His brows shot up in surprise.
“Don’t blame me for your inadequacies,” I added.
“Wow. I was trying to nicely ask you to be a little more professional. It benefits you, too.”
“Okay, first of all, you condescending jackass.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Don’t sit here and tell me that I need to ease up or that I need to do anything professionally and slap on a label to call it helping me out. How much more professional can I be? I can’t sugarcoat. I’m not telling you anything that our managers wouldn’t tell you. I’m not yelling or demeaning. Sounds like you’d rather I tell you everything in private so you don’t get your feelings hurt.”
“A private conversation would help—”
“That’s not my job. I don’t have time to call you for every little thing. We all work together. We all tell one another what’s late and what’s wrong and what needs to be fixed and debugged and who needs to hurry up in front of others because someone is always waiting on someone else. That’s UX. If we took the time to do it all privately, we’d never get anything done. And I’ve never had anyone tell me that I was being a bitch.”
He put his hands up. “I didn’t call you that.”
“You’re implying it.” I gesticulated with my next words. “Woman equates to smiles and kindly relaying her thoughts so as not to offend others, particularly men with easily bruised egos, particularly in STEM fields; otherwise she must reevaluate her entire approach. Man equates to doing and saying whatever they feel is professional without regard to how others might feel because male leads equals automatic respect.”
Sunny blew out a breath. “I apologize if that’s how I came off. Not my intention. But I do think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“I’ve dealt with guys telling me all sorts of things since I could remember. I’m stating facts, not blowing anything up. If there’s something serious or an issue that warrants discretion, I do that privately. The fact that I have to sit here and explain that…let me ask you. Would you be having this conversation with me if I was a man?”
He glared at me, and I glared right back. “Yep.”
“BS.”
“All right. Never mind. We can’t handle this like adults.”
“Deflection. Classic.” I shoved another waffle bite into my mouth, pissed that it was cold and soggy now.
“Fine. You’re not terrible.”
“Amazing apology.”
“Let’s just leave it before this turns into some egregious debacle. You do your work. I’ll do mine.”
Some bitter, ugly little thing in me crowed. “You didn’t answer my question. I heard you’re going after the PM position.”
“And I shouldn’t? Or does competition worry you?”
“I don’t worry about you.”
Sunny finished his toast and ate a piece of fruit, then released a huge sigh. “Listen. Bane.”
He didn’t react to my RBF one bit, nor did he miss a beat.
“I support women in higher roles. I support women in STEM. I support whatever a woman wants to do with her life. But I also know my worth, my skill, my education, the results of my hard work. I aim to be PM, either with this opening or the next, or hell, even at another company. I know I’ll be a good PM, and that’s not to say you wouldn’t. But I have to take my chance, too. It’s a long shot because you’ve been there longer than I have, and I’m only assuming you applied for the same role.”
We returned to cold, cutting silence while finishing the last pieces and final drops of our breakfast. In a matter of minutes, Sunny tossed his napkin onto the empty plate in front of him and bluntly said, “Thank you again for letting me crash.”
“Thanks for the waffles,” I pushed out, equally blunt.
“I’m going to check the front desk.”
“You can call.”
“I can, but I also want to get away from you. I mean…out of your way. I’m sure you have lots of vacation things to do and benefit buddies to call.”
Was that a tinge of jealousy? All the anger left me like a heated pall drifting away. I smirked. “Good idea. Benefits sound nice.”
Then he left. Silently, without a rebuttal. Without so much as a second glance. God, he was so grumpy.
Ten Sunny
Bane had the uncanny ability to streamline straight to the raw end of my very last nerve without so much as trying. I hadn’t meant to tell her what to do or how to behave, and sure, perhaps the wording and/or my tone had made it appear so, but she was so quick to jump on my ass about everything. She did it at work all the time. And while she ran a tight subteam, she wasn’t the damn PM to treat me the way she did.
I’d applied, and interviewed, for our recent PM opening and was waiting on edge to hear back. No one had to tell me that Bane had also applied. Everyone knew she had. They wanted her to be PM, which would be great for non-leads, but not great for me. If she treated me this curtly now, how much worse would she be as PM?
She’d been at the company longer. Seniority played a huge part in the consideration process when it came to filling a role where multiple applicants showed strong skills, education, work ethic, effectiveness, and overall likability with teams, managers, and clients. My dev skills were beyond what the company was even paying me for. My presentations were effective and enjoyable. I’d even been given extra responsibilities by moving up to the company’s larger accounts within the first two months.
But was I going to step aside without even trying? Hell no.
At least this wedding, and even dealing with the hotel situation, had left little time to stalk my inbox.
I went over the conversation with Bane. And groaned. I mean, shit. I guess telling her to be nicer wasn’t the right thing.
Even as I walked the long path nursed by generous tree shade to get to the King’s Land lobby, my blood was still simmering on edge of boiling. I couldn’t get that infuriating woman out of my head. Bhanu had become the bane of my existence—Bane was a fitting name for her. Beneath that bubbly exterior was a deep-seated hate for me. I was shocked that she even offered me the villa.
