Free Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend by Lynda Curnyn

résistance with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
    â€œThey do?”
    â€œOh, Emma. You don’t have to be so modest with me. I mean, I just assumed you’d be going for that promotion. You are the strongest candidate, after all.”
    I leaned forward in my chair. “Well, now that you mention it, I had thought of talking to Caroline about opportunities within the company.” It was true that I had recently had vague thoughts about talking with my boss regarding my future. But in my fantasies I always imagined entering her office with a prepared speech, then arbitrarily breaking into a rant about how no one recognized what a huge talent I was. It was this that always kept me from initiating any sort of dialogue with Caroline on the subject. But now it seemed—according to Marcy anyway—that everyone was quite impressed with me.
    â€œYou should talk to her.”
    â€œHmm. Maybe I’ll talk to her some time next week. I mean, I’ve got this piece to finish and another one to proof—”
    â€œI wouldn’t put it off too long,” Marcy cautioned. Then she stood, leaning in close for the final kill. “I mean, you don’t want someone else to move in first.”
    She had a point. “Yeah, that’s true.” I looked up at her, trying to find some glimmer of camaraderie on her face, and discovered something there that resembled sympathy and goodwill, but I was too far gone to discriminate at the moment. “I’ll do it. First thing Monday morning. Then maybe she can advise me on how to approach Patricia.” Though the thought of approaching the editor-in-chief regarding the position put a pit in my stomach. I doubted Patricia even knew I existed. But it was necessary if I was really going to go through with this.
    And it looked like I was, judging from the triumphant smile on Marcy’s face as she made some hasty excuse and rushed out of my cubicle, more than likely to find someone worthy of her latest bitof news—that Emma Carter, disenchanted editor on the verge of career despair, had just put herself on the block for the highest promotion a girl with no giddiness over marriage and all its may hem could ever hope to aspire to at Bridal Best.
    Oh God. What had I done?
    I immediately sought out Rebecca, hoping that she at least might be able to offer some insight on this latest development.
    â€œHey,” I said, sliding into her guest chair.
    â€œHi,” she said, slowly pulling herself away from her computer screen, where she’d been typing furiously.
    â€œI’m not interrupting, am I?” I asked, suddenly aware that she seemed so focused on what she was doing, I was more of an obstruction than an office buddy at the moment.
    â€œNo, no. Just wanted to tie this article up before lunch,” she said, saving her file and turning to me.
    Finish an article before lunch? When had Rebecca become so efficient? Not having the time to ponder such matters, I started in, “Did you hear about Sandra?”
    â€œOh, yeah. Marcy already made the rounds,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes.
    â€œI’m thinking of going for it.”
    She hesitated for the briefest moment, but long enough for me to see the surprise on her face.
    â€œYou don’t think I should?” I said, suddenly becoming defensive. Just what was it about me that Rebecca thought wasn’t senior features editor material yet? And who was she to judge, having signed on only a year and a half ago?
    â€œNo, no. That’s not it.” Then she smiled. “You should go for it. If that’s what you really want.”
    â€œOf course it’s what I want! I mean, what am I going to do? Sit around here for another four years, making the same schlocky salary? After all, it’s not like these opportunities happen every day. It took Sandra seven and a half years to up and leave that position open.”
    â€œThat’s true.” Then she