“One hundred and two pounds,” Portia noted. “Excellent.”

“It’s a lot easier when you’re Asian,” SuSu said sullenly. “Asian women are small-boned. I’m Jewish.”

As she reminded them at every weigh-in. But SuSu had a degree from Brown and connections to some of the wealthiest families on the North Shore. With her great hair—incredible caramel highlights—and her infallible eye for fashion, she radiated a Jennifer Aniston kind of sex appeal. Unfortunately, she didn’t have Aniston’s body. Portia gestured toward the scale. “Let’s put you out of your misery.”

SuSu balked. “I want to go on record. I find this demeaning and insulting.”

“Possibly. But it’s also for your own good, so up you go.”

She reluctantly climbed on. Portia noted the number with a sigh. “One hundred and twenty-seven pounds.” Unlike Inez, SuSu had no desk to hide behind. She was out in the clubs representing Power Matches. “Everybody else, back to work. SuSu, we have to talk.”

SuSu hooked a lock of that gleaming hair behind her ear and looked sullen. Kiki shot her a sympathetic glance then filed out with the others. SuSu picked up her black Banana Republic sheath and held it in front of her. “This is discriminatory and illegal.”

“My lawyer disagrees, and the employment contract you signed is clear. We talked about this before I hired you, remember? Personal appearance is paramount in this business, and I put my money where my standards are. No one offers the bonuses and benefits that I do. In my mind that means I deserve to be a little demanding.”

“But I’m the best associate you have. I want to be judged by my work, not by how much I weigh.”

“Then grow a penis.” SuSu still didn’t understand that Portia had their best interests at heart. “Did you even try?”

“Yes, but—”

“How tall are you?” Portia knew the answer, but she wanted SuSu to come to terms with this herself.

“Five feet four.”

“Five feet four and one hundred twenty-seven pounds.” She leaned against the hard glass ridge of her desktop. “I’m four inches taller. Let’s see how much I weigh.” Ignoring the resentment in SuSu’s eyes, she slipped off her shoes and sweater, dropped the pearls on her desk, and stepped on the scale. “One hundred and twenty-two. I’m up a bit. Oh, well. No carbs for me tonight.” She stepped back into her shoes. “Do you see how easy it is? If I don’t like what I see on the scale, I cut back.”

SuSu collapsed on the couch, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m not you.”

Women who cried on the job reinforced every negative stereotype about females and the workplace, but SuSu hadn’t developed the hard shell of experience, and Portia knelt at her side, trying to make her understand. “You’re a terrific worker, SuSu, and you have a great future. Don’t let obesity stand in your way. Studies show that overweight women receive fewer job promotions and make less money. It’s one more way the business world is stacked against us. But at least our weight is something we can control.”