I Fakin' Hate You

Chapter 1

Nia

I have a quiet little life – exactly the way I like it. It took a lot of work to make things this simple, and I don’t plan on changing any of it.

I’m a woman of routine, and I have mine down to a science.

“Come on, Charlie!” I call out to my chocolate lab. He gives a friendly bark in response and runs to the front door, wagging his tail in excitement about his daily ride in the car.

At 8 a.m. I go to the gym. I drop off Charlie at doggie daycare before 9 on days when I don’t take him to the office, and I make my way into the office by 9:30 most days.

Walking into Pinnacle Innovations doesn’t feel like going back to the grind so much as it does a family reunion. I grew up here, almost literally.

“Good morning, Anita,” I say at the security desk.

“Hi, Nia!” she says with a wave. “No Charlie?”

“Doggie daycare today. Friday I’ll bring him. I’ll tell him you miss him!”

I don’t think I’ve ever shown my ID at the front desk. One of my earliest memories is getting a lollipop from the security guards every time I came in with Granddad.

I didn’t find out until adulthood that most kids who come into the office do not get that same level of attention. I got so excited when my friend Kelly from book club told me she went into the Pinnacle Innovations office with her dad occasionally growing up.

“It was like my playground!” I remember I told her. “It was just so fun. They’d always have juice and crackers laid out, and I’d get my own conference room. I drew on that whiteboard for hours.”

“For me, it was usually to use the copier,” I remember she had answered, with a confused squint in her eyes. “My dad just wanted to make sure I was quiet and didn’t disturb anyone.”

That’s when it dawned on me. When your grandfather’s the CEO, people treat you a little differently. Thank God he raised me to have almost no clue there was anything special about us.

I turn on the lights when I get into my big, sunlit office and start up my computer. Like most days, it’s a quiet day for me as the facilities manager for the Charlotte headquarters office. I report to the site facilities director, who reports to the vice president of U.S. facilities, who reports to the executive vice president of global facilities, who all report to the chief operating officer. The COO serves at the pleasure of Chief Executive Officer Cliff Langley. World’s best granddad.

Granddad first decided to build a software company with four colleagues from his IBM days working out of his garage, a few years before we lost my parents in the accident. When the Internet revolution took off, Granddad knew he could do more ambitious things if he went out on his own.

They called it Pinnacle Innovations, knowing it would eventually make its way to the top. The company really began to take off not long after I moved in and he became my legal guardian. Having the company to focus on helped us work through our grief together.

Now, it’s a $50 billion enterprise on three continents, with 10,000 employees. I’m proud to call myself one of them.

He’s more than my grandpa. He’s my mom, my dad, my protector, my chaperone, my boss, my idol, all in one. My hero. My everything. He took care of me growing up, and I try to repay him now that I’m grown.

At around 9:45 a.m., I always try to check in with him.

“Hi, Granddad,” I buzz.

“Hi, sweetie. How are you this morning?”

“I’m good. More importantly, how are you? You have the doctor at 3:45 today, right? Want me to come?”

“Naw, don’t waste your time. I know they keep telling me I’m 78, but I’m just not seeing it. Doctors think they know everything.”

“I know. They should get their eyes checked. You’re 30.”

“Anyway, there’s no need to take time out of your schedule. But why don’t you come for dinner after? We’ll get some chicken.”

“Are you supposed to have that with your blood pressure, Granddad?”

“You’re no fun. Who raised you?” He lets out a big laugh.

“The best grandpa in the world did, I’ll have you know.”

“You made it easy, sweet pea. Okay, I have to get going, tons of meetings before the doctors dissect me. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Love you, Granddad.”

“Love you too, baby.”

I don’t know where he gets his energy and self-discipline. I know the years of running the company are taking their toll, but it seems impossible that he has fifty years on me. It’s hard to picture him taking a step back, and I really don’t want to picture it. For him, I can only imagine how impossible impending retirement must seem.

I go through my inbox, happy that the folder for reporting building issues is still at zero. My boss Kara, the facilities director, does the heavy lifting, while I keep tabs on the day-to-day functioning of the building while it’s in operation during work hours. We have a modern building in a neighborhood with virtually no crime. If there’s not much to do, it means we’re doing our jobs well. So I must be doing great, I think.

I get a manicure at lunch every Monday and Friday, then eat in the cafeteria with Kara. Even though she’s my boss, we’re close. I leave at 4:30 for a hair appointment today, then at 6, I pick up Charlie.

