Chapter 3
Bethany made sure to say "Hermès" loud enough for everyone to hear.
The office instantly fell silent.
All eyes turned to her.
"What bag I carry is none of your business," I said.
"Actually, it is," Bethany said, stepping closer. She kept her voice low, but everyone could hear her.
She continued, "You're an intern. How does someone like you afford a bag that's worth three or four months' pay? Huh?"
Everyone could tell what she was getting at.
"That's none of your business," I said.
"None of my business?" Bethany laughed. "I'm your supervisor, so it is very much my concern.
"Starting today, you'll bring me a black coffee, no sugar, no cream, every morning. Have it on my desk by 8:40. If you're even a minute late, there will be consequences."
She turned and walked away.
I stood there, fists clenched.
Elena tugged gently at my sleeve from beside me. "Kathy, don't mess with her. She'll make your life miserable. There was an intern who tried to stand up to her, and she drove them to quit."
"Who does she think she is?" I muttered.
"Well..." Elena hesitated, glanced around, then lowered her voice. "Word is, she's got a special relationship with Mr. Ochoa."
"What kind of special relationship?" I asked.
"You know..." Elena's voice dropped even lower. "Some people say they've seen her getting out of his car; others say she's been to his place.
"No one in the department dares to cross her. Whatever she says goes. Even Mr. Gregory gives her a wide berth."
I fell silent.
My brother had a relationship with Bethany?
No way.
My brother was thirty-five, and Bethany looked at least thirty-two or thirty-three. So age wasn't really the problem.
The real issue was that my brother had gotten married the year before.
His wife was Freya Ochoa, an architect. They had dated for five years and gotten married the previous October.
Freya was kind, gentle, and generous. She always brought me gifts every time we saw each other.
There was no way my brother had cheated on her.
And there was even less chance he had cheated with Bethany.
But I wasn't going to explain.
"I see," I told Elena.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I know what to do now," I said.
Elena looked at me, worry written all over her face.
I didn't say anything more.
*****
For the next week, I dropped off an Americano on Bethany's desk by 8:40 every morning.
She never once thanked me.
Not only that, she got even more demanding.
On Monday, she had me pick up her dry cleaning.
On Tuesday, she sent me to the mall to return a piece of clothing.
On Wednesday, she made me take her dog to the vet.
On Thursday, she slapped a three-page proposal down in front of me. "Rewrite this. This is garbage."
I picked it up and looked it over.
That proposal wasn't mine.
Elena wrote it.
"Ms. Weber, I didn't write this," I said.
"So what if Elena wrote it? You can't rewrite it? Are you useless?" Bethany raised her voice. "If you can't even do this, what's the point of keeping you around?"
I took a deep breath. "Fine, I'll fix it."
On Friday, the major client came to the company for a meeting.
Bethany took the team to greet him but left me out.
I was at my desk, organizing files.
The conference room was on the east side of the 24th floor, and the door was left ajar. I could hear bits of the conversation coming from inside.
"Ms. Weber, we've gone over your team's proposal. Overall, it's solid, but there are a few areas that need some tweaks," someone said.
"Absolutely, just let us know what you need. We'll work with you on it," Bethany replied.
"The main issue is the implementation of the smart scenarios. Could you have a tech person walk us through it?"
"No problem, I'll arrange it right now."
The meeting lasted two hours.
When it ended and the client left, Bethany came back to the office, looking like she was on top of the world.
"We nailed it," she told the team. "Three million dollar deal, locked in."
Everyone started clapping.
"Ms. Weber, you're incredible," someone said.
"Working with you is the best," another chimed in.
Bethany smiled, soaking up the praise, but when her gaze landed on me, a sneer tugged at her lips.
"Some people can only watch from the sidelines," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's the difference."
I kept my head down.
But I noticed something.
As the client was leaving, a middle-aged man deliberately walked over to my desk and glanced at me.
His expression was hard to read.
What was his name again?
Mr. Gregory?
Yeah, Floyd Gregory, the vice president of Averon Group.
He recognized me.
He knew who I was.
But Floyd didn't say a word.
That night, I called my brother after getting home.
"Hey, what's the story with that Bethany at the company?" I asked.