They Undercut Me, So I Watched Their Empire Crash

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The moment he learned that the three-thousand-a-day models couldn't be taken out for dinner and drinks, the boss's whole face changed.

Three grand a day and they won't even sit through a meal after the show? Your quote's way overpriced.

I was about to explain that these were legitimate auto show models, but Max Finch, a male coworker, let out a scornful little laugh. "You women just don't have the connections."

"I know a guy. The models he's got only run sixty for a whole day."

He left the sentence hanging and shot the boss a loaded look. "And he doesn't care how we use them. Dinner, staying the night, none of it's a problem."

My stomach turned. I opened my mouth to point out how wrong this was.

But the boss cut me off with a sidelong glance. "If you can't get the model prices down, I'll have to think again about who's the right fit for that supervisor spot."

Later, Max sent over a set of photos, curvy models shot from behind, and several of the male managers replied with drooling, leering emojis.

I zoomed in on each image one by one, then handed in my resignation and walked.

After Max named his price, the boss didn't make the call on the spot.

Instead, he sent Max back to his desk and kept me behind.

He was still swiping through those comp cards on his phone, those poised, ethereal beauties, and the greasy leer in his eyes had almost taken on physical weight.

"Ramona Finch, have your friend give us a real, sincere price!"

I was completely lost. "Mr. Nash, that price is just what professional auto show models normally cost."

Bruno Nash said nothing, only sat there studying me.

I sighed and gave ground. "But if we go with amateurs or small-time influencers, I can push it down to somewhere around eight hundred to two thousand. That's rock bottom."

Bruno cradled his big belly in both hands and rocked back in his boss's chair. "I know. But you heard it just now. Max's side only wants sixty a day."

I shot back, sour, "Then just go with Max."

That stumped him, and his face soured on the spot. "Ramona, you need to think about the company when you do your job. The company gives you enough budget and resources, you go close the deal. Otherwise what's the company paying you for?"

His shamelessness almost made me laugh. "So what you're saying, Mr. Nash, is you want me to make something out of nothing?"

The fury in his eyes nearly took shape. He slammed the mouse down on the desk, and it made me jump. "Did I say I wasn't paying?"

"Three thousand a day is fine..."

I looked at him, startled, and waited quietly for the rest. Knowing how tight he was, I was sure he had more to say.

Sure enough, he went on, voice rising and falling. "But once the show's over, sitting through a meal and a few drinks with us managers, that's not too much to ask, is it?"

The knot in my chest pressed down until I could barely breathe. I ground the words out. "Sir, they're proper auto show models."

Contempt filled his small eyes. "Proper or not, it just comes down to the money not being right."

"Either way, this is the company's budget. Three thousand a day and they entertain us over food and drinks, or sixty a day standing the whole floor."

I gave a cold laugh and said flatly, "Can't be done."

I stood, slammed the door, and headed out. But Bruno chased after me.

He turned and bellowed at HR, "Hold off on this morning's appointment paperwork. I still need to think it over."

My back was to him, both fists clenched tight.

Three years I'd been at this company. Countless marketing campaigns I'd planned, staying up so late that my period didn't come for three months straight.

And now, just because I wouldn't pimp out models to suit him for this one auto show, the spot that should have been mine went up in smoke.

At the thought of it, my eyes went red in an instant.

The raise and the promotion they'd been dangling since last year had stayed exactly that far out of reach, forever just around the corner.

Even back when the boss and my coworkers turned my stomach now and then, quitting had never once crossed my mind.

But today, for the first time, I was seriously weighing it. Whether to walk out for good.

I hadn't even pulled myself back together before something even more sickening came my way.

I was still sitting at my desk trying to steady myself when lunchtime rolled around. I forced a smile and asked the woman next to me, Patsy Chavez.

"Come on, want to grab lunch together?"

She acted like she hadn't heard a word. She just twisted around and called out warmly to Max, "Supervisor Finch, let's go get lunch."

Max laughed it off. "What supervisor? Nothing's official yet."

Patsy covered her mouth and tittered. "We've all heard. Your paperwork's just waiting on a signature."

They didn't lower their voices at all. Every word came through clear, landing on me one after another like thrown stones.

It left me sitting there stunned, frozen in place.

"That's right, Max is the one who actually does the work around here. Not like some people, coasting all day and clocking overtime at night just to pad their paycheck."

Patsy picked up the thread. "Exactly. Gold doesn't fear the fire. The boss sees who's really putting in the work."

I clenched my fists hard, and when the tears started rising past my control, I ducked my head fast and let my hair hide my face.

Back when word first slipped out that I was in line for supervisor of the marketing department, my coworkers had treated me exactly the way they were treating Max now.

They'd fussed over me, asked how I was doing. I'd chalked it up to all the help I'd given them over the years. Sincerity for sincerity.

