Leah
Some things feel fated. The thought had been circling ever since she found herself in the right hallway at the exact right time. She’d nearly walked past the break room. Nearly. But the strained tone in their voices caught her, a low murmur from two assistants, just loud enough to tempt fate.
“…Felicia Mercer…”
“…in the staff meeting…”
“…humiliated Wendy…”
Leah pauses just outside the doorway, then she makes her entrance.
“Brutal, right?” She shakes her head with the weary gravitas of someone who’s survived worse. “Honestly? I saw it coming. I warned Wendy about that podcaster. She didn’t want to hear it.”
The girls exchange a glance, intrigued.
“We heard she pinned it on you,” one of them says.
There it is. A spark.
“Of course she did.” Leah lets out a dry laugh, brushing it off. “But I flagged the risks from day one. Wendy… needs the spotlight. Needs a win. I mean, has she even closed a single deal since she got here? So yeah, when it all blew up, guess who got thrown under the bus.”
She keeps fanning the spark, feeding the rumors as the day goes on. A casual aside to a senior assistant, something about Wendy’s “spiral” over a missed deadline. A knowing look. A lowered voice. Just enough rumor to stick.
A soft sigh to the facilities manager: “She’s just… not herself lately.”
All casual. All concerned. All bullshit. But it doesn’t matter. The fracture’s there now, and Leah’s already wedging it wider. The lies slip off her tongue too easily—how Wendy begged Variety for the 40 Under 40 slot, maybe even paid them. Being included just to tick a diversity box.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Just what the world needs,” she mutters, almost laughing. “Another entitled Karen with a PR machine.”
She never pushes. She lets silence do the work. A half-whispered aside about Wendy’s mess in New York: burned bridges, a deal gone sideways. No details. People fill in blanks faster than facts ever could.
Later, in line at Mendocino Farms: “Oh my God,” she half-whispers, half-gasps. “Did you hear what Wendy did?”
The assistant next to her perks up. “No… what?”
Leah covers her mouth, feigning embarrassment. “She tried to split a bowl of potato soup. At a power lunch. With someone from CAA.”
“No way.”
“She did. Pitching herself, trying to look important, and then, ‘Oh, should we split a chowder?’” Leah shudders. “It’s soup. Not a fucking bread basket.”
By afternoon, she’s staging her pièce de résistance. She lingers by Michelle Conklin’s doorway, voice low and conspiratorial. “You won’t believe what Wendy said about me.”
Michelle looks up, already hooked. “What?”
“She said the only reason I still have a job here is that they’re too afraid of a lawsuit to fire me.”
Michelle’s jaw drops, and Leah wonders how she’s never noticed the resemblance to a cartoon character.
“Wendy actually said that? Out loud?”
“Word for word. Imagine if that got back to Alan. Or the board.”
By the next morning, the heavy lifting’s done. Leah stands by the printer, flipping lazily through a manuscript, while two assistants whisper nearby.
“Oh my God, yes. I heard she didn’t just suggest splitting soup—she insisted. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
A shared gasp.
“She tried to split a bisque. A bisque. Even asked for an extra spoon.”
They lose it, doubled over, laughing uncontrollably. Leah almost laughs with them, but she doesn’t. What would be the point? She’d already won. The soup rumor had started as a throwaway joke. Now it was legend. One Wendy would never outrun.
“And get this,” one of them says, leaning in. “She told Leah Cross the only reason she still has a job is because NDA’s scared of a discrimination lawsuit.”
“She actually said that?”
“Allegedly.”
Leah savors the word—allegedly—as she heads back to her cubicle, only to spot Wendy coming toward her. Her hair is slightly mussed, her usually sleek skirt suit rumpled enough to suggest the morning hasn’t gone quite her way.
“Your two o’clock is confirmed,” Leah chirps with a sugar-sweet smile as Wendy passes, offering nothing but a tight nod. “And so is your reputation,” Leah whispers, smiling to herself as she walks away.