Page 142 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Do you know why you’re in here?” Eric asked, searching my eyes for any knowledge I might have.
Keeping my cool, even though my nerves were wrecked, I answered, “No. I don’t. Is something wrong?” Maybe I wasn’t the best at keeping my cool. In all honesty, I was one bead of sweat away from creating a slip and slide down my back for a first grade class.
Eric sat back in his chair and gripped the arms of his chairs. “I’ve built this advertising agency from the ground up. I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this company. I’ve invested my own money into this company to develop it into one of the top advertising firms in the country.”
“You’ve done a fantastic job,” I said, putting a giant brown mark on my nose.
“I know talent when I see it, and you have talent, Henry.”
My heart eased for a second, until . . .
“But . . .”
The word “but,” it could either make or break you.
I love you so much, but . . .
Your hair looks nice, but . . .
I can’t have sex with you tonight, but . . .
I waited with bated breath while he finished what he was about to say, my brain turning a mile a minute, recounting every indiscretion I might have caused. Nothing. I came up with absolutely nothing.
“But, I made a mistake a few years ago. I acquiesced to some investors who wanted to come in and take a percentage of the company, allowing them to put in their two cents when they wanted. At the time, it was a good idea because it allowed me to expand the company to where it is today, but it also took away some of my control.”
“Okaaaay,” I drawled out, nerves continuing to ricochet through my stomach. I actually felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t lose this job.
“I am in need of a Director of Social Media Marketing, and I wanted you to have the position.”
I sat up in my chair.Thatwould be a gigantic promotion, a big enough promotion where Rosie wouldn’t have to work in a cat box all day, picking fights with tabbies and plucking cat hair from her food. She could stay home and be the author she aspired to be, and when I said stay home, I didn’t mean in our little apartment. No, we would own a house in the burbs where I would commute every day and come home to my beautiful girl in an apron . . . and only an apron. Hot.Mine.
This job would be the perfect first step toward a lifelong future with Rosie Bloom.
Visions of coming home to Rosie in an apron flooded my brain, just as Eric said, “But that choice is not mine to make.”
What did he just say? “Can you repeat that?”
“It’s not my choice who is hired as the Director of Social Media Marketing; it’s the board of directors’ choice. As you are aware, social media marketing and advertising have become the new norm, and they want to make sure whoever is hired is competent, innovative, and able to take the company to the next level.”
“I know I can do that, sir.” Yup, I said sir. “I’ve been able to elevate social media advertising for all my clients, giving them a more recognizable online profile. I’ve also developed advertising formulas to get the best use out of money invested and offered more visibility. In addition, I’ve been able to produce a perfect combination of SEO tag words for each client, boosting their online sales. Ask any of my recent clients; their online sales have skyrocketed.”
Eric held up his hand to end my desperate diatribe. “Henry, you don’t have to convince me; I know your hard work and innovation have provided great service to some of our most notable clients. But, it’s not my choice. It comes down to the board’s requirements to satisfy the gender diversity quota. Apparently, we don’t have enough females in the office.”
“What? We have plenty of women in the office, the entire creative design team is women; we are actually outnumbered by the women in this building by more than sixty percent.” I know this because, thanks to Freddy, he’s counted and told me many times that it’s a man’s wet dream to work in an office where there is a two-to-one ratio of women to men.
“Freddy give you the count?” Eric asked. I nodded. Speaking unprofessionally for a brief moment, Eric added, “That man is the biggest asshat I’ve ever met, but his work never fails to impress.” He shook his head and continued, “Anyway, we are truly an office full of women, except for the advertising team. That doesn’t sit well with the board, who is led by a female.”
“So, what does that mean?” I asked, trying not to show my irritation.
I was all for women’s rights; I would be the first one in the front lines to demand equal pay and equal rights for women. Call me a feminist, I dare you . . . it would be a huge compliment to me. If I was doing the same job as a woman, why wouldn’t she get paid the same amount of money?
But . . .
See what I did there?
I felt you shouldn’t hire someone based on their gender. All résumés should be filled with accomplishments, work ethic, and experience. Strip the names off the top and then hire based off that, not on what kind of sexual organ was in one’s pants. Then . . . pay them according to their abilities, not on what kind of private parts they have.
“It means the board is bringing in an outside hire.”