While they crowded around Max, I slipped away quietly to the restroom, splashed water on my face, and went to the cafeteria to get my food.

I'd just sat down and taken a couple of bites when the marketing crowd swept in around Max.

After they got their trays at the counter, they scanned the room, and the whole group came straight to my table.

"Ramona, this is a perfect six-seater. Do us a favor and move, would you?"

I pointed to a table not far off. "There's an open one right there."

Patsy was the first to grumble. "How could we sit there? It's right by the door next to the slop bin, it reeks."

I fixed her with a cold look. "And I can't smell it?"

Max tapped the table, signaling everyone to quiet down.

He cleared his throat, playing the supervisor to the hilt. "Ramona, the office isn't the place to throw a fit. You need to learn teamwork and putting others first."

"Everything runs on first come, first served."

I didn't argue. I let one line drop and went back to eating what was in my bowl.

Patsy sniffed. "Then how did the one who came later end up as supervisor? If you couldn't hold on to what was yours, who's there to blame?"

I lifted my head and met her eyes. "On May 20th, you said you wanted to spend the holiday with your boyfriend. I worked till midnight wrapping up your work for you."

Then I looked at Vincent Lambert. "Every time your kid had something at daycare, I was the one who took over your workload."

I looked at the six of them in front of me and pointed them out one by one.

Even Max, who'd been here the shortest time, had leaned on me plenty.

After the news of my promotion got around half a year ago, I'd only worked harder.

I'd carried the mindset that any blame was mine to take, and any gains were everyone's to share.

All because I'd suffered under a bad boss myself, and all I wanted was to be a good one with a clear conscience.

But right now, I felt chilled straight through.

Called out one by one, their faces went from red to white and back again.

In the end Patsy flushed and mumbled out one line. "You did it willingly. Who's there to blame?"

That one line left me weightless, my heart squeezed in a merciless fist, a ringing droning in my ears.

Right. I'd done it willingly. Who was there to blame.

I gave a bitter little laugh and lowered my head, eating in silence.

The six of them lost interest, boxed up their food, and wandered off, shoving and teasing each other.

The rice in my mouth tasted bitter and dry, but I still had the auto-show proposal to finish that afternoon, so I choked the meal down through my tears, hurrying.

The lunch break had barely ended when Bruno Nash started pushing Max in the group chat to send out the model cards.

He had reason to be anxious. This wasn't some local auto show. As a dealership, this was our first time exhibiting at a B-level show.

If Bruno botched it, the manufacturer wouldn't let him off the hook.

Max, though, didn't seem to feel any of Bruno's urgency. He answered at his own pace with a hand-over-mouth giggling emoji: "You can't rush a good thing. Our friend is still shooting the photos."

Bruno shot back, irritated: "Fine!"

Then the big group went quiet.

A long while later, Max started spamming stickers into the chat.

"Ready? I promise none of you will be disappointed!"

"3!"

"2!"

"1"

The second he sent that last "1," the chat exploded with photos.

One after another, half-covered, "sexy" glamour shots came pouring in.

There was nothing artful about the framing. The lens went straight for chests and backsides and the insides of thighs.

The sheer, see-through fabric barely covered skin as pale and smooth as porcelain.

As Max kept posting, the office filled with a rolling wave of sharp intakes of breath.

"That is way too hot."

"My God, look at those bodies. Only sixty bucks a day? They're every bit as good as pro models!"

Patsy Chavez seemed to spot her chance to knock me down again. She dropped a message into the group: "Which just goes to show, on those two- or three-thousand quotes, imagine how big a kickback got skimmed off the middle."

But her message got ignored by every male boss and male coworker in the company.

In a blink it was buried under drooling, leering emojis.

Max kept going: "My friend says this batch of models is exhibiting for the first time, so the price is pretty fair. And after the show, if you want them to join you for dinner, no problem, but"

Like a man dangling bait, he trailed off on purpose, and everyone pressed him to finish.

Only then did he smugly post a screenshot of his chat with the models' agent.

Max: "Sixty a day, seriously? Can we take them out after the show?"

Agent: "Take them out for what?"

Max sent a raised-eyebrow sticker: "You know. Dinner with the bosses."

"Sure."

"Then we can do a little more than that."

"Sixty a day. I don't care how you use them. But if you play, that's two hundred."

That exchange dragged every man in the group to a fever pitch.

"Two hundred! I've paid more than that just to have someone sing karaoke with me. Max is basically my patron saint."

Some of the bosses even started picking their favorites off the photos, calling out which one they wanted.

Reading the chat made my stomach turn. The whole office felt like it reeked.

I flipped through the girls' photos one by one, and then my hand froze.

Holding my breath, I zoomed in on the pictures, one after another, my fingers trembling.

