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© Jacqueline Lee

Chapter One

The first day at a new job is like the first day at school.

As I enter the lobby of my company, I think back to the photo from

my first day at kindergarten. It shows me standing by our front door,

hands tucked in my pockets and eyes turned down, almost dwarfed by my

backpack.

Now, I clutch my sleek laptop bag as I stride confidently towards

the elevator. At least I hope my strides look confident. I’m wearing my

Manolos because I have a theory it’s impossible to walk timidly in

Manolos. Already my calf muscles are protesting. There’s a reason there

are only a few letters difference between heels and hell.

You can do this, I remind myself as I select the button for the

eighth floor. I’ve had to reprimand myself a lot over the years, because

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deep inside there’s still that timid girl who threw up all over the mat on the

first day at kindergarten. Even now as the elevator glides upwards, part of

me wants to stab at the elevator button to take me back to the lobby, so I

can race home and huddle in bed watching The Big Bang Theory re-runs.

Freak-outs are normal for me but I’ve learned to push past them.

Otherwise I would never get anything done.

And getting things done is what I do.

In the five years since college, I’ve scaled the career ladder so fast

I’ve almost given myself vertigo. How? I’ve worked hard. Eighty-hour

weeks kind of hard. Skipping vacations kind of hard. Having no life

outside the office kind of hard.

I hug my new job description tighter than Charlie clutched his

Golden Ticket to the chocolate factory. Director of Marketing. This is it.

The pinnacle.

Even better, it’s the Director of Marketing for a brand-new

company, Horizon Sports. Horizon Enterprises have already carved out a

global niche in music, travel and electronics. Now they’re sending

tentacles into the sports and outdoor market.

I’m still trying to convince my stomach to unclench when the

elevator doors open. The eighth floor has been gutted and refurbished in

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honor of the new company. The interior designers obviously got the sports

brief - a massive photo of LeBron James dunking from an impossible

distance greets me as I step into reception.

The picture is so overwhelming I almost miss that there’s an actual

person standing in front of the photo until he speaks.

“Hannah, nice to see you.” Bruce comes forward to shake my

hand. He’s the HR Director for the Horizon Group, and was on my

interview panel. “We’re having the official introduction for everyone at

eleven thirty. In the meantime, let me show you to your office.”

I walk alongside Bruce. In my heels I’m almost the same height as

him.

My office. A little thrill penetrates my nerves when I see the

plaque ‘Director of Marketing’ on the door, with my name underneath.

Bruce hovers in the doorway. “The senior executive offices are all

in this corner. The Director of Sales is next door. I’ll find him so I can

introduce you.”

Left alone in my office, I take a few deep breaths as I look around.

Because it’s a brand-new company, everything is new. New desk, new

laptop, new bookcase, new stationery.

I’m just admiring my new stapler when Bruce comes back in.

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“Hannah, this is Matt, our sales manager.”

I look up and meet the gaze of the man standing next to Bruce. My

breath whooshes out of me as if someone has punched me in my stomach.

No.

No way.

This cannot be happening.

No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.

No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No. No.

No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No. No. No.

Those two letters are stuck down on the keyboard in my mind,

filling all the available screen space.

In all the time I’ve spent lying awake stressing about my new job,

imagining every kind of calamity, my brain never once conjured up a

disaster of this scale.

Matt’s face mirrors my feelings. Shocked. Flabbergasted.

Appalled.

Three seconds later his mask slips into place and he slides me a

small grin. To most people it would look like a standard-issue smile. But I

can spot the evil lurking underneath.

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“Why hello Hannah, what a lovely surprise,” he says. It’s his fake-

polite voice. It’s a voice that has always driven me mad.

“Hi Matt,” I manage.

Bruce whips his head from Matt to me like he’s watching tennis.

“You two know each other?”

“Oh, we know each other very well,” Matt says.

Bruce’s eyes widen at the implication.

“We grew up next door to each other,” I say quickly, sending Matt

a glare. Don’t even try it.

How inadequate those words are to describe this thing between

Matt and me. Lifelong enemies sounds overly dramatic, but it’s pretty

darn close to the truth.

