clench and my pulse rate speeds. It’s the fight or flight
response. With Matt, it inevitably seems to descend into fight.
“So, have you thrown up on anyone yet?” he leans against the
foosball table and regards me with a raised eyebrow. Great. He’s taunting
me about my nervous stomach. The first day of kindergarten isn’t the only
time my stomach ejected its contents at an inappropriate time. All over the
judges at the spelling bee regional final is another highlight. So nice of
him to bring it up now.
“Actually, the only time I’ve felt nauseous is when I saw your
face,” I reply.
This is how it has always been with us: exchanging loaded
comments and insults. Weirdly, I find myself relaxing. It’s a bit sad that
exchanging insults with Matt feels like a comfort-zone, but when you’ve
13
had fifteen years practice it does tend to become second-nature. One of the
few things I can do well without even trying.
A smile slides onto his face and dimples carve themselves onto his
cheeks. In one of life’s great injustices, Matt’s ugliness doesn’t show on
the outside. Instead the devil comes dressed in a six foot two, brown-
haired, green-eyed, chiseled-jaw package. Objectively, I can see why
women find him attractive, the same way I can appreciate that eating
Brussels sprouts is good for you. But in no way does that make me want to
start eating them.
My mind flashes back to Penny’s question. Has Matt changed
since I last saw him? Now that I have the chance to examine him, I can see
that he’s filled out, which I grudgingly admit works for him. He’s still
lanky, but more well-built than he was.
“Did you get new eyes for Christmas?” My evaluating glance
hasn’t skipped Matt’s notice.
“Have you been working out?” I blurt.
Matt’s eyes widen. “So you are checking me out?”
I fight back a blush that wants to take up residence on my cheeks.
“No, you just look… different. Less like a concentration camp survivor
than usual.”
14
“I lift weights.” He twitches an eyebrow in an expression that
would look sexy if it was on anyone else’s face.
“Did you get sick of all the girls beating you at arm wrestling?”
His smirk fades. “That was one time. And you cheated.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“While we’re commenting on each other’s appearance, what
happened to the curls?”
My hand flies instinctively to my head to smooth down my curls
but it meets only sleek hair. After enduring years of my unruly mass of
reddish-brown curls, I finally discovered the miracle of hair treatments.
“I grew out of my Orphan Annie stage,” I say.
“Funny, I always thought you were more of a Shirley Temple
wannabe.”
He starts to hum the tune of On the Good Ship Lollipop. I close my
eyes. There should be a law against anyone bringing up your short-lived
tap dancing career on the first day in a new job. Actually, the law should
be that you never have to work with someone who knows all the
embarrassing anecdotes from your childhood.
Matt’s musical moment is interrupted by someone else entering the
kitchen. I snap my eyes open. Matt stops humming abruptly.
15
“Hi, I’m Adam, Head of Sports.” A guy in his mid-forties
introduces himself, offering his hand.
I juggle my cup of coffee to return his firm handshake as I
introduce myself. Matt does the same.
“So where are you from originally?” he asks. I guess the rounded
consonants and drawn-out vowels in both Matt and my introductions make
it obvious we are not native New Yorkers.
“Hannah and I are both from Wisconsin,” Matt says.
Adam’s eyes light up. “Wisconsin, eh? Are you a hockey fan?”
Matt and Adam start talking hockey, which I know from
experience will be a long conversation. I use the opportunity to slip away.
On the way back to my office I mull over my interaction with Matt. Okay,
so we exchanged casual insults, but that’s par for the course. And we
managed to keep it professional in front of Adam. Maybe the extra level of
animosity won’t be present this time, maybe we won’t descend into
undermining or pranking each other.
Maybe this time we will find a way to work together.
16
Chapter Two
Time ticks down to the introductory meeting. I head to the
bathroom to freshen up before the meeting. I want to make a good
impression on my new colleagues.
I’m just passing Matt’s office when I hear song I recognize. It’s a
tinny version of ‘I get knocked down’ by Chumbawamba. Most people
would recognize it for the upbeat, popular dance track that it is. But for me
it triggers an avalanche of memories from one of most embarrassing
moments in my life.
My feet stop moving.
Surely not.
Matt wouldn’t do that, would he?
17
I mean, we’ve grown up now. We’re professionals. I’ve just spent
the last hour reassuring myself that we can find a way to work together.
My feet carry me into Matt’s office.
