Dumpster Fire

Clarissa

“Let me get this straight.” Edgar leans over, his brow furrowing as he points at the blueprint. “You want a fully functioning beach. In your front yard. In Palo Alto.”

“Not just a beach.” I reply measuredly, holding back a sigh. “An oasis. A sliver of paradise carved into this landlocked tech bubble.”

Edgar tilts his head, unconvinced.

“Picture this.” I sweep my hand over the design, with a theatrical flare like I’m about to say “I’m Clarissa Carter and you’re watching the Disney Channel.”

“You walk outside and the sound of gentle waves lulls you into relaxation. You kick off your shoes and dig your toes into pristine white sand sourced from the Maldives. It’s not just a beach. No. It’s an experience.”

Edgar’s fingers trace the wave machine diagram on the page. “It’s bold. I’ll give you that,” he mutters, respectfully yet under his breath.

My fingers involuntarily curl up into fists. Bold. It’s always “bold” until it’s a huge success, and by then your former critics are acting like they thought it was brilliant all along. Or at least that’s how things always seem to go down in the boardroom.

Intrusive thoughts about the board make my brow sweat as always. I glance at the clock on the wall behind Edgar’s shoulder. I only have five minutes left.

The board has been treating me differently lately— long pauses during my pitches, masks worn that look like polite smiles. I don’t know what’s changed, but I can feel the shift. I’m sick of proving myself and at this point in my career, I can’t stand feeling like I’m on trial.

Edgar, though? Edgar is simple. He works for me, not the other way around. He may play coy, but in the end, he’ll always do what I say.

“You do know we’re practically next door to the Bay, right?” His eyes dart toward me, eyebrows raised like he’s waiting for me to laugh so he can too.

A tight smile crosses my face, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Let’s be honest, Edgar. The only decent beach on the Peninsula is Half Moon Bay, and that’s more windswept fog than lounging paradise.”

Edgar exchanges a look with his assistant, a young woman scribbling furiously on her notepad. “Sourcing sand locally would simplify things. We’d save on transportation costs, not to mention—”

This project is my only guaranteed win of the day. Just say yes.

“No.” The word cuts through the air, sharp and decisive. “The sand has to come from the Maldives.”

His lips press together as he hesitates.

I let the silence hang for a beat, locking my gaze on him. “You don’t compromise on details like this. People don’t notice perfection until they feel it. Once you feel that Maldivian sand, you’ll never look at Half Moon Bay the same again. Trust me.”

Edgar exhales slowly, shoulders dropping.

I feel my spine straighten. This is what I understand—control, execution, results.

The board? They’re another story.

I flip to the next page. “This isn’t just about the sand. Every detail has to work together seamlessly. The wave machine needs to mimic natural swells. It should make you want to stretch out in a lounger with a mai tai and stop worrying about where your next round of funding is coming from.”

Edgar squints at the plans, his brow furrowing. “This isn’t a project; it’s a production.”

“Exactly.” I lean back, a triumphant smile curling at the corners of my lips. “It’s a statement. Something no one can dismiss or criticize because it’s flawless.”

He blinks, still processing.

“This will be the most innovative project you’ve ever worked on.” I lock eyes with Edgar, my voice dropping slightly. “Imagine the press coverage. The social media buzz. People don’t talk about nice landscaping. They talk about audacious ideas. And no one will ever dismiss this as ‘just another project.’”

Edgar nods reluctantly, and the small knot in my chest starts to loosen.

The door behind me creaks open. Becca steps in, clipboard tucked under one arm. “Ms. Carter, the board is ready for your pitch.”

My heels click against the polished floor as I head for the door.

“Finalize the design by the end of the week. I’ll expect an update soon,” I call over my shoulder to Edgar.

“Good luck, Ms. Carter.” His voice follows me faintly as I step into the hall, but it doesn’t calm the nervous energy pooling in my stomach.

Regardless of what happens next, this beach will be mine.

____________________

Clarissa

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I begin, leaning back in my chair, fingers brushing the edge of my desk, my voice smooth but commanding. “As you’ve seen, our second-quarter revenue has increased by 56% quarter over quarter. User growth, ad revenue, and product adoption are all exceeding projections. I’d say we’re in an excellent position to discuss the next phase of our expansion.”

Mark, who’s image is dead center of the video conference grid, clears his throat. His face is neutral, but there’s tension in the set of his shoulders. “That’s great news, Clarissa. Impressive numbers, as always. But the board has some concerns we’d like to address.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course they do. “Concerns?” I prompt, holding my poker face.

Mark’s eyes dart around the screen. “It’s about your proposal for the orbital solar farm.”

“What about it?” I ask, tilting my head.

Dave, the self-appointed voice of caution, chimes in from the top-right corner. “It’s… ambitious, to say the least. A bit outside your wheelhouse, don’t you think? Software and telecommunications are what this company does best. This—” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the mockup of the solar farm “—feels like a leap.”

