Author's note:
This is my entry for the On The Job story event, 2025.
Although inspired by a situation at a previous employer this story is entirely a work of fiction. It features themes of demeaning, manipulative language and behavior. All characters are over the age of eighteen. Thanks for reading!
—--------
I can't believe I didn't figure it out earlier. The signs were there, though Sophie masked them well. The overconfidence, highly-refined air of superiority, and unrelenting bitchiness all pointed to someone with demons. Powerful ones.
Our ex-CEO Abigail gets the blame for making Sophie our problem, not just the world's. Sophie was the same age as Abigail's daughter, had more than a passing resemblance, and had attended the same school. Naturally, the two bonded, and Abigail pushed Sophie into ever more senior positions until she had as much authority as those with a decade more of experience.
'Yeahhh, Steve," Sophie would say as she emerged from a private meeting with Abigail, "the boss did say your proposal was okay, but I guess she liked mine more. Something about it," she'd tell me, "being... better?"
My friend Moira had it worse. She's in her late thirties and has two small kids at home. Moira's lucky if she can make it into the office without peanut butter smeared on her skirt, and Sophie was intent on exposing any wardrobe shortcomings. "Oh, you've got a little something right there," she would say, waiting until she had an audience. "Maybe you should skip the leadership meeting today. You don't have anything
important
to share, do you?"
Even though I'm barely into my forties, she'd bust me about my age, and any woman larger than a size zero would catch her barbs, too. "Hey, cute top," she'd say, addressing a colleague, "you should check out this great boutique that I... oh, sorry. I forgot they only carry petites."
"I bet she cries herself to sleep every night," Moira groaned once.
If only she'd known.
Since Abigail had Sophie's back, there was little we could do to shut her down. We'd grumble in private, but we mostly tried to avoid her and the difficulty she could cause us.
And then, quite suddenly, Abigail was gone. Her husband had a cancer scare and though he emerged from it healthy, it was cathartic for Abigail who up to that point had been more focused on work than family. Within a month she announced that she'd be stepping down, and four months later we had a new CEO, June.
Sophie did
not
, apparently, resemble June's daughter.
"Sophie, help me to understand," June said in one particularly memorable leadership meeting, "in your quarterly forecast you combined Print and Digital advertising costs."
"Yes?" Sophie sat more upright, impeccably attired, cheekbones rouged.
"We agreed," June said, flipping a page on the stack before her on the gleaming conference room table, "to separate Digital from Print on the revenue and expense sides."
"Yes." After going blank for several seconds, Sophie rallied. "Yes, but I thought it would be helpful to have a single view of performance across all advertising."
"Mmm hmm. That's why Giles provides a summary. You are, on my predecessor's recommendation, in charge of Digital. Do you have the numbers for Digital for us today?"
Eyes began to turn toward Sophie, who again tried to cover her mistake. "Well, you see, I combined the numbers because, well, I-"
"I have the breakout," Moira said, cutting her off. She read off the numbers while the others in the room took notes.
"That was awesome!" Moira said later while we toasted with breakroom coffee.
"Yeah it was, and here's to more of the same. That witch is overdue to get slapped back down."
We didn't have long to wait. Sophie had a miserable summer intern who had to scramble behind her, alternately praising Sophie's wardrobe and proofing her work. She took two days off to go to the beach the same week product updates were due. The next Monday, June sent an email to all managers.
Colleagues,
We are a customer-focused organization. Thriving in this competitive market requires not just delivering superior products and services, but communicating with our clients in a manner that builds confidence and trust. Recently, I have noticed client-facing materials that do not meet our standards for thoroughness and accuracy. I hold myself to a high standard and expect each of you to do the same.
That same day June called Sophie into her office. Half an hour later Sophie emerged and went directly to the women's lavatory.
"Holy shit," Moira said, poking her head into my office. "Did you see that just now?"
"Yeah! Follow her in there."
"What? Shut up!"
"Follow her in. See if she's crying."
"Oh my god, you're terrible," Moira said. She left, but not half a minute later I saw her slip into the lavatory. After another five minutes she stepped into my office and closed the door.
"Was she?"
"Nnno," Moira said, but drew out the word, suggesting something unspoken. "She was in one of the stalls. Not crying. I don't think so, anyway."
"Buuut?"
Moira was deeply uncomfortable. "There was a sound. A... wet... sound."
She didn't mean that Sophie was relieving herself.
"Oh shit."
"Yeah."
I wanted to dig into what had happened but Moira was squeamish about the topic and excused herself. Instead, I tracked down Sophie's intern who was happy to provide me with a copy of the report that had drawn Abigail's ire. It was junk, a copy of the previous quarter's update with the date changed but little else, failing to mention significant improvements to the product portfolio.
It wasn't difficult to read Sophie. With Abigail blindly promoting her, Sophie had gotten lazy with her work, and hadn't been well suited for it to begin with. Now with June in charge, the cracks were starting to show. That development on its own was good news but I couldn't tear my mind away from the thought of Sophie pleasuring herself. What the fuck was going on?
My opportunity to figure it out came when June asked Moira and me to check Sophie's work going forward. Moira was more than happy to let me take the lead.
"June wants another set of eyes on your work for a while," I informed Sophie.
She glared up at me. "Don't forget your reading glasses."
I waved them at her. "I won't!"
She fucked up in less than a week. The interns left at the end of summer, leaving no one to proof Sophie's work. When just a few days later Sophie was scheduled to give a presentation I had the unique joy of reviewing her slide deck. After making notes I dropped by Sophie's office and sat down uninvited. Her eyes flicked up long enough to recognize me then snapped back down to her computer.
"I'm busy."
"You used the wrong template," I explained. "That's the old one. New one is on the web portal. I mean, it's like right there."
Sophie raised her eyes slowly in a calculated show of indifference. But there was a hesitation there as if it took her half a second to get into character. "I know, pops. I was going to change it before tomorrow."
"Good." If Sophie had still been under Abigail's protection I would have left it at that. I wouldn't be having this conversation at all. Instead, I said, "You don't want to stay on her shit list any longer than necessary."
Again Sophie looked up, this time stopping short of meeting my eyes directly, the same flavor of hesitation I had seen earlier. "Noted."
I didn't let up. Over the next week, I kept up the vigil, calling Sophie's attention to any small errors and rubbing her nose in the more significant lapses. I didn't even need to tell June, who was rapidly figuring it out on her own. Sophie lacked the discipline to produce thoughtful work with attention to detail. She had grown used to throwing out whatever idea first flew into her brain, and struggled with anything more rigorous.
It was time for an experiment. Sophie turned in a staff assessment and I confronted her as soon as it crossed my desk. "What is this?" I asked, pressing my thumb against a highlighted section. I had closed her office door behind me.
