Leah & Wendy
She couldn’t see the bruise at first. But it’s there now, swelling tenderly beneath her cheekbone, beneath the thin gash of cut skin. Leah leans closer, toward the mirror, dabbing more concealer over the mark. It’s mostly hidden now.
Good. Does it even matter, though? Everyone will be talking anyway.
Whatever. Let them. She slicks a swipe of coral gloss over her lips. Time to go to work.
Leah treats it like any other morning. She locks her door behind her, then crosses the courtyard, pausing just for a moment to feel the warmth of the California sun on her skin, grateful to no longer be in cold, dreary Michigan. She slips into her Audi, peels out of the private drive, every movement measured, every inch the badass she always imagined becoming.
At NDA, she parks. The Audi beeps behind her, a crisp punctuation mark as she strides across the lot, up the front steps, through the lobby, into the elevator, and up to her floor. She takes a steadying breath. Just another day at the office. Past the abandoned reception area, down the corridor, toward the reckoning she knows awaits.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Wendy snaps as Leah steps into the cubicle. “You don’t work here anymore.”
Leah tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Haven’t heard from HR. Haven’t signed anything. No exit agreement. And I know how you love a paper trail.” She gestures lightly to her cheek. “Besides… thought you’d want to see your handiwork.”
Wendy’s hand moves toward the phone, ready to call security, just as Evelyn rounds the corner.
“Wendy, Alan wants to see you. Now.”
Wendy freezes, glancing from Evelyn to Leah’s smug face.
“What’s this about?”
“Alan will tell you.”
Something’s off. Wendy feels it as she storms down the hallway. Because whatever this is, she’s the last to know.
“Thanks for coming by, Wendy,” Alan says from behind his desk, all calm authority and quiet judgment. “Seems we’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately.”
“Well? What is it this time?” she snaps, shutting the door. She walks deeper inside the gleaming office suite. “Hit me with it, Alan.”
He pauses. Takes a breath. That pause tells her everything. This isn’t good.
Alan leans back with a deep inhale, playing it casual, though his voice carries the thinnest edge of strain. “I need you to see this as a win, okay, Wendy? Leah’s new role means less friction. You’ll have space to focus on the real plays. This is the best way forward for everyone.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Her eyes narrow, sharp with disbelief, as if daring him to repeat it. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Leah’s been promoted. To Junior Agent.”
“Come again?”
“I said—”
“I heard you.” She cuts him off, a harder edge creeping into her voice. “But you can’t be serious. She’s too green. She can’t even handle my clients, much less her own.”
“You said yourself she was more trouble than she’s worth as an assistant. So now she’s out of your way.”
“Out of my way?” A short, hostile laugh bursts out. “You’re rewarding her sabotage?”
Alan takes a breath, just shy of exasperated. “Decisions like this don’t happen in a vacuum.”
“Tell me, Alan. Who pushed it through?”
A pause. Just long enough to confirm the answer.
“The board supported the move, Wendy.”
“The board? Or one member in particular?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Thought so,” she says, too bitter to fake indifference. “For the record, I had every right to fire her. But Richard Cross makes one call, and suddenly she’s NDA’s next rising star?”
Alan exhales. Flat. Tired. Irritated. “It’s done.”
“This looks bad, Alan. It’s unethical—”
“We’re not discussing hypotheticals. Leah’s in. End of story.”
Wendy stands, nearly lunges toward the desk. “You’re stripping me of support, handing my saboteur a promotion, and calling it efficiency?”
“We’ll revisit additional support next fiscal year. For now, make do.”
She holds his stare. Swallows the rest. Then: “Fine,” she says, but her voice wavers just enough to betray her. “I will. For now.”
But Alan isn’t done.
“And while we’re at it,” he says, voice like a scalpel, “that Ankler piece wasn’t just a hit job, it was a public humiliation. For you. For me. For the entire agency. If hiring you was a mistake, I don’t want to read about it in the trades. I want to see it with my own eyes. And I’m one misstep away.”
For a moment, it was like watching from outside herself. She’d never had an out-of-body experience before. But as Alan spoke, each word slicing through her, Wendy saw herself. Saw the light drain from her eyes. The slackening of her mouth. Her posture wilting, inch by inch, like she was that girl again—the publicity assistant. The punching bag. All pride, no armor. Too stubborn to flinch. Too green to fight back. The kind of girl who didn’t yet know the difference between a reckoning and a lesson.
Wendy just nods. “Understood,” she says.
Then she leaves, closing the door behind her, gently, almost humbly, and nearly collides with Leah, planted just outside. Clearly waiting. Clearly listening.
“He asked to see me next,” Leah purrs, breezy as a hurricane. There’s a gleam in her eye, not just triumph. Something colder. And that’s when it clicks with hard, brutal clarity.
Leah knew. She knew the article would set Wendy off. She knew the board would have to intervene. She played every move. Every reaction. Every consequence. There’s no question now. There never was—
She set me up.
“Congratulations,” Wendy says, the words catching in her throat. Only the faintest tremor gives her away.
“Big of you to say,” Leah replies, her gaze holding. “Even if it’s killing you.”
Wendy arches a brow, a dare flickering beneath the surface. “Is it?”
Leah smiles, unfazed, as if the threat missed its mark. “How could it not? You fired me. You assaulted me. For a minute, I thought about going to HR. Maybe even the police. But then I realized. No. That’s too easy.”
Leah shrugs, all innocence, like she’s not twisting the knife. Like she didn’t rehearse this in her head five times. “This way’s better. You get to stand here and smile through your teeth while you congratulate me on my promotion. Honestly? It must be your worst nightmare.”
Wendy steps closer, her smile a suggestion, gone almost before it appears.
“My worst nightmare? No. But it might be yours, Leah. We’ll see.”
Then, Wendy turns on her heel. The sharp clap of her Gianvito Rossi boots echoes behind her, each step a warning as she disappears down the hall.