The Knockoff Read Online Free PDF Page B

clearing her in-box, taking control of the photo shoot and ensuring they hired the right photographer, one who would make absolutely all the difference.
    Eve didn’t have an office, but she did have an area all her own carved out of a corner surrounded by windows. She worked standing up at a desk raised to chest height.
    At the end of the workday, Imogen compelled herself to visit Eve’s work area. “Do you want a stand-up desk, Imogen? I can ask Carter to order you one. Everyone at Google has them. Human beings are 79 percent more effective standing than when sitting. We make decisions faster, we keep meetings shorter. I love it. I feel like I’m burning calories all day long,” Eve said.
    “That’s okay, Eve. I feel like I am on my feet all the time when I am home with the kids.”
What kind of badge of honor did one gain by standing all day long?
    Eve rolled her eyes, something she wouldn’t have dared to do years earlier. “I forgot about your kids.”
She’s kidding, right? There is no way Eve could have forgotten my children
.
    Imogen tried to remember back to her twenties, when having a child seemed like a handicap. Now Johnny was four, no longer a baby. At ten, Annabel did almost everything on her own, which made Imogen want to do more things for her, like braid her hair, help with azipper she couldn’t reach, explain complicated math problems involving fractions.
    It pained her to think about the day Annabel would walk out the door without needing her at all every morning.
    Imogen forced herself to keep it light. “The kids are actually doing great. You wouldn’t believe how tall Johnny is getting. He is positively delicious right now.”
    Eve mustered a small smile. “I’m sure…. Sooo, what’s up?”
    “I just wanted to check in about the editors. Are they on a new rotating schedule? I didn’t see a lot of them in today. And there were so many faces I didn’t recognize. I want to meet some of the new girls.”
    Without even looking up from her screen, Eve explained to Imogen that staff head count had doubled while she was on medical leave. She didn’t have to add that the median age had also dropped by twelve years. Imogen could see that for herself.
    “We got rid of soooo much excess baggage,” Eve went on. It took a minute for Imogen to realize that Eve was referring to human beings, human beings she had hired, as wasteful luggage.
    “There were so many redundant staffers who had been on board since the seventies doing God knows what,” Eve said.
    With the salaries of the old staff now at her disposal, Eve had hired thirty content producers who could craft “traffic-driving” articles for the website (and soon-to-launch new app!) all day, all night and through the weekend, ratcheting up their numbers to get them the big digital advertising dollars and consumers who would click on the products.
    “Make sense?” she said in a clipped tone. She didn’t let Imogen answer. “It will. Let it marinate for a few days. You’ll get it.”
    Was that condescension in her voice? Who was Eve Morton to be patronizing to her?
    “I’ve been doing this a long time, Eve. It’s not rocket science.”
    —
    As with any transition of power, Imogen saw that allegiances had shifted to Eve the way ants swarmed a fallen piece of doughnut on the sidewalk.
    Managing editor Jenny Packer, a half-Japanese, half-Jewish beauty with a thick Texas accent who had ruled the roost long before Imogen was hired, had been annexed to what looked like a supply closet in a far-off windowless corner behind the kitchen. She hadn’t attended the morning meeting.
    Imogen stumbled upon Jenny by accident while looking for a new set of pads and pencils, which she was beginning to suspect she would never find in this new office of tablets, phablets and other smart devices. Her beloved colleague’s hair was disheveled and circles like two overinflated tires burrowed beneath her eyes. Imogen immediately hugged her in relief,