Emma had only given me a week to take all her work for the conference off her desk. Lunchtime on the last day, it was done. I could have dragged it out, but decided there was not much point. The quicker everything was organised, the better for everyone. I was one of those people who liked completing to-do lists. I dropped a hard copy of the strategy on her desk, knowing that an email of it should have already landed in her inbox. I had wanted to be ahead of the game this week. Greg always joked about the poor trees, leaving me grinning at the irony of the man who used the most paper in the office championing their plight.
On the way back, I was disturbed by a general rush to the kitchen. I must have missed the email while I was working: but the only thing that could cause such a commotion in the office was the arrival of food. Greg tapped me on the shoulder. As I looked up, I saw a pistachio macaroon disappearing in his mouth.
“The gannets will finish it all if you don’t hurry!” With that, he was off back to the kitchen. Stopping what I was doing, I took a deep breath. Did I need to have a macaroon? Well, as I loved to say, it must be tea-time somewhere in the world. My feet led me to the kitchen where I could see six plates filled with a dwindling number of different flavoured macaroons; chocolate, vanilla, pistachio, coffee and red-velvet. Weaving through the hands, I picked up one of my favourites. It would be rude not to, and Greg had just eaten a chocolate one whole. I took a bite. They were delicious; the red velvet and vanilla ones were out of this world. The others were pretty good too! This had to be Sophie’s handy work. Now I had to try every single one to make sure they were all up to standard. Besides, Sophie had made enough to feed an army.
“I hope they are not all finished?” she gasped, appearing from one of her photocopier rescue-missions. I frowned at her questioningly, trying to hide my mouthful of pistachio, while stumbling out a compliment. But she shook her head.
“I didn’t make them,” she said.
“But they’re so good!” I said. “Who did?”
At that moment, Emma walked in.
“I did,” she said. We could have been arrested for the faces we made. I recovered first.
“Wow, they are great!”
“I am glad you like them. And I made the red velvet especially for you. I heard they are your favourites!”
I was lost for words. I found Sophie’s eyes and we exchanged a look. So thoughtful. She was a curious one, wrong-footing me like that with her kindness.
“Thanks,” I said. “They are amazing!”
Greg piped up. “I didn’t know you could cook,” he said, rescuing me. Sophie coughed. “I mean, I didn’t know you baked.” Emma was unfazed. “I bake now and then. It’s a good stress-reliever.” I will say this for her: she was good.
“Are you not having any?” I said and she winked.
“I have a tray full at home, and I literally ate my own weight last night!” I couldn’t help laughing and was pleased when she joined in. I was impressed at how well she baked – and the fact that she even knew my favourite flavour, let alone made them for me.
I was back at my desk when I received an email from Emma.
“Could you please come to my office for a quick chat?”
It wasn’t really a question. What, now? Emma rarely summoned people to her office and it usually was not good news. No need to panic. She might just need some information about the marketing strategy. If it was something random, her usual practice was to come to your desk and speak to you. So this didn’t really bode well. But there was no point in guessing. I stood and hesitantly walked to her office. The door was open already. I knocked on the glass panel that made up one side of her office wall. Emma looked up from her computer. “Ah, Becca. Come in.”
I glanced around the immaculate space. My strategy print out was at the centre of her desk, with a Mont Blanc pen on it. Apart from her computer, there was just a square silver frame with a picture of her two girls on it.
“Please sit down,” she said.
I sat down on one of the two cream leather chairs, which were oddly like the ones I had at home. I stayed quiet because I did not know what this was about. She smiled at me.
“Your report is great, I knew it would be. Very comprehensive, and as always, you did it before the deadline.” I allowed myself a little smile, and she continued. “I know things have been a little difficult for you, with your mother being in hospital. But I am very impressed you never let your work slip. High standards all around!” It was her turn to smile. “How are things with your mother now?”
“She is doing well,” I said. “She should be going to physio this week.”
Emma beamed.
“Oh, that is wonderful,” she said. “You will be able to get your life back.”
I smiled but didn’t say anything. I hoped that would be the case. But my mother’s physio hadn’t even started yet and I didn’t know how it would go. Still, I was determined to be optimistic.
Emma stood up and shut the door carefully, before returning to her desk. She leaned forwards towards me. Closing the door! Now this really was serious. Open-door policy and all that.