“It is ambitious,” I admit, leaning forward slightly. “But it’s not as far outside our expertise as you might think. Instead of transmitting data, we’re transmitting power. This project isn’t a departure—it’s an evolution. A chance to lead the market in clean energy and sustainability.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. “And the risks? The infrastructure costs will be huge, and let’s not forget the permits. Palo Alto doesn’t make it easy.”

“I’m well aware,” I reply. “But this company has pivoted before and we’ll do it again. This project is the future.”

The room murmurs softly, doubt laced through the voices.

Mark leans forward, his tone overly measured. “Clarissa, no one’s questioning your track record. But this project? It’s risky. Untested. And frankly, it’s not the type of venture we’d usually back.”

I feel the heat rising to my face, but I force myself to stay composed. “Not the type of venture you’d usually back?” I repeat, my voice cooling. “Like Noel Skum’s supersphere disaster? A half-baked idea that torched half of your reputations—and yet you all signed off on it without hesitation.”

“His project aligned with his strengths,” Leroy mutters.

I can’t help myself— I belly laugh. “What strengths? Noel hasn’t had a single success in the past decade. Meanwhile, I’ve got consistent growth and you’re telling me I can’t pursue a project because it’s ‘risky’?”

“No one’s saying that,” Dave interjects, though his tone is too placating. “Look, you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. It’s only natural to feel overwhelmed. Maybe it’s time to take a step back and delegate.”

I bristle but keep my expression neutral. “Delegate what, exactly? The future of this company?”

Leroy pipes up, “I think what Dave is saying is that maybe now’s not the best time to push something this bold. We’ve all had days where emotions run high, haven’t we?”

Emotions? Seriously? What about me seems emotional?

“I assure you, Leroy,” my voice cool as ice, “I don’t make billion-dollar decisions based on my mood.”

The smirk drops off his face. For a second, I relish the silence that follows.

Mark clears his throat. “Look, Clarissa, this isn’t off the table. But for a project like this, we need assurances. If you can secure the permits, then we can revisit our support.”

“Fine,” I concede, my voice cold. “I’ll get the permits. And when I do, I expect no excuses. Agreed?”

Mark exchanges a look with the others, then nods. “Agreed.”

“Alright then,” I say, ending the call. My hand lingers on the edge of the desk as I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Bzzzzz My phone disturbs the only moment of quiet I’ve managed all day. Alexis’s name lights up the screen.

You coming tonight? How’d the board meeting go?

Right. Drinks with Alexis and Noel.

OMW! There in 20. Board’s on board.

Now I just have to pull permits out of my ass.

Her reply comes almost instantly: LOL. Classic you.

I polish off my whiskey with a second gulp and shake my head. Classic me.

_________________________

The Rosewood Lounge hums with a quiet power that only comes from money—serious money. It’s not in the sleek leather chairs or the dim, golden light, but in the charged undercurrent of conversations layered over the low hum of a jazz trio in the corner.

Maybe that’s the genius of it: it’s relaxing, comfortable, the way any trace of pomp or pretense melts into the background. It’s almost as if The Rosewood itself grants its Type A guests permission to unwind, lulling even the most tightly wound over-achiever into a state of ease.

“Clarissa!” Alexis calls, practically vibrating with delight as she gestures toward the empty seat beside her. Her diamond bracelet catches the light as she adjusts her wine glass, the sparkle almost obnoxious against the subdued elegance of the room. “We were just talking about your orbital solar farm project. You’ve got to tell them about it—it’s so insane.”

Noel lounges beside her, as smug as ever, a glass of wine swirling lazily in his hand. Across from him sits a couple I don’t recognize, but their polished ease tells me everything I need to know: they’re clearly people who know how to hide their angles.

“Clarissa, you remember Preston Cade,” Noel says smoothly, gesturing to the polished man who rises to shake my hand. His grip is firm, practiced. “Councilman Cade,” Preston charmingly interjects, correcting Noel. Noel seems to take notice but without missing a beat, continues “And this is his gorgeous wife, Maria.”

“Of course,” I lie, shaking both of their hands. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Preston. And Maria, I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you— it’s lovely to finally meet.” I might be laying it on thicker than usual. It’s been a long day.

Noel leans back, swirling his wine lazily. “Well, well, our Clarissa is finally dreaming of space. Let’s see if the execution lives up to the ambition,” he says with a wink.

He’s trying to pass off his little pissing contest as playful, but the taunt is impossible to miss. I meet his gaze with a faint smile, letting my response land as lightly as his insult. “Can’t be too hard if you managed it.”

“Evidently,” Maria says with a polite smile.“Though I have to ask—where’s your husband in all of this? Surely he must be supporting you in whatever way he can,” she gestures to the empty seat next to me.