When I look at Matt, I see the boy I competed with through

elementary school, middle school, high school and college. In our senior

year of high school, I was class president, he was vice president. He was

the valedictorian, I was the salutatorian. At college, every class we did

together we battled it out for first and second place.

It was not a friendly, good-natured rivalry. Oh, no. Barbed insults,

backstabbing and underhand tactics characterized all our interactions. At

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one lowlight after a prank gone wrong, law enforcement officers became

involved.

I rejoiced at the end of college knowing Matt and I were going our

separate ways and, besides the occasional long-range sighting if we were

back in our hometown at the same time, we would never see each other

again.

My celebrations now appear to have been a tad premature.

“Well, it’s fantastic that you know each other, because the sales

and marketing departments will be working closely together.” Bruce

seems oblivious to the tension radiating from both of us.

“That’s great,” Matt says.

“So, so great,” I say sweetly. To anyone else that might sound

perfectly polite, but Matt sends me a look that could ignite trees. When he

was eight, Matt wrote a Valentine’s card to Isabella Harris, telling her he

thought she was so, so great. I may have quoted that particular phrase to

him a few times over the years.

“Well, we’ll leave you to settle in Hannah. Don’t forget to be in

the conference room at eleven thirty for introductions.”

“I’ll be there,” I say.

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They leave, and I slump against my desk, trying not to

hyperventilate. Matt Paterson here, working at Horizon Sports.

I’m flooded with memories. Matt chopping off one of my pigtails

in third grade. Matt putting a goldfish in my drink bottle in fifth grade.

Matt sabotaging my cheerleading uniform so I flashed my underwear to

the whole school at a pep rally in junior year.

My stomach lurches as I try to imagine coping with him in my

work life. Someone who knew me as a geeky kid, an awkward adolescent,

a spotty teenager.

Someone who knows all of my secrets.

The only redeeming thing is that I know all of his.

It takes a while to wrench my brain away from Matt and focus on

my new job. Somehow with Matt here it’s become even more important

that I do well. I open my laptop and go to my emails. I’ve already been

sent a bunch of resumes from HR. One of my first tasks is to staff my

team so I need to work out my interview shortlist. I start to read.

I’m browsing the fifth resume when my phone pings.

How’s the new job going?

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The message gives me a flush of happiness. It’s from Penny, my

oldest friend. My best friend. No one else would understand what a

catastrophe having to work with Matt is. But Penny knows our history.

After all, she survived it all with me.

I type my reply. New job all good except for one thing.

What thing?

I sneak out my door, sliding furtive glances both ways. No one is

in the hallway. I snap a quick photo of Matt’s door, where it says Director

of Sales and his name underneath and send it through to her.

OMG!!! I just fell off my chair laughing. Now everyone in the

staffroom is looking at me. You’ve got to be kidding? Matt is working

there too?

He sure is. I fill the rest of the screen with emojis, ranging from

surprised to angry.

I thought he was working for that software company in

Chicago?

Apparently not anymore.

What are you going to do?

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I lean back in my chair. What can I do? This is my dream job. I

don’t want to jeopardize it in any way. But have Matt and I ever worked

together successfully?

There was the time in health class when we were paired together

and given an egg to treat as if it was our baby. Half an hour into it, the egg

somehow ended up cracked over Matt’s head and we both had to do an

extra assignment to make up the grade.

Then there was student council, where I was the student body

president and Matt was the vice president. We made the UN Security

Council look like a model for harmonious functionality.

Debate team, ditto. Half the time we’d argued against each other

rather than the opposing team. Not a winning strategy.

In fact, I can’t think of a single instance when we managed to put

aside our animosity and worked well together, no matter how big the prize

was.

Not sure. I guess I need to find a way to work with him??????

Has he changed at all?

I replay our brief interaction in my head. Has Matt changed? He’s

dressed sharper than I’ve ever seen him, but as my Nana likes to say, ‘you

can dress a pig in a wig but it’ll never turn into a princess.’

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Hard to tell. I guess I’ll find out.

Bell’s just rung, gotta go mold the minds of the next

generation. Good luck!