“I would have told you before but your mother was taken to hospital.”
I kept quiet.
“I have been speaking to Simon.”
Simon was the senior head of department, and a board member of the company. My eyes must have widened because she waved a hand at me. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. We were talking and we are both so impressed with your work and how you conduct yourself…” It was coming, but what?
“Thank you,” I said, trying to minimise the interruption to this lovely flow of compliments.
“We discussed this on several occasions, throughout the last few months. Now that your mother is feeling better, we want to give you a well-deserved promotion.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised; even if she had told me I was going for tea with the Queen. I sat back in my chair and exhaled a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. A promotion? Was she leaving? There was no other role – just mine then hers, Head of Marketing. She must have read my mind, because she grinned. “No, I am not leaving. We have created a role of Senior Marketing Manager. This means you will take on some of my duties as I will only be working four days a week from the beginning of next year.”
I nodded and smiled. But something told me I still didn’t have the full story.
“That is wonderful news. Thank you.” It was now or never.
“Is your role changing…?” I probed.
“My title will be the same, but it will change a little because some things will be passed on to you.” I stayed silent, and she sensed I wanted more. “I am going to spend more time with my children and will be having the Friday off and working from home on Monday. My husband’s schedule is changing so he will be travelling more for work. I’m looking to create more of a work-life balance.”
So she was sorting herself out, fair play to her. But I had questions and felt I should voice them before things moved too quickly.
“So, you will be advertising my job?” I asked tentatively. Emma shook her head. I linked my fingers together in my lap.
“Nope,” she said. “Only your title will change.” Right, I was starting to get this.
“And will my salary increase?”
Emma took a deep and ominous breath.
“We have had a budget freeze,” she said slowly. “So it would not go up just yet. But that is something you will be able to negotiate once you have proved yourself.”
I stayed silent. What would I have to prove? She has just said that they were impressed with my work! So impressed that I was going to be given additional duties – the very duties that my boss was relinquishing? They already knew I could do it or else they wouldn’t be offering me the job. That’s not how companies worked. I realised my nails were biting into my palms.
We both looked at each other, neither of us wanting to say what was on our minds. I could hardly ask her such as personal question as to whether her salary was dropping. But I bet my bottom dollar that the day less would be balanced out with some consultancy arrangement.
“This new role will give you greater experience,” said Emma. “And almost certainly improve your prospects for your next role.”
I hadn’t even agreed to this yet, and knew exactly what would happen if I did. I’d be working all hours, with increased responsibility, no additional pay, an increase in stress – and less help. None of Emma’s great ‘work-life balance’ dividends would be coming my way. Nonetheless, I smiled.
“Thank you for the opportunity.” I wanted to sound grateful, while I thought about it. If I had any acting skills, now was the time to employ them. I needed to reduce my stress, not increase it.
“You would be great at it,” she said. “Do not decide just yet, think about it and tell me at the end of the week.” Of course, she had wanted for me to agree there and then, so she could get her Fridays off.
“Thank you,” I said. Part of my mind was automatically wondering about the more mundane issue of whether she had any changes to make on the report. As I walked to the door, she called out.
“Oh, by the way, the report is great as it is. I have no changes.”
I turned and smiled. It was spooky the way she seemed to know what I was thinking sometimes. I walked out, leaving the door open this time.
Barely at my desk, Sophie pounced, hungry for gossip.
“What kind of trouble are you in now?” she said. I giggled waving her off. It felt so good to be out of that room.
“I am not in any trouble, actually!”
“What then?”
“Official business,” I said with mock pomposity. “I can’t possibly tell you.”
“Oh shut up!” she said in exasperation. “What did she want?” But I knew I had to keep my cards close to my chest for now.
“She just wanted to know how my mother was.” Well, Emma had asked about my mother, so it wasn’t a complete lie. Sophie rolled her eyes in disappointment.
“Oh, I thought it was something juicy.”
I rolled my eyes back at her.
“Sorry that the office telegraph has nothing to report. Now if you will excuse me…”
We both laughed as she left my desk. I could feel the ball of worry though. If we’re honest, I couldn’t really say no to Emma. But I had already pulled out all the stops to keep on top of work. How was I going to cope with more?