Chapter 4
“Bethany?” My brother paused for a moment. “The manager in business development? What’s up with her?” “Do you know her well?” I asked.
“Not really. Floyd brought her in. She’s got skills and she’s good at managing her team. What’s going on?” he replied.
“People at the office are saying you two are hooking up,” I said.
There was a three–second silence on the other end.
Then my brother lost his temper.
He snapped, “What the hell? Who’s spreading that crap? I can barely remember what she looks like. I’ve talked to her maybe ten times.
“She got in my car? That was a business trip with six people in a van. She was at my house? That was a company team–building event with a dozen other people. Who is making this up?”
“Don’t get worked up,” I said.
“How can I not be upset? If Freya hears this crap-” he snapped.
“She won’t believe it,” I said.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” my brother said, his voice tight with anger. “Has this Bethany Weber been pulling stunts in the department? Has she been picking on you?” “No,” I replied.
“Kathy, don’t lie to me.”
“Really, I haven’t. I can handle this on my own.“
“Handle it on your own? If you can’t handle it, you tell me. I’ll have Floyd-”
“Ralph,” I cut him off. “You told me to earn my place here on my own and come home if I can’t make it. I haven’t reached that point yet.”
There was another pause on the line.
“Alright,” my brother said. “But I’m telling you, if she so much as lays a finger on you, you don’t hold back.” “I know,” I replied.
After hanging up, I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Bethany was strutting around the office like she owned the place, all thanks to a rumor she had completely made.
Everyone assumed she was having an affair with the boss. Nobody dared mess with her.
And she had probably started to believe she was the boss’s wife herself.
No wonder Bethany kept giving me those weird looks. To her, an intern rocking a Hermes bag wasn’t just some spoiled rich kid. She saw me as straight–up competition. Bethany was afraid I would take her place.
She was worried this “young and pretty girl” would catch the boss’s eye.
She had no clue the boss was actually my brother.
Bethany had no idea that all her swagger and pushiness were riding on a lie.
And sooner or later, that lie was going to blow up in her face.
In my second week at the company, Bethany’s behavior got even worse.
She started calling me out in department meetings, not even trying to hide it.
She said, “Katherine, you did this report? The formatting is all over the place. How did you even graduate?
“Katherine, you’re not even picking up customer complaints? Do you have any idea how much a client is worth?
“Katherine Ochoa, you don’t even know how to use the copier? Are you here for an internship or a vacation?” Every time, I sat there and listened in silence.
Every time, I told myself to hold on a little longer.
But I wasn’t a person without limits.
My line was when someone touched my personal belongings.
That Wednesday afternoon, I went out to pick up a package.
The package was from my mom. It held a box of pastries and a note that said: [Make sure you eat well and don’t work too hard.]
When I got back to my desk, something was off.
My drawer was open.
I knelt down to look inside.
My handbag was gone.
My Hermes was missing.
I shot to my feet and looked around the office.
Everyone was busy with their own stuff; nobody even looked up.
“Elena, have you seen my bag?” I asked.
Elena looked up, looking nervous. “What bag?”
“The gray one I left in my drawer,” I said.
“N–no, I haven’t seen it.” she stammered.
I looked her in the eyes.
Elena was lying.
“Elena, tell me who opened my drawer,” I asked.
She bit her lip, eyes welling up, but she stayed silent.
I took a deep breath and walked straight to Bethany’s office.
The door was closed, so I knocked three times.
“Come in,” she called out.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Bethany was sitting behind her desk, painting her nails. My handbag was right there on the couch beside her. “Ms. Weber, that’s my bag,” I said.
Bethany didn’t even look up. “What do you mean, your bag? That’s company property.”
“That’s my personal item. My mom gave it to me for my birthday,” I said.
“Where does an intern get a Hermes bag?” She finally looked up at me. “I’m keeping it safe for you so you don’t misplace it.
“I don’t need you to keep it for me. Give it back,” I said.