Dating You / Hating You
Page 18

His wire-frame glasses glint in the light as he glances down at something on his monitor before standing. “Your card’s been locked. I need to send you up to the second floor.”
“Locked?” And second floor? That’s the P&D lobby and the conference center. No one really works there.
“That’s all I can really say, Ms. Abbey, but you aren’t the only one. Let’s get you upstairs.” He rounds the desk, signaling to another guard that he’ll be right back.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I say, and pull out my phone again. “Let me call Amelia, she’ll know what’s going on.”
“I believe Ms. Baker is already here,” he says, and swipes his badge before following me to the elevators and pressing the button for the second floor. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything is going to be just fine.”
Inside the elevator, I nearly throw my phone against the wall when I realize the ringer has been on silent all morning. There are messages from Daryl and Carter, and one from Steph. A rare all-caps text from Jess sits at the top of the list: EVIE WHAT IS GOING ON?
My hands are shaking as I leave my text app without reading the rest and open my phone’s browser to check Variety, knowing that whatever happens in this town, Variety—or Twitter—usually gets wind of it first. Of course, there’s next to no reception inside the elevator and my browser app is only beginning to load as the doors open with a loud ding.
There’s the sound of a voice echoing in the sudden silence and I look down the wide hall to see an entire lobby of people turn to look at me.
A woman near the front smiles in my direction. “Please, have a seat. We were just getting started.”
The normally sparse lobby has been filled with chairs; about two-thirds of them are occupied. Mumbling a quiet apology, I tuck my phone away and speed-walk across the room to the first empty spot I see.
“Good morning again,” the woman says, her smile bright—if a little forced. Her hair is long and red and hangs in thick waves to the middle of her back. I have no idea who she is, but my first thought is that she reminds me of a news anchor. She’s perfectly groomed and looks exactly like the person you’d expect to tell you that everything is going to be all right . . . or whether you should run.
“As I’m sure most of you have gathered, it has been quite a morning,” she says. “My name is Lisa and I work in HR for the New York office of CTM.”
Wait. She works for who?
I’m about to raise my hand and ask what in the actual hell is going on when a few rows up I spot a head turned to face me with a familiar set of green eyes.
Carter.
When I saw his name in my text scroll, I optimistically assumed he was seeing if I had time for a make-out session in the car over lunch. But he’s here, in this hushed den of bewilderment? I try to put this all together, but my thoughts are like a record skipping uselessly upstairs: CTM’s HR rep in the P&D lobby.
Carter’s eyes go wide to communicate his own confusion before he turns back toward the front.
What the fuck is going on?
I slump in my seat, staring at the back of his head before I look around at the rows of chairs in front of and behind me, searching for more faces I recognize. Donald from Accounting; Rose, who works with me in Features; and a handful of others. I see a mass of dark curls rising high above the other heads—thank all that is holy: Jess is here. Finally, I see Daryl in the back row.
She throws her hands up as if to say finally, and it’s clear from her expression that she doesn’t know what’s going on, either. She points to her phone just as the sound of footsteps draws both of our attention back to the front.
Lisa hands a stack of files to a man now standing beside her. “You’re all either wondering what in the world is going on, or maybe you’ve heard already, but CTM and Price & Dickle have merged.”
She’s saying something else but it takes my brain a few seconds to process the words in order. When it does, the sound in my head is a little like tires screeching to a halt.
CTM has merged with Price & Dickle.
We are one agency.
We are one agency with a huge amount of overlap.
My stomach seems to have dissolved away, leaving a hollow space beneath my ribs.
I look to Daryl, who seems to be reaching the same conclusion I have, and then around the room. A few heads nod, but not many. Most faces have gone ashen.
“And if you hadn’t heard,” she continues, making eye contact with a few of us, “don’t worry. It was only announced about half an hour ago.”
Half an hour ago.
I think about all the strangeness in the office over the past few weeks, knowing that this type of thing doesn’t just happen overnight. Those few people at the top, in the know, can strategize, position themselves. The big question is how long they had to prepare. The bigger question is who they are. Who knew?
I think I might be sick.
“To be completely frank, we aren’t sure what the merge looks like quite yet,” Lisa says. “Some of the dust needs to settle before we know what shape we’ll take and how the new structure will work. But as the news will likely break widely soon, we wanted to gather you here to communicate information all together.”
A few people shift in their seats. A guy next to me is scrolling through his Twitter feed, presumably looking for information.
“As many of you know,” Lisa continues, “both P&D and CTM have corporate offices in New York as well as LA. P&D is the acquiring company and will be bringing staff from both offices here to consolidate, as well as transferring some local staff to New York.” My jaw drops open when she says this, and I barely hear what comes next. “These are details you’ll discuss with your direct managers in your department. But the bottom line—and the good news—is that if you’re in this room, it’s very likely that you still have a job at one office or the other.”
. . . very likely that you still have a job at one office or the other.
I mean . . . that’s something at least. Right?
Most of the room has slumped somewhat in relief. I glance over at Carter. From what I can tell from the back, he’s just sitting there, unmoving.
“Sorry, can you clarify?” he asks in a garbled whisper. He has to clear his throat before adding, “Some of us will be transferred to New York and some will remain here? And when will this be decided?”
At this Lisa turns to him and smiles like he’s asked something as benign as whether the vending machines in the staff lounge will be stocked with Coke or Pepsi. “Who stays—and who is transferred—is being left up to your individual departments.”
The way she says it, with an almost journalistic indifference, doesn’t help the panic hijacking my motor system. I slip my fingers between my knees to keep them from shaking where anyone can see. It feels like a rug has just been pulled out from beneath me.
A murmur of voices—verging on angry—begins to build within the room.
“Honestly, I would love to be able to tell you all more,” Lisa says above the fray, “but as you can see, we’re still getting details on this ourselves.”
In my peripheral vision, I can see Carter’s shoulders curl in, his head bow. He looks like I feel: like he wants to drop his head between his legs and look for something to throw up in.
I lock eyes with Daryl and wonder if we’re both thinking the same thing: We work for the acquiring company. We have some sort of advantage here, right?