The Office Darling

The office darling is Tiffany. In any situation involving a man, her favorite pastime is throwing the other women under the bus. For a client meeting, I put on a little lipstick for once. She covered her mouth, feigning a giggle. "Oh, honey, your makeup skills aren't the best, are they? It looks a little… rough." I rolled my eyes. "We're here to close deals, not legs." At lunch, I ordered a loaded Philly cheesesteak from a food truck. She saw it and shrieked, "Oh my god, that's disgusting! All that grease and… mystery meat! Are you even a girl?" I shot back, "At least I'm eating the cooked stuff. You're the one eating it raw. Don't act like I'm the weird one." Furious, she started a rumor that I was sleeping with a male colleague. I didn't get mad. I just smiled. She had no idea I’d seen the video of her with our department head, Greg. * 1. On my first day, my new colleague Mark gave me the tour of the department. "It’s mostly guys here," he explained. "For the women, it’s just you and Tiffany. And just so you know, she’s kind of the… office darling." *Darling?* Hearing that, a bad feeling started to creep into my gut. At noon, a few colleagues said they were taking me to a lunch spot downstairs to get me familiar with the area. I went ahead to call the elevator. That’s when I ran into her. A girl in a long, white sundress. Long, straight black hair, flawless makeup. In a department full of dudes in polos and khakis, she definitely stood out. This had to be Tiffany. I gave her a friendly smile and a nod. "Hi, I'm Chloe. It's my first day…" Tiffany flicked a stray hair from her face, her eyes scanning me up and down like she was inspecting a piece of produce. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice flat and cold. "Are you coming to lunch with us, too?" The question caught me off guard. It was a department welcome lunch, but the way she said it made it sound like I was crashing her private party. That bad feeling in my gut intensified, but I kept my voice polite. "Yeah, Mark invited me along to meet everyone." She didn't reply, just gave a little "hmph." The elevator dinged open, and Mark and a few other guys rushed over. Instantly, Tiffany transformed. A sickeningly sweet smile spread across her face. "There you guys are! I've been waiting *forever*." Her voice was now a high-pitched, cutesy purr—a complete 180 from the ice queen I’d just met. I followed them into the crowded elevator. She completely ignored me, effortlessly wedging herself into the center of the male circle, laughing and joking with them. I was stuck in the corner. She chatted with every single guy around her, talking loudly about some video game, but never once glanced my way. It was like I was invisible. 2. Mark, probably sensing my awkwardness, tried to include me. "Chloe plays games too, you know," he announced. "We could all team up for some ranked matches sometime." Tiffany shot me a sideways glance, then stuck out her tongue playfully. "But I only know how to play support! If she joins, what will *I* do?" I was about to say that I can play any role—it’s a team strategy game, not a gender-assigned chore—but she cut me off, changing the subject before I could even open my mouth. "Oh, by the way, my computer has been acting so weird," she whined, turning to another guy. "Kyle, you *have* to take a look after lunch. I'm just helpless with this stuff." Kyle immediately promised he would, and just like that, the conversation moved on. Mark just gave me a helpless shrug. When we got to the restaurant, Tiffany walked straight to the head of the large round table and sat down. Someone joked, "Queen Tiff has to have her throne." She playfully swatted the air. "Oh, you guys are the worst! Stop calling me that." Kyle then piped up, "Hey Tiff, who's older, you or Chloe? You two look about the same age." Tiffany’s hand, which was reaching for her water glass, froze mid-air. She put the glass down, her gaze slowly drifting over to me. She put on a hesitant expression, as if she was embarrassed to say. Only when all the guys were looking did she lower her voice. "Well, Chloe has such a… *mature* vibe, you know? So professional. I bet she's older than me, maybe by a couple of years?" She dragged out the last few words. Her voice had this forced, breathy quality. I had a feeling she was putting it on. When we were alone at the elevator, she sounded completely normal. The guys seemed to eat it up, but to me, it was like nails on a chalkboard. I looked right at her, my tone even. "I'm twenty-two. How about you, Tiffany?" The smile on her face froze solid. I already knew from Mark that Tiffany had been with the company for three years. Do the math. She had to be at least twenty-five. Her face flushed, then paled. She was speechless. Finally, she just dropped the act, glared at Kyle, and snapped, "A girl's age is a secret! Why would you ask something like that, Kyle?" Hilarious. She didn’t seem to mind talking about age when she was trying to imply I was old. I ignored her and went back to the menu. Throughout the meal, Tiffany remained the center of attention. One minute the food was too hot, the next there were too many bones. The guys played along. "Gotta take care of the office darling!" one of them chimed in. "She's not just the darling, she's our mascot!" another added. Tiffany reveled in it, laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair. A darling? A mascot? Are we talking about a person or a poodle? "Chloe's a girl too, she needs taking care of," Mark said with a good-natured laugh. Tiffany’s face fell. "You guys are all the same. Always looking for the new shiny toy. Men!" I just ate my food quietly and didn't say another word. On the way back to the office, Tiffany suddenly stopped. "Oh, my shoelace is untied! Can someone give me a hand?" I instinctively started to offer, but she looked right past me, pouting at the guys behind her. "I'm wearing a skirt, it's so inconvenient to bend over. What if I flash someone by accident?" A few of the guys rushed to help. I didn’t break my stride. I just walked straight into the building. 