Luck. I think I’ll need it.

Do I give Matt the benefit of the doubt and assume that he’s

matured? After all, a lot has happened in the five years since I last saw

him. I’ve definitely grown up a lot.

I’m sure Matt will be just as motivated as me to do a good job, but

he’s always been someone who coasts on his natural ability when he can

get away with it. He’s one of those people who can charm his way into

opportunities, while the rest of us have to rely on hard work.

Maybe I shouldn’t have referred to the Isabella incident, but

there’s an ingrained part of me that automatically conjures insults to Matt

Paterson. Interesting how, after five years of lying dormant, it fired to life

in an instant. I’ll have to control it so I don’t look unprofessional.

I finish reading the resumes and start trawling through my other

emails. Already my inbox is clogged. There’s a message from Bruce about

a team-building picnic tomorrow where they want everyone to bring

something to share. Great. A chance to show off my non-existent domestic

skills. I email back that I’ll bring dessert. It’s difficult to screw up dessert.

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Right. Time for a caffeine fix. I head to the staff kitchen, passing

Matt’s office on the way. His door is half open, and a glimpse of his office

wall stops me in my tracks.

It holds a framed photo of the ice hockey legend Gordie Howe,

with his signature scrawled over the photo in a flourish. Seeing it is like

having a bucket of cold water poured over me.

Because I recognize the photo. An identical one hung in my

brother Jason’s room. It was his prized possession and he used to yell at

me if I went within a meter of it.

The source of Matt’s photo is the same as Jason’s. My dad. My

dad who once won three signed photos of Gordie Howe, and decided to

keep one for himself, give one to his son and one to the hockey-playing

kid from next door.

Not to his daughter.

Which kind of sums up my relationship with my father.

It’s ridiculous how seeing it still affects me, bringing all the hurt I

felt at the time flooding back. Of course, Matt has no idea what that photo

represents to me, so logically I know he didn’t put it there to taunt me, but

it doesn’t feel like a good omen. Every time I go into his office I’ll be

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reminded of my father’s overt preference for the next-door neighbor’s kid

over me. Fabulous.

I make it to the staff room. Here, the sports theme has been

continued in a practical manner, with a foosball and ping pong table taking

up most of the room. At least they have a decent coffee machine.

I’m at the counter stirring my coffee when someone ambles into

the room. Matt. It’s amazing the physical effect that seeing him has on my

body. My teeth clench and my pulse rate speeds. It’s the fight or flight

response. With Matt, it inevitably seems to descend into fight.

“So, have you thrown up on anyone yet?” he leans against the

foosball table and regards me with a raised eyebrow. Great. He’s taunting

me about my nervous stomach. The first day of kindergarten isn’t the only

time my stomach ejected its contents at an inappropriate time. All over the

judges at the spelling bee regional final is another highlight. So nice of

him to bring it up now.

“Actually, the only time I’ve felt nauseous is when I saw your

face,” I reply.

This is how it has always been with us: exchanging loaded

comments and insults. Weirdly, I find myself relaxing. It’s a bit sad that

exchanging insults with Matt feels like a comfort-zone, but when you’ve

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had fifteen years practice it does tend to become second-nature. One of the

few things I can do well without even trying.

A smile slides onto his face and dimples carve themselves onto his

cheeks. In one of life’s great injustices, Matt’s ugliness doesn’t show on

the outside. Instead the devil comes dressed in a six foot two, brown-

haired, green-eyed, chiseled-jaw package. Objectively, I can see why

women find him attractive, the same way I can appreciate that eating

Brussels sprouts is good for you. But in no way does that make me want to

start eating them.

My mind flashes back to Penny’s question. Has Matt changed

since I last saw him? Now that I have the chance to examine him, I can see

that he’s filled out, which I grudgingly admit works for him. He’s still

lanky, but more well-built than he was.

“Did you get new eyes for Christmas?” My evaluating glance

hasn’t skipped Matt’s notice.

“Have you been working out?” I blurt.

Matt’s eyes widen. “So you are checking me out?”

I fight back a blush that wants to take up residence on my cheeks.

