Youre just a drab mouse with no cash, my mate said, while at my own anniversary she lingered by the doorway with a tray.
You simply dont know how to sell yourself, Christine lazily swirled her cocktail with a straw, a glittering bracelet studded with tiny stones flashing on her wrist.
She spoke with that breezy, almost careless superiority that had long become her calling card.
It isnt about the presentation, Olivia Harper replied softly, eyeing the crack in her cheap teacup. I just lack the experience needed for that role.
Experience, experience how dull, Christine sighed theatrically. What matters is the sparkle in your eyes and a pair of pricey shoes. Youve got neither.
Christine Bell gave Olivia a scrutinising look that made her want to curl into a ball, as if shed been scanned and sentenced: redundant, dispose of.
Listen, I want to help, Christine leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. Youre my best friend. Who else will tell you the truth?
Olivia stayed silent. The phrase best friend lodged in her throat, sharp and foreign.
Understand this: in our world people are judged by their clothes, but remembered for their connections. Youre a drab mouse with no cash. Until you accept that, youll wander from one fruitless interview to the next.
Each word hit its mark, stripping the breath from her lungs.
Im launching a little project, Christine went on, clearly enjoying Olivias reaction. Well need people for the simplest tasks sorting paperwork, meeting couriers.
She paused, letting Olivia digest the offer.
I can take you on, temporarily of course, until you find something you truly love, she added with a barelythere smile.
Olivia lifted her eyes. In them glimmered a calm steel, as if something inside had frozen into a cold stone. She stared at Christine the flawless hairdo, the disdainfully arched lips, the bracelet worth more than Olivias annual salary. She no longer saw a friend but a predator savoring her humiliation.
Thank you for the offer, Olivia said slowly. But Ill decline.
Christines eyebrows shot up in surprise; she hadnt expected that.
You turn me down? From my chance? her voice rang like metal. Fine. Just dont come crying later when the rent on your flat is nothing but a joke.
She dramatically fished a stack of large notes from her handbag and flung them onto the table, easily covering the bill.
Consider it a treat, she tossed over her shoulder and left, clicking her heels against the marble floor.
Olivia stayed seated alone. She didnt touch the money or the cooled tea. She watched expensive cars glide past the window and, for the first time, felt a thrill rather than despair.
The next morning that thrill hardened into a cold, pulsing energy. She had always been invisible, yet she could see and hear what others missed details, patterns, hidden motives her only true capital.
Sitting at her battered laptop, she drafted a plan. She listed her services on a freelance site: search and analysis of unstructured information. It sounded vague, but Olivia knew exactly what lay behind it.
The first months were hell: tiny gigs, capricious clients, pay that barely covered rent and food. A few times she almost gave up, ready to ring Christine. But the memory of her smile knocked that urge back down behind any wall.
Breakthrough came after six months. A modest law firm in Canary Wharf hired her to gather competitor data for an upcoming case. Olivia tackled it with desperate determination. A sleepless week later she delivered a report that helped the lawyers win. They paid her three times her usual rate and became regular clients, referring others.
Soon a trickle turned into a stream. Within two years she rented an office and hired an assistant.
Christine called now and then, her life sounding like a perpetual fête.
Olivia, love! Im out on a yacht in the Solent with some partners. Hows the grind? Still stuck in your little cubicle?
Hey. No, not bored. Still working, Olivia replied, scanning the financial statements of a new client.
Working? Christine elongated the word. Dont be shy, my girls on the run spot is still open. Fancy bringing coffee to my new assistant?
Olivia might have balked then, but now she just shrugged.
Thanks, no need. Ive got my own agency.
Agency? Christine laughed. Agency for floorwashing?
Her words no longer held power.
Four more years passed. Harper & Partners occupied a central office with five analysts on staff. Olivia had become a recognised name in corporate intelligence. And then Christine struck.
Her firm, Bell Group, swiped a key report from Olivia, recruiting a debtladen junior employee by exploiting his weakness.
Olivia collected all the evidence, uncovered Christines financial holes, wastefulness and fraud, and sent an immaculate analytical dossier to an investor.
The next day Christine rang, furious.
Youve ruined everything! she shouted.
I was simply doing my job, Olivia answered calmly.
Two years later, at a rooftop restaurant atop a skyscraper, Olivias anniversary was being celebrated glitter, friends, the whole shebang. Among the waitstaff she spotted Christine, tray in hand, a look of horror and hatred flashing in her eyes, while Olivias stare remained icy and composed.
Olivia met her gaze without a hint of schadenfreude, merely acknowledging Christines presence as something ordinary and expected. She turned back to her guests and continued the conversation.
That small nod was louder than any slap. It meant one thing: to Olivia, Christine no longer existed as a person. She had become a faceless function with no place in serious affairs.
Christine went pale, bit her lip, and hurried toward the staff exit, trying to cling to what remained of her dignity.
Olivia watched her leave and realised the world was neatly, logically ordered. Sometimes the one who calls you a drab mouse ends up trapped in his own snare. It wasnt revenge; it was natural balance.
Epilogue
Six months later Olivias business went international, opening fresh horizons. One evening, while checking her email, she found a message from a university acquaintance.
Guess who I ran into? Christine Bell, now a receptionist at a suburban gym. Supposedly she was thrown out of that restaurant after the scandal she even tried to borrow money from me, whining that everyone betrayed her and the worlds unfair
Olivia read the note and closed her laptop without a flicker of triumph or pity. Christines story was no longer hers.
The following day, passing a shop window, Olivia saw her own reflection a confident woman accustomed to moving forward, knowing her worth.
She recalled Christines line about the sparkle in the eyes and expensive shoes. Her shoes were indeed pricey, but the real sparkle came from elsewhere.
It arose from acknowledging her own power, from understanding that true value isnt what you wear but what you create with mind and hand.
She entered her office, where a new, complex project waited on the desk. Settling into her chair, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
The drab mouse never became a prowling cat. She turned into what shed always been deep down a clever, unnoticed hunter who values information and patiently waits for the right moment.
And that moment had finally arrived.
