“SIX MONTHS?” I thought that was me yelling in disbelief, but it was actually Asher and Kat screaming in unison. My vocal cords were paralyzed from shock.
Ian leaped up from my desk. “Yep. Six months till beta launch. Then full launch immediately following.” He clapped his hands together. “We want to go down in history as having one of the fastest blockbuster game launches. It’ll be perfect timing for a holiday push. Plus, the board will fire my ass if we don’t hit our revenue numbers by the end of the year, and this game should help with that. Our end-of-the-year projected numbers weren’t looking too good. Oh, that reminds me, I need those revenue projections and budget numbers pronto.” Ian walked out, whistling.
Six.
Months.
Six months of working late nights. And weekends. I’d miss the rest of Seattle’s beautiful summer. I’d get roly-poly from stress eating. All my free time would be spent hanging out with Jane, helping her pick out unflattering bridesmaid gowns to show off my flabby, pale, bat-wing arms. Six months of major work-life unbalance. And I hadn’t even started on those stupid forecast and budget scenarios.
I crossed my arms on my desk and buried my face.
Asher said in a low, gravelly voice, “Ian can go screw himself if he thinks I’m working for you.” His tone said everything. He hated me more than I hated him.
JUST THINKING ABOUT this game release made me feel projectile-vomity. How the hell did this game even get greenlit for production? And why entrust ME with such a huge responsibility? Sure, I had game app experience and some international localization knowledge, and I loved spreadsheets, too, but that sure as hell didn’t make me qualified for coleading—and then leading—this mobile game launch. I didn’t even know where to start, except to look for someone named “Rain.” Maybe the right thing to do would be to let Ian know I should assist rather than lead. They needed to find someone else.
I rehearsed a short thanks, but no thanks soliloquy and marched straight to Ian’s office. His door was cracked a little, allowing me to peek in and see if he had any company.
He wasn’t alone. The CFO and the head of development sat on his couch, sipping coffee. Just as I thought about leaving, Ian mentioned my name. And then, of course, how could I walk away?
Voice 1: That game, the apocalypse one, could make money. Think about all the added levels we could charge for: mummies, giant tarantulas, evil ninjas, ’80s hair bands.
Voice 2: It’ll be good to diversify into mobile too. Our zoo games are doing well but we need to see growth in other areas. The board will fire all of us if we don’t show that we can keep growing.
Voice 1: You worried about letting that new girl run the whole thing?
That new GIRL?
Voice 2: Does she even know the difference between FPS and FTP?
Yes, I knew FPS was first-person shooter. Had to google FTP, though, when I first joined the company: free-to-play. But eff you, anyway.
Ian: Look, don’t worry. I had to choose her to run the fucking thing because of the board. That’s it. No one expects it to do well. It’s just a vanity PR ploy to make this company look good to all the whiny board members who keep preaching equality. They wanted more women in here, remember? Kat’s working on the project, too, so we can market and promote it as “girl-friendly.”
Voice 1: You mean female-friendly?
Voice 2: Yeah. Menstrual-friendly. Feminazi-friendly. Whatever.
Ian: Feminazis aren’t friendly. Look at Kat.
Laughter.
Acid bubbled from the pit of my constricted stomach. I couldn’t listen anymore to those bigoted assholes. They’d given me the production lead job simply because of my gender and simultaneously assumed I couldn’t do that job because I was female.
Well, screw them.
I raced to Kat’s office, a few doors down. She was sketching zombies on her tablet. In her doorway I announced, “I’m making this apocalypse game, MY game, MY idea, a huge success.”
She nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it,” she said with a grin and went back to drawing.
The three executive jackasses left Ian’s office and walked right by me in the hallway, without any kind of acknowledgment whatsoever. I’d show them they underestimated me. That I would roll up my sleeves and lead this entire thing myself.
Collapsing on my desk chair, I closed my eyes to slow my rapid heartbeat. Opening them again, I focused my gaze on the mugs Nolan had brought me.
I had an idea. Grabbing my wallet, I took the elevator to the ground floor and evaluated my novelty mug options at the drugstore attached to our lobby. For a mere seven dollars, I bought Ian a present: a “World’s Greatest Boss” oversize coffee cup. With a Sharpie marker, I wrote on the bottom “Juuuuust kidding!” for people to see when he drank from it. I peeked inside my brown bag and admired my penmanship as the elevator took me to the office floor.