“No, you just look… different. Less like a concentration camp survivor

than usual.”

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“I lift weights.” He twitches an eyebrow in an expression that

would look sexy if it was on anyone else’s face.

“Did you get sick of all the girls beating you at arm wrestling?”

His smirk fades. “That was one time. And you cheated.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“While we’re commenting on each other’s appearance, what

happened to the curls?”

My hand flies instinctively to my head to smooth down my curls

but it meets only sleek hair. After enduring years of my unruly mass of

reddish-brown curls, I finally discovered the miracle of hair treatments.

“I grew out of my Orphan Annie stage,” I say.

“Funny, I always thought you were more of a Shirley Temple

wannabe.”

He starts to hum the tune of On the Good Ship Lollipop. I close my

eyes. There should be a law against anyone bringing up your short-lived

tap dancing career on the first day in a new job. Actually, the law should

be that you never have to work with someone who knows all the

embarrassing anecdotes from your childhood.

Matt’s musical moment is interrupted by someone else entering the

kitchen. I snap my eyes open. Matt stops humming abruptly.

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“Hi, I’m Adam, Head of Sports.” A guy in his mid-forties

introduces himself, offering his hand.

I juggle my cup of coffee to return his firm handshake as I

introduce myself. Matt does the same.

“So where are you from originally?” he asks. I guess the rounded

consonants and drawn-out vowels in both Matt and my introductions make

it obvious we are not native New Yorkers.

“Hannah and I are both from Wisconsin,” Matt says.

Adam’s eyes light up. “Wisconsin, eh? Are you a hockey fan?”

Matt and Adam start talking hockey, which I know from

experience will be a long conversation. I use the opportunity to slip away.

On the way back to my office I mull over my interaction with Matt. Okay,

so we exchanged casual insults, but that’s par for the course. And we

managed to keep it professional in front of Adam. Maybe the extra level of

animosity won’t be present this time, maybe we won’t descend into

undermining or pranking each other.

Maybe this time we will find a way to work together.

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Chapter Two

Time ticks down to the introductory meeting. I head to the

bathroom to freshen up before the meeting. I want to make a good

impression on my new colleagues.

I’m just passing Matt’s office when I hear song I recognize. It’s a

tinny version of ‘I get knocked down’ by Chumbawamba. Most people

would recognize it for the upbeat, popular dance track that it is. But for me

it triggers an avalanche of memories from one of most embarrassing

moments in my life.

My feet stop moving.

Surely not.

Matt wouldn’t do that, would he?

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I mean, we’ve grown up now. We’re professionals. I’ve just spent

the last hour reassuring myself that we can find a way to work together.

My feet carry me into Matt’s office.

Matt’s sitting at his desk and Adam is standing next to him, along

with another guy I haven’t met yet. They’re huddled around Matt’s laptop,

peering at something on the screen. From the music and the grins on their

faces, I know exactly what they’re watching.

Prairie du Chien, one of the small towns in Wisconsin, has a

unique New Year’s Eve tradition. Instead of following New York’s

example and dropping a crystal ball at midnight, the good folk there

decided to introduce a tradition of dropping a carp. Yes, that’s right, a

carp. The fish is caught in the Mississippi River, and kept in a freezer until

New Year when they hoist it up on a crane and drop it at the midnight

countdown.

And then there was the year I got in the way of the falling carp.

It’s one of my few embarrassing incidents that wasn’t caused by

Matt. This one was all me. It’s a long story - me at 17, my illicit bottle of

Captain Morgan rum, a college guy I failed at impressing and an over-

enthusiastic crane operator. It ends with me being walloped by a frozen

carp, sending me sprawling.

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And because, you know, complete humiliation at the time wasn’t

enough, it lives on into eternity courtesy of YouTube. Someone who

videotaped the entire incident even nicely pared it with a backing

soundtrack before they put it online. It’s timed so just as Chumbawamba

are belting the lyrics “I get knocked down”, I’m hit by the frozen carp.

It is funny, as far as slapstick humor goes. Objectively I know that.

And it appears the 15,789 people who gave it the thumbs up on YouTube

also saw the humor in the situation.

