Household Gods

She might be half blind with joy, but she could read between those lines. He must have taken more flak than he’d expected when he named Gary and not her. He’d given her the analysis as a test of sorts. If she’d done it badly – maybe even if she hadn’t thought to ask Gary to help with the prose style – he would have had the ammunition he needed to prove he’d been right. If she did well, as she’d done, he had justification for promoting her. How long had he known Sandoval would be leaving? Had he by any chance encouraged Sandoval to leave just then?

She couldn’t ask, and she wasn’t about to try. If she hadn’t lived in Carnuntum while her body spent six days in a coma, what would have happened? If he’d just dumped the analysis on her in the state of mind she’d been in after she lost the partnership, she’d probably have told him to put it where the sun didn’t shine. Or she’d have given him a half-assed, halfhearted job, the work of an obviously disgruntled employee.

For all she knew, that was exactly what he’d expected of her. If so, he wasn’t showing it, and he wasn’t likely to. If she’d surprised him, he’d never admit it. Nor would he ever confess to disappointment that she’d proved him wrong and her supporters – the whole amazing number of them – right. Thank you, Liber, she thought. Thank you, Libera. But for you, I’d be out on the street right now.

Rosenthal was waiting for her to say something. She couldn’t let him know exactly what she was thinking, but she came as close as she dared: “Sometimes things need to work out at their own speed.”

Thanks again to the god and goddess whose answers to her prayers had taught her so much, and shown her how to conduct herself in two worlds, she’d said the right thing. “A very mature attitude, Ms. Gunther-Perrin,” Rosenthal said, nodding with more vigorous approval than she’d ever had from him. “Commendably mature. The proper attitude for a team player. Yes, I think you will be valuable to the firm in your new role.”

She heard everything he didn’t say – everything he’d said to her in this office three weeks ago. Would he attribute her change in attitude to her six-day coma? Or would he just assume that she’d taken time to rethink her priorities?

It didn’t matter. He’d changed his mind about making her a partner.

She was a partner. She’d broken out of the trenches; she had a future in the firm. Life was good. Life was very, very good.

This descent from the upper regions was far different from its predecessor. Nicole kept a deadpan expression, which must have been convincing: people glanced at her, some with curiosity, but for all they knew, she’d just gone up to get the feedback on her analysis. If the office grapevine had been humming, nobody was showing it.

Cyndi was making a point of being busy, no doubt to keep from noticing any new disappointments. Nicole thought of striding on past, but that wasn’t exactly fair to Cyndi. She let go her deadpan expression, let it go completely. What Cyndi must have seen out of the corner of her eye was a high-grade idiot grin.

She looked up from her keyboard and got the full blaze of it head-on. Her eyes went wide. “Did you -?” she asked. “Did he -?”

“Yes!” Nicole’s answer was all-inclusive.

Cyndi leaped up with a complete disregard for proper secretarial demeanor, and threw her arms around Nicole in a bruisingly tight hug. Nicole’s jaw ached with grinning, but she couldn’t seem to stop. When Cyndi whirled her in a little dance of joy, she went along, and let it spin her right into her office. She fetched up next to the phone.

She was aware, peripherally, of Cyndi setting the grapevine going at top speed. And why not? She picked up the phone and punched a particular extension. “Okay, Gary, ‘ she said when he answered. “Today I buy lunch.”

He couldn’t have helped but hear the jubilation in her voice. “Does that mean what I hope it means?”

“You better believe it,” she said.

He let out a war whoop right in her ear. It was still ringing as she set the receiver down and tried to get back to work. Futile as that was: between Cyndi and Gary, within ten minutes the news had traversed the entire sixth floor. The seventh had probably known for hours, if not for days, which way the decision would go.

It was all she could do to get away for lunch, with all the people streaming in to congratulate her. She caught herself noticing who seemed overjoyed and who eyed her speculatively – women associates, many of those last. They’d be seeing the crack she’d made in the glass ceiling, and contemplating ways of making it wider.

More power to them, Nicole thought. She had to drag Gary away, finally, which probably started a whole new spate of gossip.

So let people talk. Today, at least, she didn’t give a damn.