I looked around, wanted to catch either the new CEO or director of operations. I saw the DO’s pinstripe pantsuit walking out of the room, the CEO Carrie was still in the front of the room meeting and greeting. I positioned myself to the side of Carrie, circumventing the greeting line. I caught her eye when she looked up. Offering a sincere smile, I held out my hand.

“Hi, I’m Shifra Kahan, senior account executive.”

She took my hand but didn’t return the smile.

“Great to have you on board,” I said, trying to elicit any sort of response.

She gave me this slow, creepy smile. “Yes,” is all she said.

Then she gently pulled her hand from mine and turned away. She recognized my name, she hated me already. Wunderbar.

I scuttled off to find Deedee. She was in the back corner of Human Resources.

“I’m so sorry,” she gushed when she saw me.

I waved her off and told her about my Carrie encounter.

“I can make a ‘hostile work environment’ complaint on her if you want,” she offered.

I laughed. I leaned on her cluttered desk. “Stephen Dubner interviewed famous CEOs and in the conversation with Carol Bartz — formerly of Yahoo — he mentioned research that women are hired as CEO for troubled companies, and men for stable ones.”

Deedee’s turn to laugh. “And how it that research going to help you?”

“It doesn’t. It just has ‘Mayday, Mayday’ screaming in my head.”

“Things will be fine, Shifra. You’re awesome and you know it.”

I hugged Deedee — she’s a great friend. I waved goodbye. “Gotta show ’em how great I am.”

There was someone in my office, I saw a shadow on the shade as I approached. I entered and saw Director of Operations Miranda standing behind my desk. Chutzpah.

I cleared my throat, “Can I help you?”

She met my eye, gave the tiniest of shrugs, “Just having a look see, getting the feel of the operation and individuals.”

How to play this?

“Right, it’s great to meet you. I looked for you after the meeting this morning but I missed you.”

She nodded, still standing behind my desk. I don’t go for such power plays, but it wasn’t worth asserting myself. What to do? Wait?

I stood there for ten seconds with no response. She was still looking around leisurely, like my workspace was a museum she had passing interest in.

I couldn’t just stand there all day. I took a step toward my desk and reached for the stack of papers in the corner. Miranda followed my movement yet still said nothing. C’mon, lady.

“Well, I’ll let you work then,” she said finally. As if I needed her permission. Miranda lingered another moment — extending the power play. She walked to the door, “Nice to meet you,” she said.

I was about to say “Likewise,” but she tacked on, “What’s your name?”

I gritted my teeth. Play nice, Shifra, play nice,

“Shifra Kahan,” I said, though I wanted to jab my finger on the name plaque outside the door. She sauntered out.

I whipped out my phone and texted Deedee. Hostile work environment #2. They have it in for me.

You should really file, she shot back. No way, there was no way I’d actually follow through on that. I’m a big girl, I can handle a few babies.

It’s okay, just venting, I sent back. Thank G-d for personal phones, I would never send that over my company cell or email.

I sat down in my chair. It felt violated. I took out my endless to-do list, each day bleeding into the next, and busied myself for the rest of the day with pitches to send to journalists, setting up interview details, reassuring a client that people really do like his product even though no one wants to interview him personally.

I sent Ari a “Hi” text around lunch. At six I saw Miranda walk past my office with a Balenciaga bag in hand. She was going home. I would, too. My nerves were shot.

There were still people in the office. I muffled my heels in the carpet: leaving so early, I felt like I was cheating them.

Vicky from reception waved me off. “Have a great night, Shifra, so glad to see you — I missed you earlier today, thought you got caught up in the purge.” She said it lightly, like she thought it was a joke, I tried to smile and laugh, but inside I just blanched.

The express bus was quiet. It’s always quiet. Business people who pay extra for it work the whole commute. Not sure why I thought people commuting home at six would be schmoozers.

Today, instead of irking me that it was too bright, the red door to our first-floor walkup welcomed me. I opened the door and heard rustling in the kitchen, Ari entered the foyer with a chef’s knife poised in hand.

“You’re home?!” he sounded excited and relieved.

“You’re cooking?” I asked.

He glanced at the knife in his hand, laughed and lowered it.

“No. You’re home so early, I just thought it was an ax murderer entering and I was coming to do battle.”

One-two punch. He’s funny, but ouch, am I really always home that late?

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

I shrugged. “They fired my bosses and the new ones hate me. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Ari repeated mildly. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I shrugged again. “Nah.” No need to fall apart and weep, nothing really happened.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 620)