He gestures through the door, toward the row of partitions in front of his office.
“I think there’s an empty one,” he suggests. “You don’t have to be right there. Not like right outside the door. But anywhere in this group would be fine.”
I swallow, hard. Another cubicle. Cubicles are for assistants and the occasional intern or programmer. Associate brokers who are being subtly punished for underperforming. Being in a cubicle means you’re still firmly planted on one of the bottom rungs of the ladder.
“A cubicle?” I ask, forcing myself to say the words out loud. “So… I’m just moving desks then?”
His eyes wander over some folders on his desk, and I can tell I am already losing his attention.
“Sure, whichever one you want,” he shrugs vaguely.
“Greg?”
He glances up at me, as if somewhat surprised I am still here. My chest tightens around my heart, which is beating frantically at this moment. I know that I have to ask. I just have to ask.
“So… the Head Broker’s office?”
He squints at me shrewdly. “What about it?”
“Who’s that going to?”
He shrugs and looks down again, shifting papers pointlessly from their places.
“New guy,” he answers.
“New guy?” I repeat. “What new guy?”
“Friend of mine from college I am bringing in. Great guy. Scads of experience.”
“Scads of experience?” I say in disbelief. “I have that experience. I have the scads. In fact I have every deal that you’ve taken credit for over the last two years. Those are scads, Greg.”
He stops shifting papers and looks up at me, raising his eyebrows and curling his upper lip on one side in a bit of a snarl. I have seen this version of him before. It’s always there, right below the surface. This competitive jackass.
“You’re my assistant, Clarissa,” he scoffs. “You assist. That’s your job.”
“The Turner building? The Niche Properties deal?” I begin, listing off the most high-profile contracts which I put together, which I knew inside and out. “The new Remora project? The Wright Hotel?”
His nostrils flare, his jaw knotting as he clenches his teeth. I see the dangerous flash in his eyes.
“What about them?”
“Those are my deals, Greg. Not just an assist. Front to back, the whole deal. You may be the guy who signed the final paperwork, but you know you didn’t do anything for those.”
“What is this, blackmail?” he growls, his arms floating out from his sides. I see him resisting the urge to ball his huge hands into fists.
But I won’t be intimidated. I force myself to stand my ground.
“This isn’t blackmail. This is just a reminder of all the work I’ve done. I deserve that promotion, Greg. You know it.”
“You deserve it? Are you kidding me with this?” he scoffs. “With that kind of attitude, you’re lucky you even have a job, Clarissa. You’re too green, obviously.”
“Green?” I repeat incredulously. “Greg, I started here before you, remember that? If anybody is green, it’s you!”
His lips narrow into a thin line. We stare each other down for at least thirty seconds before he finally shakes his head dismissively.
“You’re my assistant, and I told you what I need you to do,” he says in a low growl. “Please relocate your cubicle to one of the available spaces right outside the door, so that you can assist me. Got it?”
The blood is rushing in my ears so loud that I can barely hear anything else. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe he’s acting like this.