Matt’s sitting at his desk and Adam is standing next to him, along
with another guy I haven’t met yet. They’re huddled around Matt’s laptop,
peering at something on the screen. From the music and the grins on their
faces, I know exactly what they’re watching.
Prairie du Chien, one of the small towns in Wisconsin, has a
unique New Year’s Eve tradition. Instead of following New York’s
example and dropping a crystal ball at midnight, the good folk there
decided to introduce a tradition of dropping a carp. Yes, that’s right, a
carp. The fish is caught in the Mississippi River, and kept in a freezer until
New Year when they hoist it up on a crane and drop it at the midnight
countdown.
And then there was the year I got in the way of the falling carp.
It’s one of my few embarrassing incidents that wasn’t caused by
Matt. This one was all me. It’s a long story - me at 17, my illicit bottle of
Captain Morgan rum, a college guy I failed at impressing and an over-
enthusiastic crane operator. It ends with me being walloped by a frozen
carp, sending me sprawling.
18
And because, you know, complete humiliation at the time wasn’t
enough, it lives on into eternity courtesy of YouTube. Someone who
videotaped the entire incident even nicely pared it with a backing
soundtrack before they put it online. It’s timed so just as Chumbawamba
are belting the lyrics “I get knocked down”, I’m hit by the frozen carp.
It is funny, as far as slapstick humor goes. Objectively I know that.
And it appears the 15,789 people who gave it the thumbs up on YouTube
also saw the humor in the situation.
But, when it’s you that it happened to, not so much.
Also, for the record, getting hit by a frozen carp hurts. A lot.
“Funny video?” I ask when the music finishes.
Three sets of eyes fly up to me.
The mouth of the guy I haven’t met yet drops open. He’s worked
out I’m the girl from the clip. There’s a lovely close-up at the end which
ensures my identity is undeniable.
I stare at Matt. As his eyes meet mine, guilt spreads across his face.
There is no option but to brazen it out. Act as if it’s normal to meet
a new colleague at the same time they’re watching one of the most
mortifying moments in your life.
“Hi, I’m Hannah.” I hold out my hand to the new guy.
19
“Brett.” He shakes my hand firmly.
“Matt was just telling us about weird Wisconsin traditions, and he
mentioned the carp drop,” Adam says.
“I’d forgotten all about your starring role at the end,” Matt says.
He’s so lying.
“I’m sure you did,” I force a smile on my face. “The whole thing is
pretty funny.”
Relief spreads across Brett’s face. I continue to smile, but really,
I’m in disbelief that Matt’s shown that video to our new colleagues. I’m
also in disbelief at myself. How could I have been deluded enough to think
that Matt Paterson might have changed? He’s going to continue to do what
he’s always done. Find ways to torment me. Because I dare to challenge
him. Because I’ve always made him work hard to win. Because I don’t
melt at his feet like other women.
“It must be time for the staff meeting,” I say. “I’ll see you guys
there.”
I’m breathing hard as I walk down the corridor. My disbelief is
morphing into anger. It’s galloping through my veins. I’m almost light-
headed with fury.
20
That question that has been running through my head this morning
about how things are going to be with Matt?
I now have my answer.
I’m still seething as I take my place at the meeting table. To think
I’d been prepared to turn over a new leaf, prepared to give Matt the benefit
of the doubt after everything that has happened between us.
To be fair, I’ve done a bit back to him over the years, but always in
retaliation.
Matt slinks into the room, accompanied by Brett and Adam just as
James, the Managing Director, starts the meeting.
I met James at my second interview. He’s in his mid-forties, and
dynamic. Very different to my last CEO, who thought tweeting was
something only birds did.
As James introduces all the other managers, I evaluate them - not
just for whether they’ll be good for their jobs, but for whether they’re
candidates for Team Hannah or Team Matt.
Because it now seems increasingly likely that Horizon Sports is
soon going to be divided into Team Hannah and Team Matt. Our level of
animosity has always meant people feel they need to take sides in our
battles. In elementary school it was simple – all the boys were Team Matt
21
and all the girls were Team Hannah. At middle school the lines started to
become fuzzier. In fact, my friend Amy, who’d been a fully signed up and
active member of the ‘I-hate-Matt’ club in elementary school, was the
worst type of turncoat, and actually dated him in junior year.
So I don’t automatically assume that all the women will be on my
team. In fact, James’s PA Annabel, is currently seductively sucking the
end of her pen while not taking her eyes off Matt, so I put her into the
enemy camp. Unless Matt breaks her heart, in which case she could be an
eager conscript.
