“Speaking of jobs,” she says as we leave the store. “How’s yours going? Bob Sugar still giving you grief?”
I laugh at the nickname Ivy and Gray gave Elena Ford, my little shithead co-worker. At least Bob Sugar was upfront about stealing Jerry Maguire’s clients. Elena is far more insidious. About two months ago she started at the design firm where I work in NYC.
At first, I thought I’d made a friend. Elena was sweet, slightly clueless, and immediately came to me for guidance.
“You’ve been here six months,” she’d said in her sweet, pleading voice. “And you’re so talented. Me? I’m terrified I’ll get everything wrong and be out on my ass.”
I know all about fear of failure. I am the family fuckup, always flitting from this thing to that. So I helped Elena, showing her my designs, talking about what inspired me, what I thought the client was looking for.
How was I to know she’d waltz into our Monday mockup meeting with designs for the Greenberg condo that looked almost exactly like mine?
Sure, there were differences. Just enough that it didn’t look like a complete copy. But the overall style and themes were exactly the same. I’d felt sick. But, hey, it could have been a coincidence. And Elena was still so nice, thanking me for all my help. Cracking jokes in the staff lounge.
Except our boss, Felix, chose Elena to assist him with the condo. She’d won. And I’d been okay with that. Only it happened again.
Ivy’s arm links through mine, pulling me back to the present. “You’ve gone quiet.”
I sigh and lean into her shoulder as we head for the Embarcadero. “I don’t want to dislike anyone, but I’m beginning to actively hate this woman.”
“What did she do now?” Ivy asks darkly.
“It’s my fault,” I mutter, my stomach twisting. “I told her what I had planned for 44 Park—”
“Fi,” Ivy cries. “You didn’t!”
“Give me a break. It was before I realized that she was, you know, thieving scum—”
“A creative leech,” Ivy puts in helpfully. We have another name for her too; it rhymes with hunt. “Argh, that bitch is totally gaslighting you.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I feel so stupid.” And sick. Heartsick. “She did it again. This time it was worse. Same use of Art Deco touches mixed with raw woods and industrial framework. Same fucking color scheme.”
“How in the hell does Felix not notice?” Ivy’s dark brows are nearly touching now, she’s scowling so hard.
“He made a comment once on the similarity. Elena just grinned and said some bullshit about great minds thinking alike.”
Ivy snorts. “Brilliant.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? Her mother is a creative editor for Elle Decor. She has numerous and powerful contacts. Why should Felix care when it’s good business?”
As usual, I vacillate between rage and sorrow. Working with Felix is my dream job come to life. He’s a major player in the NYC design community. And I’d been his star apprentice. Until Elena came.
Now I’m second fiddle, watching as she climbs the ladder on the rungs of my work. It blows. Especially since she makes it her business to stop by my desk and fill me in on all the cool shit she gets to do with Felix. Evil hag.
“Well,” Ivy says. “Now you know. Don’t give her any more fodder, and she’ll have to come up with something on her own.”
“I guess. I just keep thinking, I’m here and she’s there, working her witchy voodoo.” Part of me hadn’t wanted to go on vacation. But I’d already been granted the days; the flight was booked.
“Do you want to go back?” Ivy asks, sympathy making her eyes wide.
“Naw.” I give her arm a squeeze. “I need the break. And I’ve missed you, Gray-Gray, and little Leo so much.”
“We’ve missed you too.” She kisses my cheek.
“And I guess it could be worse.” I smile. “I could be working with dad.” Ivy is his partner-apprentice.
“Har!” She rolls her eyes. “Though he really isn’t that bad.”
“I bet living on opposite coasts helps.”