I compromise and get a baked chicken for dinner, with vegetables instead of potatoes and gravy. Charlie goes crazy with the smell. When he realizes we’re at Granddad’s, though, he forgets all about the food.

“Knock knock!” I say as I open the door. Charlie’s tail thwacks the banister.

“Nia! And Charlie boy!”

Charlie runs up to Granddad and kisses his face, while Granddad rubs the fur on his head.

“My two favorites,” Granddad says as he gives me a hug.

I put the bag of food on the counter.

“My three favorites! I thought you weren’t getting the chicken.”

“Well, it’s baked.”

“Still delicious. Always looking out for me.”

I get out the plates and set the table like I always have. Even though he founded his own astronomically successful tech company, he never moved out of his basic two-story house in the suburbs where he raised my dad. He’d always say growing up that it’s a house bought by an IBM engineer, not a Fortune 500 CEO.

We hold hands and say grace, as always.

“Lord, thank you for this meal, and thank you for blessing me and my granddaughter with so much health and happiness. Amen.”

“Amen,” I say, and we start serving. I pretend I don’t see him feed Charlie a piece of chicken.

“So how was the doctor?” I ask.

He sighs. He’s never liked doctors. Now that he’s getting older, it’s closer to outright hatred.

“It was fine. I guess. It was good if you’re a 78-year-old man with high cholesterol. But for a healthy young bachelor like me? Nothing but bad news.”

“What’s the executive summary?” I say, speaking in his language.

“They say I should think about taking it easy. Think about retiring.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told them I’d thought about it and decided it wasn’t for me. I’m gonna keep working.” He laughs so hard, Charlie ducks for cover under the table. “It’s okay, boy. Don’t be scared.”

He slides him another piece of chicken. I give the side-eye.

“It’s hard to imagine anyone else in charge but you, Granddad,” I say.

“Don’t even mention it in this house. I’m not ready.”

“The silver lining is more Charlie time. And I have a little something to make your day a little sweeter,” I say, walking over to the fridge. I come back with two huge plastic bowls and put them on the table.

His face lights up. Banana pudding with Nilla wafers. His favorite.

“Thank you, baby. There’s only one thing I love more than this. You know what that is?”

I ask, even though I know the answer. “What is it, Granddad?”

“My granddaughter.”

Chapter 2

Chase

“God, I do not have time for this,” I mutter to myself.

I’m stuck behind a garbage truck taking its sweet time at every house, and I need to get to the office. It’s 7:28, and I want to be in before 7:45. I have back-to-back-to-back meetings today from 8:30 a.m. to 7 p.m., so it’s the only time I have to do any actual thinking and not just attend meetings.

I honk and rev the engine of my charcoal gray Acura. The least they can do is move aside so I can squeeze past them.

The sanitation worker on the back of the truck can see the daggers I’m giving him through the window. He signals anxiously to the driver to move, and he nods back.

“Finally.”

I give a little thank you wave and friendly beep and speed out. Still on schedule.

I rush into the building and swipe my ID at the desk, in too much of a rush to say anything.

I’m usually one of the very first in the office, so by instinct I reach over to turn on the lights when the elevator lets me off at my floor. The lights are already on, however.

I walk toward my office, not a corner one but still with a large window. Chase Alston, Director of Finance, the door sign reads.

Sometimes, on days when I’m particularly sick of feeling stuck on a treadmill without moving forward an inch in the last few years, I amuse myself with ideas for alternate titles on the door placard.

Chase Alston, Overworked and Overlooked.

Chase Alston, Too Good to Still Be Doing This Shit.

Chase Alston, Movin’ Up or Movin’ On.

I’ve been thinking about it for a while. If Pinnacle doesn’t recognize me with a promotion by the end of the year, I’m going to move to a company that will. Either that, or start out on my own.

My contacts have salivated at the prospect of bringing me on board when I’ve put my feelers out. At 34 years old, it’s time to make my mark as a vice president or up in the C-suite.

Not many people get handpicked by the CEO to head up corporate partnerships, but I was poached by Cliff after doubling the corporate partnerships at his biggest rival. Even fewer move up within three years to become director of finance, all while also earning an MBA from one of the top business schools and graduating with the highest honors.

In my current role, it’s too small a sandbox for all I can offer.

Cliff Langley had a bold, original vision when he founded the company. But he’s relying on the same stale playbook with advice from the same advisers who are as ancient as he is.

To truly see his vision through, he needs new visionaries with broader horizons.

“Hey. Morning, Chase.”