The rest I run my speculative eye over as James introduces them.
Brett: Head of Product Development. In his late thirties. Could go
either way. A bit of flirting could put him into Team Hannah, and he
obviously feels bad being caught laughing at me. But then he might be one
of those guys who loves male bonding over sports and beer. Matt always
has a circle of henchmen, so he must be good at that stuff. A 50/50 call.
Amber: Head of Outdoor Products. She’s in her early forties with
black hair spiked on top of her head. I can just see the bottom of a tattoo
on her wrist that looks like the Venus symbol. I feel a surge of adrenalin.
She could be a firm ally. And a formidable one at that.
22
Dave: Head of Accounts. Mid-forties, balding and wearing the
most god-awful cardigan ever known to man (grey with maroon stripes).
You can tell he’s not a man’s man. Definitely a strong candidate for Team
Hannah. I’m sure he’s got photos of his three cats that he’s dying to show
me.
Adam: Head of Sports. Mid-forties, slightly paunchy around the
middle like an athlete gone to seed. He’s already given me the impression
he’s one of those guys who’s never grown up from his frat boy days. He’ll
be Team Matt for sure.
Sarah: Head of IT. Early thirties, could be a candidate for Matt’s
charm although a glance at her hand reveals a sparkly engagement ring.
Another 50/50 call.
James finishes his introductions with a pep talk. “As you can see
we’ve gathered together a young, dynamic team filled with individuals
who I believe can make Horizon Sports a success. We’re not looking to be
just another lifestyle brand. We want to be taken seriously as a quality
sporting and outdoor brand, creating products that hard-core enthusiasts
will embrace.”
James explained his vision of the company to me in our interview.
I love it. From a marketing perspective, building a brand based on quality
23
rather than chasing a fad fashion is so much more satisfying in the long
run.
“We’ve gone with a flat management structure. We’re expecting
you to manage your teams, but you will also be working in close co-
operation with each other. Team dynamics are very important. I’m sure
you all remember the psychometric testing you did as part of the interview
process. We paid lots of attention to those results when choosing the
team.”
They used a computer program to choose the team? What kind of
malfunctioning software would ever think Matt and I could work well
together? It must have sadism coded in there somewhere.
I feel Matt’s eyes on me as James finishes up. I meet his gaze
levelly, coolly. For a few seconds, we’re locked in a staring skirmish,
before his eyes skitter away.
I watch as he stands up, sidling toward the door where Brett and
Adam are in conversation.
I stick out my chin and make a beeline for Amber.
Let the battle begin.
24
Chapter Three
I’m pleased with myself when I arrive back at my office. Amber
and I clicked straight away, and I’m excited about working with her. And
that was before she took off her jacket and I got a glimpse of her biceps.
Given her arsenal, I’m pretty sure she could put Matt in a headlock and
have him begging for mercy within a minute. It’ll be nice to have an asset
like that on Team Hannah.
I also made small talk with Dave about Downton Abbey. Turns out
he’s a real fan (in the rankings of surprises, this is not a large one). It’s
always good to be on the right side of the accounts department, and
hopefully, if we strike up a friendship, I can convince him to lose Matt’s
expense claim form every few months.
25
It’s good to have a motivation to mix with my colleagues. If it
wasn’t for Matt being there, I would have probably scampered back to my
office as soon as the meeting was over. Maybe Horizon Sports will give
me the opportunity to make some new friends. I’ve struggled in that
department since I moved to New York. It always takes me a while to
open up to people, and my shyness is often misinterpreted as aloofness.
I’m elbow deep back into work when I sense a presence. I’m like a
Jedi warrior. I can detect a dark force. Sure enough, when I look up Matt
is hovering in the doorframe.
“Managed to turn on your laptop yet?” he asks.
Okay, so I wasn’t known for my technical competence as a
teenager. Once in Matt’s presence I tried to turn on the TV with the air
conditioning remote. But now I am a sophisticated marketing professional.
It is insulting to assume I lack the ability to start my computer.
“Managed to turn off everyone you’ve encountered yet?” I retort.
Matt moves into my office. It’s quite disgusting really, the way
he’s always been able to move gracefully. He should clump more or
something. But whether he was on the hockey pitch or strolling around
campus, he’s always had this smooth glide of the coordinated.
26
“That’s a good one,” he says. “I’ll give it at least a five on the
comeback scale.”
“It’s at least an eight.”
The comeback scale is something we instituted in middle school.