But, when it’s you that it happened to, not so much.

Also, for the record, getting hit by a frozen carp hurts. A lot.

“Funny video?” I ask when the music finishes.

Three sets of eyes fly up to me.

The mouth of the guy I haven’t met yet drops open. He’s worked

out I’m the girl from the clip. There’s a lovely close-up at the end which

ensures my identity is undeniable.

I stare at Matt. As his eyes meet mine, guilt spreads across his face.

There is no option but to brazen it out. Act as if it’s normal to meet

a new colleague at the same time they’re watching one of the most

mortifying moments in your life.

“Hi, I’m Hannah.” I hold out my hand to the new guy.

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“Brett.” He shakes my hand firmly.

“Matt was just telling us about weird Wisconsin traditions, and he

mentioned the carp drop,” Adam says.

“I’d forgotten all about your starring role at the end,” Matt says.

He’s so lying.

“I’m sure you did,” I force a smile on my face. “The whole thing is

pretty funny.”

Relief spreads across Brett’s face. I continue to smile, but really,

I’m in disbelief that Matt’s shown that video to our new colleagues. I’m

also in disbelief at myself. How could I have been deluded enough to think

that Matt Paterson might have changed? He’s going to continue to do what

he’s always done. Find ways to torment me. Because I dare to challenge

him. Because I’ve always made him work hard to win. Because I don’t

melt at his feet like other women.

“It must be time for the staff meeting,” I say. “I’ll see you guys

there.”

I’m breathing hard as I walk down the corridor. My disbelief is

morphing into anger. It’s galloping through my veins. I’m almost light-

headed with fury.

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That question that has been running through my head this morning

about how things are going to be with Matt?

I now have my answer.

I’m still seething as I take my place at the meeting table. To think

I’d been prepared to turn over a new leaf, prepared to give Matt the benefit

of the doubt after everything that has happened between us.

To be fair, I’ve done a bit back to him over the years, but always in

retaliation.

Matt slinks into the room, accompanied by Brett and Adam just as

James, the Managing Director, starts the meeting.

I met James at my second interview. He’s in his mid-forties, and

dynamic. Very different to my last CEO, who thought tweeting was

something only birds did.

As James introduces all the other managers, I evaluate them - not

just for whether they’ll be good for their jobs, but for whether they’re

candidates for Team Hannah or Team Matt.

Because it now seems increasingly likely that Horizon Sports is

soon going to be divided into Team Hannah and Team Matt. Our level of

animosity has always meant people feel they need to take sides in our

battles. In elementary school it was simple – all the boys were Team Matt

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and all the girls were Team Hannah. At middle school the lines started to

become fuzzier. In fact, my friend Amy, who’d been a fully signed up and

active member of the ‘I-hate-Matt’ club in elementary school, was the

worst type of turncoat, and actually dated him in junior year.

So I don’t automatically assume that all the women will be on my

team. In fact, James’s PA Annabel, is currently seductively sucking the

end of her pen while not taking her eyes off Matt, so I put her into the

enemy camp. Unless Matt breaks her heart, in which case she could be an

eager conscript.

The rest I run my speculative eye over as James introduces them.

Brett: Head of Product Development. In his late thirties. Could go

either way. A bit of flirting could put him into Team Hannah, and he

obviously feels bad being caught laughing at me. But then he might be one

of those guys who loves male bonding over sports and beer. Matt always

has a circle of henchmen, so he must be good at that stuff. A 50/50 call.

Amber: Head of Outdoor Products. She’s in her early forties with

black hair spiked on top of her head. I can just see the bottom of a tattoo

on her wrist that looks like the Venus symbol. I feel a surge of adrenalin.

She could be a firm ally. And a formidable one at that.

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Dave: Head of Accounts. Mid-forties, balding and wearing the

most god-awful cardigan ever known to man (grey with maroon stripes).

You can tell he’s not a man’s man. Definitely a strong candidate for Team

Hannah. I’m sure he’s got photos of his three cats that he’s dying to show

me.

