no strings // h.s a.u

4. no power

I watch the clock on the wall, each second ticking by seemingly slower than the last. It's only made worse by the drones of Marc sitting across from me in the smallest meeting room in the office building, his babbling making it feel even smaller every time I'm spoken over.

"So, what I think Mabel's trying to say," Marc continues while I sit back and bite my tongue. "We need our Communications team to look closer at our project timeline. I know they play an extremely vital role in our project and all, but—"

"Deadlines, yes," Kenneth cuts in, twiddling a pen in his hand. "I assume you've provided them with our timeline?"

"That was Mabel's job."

Both Marc and Kenneth look at me. "I made sure to send it out to all relevant stakeholders, including both the project working group and teams we will be seeking collaboration on," I inform them, then tap the laptop screen in front of me. "But they also have access to this information in Microsoft Teams and Asana."

"Very well." Kenneth nods curtly. "Maybe it's time to send them a reminder?"

He says this like it's a suggestion, but I know damn well it's more of an order than anything else. When I first commenced this role, it took me some time to understand that Kenneth prefers to take the more subtle route with his "suggestions" and what he sees fit unless it's a strong demand that must be followed immediately. It was quite the opposite to my previous manager, who believed in being upfront and direct, so it was a different leadership and communication I had to adapt to—being able to adapt to other leaders, however, sure does look good on a resume.

Marc, on the other hand, can't be adapted to. If Kenneth is in the middle tier on my worst managers list, Marc is by far the bottom tier on my worst colleagues list. In fact, he has a tier all to himself and his ego.

I open my mouth to let him know I will happily write a reminder email, including where we are on the project, for everyone's benefit, but Marc speaks up before I get the chance.

"May I suggest I send it instead? It might look better coming from the Project Manager." Marc leans forward, resting his arms on the wooden table between us.

I'm unsure whether it's in Kenneth's repertoire to notice such domineering behaviour. Still, it's something I certainly pick up on—leaning forward like this is Marc's prime: "I'm a big, strong man with big, strong opinions and big, strong balls between my legs to wag around" stature. If he's ever worked with a woman before, he sure as hell doesn't act like it. If I also had something dangling between my legs, I know for a fact that Marc would treat me as his equal and not someone who's around to provide administration assistance.

Unfortunately for me, Kenneth doesn't pick up Marc's behaviour and instead nods in agreement. "Very well," he repeats. "I've got another meeting shortly I need to prepare for, but is there anything else I need to know?"

"As long as Comms understands these deadlines and can produce the material we're after, then we're all good." Marc shuts his laptop, ready for the meeting to end himself. "I don't think Mabel's got any other updates either."

It's incredible how much this man thinks he can speak for me.

"Actually," I pipe up, but immediately regret it the second Marc whips his head around. "I was looking over some of the budgets and—"

"Budgets?!" Marc almost squawks. "What's that got to do with you?"

Kenneth clasps his hands together, leaning forward on the table. "Is there something wrong with the budgets?"

"Uh," I pause, unsure how to continue with the way Marc stares me down, leaving me quite uncomfortable. "Not exactly. I know they're not my responsibility or anything, but I was just making sure everything is all set for some of the software subscriptions coming up when I realised a couple of the line items for the consultant's fees didn't exactly align with last quarter. Has there been any changes I should be aware of?"