“Oh,” I said. “What do we have here?”
“French omelet,” he said, gesturing to the perfectly cooked eggs. “And some fresh fruit.”
It looked and smelled amazing, and my mouth watered at just the sight of it.
“What’s the difference between a French omelet and an American one?”
“Give it a try,” he said. “It’s Frenchier.”
I chuckled at his corny joke before taking the fork and knife and cutting into it. The omelet was soft and as easy to cut through as warm butter. I brought the piece up to my mouth and wrapped my lips around the fork.
It. Was. Amazing.
The eggs were creamy and soft and delicious, seasoned to perfection. And the sliced kiwi and pears and strawberries were the perfect complement.
“Hit the spot?” he asked.
“So freaking good,” I said.
My face felt hot again as I realized I was once again being a touch too familiar with my boss. But he simply smiled.
“Glad you like,” he said.
Then he refilled my coffee and went back to his desk.
“Now, I’m going to finish up letting the big man know what we have planned. Get comfortable and relax while you can. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”
The big man. I knew that had to be none other than Edward Corliss, founder of the company. I stopped eating as I watched Adam type, knowing that he was currently talking to one of the most powerful businessmen in California about…me!
Sure, I wasn’t the sole topic of the email, but surely Adam would mention the employee he had chosen to accompany him on the work trip. And that meant my name would be in the brain of Mr. Corliss himself.
Over the course of the last day, I’d gone from a low-level admin assistant to…well, whatever I was at that moment. My belly tingled with excitement at the idea that this trip could very well be my big break in the company.
Easy, Isla, I thought as I returned to my meal. Focus on the task at hand and not the corner office that might be in your future.
I finished my meal and cleaned up as Adam worked, going back to my research as the trip finished. And it was hard not to glance up at him out of the corner of my eye, taking in his good looks. I loved the expression on his face as he focused, his dark, thick eyebrows knitted and his eyes sharp as he typed—beyond sexy.
Isla! my thoughts hissed. He’s sexy, sure. Really, really sexy. But he’s also your boss. So just try to ignore how freaking good-looking he is for the next few days, okay?
I did my best to focus on my phone, but it was hard. Thankfully, the plane’s descent gave me something else to pay attention to.
“Check this out,” Adam said as he closed his computer and nodded toward the window.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and stepped over to him, bending down just a bit to catch the view—and a whiff of his smoky, intoxicating cologne.
The view was insane. The city of Rio de Janeiro was endless, stretching into the far horizon. And as the plane turned I saw the glittering sea. We went down, down, and before too long I was able to spot the sandy strip of the beach, and then even the small dots of the many, many people on it.
“Wow…” I said, my voice trailing off. “This place makes San Francisco look like a freaking farm town.”
“About twelve million people in the metro area,” he said. “Like New York, but with better weather.”
I had no frame of reference for that comparison. But I was pretty certain that Adam had likely been there more than a few times for work or whatever else. Jet-setting was part of the lifestyle for a man like him, and I found myself wondering how many places in the world he’d seen in his thirty or so years.
The seat-belt sign dinged on, and I took the seat next to Adam and buckled up, settling in for the landing.
About fifteen minutes later we were on the runway and parked. Another nice thing about the private plane—no pulling up to a terminal, no stampede of people trying to get off. We simply stopped, the pilot opening the door and letting us out once the staircase had arrived.
I had to hold my hand up to my face as we left, the sun bright as heck. And then I noticed the warm air on my skin, and then the green, leafy trees just beyond the landing strips.
“Welcome to Rio,” said Adam with a smile.
I could tell already that this was going to be my strangest, most interesting Christmas ever.
Chapter 7
Isla
Sure, San Francisco was a big city packed with people and buildings that reached up to the clouds, but Rio was different. There was an energy I could feel simply sitting in the back of our private car and taking in the sights.
“Tropical Christmas,” I said, my eyes on a fruit vendor on a nearby corner. “This is a first for me.”
“Glad to be here for it,” he said. “Then again, it’s not like we get too many white Christmases back home.”
“True,” I said. “But this is Christmas in the summer, right?”
“That’s right,” he said. “You go over the equator and everything gets flipped around. Even the water goes the other way down the sink.”
It was still sinking in that I was on the bottom half of the globe. But it was thrilling—I traveled so rarely that I made sure to savor every moment, every sight.
“So,” I said. “The hotel?”
“The hotel,” he said. “We’re not going to be getting out, though. Our driver will check in and bring the bags to our room, and then we’re off to the factory.”
Then a small smile formed on his lips.
“And I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he said. “But if we don’t have to spend the entire day there, we might have a chance to check out some of the city later in the evening.”
I couldn’t help it—my eyes went wide with excitement.
“Really?” I asked, realizing I sounded like a kid whose parents had told her that they could stop at the ice cream place on the way home.
He raised a finger.
“Depends,” he said. “We might be at the factory all day and only have time to grab a quick bite. But we’ll see how the day goes.”
He was right, of course. We were there to work; anything else would be a bonus. But once he’d put the idea in my head of the two of us going out on the town, I couldn’t shake it. All I could do was turn my attention back to the passing scenery and try to keep my excitement measured.
After twenty minutes or so of driving, we arrived at a gorgeous, colonial-style building, cream-colored with imposing columns in front of a grand set of double doors.
“One of the oldest hotels in the city,” he said. “And luxury accommodations on the top floor, naturally.”
Now I really had to fight to keep my excitement at bay. Just like with flying, I’d only stayed in hotels a few times before—and it was always in whatever room was the cheapest. My mind raced with ideas of what the rooms we’d be staying in might look like.