Adam: Head of Sports. Mid-forties, slightly paunchy around the

middle like an athlete gone to seed. He’s already given me the impression

he’s one of those guys who’s never grown up from his frat boy days. He’ll

be Team Matt for sure.

Sarah: Head of IT. Early thirties, could be a candidate for Matt’s

charm although a glance at her hand reveals a sparkly engagement ring.

Another 50/50 call.

James finishes his introductions with a pep talk. “As you can see

we’ve gathered together a young, dynamic team filled with individuals

who I believe can make Horizon Sports a success. We’re not looking to be

just another lifestyle brand. We want to be taken seriously as a quality

sporting and outdoor brand, creating products that hard-core enthusiasts

will embrace.”

James explained his vision of the company to me in our interview.

I love it. From a marketing perspective, building a brand based on quality

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rather than chasing a fad fashion is so much more satisfying in the long

run.

“We’ve gone with a flat management structure. We’re expecting

you to manage your teams, but you will also be working in close co-

operation with each other. Team dynamics are very important. I’m sure

you all remember the psychometric testing you did as part of the interview

process. We paid lots of attention to those results when choosing the

team.”

They used a computer program to choose the team? What kind of

malfunctioning software would ever think Matt and I could work well

together? It must have sadism coded in there somewhere.

I feel Matt’s eyes on me as James finishes up. I meet his gaze

levelly, coolly. For a few seconds, we’re locked in a staring skirmish,

before his eyes skitter away.

I watch as he stands up, sidling toward the door where Brett and

Adam are in conversation.

I stick out my chin and make a beeline for Amber.

Let the battle begin.

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Chapter Three

I’m pleased with myself when I arrive back at my office. Amber

and I clicked straight away, and I’m excited about working with her. And

that was before she took off her jacket and I got a glimpse of her biceps.

Given her arsenal, I’m pretty sure she could put Matt in a headlock and

have him begging for mercy within a minute. It’ll be nice to have an asset

like that on Team Hannah.

I also made small talk with Dave about Downton Abbey. Turns out

he’s a real fan (in the rankings of surprises, this is not a large one). It’s

always good to be on the right side of the accounts department, and

hopefully, if we strike up a friendship, I can convince him to lose Matt’s

expense claim form every few months.

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It’s good to have a motivation to mix with my colleagues. If it

wasn’t for Matt being there, I would have probably scampered back to my

office as soon as the meeting was over. Maybe Horizon Sports will give

me the opportunity to make some new friends. I’ve struggled in that

department since I moved to New York. It always takes me a while to

open up to people, and my shyness is often misinterpreted as aloofness.

I’m elbow deep back into work when I sense a presence. I’m like a

Jedi warrior. I can detect a dark force. Sure enough, when I look up Matt

is hovering in the doorframe.

“Managed to turn on your laptop yet?” he asks.

Okay, so I wasn’t known for my technical competence as a

teenager. Once in Matt’s presence I tried to turn on the TV with the air

conditioning remote. But now I am a sophisticated marketing professional.

It is insulting to assume I lack the ability to start my computer.

“Managed to turn off everyone you’ve encountered yet?” I retort.

Matt moves into my office. It’s quite disgusting really, the way

he’s always been able to move gracefully. He should clump more or

something. But whether he was on the hockey pitch or strolling around

campus, he’s always had this smooth glide of the coordinated.

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“That’s a good one,” he says. “I’ll give it at least a five on the

comeback scale.”

“It’s at least an eight.”

The comeback scale is something we instituted in middle school.

After weeks of arguments, we commissioned a jury of our peers to rate our

retorts to each other. The jury, of course, was a hotbed of corruption as we

each tried to influence the results. It all petered out at the end of middle

school when everyone refused to be on the jury anymore.

“So anyway…” Matt’s green eyes meet mine and I hold my breath.

Is he about to apologize for showing Brett and Adam the clip? What

should I say if he does? Do I just accept it, or do I make him squirm for a

bit? After all, it’s a pretty crappy thing to do to me on the first day of a

new job.

“James wants to meet us this afternoon to discuss the sales and

marketing timeline. He suggested two.”

My limbs suddenly feel heavy, like they have weights attached to

them. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. Matt Paterson has never apologized

to me. Ever. I frown, focusing on what Matt said.