I hear the voice of my boss Kevin Francis, vice president of finance, even before I’ve had a chance to switch on my computer or check my phone.

“Hey, Kevin. Early morning!”

He usually doesn’t get in until about 9, maybe 8:30 at the earliest. Which isn’t late, of course, but I’ve always been a morning person.

“Yeah, don’t I know it. I’ve had two cups already. I was not built for mornings.”

“Something happening?”

“Yeah, last-minute all-hands meeting with the leadership team. You’re on deck for it. The invite should be there,” Kevin says.

I start feeling Twilight Zone prickles under my skin. Surprise meetings are never good. Usually, it means someone has died or layoffs are coming. Not to mention my schedule today is a finely tuned instrument, with almost no margin of error.

I might have to get my senior associate, Johann, to reach out to everyone I have to reschedule with. But we’ll see.

“Should I be worried?” I ask as a temperature check before taking a look at my email.

“Just take a look at the email. I don’t think it’s necessarily bad.”

The email is from the big man himself, Cliff Langley.

Subject: All hands meeting - leadership

Dear leadership team,

We’ll be meeting at 10:30 to discuss the company’s leadership and future. Circumstances require proactive strategies for succession planning. After presenting initial steps, I expect meaningful contributions from each of you to ensure that the company has sound leadership going forward.

Regards,

Cliff

“Oh my God,” I say. “Does this mean…I mean, I don’t want to read into anything, but, Cliff’s health…is he…?”

“As far as I know, he’s not dying. But you know him, Chase. When he makes up his mind, he moves fast,” Kevin says.

I’m moving fast, too. My mind’s gone from zero to 500 in the fifteen seconds it took to read an email. This might be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I have no intention of letting it slip away.

Before anything, I go into all of my appointments for the day and draft a mass note – with built-in customization, of course – to reschedule. Make lemonade, right, Chase? I think to myself.

I’m not canceling meetings, I’m reaching out to give special attention and inside information to my favorite clients. That’s the spin, anyhow.

Done. Easy.

Now I have an hour and a half to draft an internal memo with an audience of one – myself – for using this meeting as a jumping-off point to make a pitch for the big chair. CEO. I think I have what it takes to fill Cliff’s shoes. Taking over from the founder is a make-or-break moment for any company, and I don’t think anyone else has the right experience or skill set.

No, scratch that. I know there’s no one better for it.

The next step is to size up the competition, at least internally. If they’re using a search firm to headhunt external candidates, that’s intel to unravel at a later date. Today, it’s all about the inside pool and positioning myself as the indisputable number-one choice for the company’s top job.

Most of the senior staff is made up of the old guard, and I have the same airtight argument. I have the same loyalty and experience as the senior team – emphasis on senior – but I bring a fresh perspective, an MBA from Fuqua Business School at Duke, and proven skill at developing a vision and executing it.

I’m not worried about them. My finance colleagues aren’t a concern. In fact, they’re an asset. Anyone beneath me doesn’t have as much experience, and my bosses, especially Kevin, have consistently put my name forward as a candidate for moving up. It makes their department look better for one of their own to move to a higher echelon.

And then I see the glaring name that should absolutely not be here on the invite list.

What. The. Fuck.

I don’t need to ask why Nia Langley is on the invite list, because the answer’s obvious. She’s the boss’s flesh and blood. His golden child. While I like her personally, and her dog is absolutely adorable, Little Nia in the driver’s seat? And that’s not even some derogatory nickname I made up for her. It’s Cliff’s for when he tells his little anecdotes about how she’d sit in his office chair and pretend to be the boss when she was eleven.

It’s like imagining Mickey Mouse as the head of the Disney Corporation. Yeah, he’s cute as a mascot, but he can’t run a multi-billion-dollar company. And neither can Nia.

She doesn’t even do anything. I’ve never seen her come into the office before 9:30, and usually later. I’ve rarely seen her here after 5. How the hell is she going to deal with a supply-chain crisis in Shenzhen at 3 in the morning?

She’s an assistant at running a tiny building in Charlotte, North Carolina. And she’s supposed to run a Fortune 500 technology firm that’s up there in the realm of Google and Intel?

No fucking way.

Except arguing that the apple of the boss’s eye is incompetent isn’t exactly a winning strategy for putting my hat in the ring.

I’ve met my nemesis. She’s a deceptively adorable 28-year-old facilities manager, and she does actual work for maybe two hours a day. Nia Langley, you’ve just met your worst nightmare.

Let the games begin.