Miguel gave me a confused look, and I got the uneasy feeling we hadn’t been talking about the same thing. I mean there was no way Carson had anything to say about my singing as he’d already left in a snit when that happened. Besides, what business was it of his?
“Carson told me that you tried to humiliate him in front of your coworkers at happy hour on Friday night,” he said.
My eyes went wide in surprise. Of all the things I had expected him to say, that was not it. Still, I needed clarification. “So this is about Carson and happy hour and not something else?”
Miguel nodded then he gave me a side-eye. “Was there anything else?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Not a thing.”
“Good,” Miguel said. “So about Carson—”
He began but I interrupted, “I’m not really sure what you mean that I tried to humiliate Carson. I mean, he joined us late and, frankly, was a bit rude. He drank some beer and took off.”
“He seemed to think that you’d had too much to drink and it turned you mean,” Miguel said.
“Mean?” I repeated. I was caught totally off guard. I had never been accused of being mean in my entire life. Hello? Pleaser, here. Even when justified, I can’t manage to be mean.
Miguel continued, “He said you tried to belittle him by repeatedly and belligerently demanding that he climb up on the table and twerk for free beer.”
“What?” I cried.
“Did you say that, Annabelle?”
“Yes, but—”
“So you can see how that would be inappropriate,” he said. His tone became stern when he added, “You are the senior creative director, and Carson is your senior art director. You can’t single him out in front of the others like that.”
I blinked at him. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The urge to hotly defend myself was strong, but this was Miguel, my friend, and I was certain he would hear me out.
“I’m sensing Carson left out the part of the story where he asked me to table dance,” I said.
Miguel shook his head. “Carson said you’d probably mention that. He said he teased you about how you and Sophie used to go out in college and that you got defensive about his comment, which was intended as a harmless joke.”
“Because sharing stories about my misadventures in my youth and asking me to show some cleavage or lift up my skirt, in front of people I supervise, wasn’t intended to humiliate me?” I asked.
I could feel my temper beginning to heat. When Carson’s plan to diminish me in front of our coworkers had failed, it was clear he had run crying to Miguel to complain about me. At the moment I wasn’t sure which one of them I was more frustrated with.
“He assured me that it wasn’t, and in fact, he didn’t want to say anything at all but came to me because he’s concerned that your inexperience working in an office setting might cause you to mishandle your supervisory responsibilities and land us in a lawsuit,” Miguel said. He looked uncomfortable and it occurred to me that he didn’t want to be having this talk any more than I did. “I feel it’s important that I remind you that you are in this position for a probationary period of three months, at the end of which there’ll be a review.”
That felt like a stone-cold slap. Not gonna lie, it hurt.
“Where is Sophie?” I asked. The connecting door to her office was open, and I could see that the lights were still out.
Miguel glanced away before he answered, “She had an appointment.”
I nodded. “So you decided to do this now with just the two of us.”
“Is that a problem?” he asked. One of his eyebrows ticked up.
“Not at all,” I said. But it was a problem. A big problem.
Up until this moment, I had considered Miguel my friend as much as Sophie was, but now it was becoming clear that the underlying tension I’d felt between them since I arrived did exist. It had something to do with me, and I was now unintentionally caught in a power struggle between husband and wife. It seemed fairly obvious that Miguel had wanted Carson to be creative director while Sophie had pushed to bring me in and Sophie had won.
I would bet my last jelly doughnut that Miguel had only let Sophie offer me the job because he thought I would say no, but instead, I had surprised us all by accepting.
“Carson was your pick for creative director, wasn’t he?” I asked.
To Miguel’s credit, he owned it and said, “He has more experience in an office environment than you, he’s been a member of our team for five years, and he is networked locally, whereas you are a complete unknown. It’s not personal, Annabelle, but Carson just brings a lot more to the table than you do.”
“Those are fair points,” I agreed. “But how is his rapport with the staff? Is he a strong mentor and motivator? Is he truly getting the best work out of your designers?”
Miguel blinked as if surprised I’d questioned him. “It’s excellent. Everyone works really well with him.”
I knew I could mention the tension I’d seen between Carson and Luz, and Booker’s support of my Carson takedown, but I didn’t. Instead I said, “You might want to look more closely.”
Miguel frowned but I didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t going to throw staff under the bus to make my point, and at this moment, thanks to Carson’s poison, Miguel wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“Listen, Annabelle, you’ve been here for a week. It’s understandable that you want to carve out a place for yourself, but go easy,” he said.
Assuming we were finished, I rose from my chair. I strode to the door and turned back to say, “I’ll keep your advice in mind. Thanks.”
Miguel looked a bit nonplussed. It might have been the faint sprinkling of sarcasm in my tone. Good. It was a chickenshit move to call me into his office for a lecture without Sophie’s knowledge. They were both the chief creative officers of Vasquez Squared and supposed to be equal partners. I knew Soph would have something to say about Carson’s behavior at the happy hour. It had been clear at our lunch that she had her own issues with him.
I closed the door behind me and strode back to my office. Other staff had arrived while I was meeting with Miguel, and I forced myself to smile and nod with a levity I didn’t feel. When I passed Carson’s office, I glanced inside and met his gaze. He looked supremely satisfied with himself.
“Good meeting with the boss?” he asked. I got the feeling he’d been waiting, probably hoping to see me cry. I wondered if Miguel reminding me that I was on probation had been Carson’s idea.
“The best!” I said. I refused to look even the littlest bit flustered. If Carson thought he could derail me, he had another think coming. I sent him a beaming grin. “I love a good Monday morning pep talk, don’t you?”