After weeks of arguments, we commissioned a jury of our peers to rate our
retorts to each other. The jury, of course, was a hotbed of corruption as we
each tried to influence the results. It all petered out at the end of middle
school when everyone refused to be on the jury anymore.
“So anyway…” Matt’s green eyes meet mine and I hold my breath.
Is he about to apologize for showing Brett and Adam the clip? What
should I say if he does? Do I just accept it, or do I make him squirm for a
bit? After all, it’s a pretty crappy thing to do to me on the first day of a
new job.
“James wants to meet us this afternoon to discuss the sales and
marketing timeline. He suggested two.”
My limbs suddenly feel heavy, like they have weights attached to
them. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. Matt Paterson has never apologized
to me. Ever. I frown, focusing on what Matt said.
“Why didn’t he come to talk to me about it?”
27
“I guess he assumed I was capable of passing on the message.
Crazy man.”
I don’t like where this is heading. Matt and I are equal, both
directors of a department. If James starts seeking him out ahead of me,
then it could mean trouble. After all, they’re just trialing this flat
management structure. In lots of companies there is an overall Director of
Sales and Marketing. I cannot imagine anything worse than James
deciding to promote Matt ahead of me. My stomach hollows out at the
thought.
“Or maybe he just thinks I’m too busy and you look like the type
who excels at menial tasks like passing on messages,” I reply.
“Or maybe he thinks I’m more trustworthy and capable of doing
the job properly.”
Our eyes meet. There’s a challenge in Matt’s, a challenge I’m all
too familiar with. We’ve pitted ourselves against each other so many times
and my pulse races in recognition of the gauntlet he’s laying down. I
haven’t kept exact score, but our historical number of wins must be pretty
similar. Now we have a completely new arena to do battle in.
“We’ll see who’s more capable of doing the job,” I say.
28
“Time has its own way of revealing the truth,” Matt agrees with a
smirk. “See you at the meeting.”
***
I arrive at the meeting five minutes early. To my disgust, Matt is
already sitting at the table. Damn. Next time I’ll make sure I’m ten
minutes early. The early bird catches the worm and all that. Although in
this instance, the early bird is the worm.
“Glad you can join us, Hannah,” Matt says. He’s making it sound
like I’m late. I give him a glacial stare. It gets even colder when I see the
half-completed plan in front of him.
“Sorry, I thought the meeting started at two. That was the message
that was passed on to me.” I give Matt a pointed look.
“It does start at two. I just wanted to make sure some of the key
sales dates are in the plan as a starting point,” Matt says with a smile.
He’s tried to snake me already.
“Well, we’ll have to see how they fit in with the marketing
deadlines I’ve sketched out.” I whip out the plan I’ve furiously put
29
together in the last few hours. That’s the thing about Matt. I know him.
I’m familiar with his tricks, so out-maneuvering them is instinctive.
I give him a wide smile as his grin fades. “I’m sure you’re
prepared to work out a compromise for what’s best for the whole
company.”
“Of course,” Matt says through gritted teeth.
I place my timetable on the table and sit down, sheltering my plan
with my body as I lean over to look at his. Matt does the same. We’re like
mother dragons protecting our eggs.
“I see you want your sales team to start selling into outdoor stores
in July. I think that’s too early, we won’t have the collateral finished by
then,” I say.
“Then you’ll need to push up your deadlines. Not only do I need
point of sale for when my team starts selling, I’ll need it for our training as
well.”
Matt and I start arguing the point. It’s funny. I’ve seen lots of
different versions of Matt over the years. Sporty Matt, on a hockey rink.
Studious Matt in a classroom or lecture theatre. Social Matt at parties. All-
Dressed-Up Matt for prom and homecoming.
30
But Professional Matt is something different. He really looks the
part of a young, successful professional. His suit fits him perfectly,
emphasizing his muscular chest. His shirt is a mint green, which I
cynically suspect he selected to highlight his eyes. Matt has these deep
green eyes framed by long lashes that make girls wax lyrical. He got
contacts in sophomore year, which he said was for playing hockey, but
I’m sure had more to do with liberating his eyes so all the girls could
appreciate them. That year I had a record number of defectors from Team
Hannah.
His voice is a low baritone as he makes his point. There’s almost
something disturbing about seeing someone I once gave a wedgie to in
retaliation for beheading my Care Bear now all grown up.
His smooth, business-like approach might be intimidating if I
hadn’t spent the last five years playing the part of Professional Hannah.