3. I wondered why our department had so few women when the gender ratio in other departments was pretty balanced. Late that afternoon, I went to the breakroom to get some water. As I approached the door, I heard hushed voices inside. It was Brenda, a veteran from the department next door. "That Chloe girl seems sharp," she was saying. "I hope she lasts." "What do you mean?" another voice asked. I stopped in my tracks. "You think it's a coincidence your department has no other women?" Brenda said. "They've had a few new hires, but Tiffany drove every single one of them away." My heart sank. "Tiffany is not easy to get along with," Brenda continued, her voice laced with disdain. "If you don't kiss her ass, she'll stab you in the back. There was a girl, Michelle, whose work was way better than hers. Just because Michelle didn't get her coffee one morning, Tiffany spread rumors that she was jealous and even bad-mouthed her to the managers." "She can't stand seeing the male colleagues being nice to any other woman," Brenda scoffed. "If a girl even talks to a guy for more than a minute, Tiffany starts playing the victim, making the guys think the other girl is bullying her. After a while, the new girls either quit out of frustration or just distance themselves from all the men, which eventually makes them an outcast anyway." "And Chloe is young and naturally pretty, even without a ton of makeup. You didn't see the look on Tiffany's face when she saw Chloe. I heard she even tried to pull that age crap on her at lunch. It’s pathetic. Tiffany's an old hand here, and she's competing with a fresh college grad." I stood there, processing everything. A few days later, my boss told me I had a big client meeting the next day. Tiffany, who overheard, looked pissed. Apparently, she was usually the one sent to "represent the team" at these things. The next morning, I swiped on a layer of my best red lipstick. The second I walked into the office, Tiffany descended on me. She covered her mouth with her hand, her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh, Chloe, honey, your makeup skills aren't the best, are they? It looks a little… rough." It was true, I wasn't a makeup artist. Meanwhile, Tiffany was dressed like a peacock in heat, her white blouse unbuttoned just enough to offer a strategic hint of cleavage. I believe in dressing how you want, but for an office, it was a bit much. I rolled my eyes, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're here to close deals, not legs." The area went silent. A few of the guys suddenly found their computer screens incredibly fascinating. Tiffany’s face went from red to white, her lips trembling with rage. She bit her lip hard, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. But instead of blowing up, she just stomped her foot and stormed off toward the breakroom. I ignored her and got to work. Mark shuffled over to my desk, scratching his head. "Hey, for what it's worth, I think that lipstick color looks great on you. Makes you look powerful." "Yeah, you look sharp," another guy, Dave, added from his desk. "Perfect for a client meeting." "Thanks, guys," I said with a genuine smile. I knew they meant it, a stark contrast to Tiffany's backhanded cattiness. Later, I ran into Brenda in the restroom. She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Chloe, what you said earlier… it was a little crude, but you weren't wrong." She glanced quickly towards the breakroom and gave me a wink. "Some people need to learn this is an office, not their personal runway. Well done." I couldn’t help but laugh. "Brenda, I was just telling the truth." "The truth is what hits hardest!" she said, patting my arm. "So many people can't stand her act, but no one ever says anything. I like your style." It was a relief. I wasn't the only one who saw through Tiffany's charade. Most people just couldn't be bothered to call her on it. I look easygoing, and I hate drama. But if you shove your nonsense in my face, I will absolutely not back down. 4. On Friday, Mark barely made it in before the clock-in deadline. "Cutting it close, huh?" I asked as I passed his desk with my morning coffee. "I thought the new car was supposed to make the commute easier." Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. "Don't even get me started. This car is becoming a curse." Just then, Tiffany sauntered into our office area, holding a mug of herbal tea. "Mark, thanks so much for the ride this morning! I'll buy you a coffee later!" At her words, Mark’s face fell even further, though he managed a weak smile. "No problem. It was on my way." Tiffany cooed a few more times about how he was "the bestest" before sashaying out. I raised an eyebrow. I knew exactly what was going on. The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from Mark’s face. He leaned toward me and started venting in a hushed, desperate voice. "Chloe, you have no idea how much I regret agreeing to this," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I bought this car to take my girlfriend on weekend trips, you know? To make life easier. Now I'm her personal chauffeur." My gossip senses were tingling. I gestured for him to continue. "At first, she said her scooter was broken and just needed a ride for a few days," he sighed. "I figured, we're colleagues, it's the nice thing to do. But 'a few days' turned into every single day! I have to leave 20 minutes early to wait outside her apartment, and she's always late. One day it's her lipstick, the next it's her shoes. She's almost made me late for work three times." He pointed at his phone. "Today, I waited outside her place for a full half-hour! When I texted to hurry her up, she said I was being mean to her. I can't win!" "And the worst part," he said, his voice rising before he quickly lowered it again, "is that she has zero respect for my car! She's always eating in it, leaving crumbs everywhere. The other day she brought a Frappuccino. I told her to be careful, but she spilled half of it on the new seat!" Mark looked genuinely pained. "But the final straw was two days ago. She got out, and some charm on her purse scraped a long gash along the door. She just said a casual 'oops, sorry' and didn't even mention paying for the repair." I frowned. "What does your girlfriend think about all this?" "She's furious!" Mark said with a bitter laugh. "I was supposed to take her to a movie last Saturday, but Tiffany said she needed a ride to the mall. Then on the way, she had to stop at the bank. We waited in line for an hour. By the time I got to the theater, the movie had already started. My girlfriend and I had a huge fight." "If you don't want to do it, just say no," I suggested. He threw his hands up in defeat. "I've tried! But every time I'm about to, she puts on this pathetic act, talking about how she's just the 'office darling' and needs help. If I say I'm busy, she says she doesn't mind waiting for me. I don't want to make things super awkward, you know?" Looking at his miserable face, I felt bad for him. This wasn't a carpool; this was exploitation. How could someone be so shameless as to think inconveniencing others was their right? "Don't worry," I said, patting his shoulder. "If she asks you for a ride after work, I'll handle it. The only way to deal with people like that is to be direct. Otherwise, they'll never stop." Mark looked at me, a wave of relief washing over his face. "Thank you, Chloe. Seriously. Any more of this and my car, and my relationship, are going to be wrecked." As expected, just before five o'clock, Tiffany clicked over to Mark’s desk in her heels, an air of entitlement around her. "Mark, you can just drop me off at Costco on your way, right? Your new car has so much space, and I need to buy, like, a ton of stuff." Mark's phone buzzed with a text from me. It read: *Showtime.* I walked over briskly, holding a stack of freshly bound documents, and dropped them on Mark’s desk with a thud. "Mark, the client just called. They need a revised product spec sheet delivered to their office tonight. We have to go now, or they'll be closed." The smile on Tiffany’s face vanished. She glared at me. "Chloe, can't you go by yourself? Why do you have to drag Mark into it?" I looked up at her. "This is our team's project, not just mine. Besides, Mark has a car. What's wrong with me catching a ride?" "Don't you feel shameless, just expecting a ride like that?" Tiffany sneered. "Why should I?" I retorted. "If you can ride in it, why can't I?" "I..." Tiffany was speechless. She quickly switched back to her damsel-in-distress mode, reaching for Mark’s arm. He instinctively dodged. The guy had a girlfriend; his survival instincts were sharp. "Mark," she whined, her voice dripping with saccharine. "Listen to how aggressive she's being. We're all colleagues, shouldn't we help each other out? I'm just catching a ride, it's not a big deal for you." "Helping each other out is one thing," I said, waving the documents, "but is the client not important? Is our work not important? If we lose this project, our whole department's bonus is on the line. Are you going to take responsibility for that?" The weight of that accusation was too much for her to bear, but she still didn't give up. She turned back to Mark, her voice soft and pleading. "Mark, after you drop Chloe off, could you swing back and pick me up? I can wait for you at the entrance. It won't take too long." Mark cleared his throat and delivered the line I'd coached him on. "Tiffany, it's not that I don't want to, but I'm almost out of gas. I was actually going to ask if I could borrow a hundred bucks from you to fill up. After I drop off the documents, I have to pick up my girlfriend. I probably won't have time to backtrack." Tiffany's expression soured, a mix of disgust and suspicion. "You just bought this car. How are you already out of money for gas?" "Yeah, well, car payments," Mark said, playing his part perfectly. "Plus, it's almost Valentine's Day, and you know how that is. Money's a little tight." He looked at her with hopeful eyes. "So, if you could spot me, I can pay you back next payday." Tiffany’s tone turned sharp and cold. "Oh, what a coincidence. I just bought a new Kate Spade bag, so I'm a little short myself… Actually, you know what, I just remembered I have some work to finish up. Since you're busy, I'll just get an Uber. No trouble at all." "If you need gas money, just ask Chloe," she added as a parting shot. Without another word, she spun on her heel and practically fled. Watching her retreat, Mark let out a burst of laughter. "Chloe, that was brilliant! She's always bragging about how generous she is, but the second you mention money, she runs for the hills." 