Page 2 of Boardroom Sins

“That’s two days from now.”

“Well done!” He applauds sarcastically. “Your math is improving.” He turns back to his laptop. “I’ve flagged the problem sections. Fix them.”

“Mr. Lazarev?—”

“Kir.” He says it without looking at me. “We’ve been over this.”

We have. Multiple times. He insists on first names, for some bizarre reason. Like we’re all friends here.

We arenotfriends.

“Kir,” I try again clumsily, “I really do have?—”

“Plans. Yes. You mentioned. I believe I told you what to do with them.” He gestures at the chair across from his desk. “Sit down. I’ll walk you through what needs to happen.”

I stay standing.

His jaw tightens. Just a fraction. “Problem, Ms. Everett?”

“I, uh…” I crumble, admitting defeat. “No. No problem.”

“Then sit.”

With no other choice, I sit.

He spins his laptop toward me and starts talking. It’s a rapid-fire stream about liability clauses and indemnification language and pointed questions about why the hell didn’t Legal catch this the first time. I take notes. I nod in the right places. I try not to think about the birthday dinner reservation I’m going to have to cancel, the one nice thing I said I was going to do for myself. I was dining for one, yeah, but it’s better than dining fornone.

“Questions?” he asks when he’s done.

I have about fifty, starting withwhy does everything have to be an emergency?and ending withdo you actually enjoy making my life difficult, or is it just a natural byproduct of the kind of asshole you are deep down in the marrow of your bones?

“No,” I say instead. “I’ve got it.”

“Good.” He rises and walks me out of his office, locking the door behind us. “Send me drafts as you finish them.”

Then he leaves me here all alone.

I spend the next four hours at my desk, picking apart contract language and trying to figure out what Legal missed, until my eyeballs feel like they’re bleeding. The sun sets. The office empties around me. The cleaning crew comes and goes. As darkness falls, the lights of Manhattan blink on outside the skyscraper’s windows. No one stops to ask if I’m okay or if I need help.

I eat two of the ham and cheese sandwiches left over from the team luncheon two days ago that nobody has bothered to throw away. They’re dry as sawdust, the bread is stale, and the mustard tastes like it was strained through a sewer grate, but I’m too hungry to care. Down the hatch they go.

At 9:28, I send Kir the first batch of revisions.

At 10:19, he sends them back with more notes.

At 11:03, I fix those and send them again.

At 11:41, he has suddenly found more things to address.

I’m on the verge of tears when my phone buzzes.

JILLIAN PIERCE

Happy birthday, bitch!! Did you at least eat your cupcake?

I look at the cupcake. The candle has fallen over. The frosting is melted. I haven’t had time to take so much as a single bite.

Yeah. It was delicious. Thanks so much.