Confident and in control. I know how to play the game too. I counter him
in a clear, composed voice. As a woman, I don’t have the deep
authoritative tone as my go-to, so I make lots of solid, steady eye contact
with James as I explain my reasoning.
“I agree with Hannah,” James says after I finish. “Let’s push it to
August.”
31
I flick Matt a triumphant smile.
“But Matt is correct that to train his staff, he needs to have the full
marketing collateral available. You’ll need to push that deadline up.”
My smile dims.
The meeting continues like this. Matt and I challenging each other
on every point, under a thin veil of politeness. We’ve done this countless
times over the years, in front of teachers and professors. It’s like putting
on an old pair of shoes that you haven’t worn for ages, but still fit
perfectly.
“Right,” James says when we’ve hammered out the last point of
contention. “The timeline is looking great. I like how passionate you both
are about even the smallest details.”
“I find sometimes the smallest details can make a big difference,”
Matt says.
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. There’s something buzzing
under my skin. Adrenalin pounds through me. I’d almost forgotten this
feeling. It’s awful having to deal with Matt, but it’s a thrilling kind of
awful. Knowing you can never slip up, you’ve got to be on top of your
game to go toe-to-toe with him.
To combat Matt, I have to be the best version of me.
32
It’s after six when I emerge from my office. I’ve completed the
amended timeline, shortlisted PR companies and begun our brand strategy.
Basically, I’m the textbook definition of efficiency.
As I’m walking down the hallway to make myself a cup of coffee,
I run into the textbook definition of an asshole. Matt is holding his
briefcase, his jacket folded over his arm.
“You’re leaving already?” I ask, surprised.
“Some of us work smarter, not longer.” Matt puts his briefcase
down and slips on his jacket, lifting his gaze to me. “You shouldn’t work
too late. You need your beauty sleep.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I force a smile on my face. “Talking about
sleep, do you still wear your Harry Potter pajamas?” Matt may be good-
looking and athletic, but he’s always had a geek streak. When he was a kid
he was preoccupied with Harry Potter, and it took him longer than most to
grow out of that obsession. A photo of him wearing Harry Potter pajamas
when he was sixteen went viral. No one owned up to being the source of
the photo, although conspiracy theorists will tell you that the photo’s angle
matched the angle from my bathroom into Matt’s bedroom.
33
“Actually, the mockery you exposed me to was a life-effecting
trauma. I can’t wear pajamas anymore. Now I sleep naked,” Matt says.
Before I can stop, my mind pictures this. As I’m sure he planned.
A parting image, just to give me nightmares.
“Eww gross, your poor sheets.”
“They’re 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton. There’s nothing poor
about them.”
“So, Nancy’s still buying your sheets?” I ask. Matt’s mother is the
definition of a helicopter parent.
“I’ve had lots of compliments about them.” Matt arches an
eyebrow.
“Maybe that’s because it’s the only thing they could find in your
bed to compliment.”
“Perhaps they formed an opinion because they spent so much time
gripping the sheets.”
Okay, that’s taken it too far. I slap my hands over my ears. “La la
la la la la.”
Matt’s grinning as he walks away. He knows he’s won that round.
Damn him.
34
I’m left feeling unsettled. I continue to the kitchen and make coffee,
the whole time thinking about how I could have handled that exchange
better.
Maybe I should have asked him if he still has his favorite Barney-
the-dinosaur soft toy. But then he might continue discussing his sleeping
companions, which is so far over my ‘want to know line’.
But now my mind is going there, and I can’t help wondering if he’s
single. I’m guessing he is. He’s just moved to New York and I’m sure I
would’ve caught it somewhere in the gossip grapevine if he had a
significant live-in other.
So he’ll be on the hunt, luring unsuspecting girls with those green
eyes and chiseled jaw. Although, to be fair, Matt has always tended
towards long-term girlfriends over casual hook-ups. I’d be surprised if his
sheets have had a regularly rotating cast, no matter what the thread count
is. The last girlfriend of his that I know about was Natasha back in college,
although they broke up in senior year. Natasha was always a bit weird
around me. Perhaps having someone constantly insulting your boyfriend
doesn’t create the most romantic atmosphere.
35
Of course, he could have completely changed and have become a
player over the last five years. But somehow I doubt it. Nancy raised him
to treat women well. I am the only notable exception to that rule.
Why I am even thinking about this? I push it from my mind and
concentrate on work. A much better use of my time.