Battle of the Sexes

Chapter 13

Amity

My nose turns up at the shot of espresso on my desk. "I don't even like this."

"Then why did you have me bring it?" Hallie asks, a hand on her narrow hip.

"I need the caffeine. I'm so sleepy."

"Well, there's more caffeine in regular coffee than in espresso."

"That's not true."

"Oh, but it is. We did a campaign at my last job for a coffee company. It was in the 'fun facts' section of the brochure," she says, making a face. "I hate marketing. I'd much rather be on the less people-y side of business."

Furrowing a brow, I take a sip of the drink. "I like people. Just not when I'm so exhausted. My patience runs thin."

"So why are you so tired?" she asks.

"I haven't been able to sleep since I got to New York." I yawn, despite the espresso. "It's too noisy here or something."

"You were raised here," she laughs. "Your penthouse is on the top floor of a however-many-story building. It makes no sense that you can't sleep here."

I shrug.

"Maybe you've been slaving over this presentation too much."

"I keep telling myself it's just for a couple more days, and then I can get back to a regular schedule."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Think about it, Am. If you're the CEO—yeah, you'll get more vacation time and more pay and you'll control the destiny of the company. But ... do you think you'll work fewer hours than you do now?"

"My dad did," I say, sticking out my bottom lip. "He would be home every night for dinner."

"I'm sure, but that was ten years ago. The landscape in the Northeast has changed a lot since then."

My father warned me about this very thing when he called a couple of months ago to let me know he was retiring.

"The business has changed a lot, Amity. It's wide open for someone that wants to put in the work and make a name for themselves."

This is the opportunity I've wanted—to come in, guns blazing, and make my mark on the world.

I yawn again.

"Hold that thought," she says, looking at her phone. "I need to go sign for a delivery."

Going back to the PowerPoint I've been working on since last night, I enter some additional language. It's straightforward, showing clearly—backed up with hard data—why Jones + Gallum needs to be revamped from the ground up. I know Carver prefers expansion, but he's wrong. Unless the Board is blind, they have to see it. They have to choose me. Even with the strong numbers right now, the restaurants will go under within five years if measures aren't taken to retool while we can.

Dad didn't even realize it was this bad. He called me from the Bahamas last night and I filled him in. You could've heard a pin drop. I didn't ask if he was going to tell Carver's father; I don't think he will. This is my realization and my information to exploit. He knows that.

"This thing is heavier than it looks," Hallie says, lugging a big box and plopping it down on my desk. "What in the heck did you order?"

"I didn't order anything. Are you sure it's for me?"

"Amity Gallum. That's you, right?"

"Obviously."

"It was overnighted too. But I can't find a return address on it."