A thought surfaced in my mind, and after I'd checked it three times over.

I nearly cried out. Every grudge, every score to settle, all of it fell away.

There was only one thought left: Run. Quit right now.

And at that moment, Bruno posted in the group: "Wait. Why do I feel like something's off?"

I thought he'd noticed the same thing I had.

Instead all he asked was: "How come there's not a single photo of anyone's face?"

Max explained, "My friend's terrible with a camera. He was worried he'd make the girls look ugly."

He blew up a few of the images one by one and screenshotted them.

One showed messy hair falling against a sharp jawline; another was a veiled face, lashes lowered.

"That jawline, those eyes, that skin, plus a body like this. How ugly could she possibly be?"

The others started chiming in too. Nash didn't commit to anything, just dropped a flat "Mm."

But at the same time he messaged me privately, telling me to come to his office for a talk.

I forced down the storm inside me, screen off, still turning it over in my head, still wondering whether I should tell Nash what I'd found.

Then he handed me a "surprise" of his own.

"I keep getting the feeling something's off with Max's side..."

I was still debating whether to lay out what I'd discovered.

Nash went on, slow and deliberate: "I think we're better off going with proper, professional auto-show models. Go touch base with them again. My best offer, in good faith, is two hundred."

I was so stunned I nearly lost my voice. It was a while before I managed to get out, "Two hundred?"

Nash tapped the desk, watching me with a loaded look. "That's right. Take a little less on your cut. Pull this auto show off, and I'll still hold that supervisor promotion open for you."

I laughed. The kind of laugh anger squeezes out of you.

It hit me all at once: to Nash, I was a donkey.

The promotion was the carrot. Dangle it in front of me and I'd just keep walking.

"No need. Go find Max."

Nash sneered at me, one sneer after another. "Ramona, don't wreck your own reputation over pocket change."

"My conscience is clear. If you want to hire sixty-dollar-a-day models, I won't stand in your way."

The smile never reached Nash's eyes. "Ramona, don't be a snake trying to swallow an elephant. Take this job and do it beautifully, and I'll still think about promoting you. But if you won't cooperate like this, I've got plenty of ways to throw you out and make sure you can't get work anywhere in this industry."

Then, half threat and half favor: "I've seen everything you've put in. I'd hate to be known as the kind of boss who treats his veterans badly."

I gave a small shake of my head. "No need, Mr. Nash. I actually came in today to talk about resigning."

The moment the word left my mouth, the confident, sure-of-himself look on Nash's face set like cold lard.

He stared at me in disbelief. "What?"

I said it plainly. "I'm resigning."

The flesh on Nash's face twitched. It was a long moment before he found his footing, all bluster over an empty core. "Ramona, this company keeps turning no matter who leaves. Pack up your things and get out today."

He approved my resignation without a second's hesitation. And inside, I let out a breath of relief.

My clenched fist quietly loosened. Thank God.

At least none of it would land on me now.

I had to start at the new company before this thing blew up.

Otherwise it would follow me for the rest of my career.

As I started clearing out my desk, every coworker kept their head down, pretending to work, none of them daring to meet my eyes.

Patsy came drifting over, all fake sweetness. "So Ramona's really leaving, huh? Come back and visit us when you've got the time!"

"I mean, the job market's brutal right now. With you quitting like this, you're probably looking at a good six months off."

I didn't bother answering her. I just gave her a look that said good luck to you, and left her standing there, baffled.

They had no idea. I was looking forward to the auto show more than any of them.

Because after that show, this company was going down in flames.

Bad enough that everyone still on the payroll would get dragged down with it.

I didn't waste a second. The moment I walked out of that company, I started sending out my rsum and job hunting.

The offer came faster than I'd expected.

And this time it wasn't a dealership. It was an actual automaker.

I was run off my feet at the new job when the auto show opened.

I'd gone out of my way that day to get someone to hook me up with an all-access pass, just to go watch the show.

At Gate 3 of the exhibition hall, I spotted Max from a distance, on the phone, frantic.

I edged closer and caught him pressing the other end: "Where are you? The show's already started. You are seriously unreliable, you know that?"

"Traffic wouldn't hold you up this long. Are you really almost here?"

"Okay, okay, okay, then get over here now. We've been waiting forever."

Max hung up and kept bouncing on his toes, scanning every direction.

Two grating honks cut through the noise.

To Max it might as well have been a choir of angels. He spun around instantly to look.

He was expecting fresh-faced, gorgeous women to step out of a luxury car.

He was expecting these models to carry the whole show, to pull it off flawlessly, and to send him sailing up the ranks at the company from that day on.

His eyes were full of joy and excitement, and then, the instant he saw what was behind him, the smile dropped clean off his face.

The scene in front of him left him rooted where he stood, gaping.