The question hangs in the air for a beat too long, and Alexis jumps in with a laugh before I find the words. “Clarissa? Please. She’s too focused on conquering the tech world to slow down for something as dull as dating.”

I feel my smile harden, but I let it slide. “I’ve been a little busy,” I say lightly, taking a sip of my wine as the waiter sets it down with impeccable timing.

Maria offers an apologetic smile, shrinking back as the conversation shifts to safer territory. She looks like she’s trying to blend in with the furniture. I almost feel sorry for her.

Two glasses of wine later, accompanied by an hour of Noel explaining away his disastrous launch while Alexis drops names like they’re meant to detonate, the conversation inevitably swings back to me.

“So,” Alexis prods, tilting her glass toward me, “how’s the permit situation? That sounded like a bit of a nightmare.”

I blink, caught off guard. How did she know permits were my bake-or-break? “It’s coming along,” I reply curtly. “Just a few bureaucratic hurdles to clear, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Preston, who’d been only observing until now, leans forward with an easy smile that radiates charm.

“Permits aren’t so bad once you know the right people.” I swear I see a glint sparkle off his blindingly white teeth. “Maybe I could take a look at it for you?”

“Wouldn’t that be amazing, Clarissa?” Alexis chimes in, her gaze bouncing to me as she beams at him.

“Very generous,” I reply, evenly.

Preston waves it off like it’s nothing. “It’s no trouble at all. Palo Alto’s my backyard—I know how to navigate the system.”

His wife smiles, admiration slipping into her expression so seamlessly it almost feels rehearsed.

“Preston’s a master at untangling red tape,” she adds, speaking up for the first time since highlighting my lack-of-husband.

I nod, forcing a polite smile, or maybe I was simply bearing my teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Noel raises his glass in a silent toast, the left corner of his mouth curling like he’s enjoying a private joke at my expense.

___________________________

Finally, we’re at “goodbye”. I step outside into the valet loop at the Rosewood. The evening air carries a bite that Palo Alto rarely offers, and I take a giant gulp of it letting it renew me from the inside out. I stay there, present in the moment, focusing on my breathing, trying not to let the day’s chaos get to me.

Glancing at my phone, I’m relieved to see that I have zero new emails or urgent texts. For once, the world feels like it’s giving me a moment of reprieve.

“Clarissa,” Noel’s voice bulldozes through my respite. He approaches with deliberate ease, his tailored jacket unbuttoned and his hands in his pockets, exuding his usual air of casual confidence.

“Noel,” I greet him with a small smile. “Heading out?”

He nods, stopping beside me as the valet disappears into the rows of cars. “Just wanted to say goodnight.” He pauses, giving me one of his trademark smirks. I’m about to cut him off with a “goodnight” of my own when he slips in “What did you think of Preston?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. “He’s nice,” I say, shrugging. “Polished. Exactly what you’d expect from a politician.”

“Polished,” Noel repeats, suppressing a chuckle. “That he is. And effective, too. He gets things done—especially for people who support him.”

My eyes narrow, almost like if I squint enough I’ll be able to see Noel’s angle. “Support him how?”

Noel leans casually against the valet podium, his tone light but pointed. “He’s gearing up for re-election. You know how hectic that gets— he needs donors. Connections. Someone like you could make his life a lot easier. And in return, maybe he could push through that permit of yours.”

I cross my arms, tilting my head at him. “Couldn’t someone like you support him just as easily?”

“Oh, I could” Noel says, his grin sharpening. “But you’re the one who needs the favor. I get permits all the time to blast shit into space. Preston could make this painless for you too.”

“How big of a check are we talking about?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

Noel all too transparently pretends to consider it. “Five mil. Nine max. A small price to pay for being the first person to power an entire city with an orbital solar energy farm.” I cringe. “So what if the permit costs you 5 mil? Achieving eternally renewable energy? The mark you leave on the world will be priceless, Clarissa.”

I stare him down, studying him through the haze of scotch and chardonnay. He’s not wrong. But he’s also Noel Skum.

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, just as my Setla pulls up.

Noel nods, his smirk unwavering. “Take all the time you need.”

I slide into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind me. But as I grip the steering wheel, I can’t help hearing Dave’s obnoxious voice echoing in my head.

“Maybe it’s time to take a step back.”

I glance at my glovebox, where I know my checkbook waits like a loaded gun.

My chest tightens as I flip it open and press the pen to the page, the number almost mocking in its finality.

I step out of the car, the crisp check in hand. “Wait,” I call after Noel, holding it up.

He turns, his smile spreading into something wolfish as he strides back toward me.

“This,” I say, handing it to him, “better be worth it.”

Noel plucks the check from my hand, tucking it into his jacket pocket with a casual flourish.

“You won’t be sorry,” he assures me, his voice smooth.

Turning on his heel, he lifts his arm in a structured wave, leaving me standing alone in the valet loop. Five million dollars lighter.