Youre a drab mouse with no cash, my mate said, right as I was fidgeting by the doorway with a tray on my birthday. You just dont know how to sell yourself, Evelyn Bell lazily swirled her cocktail with a straw, a glittering bracelet flashing on her wrist.
She said it with that breezy, almost careless arrogance thats become her calling card.
Its not about the pitch, I replied softly, staring at a crack in my cheap tea mug. I just dont have the right experience for that job.
Experience, experience how dull, Evelyn sighed theatrically. What matters is the sparkle in your eyes and a pair of pricey shoes. Youve got neither.
Evelyn Bell gave me a look that made me want to curl up into a ball, as if shed scanned me and handed down a verdict: deficient, dispose of.
Listen, Im trying to help, she leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorial. Youre my best friend. Who else will give it to you straight?
I stayed silent. Best friend got stuck in my throat, sharp and foreign.
You get it, in our world people judge you by the clothes you wear, but its the connections that matter. Youre a grey mouse with no money. Until you realise that, youll keep chasing deadend interviews.
Every word hit the mark, squeezing the breath out of my chest.
Im kicking off a new project, Evelyn continued, clearly enjoying my reaction. We need people for the simplest tasks sorting paperwork, meeting couriers.
She paused, letting me digest the offer.
I could take you on, temporarily of course, until you find something you really like, she said, the corner of her mouth barely twitching.
I lifted my eyes. In them was a calm steel, as if something inside had frozen into a cold stone. I looked at Evelyn perfect hair, disdainful curl of her lips, a bracelet that could pay my yearly salary. She was no longer a friend but a predator savoring my humiliation.
Thanks for the offer, I said slowly. But Ill pass.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She clearly hadnt expected that.
Youre turning me down? From my chance? Her voice had a metallic edge. Fine, just dont come crying later when you cant cover the rent.
She theatrically pulled several £100 notes from her bag and flung them on the table, more than enough to settle the bill.
Its on me, she tossed over her shoulder and strutted away, clicking her heels on the marble.
I stayed seated, untouched by the cash or the nowcold tea. I stared out the window at the expensive cars cruising past, and for the first time I felt not despair but a buzz of excitement.
The next morning that buzz turned into a cold, throbbing energy. Id always been under the radar, but I could see and hear what others missed the tiny details, patterns, hidden motives. That was my only real capital.
Sitting at my old laptop, I drafted a plan. I put up a gig on a freelance site: research and analysis of unstructured information. It sounded vague, but I knew what lay behind it.
The first months were hell: tiny jobs, fickle clients, pay that barely covered rent and food. A few times I almost gave up, ready to ring Evelyn. But the memory of her smile knocked any surrender right back down.
Breakthrough came after six months. A small law firm hired me to gather competitor data before a court case. I tackled it with desperate determination. One sleepless week later I delivered a report that helped the lawyers win. They paid me three times my usual rate and became regular clients, passing me on to their contacts.
Soon a modest stream of work flowed in. After two years I rented an office and hired an assistant.
Evelyn would pop up now and then. Hey Poppy! Im out on a yacht off the Isle of Wight with some partners. Still stuck in your little nook?
Hey. No, not bored. Im working, I replied, glancing at a new clients financials.
Working? Dont be shy, my girls on the go spot is still open. Youll fetch coffee for my new assistant.
Before Id have flinched, I just shrugged. No thanks. Ive got my own agency.
Agency? Like a floorpolishing service? she laughed, but the words no longer cut.
Four more years slipped by. Ellis & Partners occupied a sleek office in the City, with five analysts on staff. Id made a name in corporate intelligence. Thats when Evelyn struck again.
Her firm, Bell Group, swiped a key report of mine. She hired a debtladen junior employee, exploiting his weakness.
I gathered every piece of evidence, uncovered her financial holes, wasteful spending, outright fraud, and sent an immaculate analytical report to an investor.
The next day Evelyn rang, Youve ruined everything!
I was just doing my job, I replied calmly.
Two years later, at a rooftop restaurant in a London skyscraper celebrating my own anniversary, I spotted Evelyn in uniform, tray in hand. Recognition flashed in our eyes horror and hatred in hers, cold composure in mine.
I looked at her calmly, not a hint of gloating. I gave a barely noticeable nod, acknowledging her as just another familiar presence, then turned back to my guests.
That tiny gesture screamed louder than any slap. It meant one thing: to me she was no longer a person, just a faceless function with no place in my affairs.
Evelyn turned pale, bit her lip, and hurried toward the staff exit, trying to cling to the last shreds of dignity.
I watched her go and realised the worlds surprisingly fair and logical. Sometimes the one who calls you a grey mouse ends up caught in his own trap. It isnt revenge; its just natural balance.
Half a year later my business went international, opening doors Id never imagined. One evening, sorting through email, I found a message from an old university mate:
Guess what, I just saw Evelyn Bell. Shes working as a receptionist at a gym on the outskirts. Rumour has it she got kicked out of that restaurant after the scandal She even tried to borrow money from me, whining that everyones betrayed her and the worlds unfair
I read the whole thing, closed my laptop, and felt neither triumph nor pity. Evelyns story was no longer mine.
The next day, passing a shop window, I saw my reflection a confident woman whos always moved forward and knows her worth.
I remembered Evelyns line about the sparkle in your eyes and pricey shoes. My shoes are still pricey, but the real spark didnt come from them.
It came from realising my own power, from understanding that true value isnt what you wear, but what you create with your mind and hands.
I walked into my office, where a new, complex project waited on the desk. Sitting down, a faint smile played on my lips.
The grey mouse never became a vicious cat. She turned into what shed always been at heart a clever, unnoticed hunter who knows how to value information and wait patiently for the right moment.
And that moment had finally arrived.