“Why didn’t he come to talk to me about it?”

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“I guess he assumed I was capable of passing on the message.

Crazy man.”

I don’t like where this is heading. Matt and I are equal, both

directors of a department. If James starts seeking him out ahead of me,

then it could mean trouble. After all, they’re just trialing this flat

management structure. In lots of companies there is an overall Director of

Sales and Marketing. I cannot imagine anything worse than James

deciding to promote Matt ahead of me. My stomach hollows out at the

thought.

“Or maybe he just thinks I’m too busy and you look like the type

who excels at menial tasks like passing on messages,” I reply.

“Or maybe he thinks I’m more trustworthy and capable of doing

the job properly.”

Our eyes meet. There’s a challenge in Matt’s, a challenge I’m all

too familiar with. We’ve pitted ourselves against each other so many times

and my pulse races in recognition of the gauntlet he’s laying down. I

haven’t kept exact score, but our historical number of wins must be pretty

similar. Now we have a completely new arena to do battle in.

“We’ll see who’s more capable of doing the job,” I say.

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“Time has its own way of revealing the truth,” Matt agrees with a

smirk. “See you at the meeting.”

***

I arrive at the meeting five minutes early. To my disgust, Matt is

already sitting at the table. Damn. Next time I’ll make sure I’m ten

minutes early. The early bird catches the worm and all that. Although in

this instance, the early bird is the worm.

“Glad you can join us, Hannah,” Matt says. He’s making it sound

like I’m late. I give him a glacial stare. It gets even colder when I see the

half-completed plan in front of him.

“Sorry, I thought the meeting started at two. That was the message

that was passed on to me.” I give Matt a pointed look.

“It does start at two. I just wanted to make sure some of the key

sales dates are in the plan as a starting point,” Matt says with a smile.

He’s tried to snake me already.

“Well, we’ll have to see how they fit in with the marketing

deadlines I’ve sketched out.” I whip out the plan I’ve furiously put

29

together in the last few hours. That’s the thing about Matt. I know him.

I’m familiar with his tricks, so out-maneuvering them is instinctive.

I give him a wide smile as his grin fades. “I’m sure you’re

prepared to work out a compromise for what’s best for the whole

company.”

“Of course,” Matt says through gritted teeth.

I place my timetable on the table and sit down, sheltering my plan

with my body as I lean over to look at his. Matt does the same. We’re like

mother dragons protecting our eggs.

“I see you want your sales team to start selling into outdoor stores

in July. I think that’s too early, we won’t have the collateral finished by

then,” I say.

“Then you’ll need to push up your deadlines. Not only do I need

point of sale for when my team starts selling, I’ll need it for our training as

well.”

Matt and I start arguing the point. It’s funny. I’ve seen lots of

different versions of Matt over the years. Sporty Matt, on a hockey rink.

Studious Matt in a classroom or lecture theatre. Social Matt at parties. All-

Dressed-Up Matt for prom and homecoming.

30

But Professional Matt is something different. He really looks the

part of a young, successful professional. His suit fits him perfectly,

emphasizing his muscular chest. His shirt is a mint green, which I

cynically suspect he selected to highlight his eyes. Matt has these deep

green eyes framed by long lashes that make girls wax lyrical. He got

contacts in sophomore year, which he said was for playing hockey, but

I’m sure had more to do with liberating his eyes so all the girls could

appreciate them. That year I had a record number of defectors from Team

Hannah.

His voice is a low baritone as he makes his point. There’s almost

something disturbing about seeing someone I once gave a wedgie to in

retaliation for beheading my Care Bear now all grown up.

His smooth, business-like approach might be intimidating if I

hadn’t spent the last five years playing the part of Professional Hannah.

Confident and in control. I know how to play the game too. I counter him

in a clear, composed voice. As a woman, I don’t have the deep

authoritative tone as my go-to, so I make lots of solid, steady eye contact

with James as I explain my reasoning.

“I agree with Hannah,” James says after I finish. “Let’s push it to

August.”

31

I flick Matt a triumphant smile.