5. The Monday after our weekly meeting, our manager, Greg Davis, called Tiffany and me into his office. "We have a new platform project," he said. "The client has high expectations. I want you two to handle it together." Tiffany immediately beamed. "Don't you worry, Greg! I'll take the lead and make sure this project is a huge success!" *Take the lead?* Greg never said who was in charge, but she was quick to promote herself. Back at my desk, I got an email from Tiffany with the task breakdown. She had assigned me the entire core framework development. She would be "handling client communication and final touch-ups." "This division of labor doesn't seem quite right," I told her. Anyone could see I was doing 90% of the work while she was handling the cosmetic stuff. "Chloe, you're new, you don't understand how these things work," she said condescendingly. "I'm taking all the stressful client-facing stuff off your plate. You should be thanking me." Fine. I raised an eyebrow. Let's see what kind of game she was playing. For the next two weeks, while I was buried in code, Tiffany sat at her desk, scrolling through her phone. The client's requirement list, which she was supposed to summarize, took her three days to even start. Every time I asked for it, she'd claim she was "too busy." The most ridiculous part was that every evening, right before she left, she'd take a picture of her computer screen and post it on Instagram. The caption was always something like, "Another day on the grind! hustle worklife." Half the guys in the office would 'like' it. Even Greg commented once, "Great work, Tiffany. Keep it up." He then had the nerve to tell me, "Chloe, you see how dedicated Tiffany is? You need to step up your game." I was speechless. She was posting those pre-scheduled stories from her couch. *I* was the one actually working overtime. Even Mark felt bad for me and started helping with some of the minor details. "Working late again, Chloe?" he asked one night. "Need a hand?" I shook my head. "No, it's fine. It’s almost Valentine's Day. Go home to your girlfriend." Mark finally packed up and left. On Friday morning, I sent the completed technical proposal and timeline to Tiffany, telling her to add her client communication notes. "Got it," she replied without even looking up. By the end of the day, she still hadn't sent anything. "Where's the document?" I messaged her. "I had too much to do today, didn't get to it," she replied. "I'll work on it over the weekend." I didn't believe her for a second, but I just stressed that it absolutely had to be done by Monday. Around lunchtime, I saw Tiffany and a few of the guys huddled together, playing a loud mobile game. The entire floor was filled with her high-pitched squeals. "Aww, why didn't you give me the blue buff?" "Hehe, that kill was mine!" "My Princess Lulu is the best!" Dave from accounting had to walk over and ask them to keep it down. Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Work is so stressful. What's wrong with blowing off a little steam?" One of the guys chimed in, "Hey, when the office darling wants to play, you play." Dave just walked away, shaking his head. On Sunday night, I messaged Tiffany again for the materials. She replied instantly: "Oh my god, Chloe, I'm so sorry! Something came up with my family, and I'm swamped. Could you just fill in my part for me? You know the project inside and out anyway. I'll buy you Starbucks all next week!" I shut her down immediately. "That's your part of the project. If I do it, whose name goes on it? I need it by 10 AM tomorrow, or we can't send it to the client." That shut her up. At 9:59 AM on Monday, she finally sent over a few paragraphs of rambling, copy-pasted nonsense. The document was full of errors. It was so bad it was almost funny. How had she survived in this company for three years? I didn't bother replying. I just fixed it myself. A few weeks later, it was time for the big presentation. Tiffany told me to make the PowerPoint deck, saying she would "review and enhance" it. When I saw the version she uploaded to the client portal, I almost choked. The only change she'd made was adding her name to the front page in a huge font and shrinking mine. "By the way, Chloe," she said, "I'll handle the presentation. Just send me all the final files." Of course she would. There was no way Tiffany would pass up a chance to be in the spotlight. Seeing her smug, self-satisfied face, I just smiled coldly and gave her what she wanted. "Sure thing." She was ecstatic.

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