While Ian was in a meeting, I stealthily placed the mug on his desk, with no note and no card for explanation. A few hours later, I saw him in the kitchen, sipping from the boss mug while intermittently telling one of his many rotating “glory days of gaming” stories he had in his arsenal. Employees gathered around, sniggering and smirking into their lattes, savoring their warm drinks and the shared inside joke.
A small win, but a win nonetheless.
Chapter Eight
Candace called me on the way to the Bay 55 Steakhouse, the hottest restaurant in town according to Seattle Metropolitan magazine. With a several-week wait list, Jane must’ve had some serious connections to get a reservation for a large party within a few days of becoming engaged.
“Mel! I’m going to be like ten minutes late. I had to get gas. Are you there yet?”
I would be a little late, too. I had completely lost track of time working on Ian’s budget and forecast assignments and I didn’t feel like paying nine bucks for valet as extra torture that evening.
After circling around for ten or more minutes and searching well outside a comfortable parking radius from the venue, I found a spot a quarter mile from the restaurant. But damn it, I saved nine dollars. Yeah, I was aware this made absolutely no sense since this logic caused me to be late all the time. I blamed my frugal upbringing for this unsound parking rationale.
My car was at the bottom of Queen Anne Hill, with the restaurant at an 89 degree angle at the very top, so not only was it far, it was also high. I trekked two-thirds the way up before my excessive panting began. I let Candace talk while capturing my breath.
She asked, “Hey, were we supposed to bring anything? Like a gift, or flowers or something?” I personally hated getting flowers as gifts, but other people seemed to like them. To me, buying them for someone was, like, Hey, here’s something that will die in a week. Enjoy. It was depressing to see a lovely botanical specimen shrivel and wilt by day seven. And no matter if you plucked, pruned, or watered, the florae faced an inevitable death. I let her know I’d be arriving empty-handed.
She shouted into the phone. “Hey! My Bluetooth isn’t working. I have you on speakerphone now. I’ve never been to a prerehearsal dinner before. For the wedding party there’s usually only the rehearsal dinner beforehand. This is really unusual. But it’s totally Jane, right? Doing her own thing?”
“Yeah, having a rehearsal rehearsal dinner seems like a very Jane thing to do.” I huffed back up the hill. “I’m almost there. I’ll let her know you’ll be a little late.” My phone buzzed with an incoming call from my mom. “Hey, I have to go, my mom’s trying to do video chat.”
We said our quick goodbyes and I switched over. “Hi, Mom, what time is it in Italy?”
All I could see was a peach-hued blur. As usual, her thumb was blocking her phone camera. “Early morning,” she croaked. “We having jet lag pretty bad.” Dad’s snores rumbled in the background.
“Are you enjoying your visit?”
“It be okay. I eat too many cannoli. Too much dairy but I eat anyway. You know, I have lactose problem since you were born.”
I sighed. “I know. It’s one of your favorite topics to bring up.”
“Rome is nice. Florence is nice. You should come to Italy. One day, when you have honeymoon. But you need husband first.”
As if on cue, the sky darkened to black, and torrential rain bullets fell from the sky. I had no umbrella, no raincoat, and for some stupid reason I’d chosen today to wear suede shoes.
“Mom, I really have to go. Have fun there and enjoy your cannoli.”
“Okay. We can’t buy you any cannoli because it will get rotten. But we buy you hat.” Her thumb moved off the camera so she could show me a bright yellow cap with ROMA in red letters on the bill. She turned it side to side to show me the Italian flags stitched in various places along the trim.
“Wow, that’s . . . something. Thanks for getting me a gift. Call me when you’re back home! Have a good—”
She hung up before I finished my sentence.
I picked up my pace at the crest of the hill. According to the map on my phone, I had arrived at my destination, drenched, winded, and perplexed. I scanned the newly constructed building. Hmmm. No door handle. Or to be more specific, there was no fucking door. The only thing on the building’s white wall was the name of the restaurant in tiny gold lettering.