“But Matt is correct that to train his staff, he needs to have the full

marketing collateral available. You’ll need to push that deadline up.”

My smile dims.

The meeting continues like this. Matt and I challenging each other

on every point, under a thin veil of politeness. We’ve done this countless

times over the years, in front of teachers and professors. It’s like putting

on an old pair of shoes that you haven’t worn for ages, but still fit

perfectly.

“Right,” James says when we’ve hammered out the last point of

contention. “The timeline is looking great. I like how passionate you both

are about even the smallest details.”

“I find sometimes the smallest details can make a big difference,”

Matt says.

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. There’s something buzzing

under my skin. Adrenalin pounds through me. I’d almost forgotten this

feeling. It’s awful having to deal with Matt, but it’s a thrilling kind of

awful. Knowing you can never slip up, you’ve got to be on top of your

game to go toe-to-toe with him.

To combat Matt, I have to be the best version of me.

32

It’s after six when I emerge from my office. I’ve completed the

amended timeline, shortlisted PR companies and begun our brand strategy.

Basically, I’m the textbook definition of efficiency.

As I’m walking down the hallway to make myself a cup of coffee,

I run into the textbook definition of an asshole. Matt is holding his

briefcase, his jacket folded over his arm.

“You’re leaving already?” I ask, surprised.

“Some of us work smarter, not longer.” Matt puts his briefcase

down and slips on his jacket, lifting his gaze to me. “You shouldn’t work

too late. You need your beauty sleep.”

“Thanks for the tip.” I force a smile on my face. “Talking about

sleep, do you still wear your Harry Potter pajamas?” Matt may be good-

looking and athletic, but he’s always had a geek streak. When he was a kid

he was preoccupied with Harry Potter, and it took him longer than most to

grow out of that obsession. A photo of him wearing Harry Potter pajamas

when he was sixteen went viral. No one owned up to being the source of

the photo, although conspiracy theorists will tell you that the photo’s angle

matched the angle from my bathroom into Matt’s bedroom.

33

“Actually, the mockery you exposed me to was a life-effecting

trauma. I can’t wear pajamas anymore. Now I sleep naked,” Matt says.

Before I can stop, my mind pictures this. As I’m sure he planned.

A parting image, just to give me nightmares.

“Eww gross, your poor sheets.”

“They’re 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton. There’s nothing poor

about them.”

“So, Nancy’s still buying your sheets?” I ask. Matt’s mother is the

definition of a helicopter parent.

“I’ve had lots of compliments about them.” Matt arches an

eyebrow.

“Maybe that’s because it’s the only thing they could find in your

bed to compliment.”

“Perhaps they formed an opinion because they spent so much time

gripping the sheets.”

Okay, that’s taken it too far. I slap my hands over my ears. “La la

la la la la.”

Matt’s grinning as he walks away. He knows he’s won that round.

Damn him.

34

I’m left feeling unsettled. I continue to the kitchen and make coffee,

the whole time thinking about how I could have handled that exchange

better.

Maybe I should have asked him if he still has his favorite Barney-

the-dinosaur soft toy. But then he might continue discussing his sleeping

companions, which is so far over my ‘want to know line’.

But now my mind is going there, and I can’t help wondering if he’s

single. I’m guessing he is. He’s just moved to New York and I’m sure I

would’ve caught it somewhere in the gossip grapevine if he had a

significant live-in other.

So he’ll be on the hunt, luring unsuspecting girls with those green

eyes and chiseled jaw. Although, to be fair, Matt has always tended

towards long-term girlfriends over casual hook-ups. I’d be surprised if his

sheets have had a regularly rotating cast, no matter what the thread count

is. The last girlfriend of his that I know about was Natasha back in college,

although they broke up in senior year. Natasha was always a bit weird

around me. Perhaps having someone constantly insulting your boyfriend

doesn’t create the most romantic atmosphere.

35

Of course, he could have completely changed and have become a

player over the last five years. But somehow I doubt it. Nancy raised him

to treat women well. I am the only notable exception to that rule.

Why I am even thinking about this? I push it from my mind and

concentrate on work. A much better use of my time.