Chapter 2: Rivalry and Rumors

My first job landed me in an office with two stunning female coworkers.

It felt like stepping onto the set of some offbeat workplace sitcom. I was fresh out of school, still clinging to the idea that hard work and a smile would get me anywhere, but I learned quick—the office was its own strange jungle.

Natalie was thirty, single, sweet-faced with a knockout figure, but sharp as a tack.

She wore wrap dresses that somehow looked both playful and professional, the kind you’d see in a J.Crew ad or on a character in The Office. But she could slice you down with a single, well-aimed quip. Her laugh was bright, but her eyes always seemed to be sizing you up, calculating.

I’d met Natalie in a cycling club during my third year of grad school. She introduced me to this architecture firm in Toledo.

She’d invited me to join after a charity ride for Habitat for Humanity. I was gasping for air halfway up a hill, and she breezed past, grinning like she’d just discovered my secret weakness. We bonded over post-ride pancakes, and when she mentioned the job, I thought, why not?

Then there was Lillian, thirty-five, with refined, striking features and a tall, graceful figure—especially those long legs in heels, swaying with every step.

Lillian had the kind of quiet confidence that made the whole floor hush when she entered. Her heels clicked across the linoleum like punctuation marks, the faint scent of her lavender hand cream trailing behind her. She wore tailored slacks and pearl earrings—always just right, never flashy.

Lillian came from a well-off family. Rumor had it her husband was a co-founder of a tech company, and they had a nine-year-old son.

Everyone whispered about her family in the break room, but she never volunteered much. Every so often, someone would spot her husband’s Tesla in the parking lot, or see her son’s science fair blue ribbon taped to her cubicle wall. She kept her personal life mostly under wraps, which only made people gossip more.

She kept a photo of her son in a little silver frame on her desk, right next to a stack of New Yorker magazines and a mug that read ‘World’s Okayest Mom.’ She was always first to leave at five sharp, no matter what. If you tried to stop her for one last email, she’d just smile and say, “Sorry, family dinner.” Her desk calendar was crowded with sticky notes in perfect handwriting—doctor’s appointments, school plays, soccer practice. She never forgot a birthday.

If these two women had anything in common, it was that they were both strong-willed and loved to gossip.

They had a radar for drama. If someone from the third floor sneezed twice in a row, they’d have a theory about it by lunchtime. The air practically buzzed with their rivalry, but they always had time to dish about everyone else.

As for me, I was just the rookie—a nobody to them, easy to boss around.

Most days, I felt invisible—a stand-in for the office plant, useful only when someone needed coffee or an extra set of hands to lug boxes. I wore hand-me-down dress shirts and kept my head down, hoping not to get roped into the next round of office politics.

At first, I was on my best behavior—didn’t dare have any inappropriate thoughts about them.

In those early months, I was terrified of even making eye contact for too long. I stuck to small talk about weather and deadlines, hoping that if I was boring enough, I’d stay off everyone’s radar.

As the office newbie, I was always running errands. There was no room for hormones in my schedule.

Every day was a marathon of coffee runs, paper jams, and emergency donut pickups. If the boss’s coffee wasn’t hot enough, it was somehow my fault. I barely had time to eat my own lunch, let alone get distracted by daydreams.

But in their eyes, I was definitely up to something with the other one.

They watched me like I was some kind of double agent, always waiting for me to slip up. Even if I just passed a stapler across the room, they’d exchange glances, as if plotting their next whispered accusation.

Maybe because I got along well with both, misunderstandings were inevitable.

If I laughed at Natalie’s joke, Lillian would narrow her eyes. If I asked Lillian about a client, Natalie would suddenly get all cold and formal. I was caught in a crossfire I never signed up for.

Natalie and Lillian were rivals—there was an open assistant manager position in the department, and both wanted the promotion.

Everyone in the office knew it, even the cleaning crew. Their rivalry was like an unspoken sporting event, and I was stuck courtside, dodging stray elbows. If there’d been an office fantasy league, everyone would’ve bet on who’d win the next passive-aggressive email.

They each tried to win me over, but I didn’t dare pick sides. I tiptoed around, trying to keep the peace.

Natalie would offer to cover for me if I was late, while Lillian would give me detailed feedback on my work—always with a little smile, like she knew a secret. I made a point to bring both of them coffee, but even that got scrutinized. Once, I handed Lillian her latte first, and Natalie didn’t speak to me for an hour.

Natalie was a classic, polished egoist—scheming and impossible to be real friends with.

Her compliments always came with an edge. If you finished a project early, she’d clap you on the back and say, “Not bad—for a rookie.” Her social media was a highlight reel of brunches and barre classes, but you knew she’d block you in a second if you crossed her.

Lillian was an icy beauty, quick-tempered, and not easy to get close to either.

She was the type who’d give you a withering stare if you left your mug in the sink. If you made a mistake on a drawing, she’d point it out with laser precision—never unkind, but never soft.