We parked, the driver hopping out and grabbing our bags from the trunk and passing them to the bellhop. Together they headed in, the driver returning a few moments later and climbing back into the car. Adam then rolled down the partition.
“All good?” he asked.
“All good, Mr. Forde,” said the driver. “And we’re very close to the factory. Should be a drive of about fifteen or so minutes.”
“Perfect.”
The partition went back up and we were off. As we drove the city took on a less dense look, more and more green of the surrounding rainforests appearing among the houses.
And eventually, it became poorer. The lovely houses and large apartment complexes were replaced by houses of colored corrugated steel among block-like tenements that looked like they’d seen better days. I could tell that we were getting into the less privileged parts of the city.
Just like the driver had said, it wasn’t long before we arrived at the factory. It was a huge complex surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence. Truth be told, if I hadn’t known
what it was as we approached, I might’ve guessed it was some kind of prison.
We approached the entrance to the grounds, the car stopping at a security checkpoint. A pair of serious-faced armed guards were there, and they quickly approached, speaking to the driver. I heard muffled Portuguese through the window, followed by the guards coming to the back windows and one of them giving the glass a harsh rap with his knuckles. Adam rolled down the window.
“Names?” asked one of the guards in a heavily accented voice.
Both guards regarded Adam, then me, with a steely, scrutinizing glare. I knew we were all in order, but my stomach still tightened with tension. The guns they were holding looked…mean—the kinds of rifles you’d see in action movies. I’d never seen one like that up close and personal before.
“I’m Adam Forde, CEO,” spoke Adam, his voice cool and calm. “And this is Isla Marten, my assistant.”
As nervous as I was, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of thrill at the idea of being referred to as Adam’s assistant.
“Identification,” spoke the guard.
Adam nodded to me as he reached into his leather bag and withdrew his passport. I got the message and took my own out of my purse and handed it to Adam, who passed them both along to the guard. He looked them over, his eyes flicking from the passports to our faces and back to the passports. When he was satisfied, he gave them back to us and stepped away.
The relief was instantaneous. I let all the air out of my lungs as Adam rolled up the window and the guards opened up the gate.
“You okay over there?” he asked.
“Fine. That was just…a lot, is all.”
“Agreed. They’re really not messing around here,” he said. “I wonder if they’ve ever had to use those guns?”
I didn’t even want to think about it.
The car moved on, and soon we were on the main factory grounds. Up ahead I saw a small team of men and women waiting for us, all dressed in sharp business attire. The car parked and the driver killed the engine.
“Okay,” said Adam. “You ready for this?”
“Sure am,” I said, meaning it.
“You’re here as backup,” he said. “Names, places, dates—any kind of info that sounds important I want you to keep track of. And I’m sure you can handle it. That’s why I picked you, after all.”
He flashed me a warm smile, and I gave him one right back. It felt good to have the confidence of the boss.
The driver opened the door and the two of us stepped out into the warm afternoon air. The first thing I noticed was the smell—the scent of fresh, humid forest blending with the industrial aromas of machinery. It was strange, disorienting.
Before I could spend too much time thinking it over, however, the team approached us. One of them—a tall, dark-haired man with a lean body and matching face—took the lead.
“Mr. Forde,” he said, extending his hand to Adam. “My name is Pedro Costa, I’m the—”
“You’re the manager,” said Adam, taking the man’s hand and giving it two solid pumps before letting go. “Been looking forward to meeting you.”
I could tell right away that Adam was in control of the situation. Despite Pedro being in charge of the factory, his tense body language suggested he knew why Adam was here. And Adam was just as easy and confident as ever. It was like nothing could bother him.
“That’s right,” said Pedro. “I’m pleased you’re here, and if you’d like to get started with the tour—”
He began to gesture toward the building, but Adam cut him off before he could finish.
“And this is my assistant for the tour,” he said. “Ms. Isla Marten.”
A brief worried expression flashed on Pedro’s face, as if he’d realized that he’d made a breach of etiquette.
“Ah,” he said. “My apologies.”
He stepped to me and offered his hand. I took it.
“A pleasure, Ms. Marten,” he said. “Forgive my lack of manners, but we’ve had a busy day getting the factory in order for you and Mr. Forde’s visit.”
“Not at all a problem,” I said. “A pleasure to meet you, too.”
I couldn’t help but glance in Adam’s direction, giving him a wordless thanks for not forgetting about me.
“Now,” said Pedro, gesturing to the factory again. “We’re eager to have you take a look around.”
“Likewise,” said Adam. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, we’ve been having…issues with productivity here. I’m eager to get to the bottom of things.”
“Naturally,” said Pedro.
And with that, the group led us through the front doors of the factory.
We entered into a large hallway, white-clad workers who looked like nurses zipping purposefully here and there. The space was sterile and unadorned, all concrete and harsh overhead lighting. Two seconds into being there and I already kind of wanted to leave—not that I didn’t want to do the work, but that it was just that the place was so uninviting. Off in the distance I could hear the humming and grinding of machines.
“Welcome to Corliss Rio,” said Pedro, stepping in front of the group and leading us like a tour director. “Every day we are responsible for producing thousands of the latest Corliss products, from hard drives to graphics cards to hospital supplies. What we make here accounts for nearly all of Corliss’s Latin American market.”
“But not nearly as much as you all could be,” said Adam.
The entire team turned to look at Adam. I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of admiration. The man said what was on his mind and didn’t care about the consequences.
“I…I suppose you’re correct,” said Pedro.
“I know I am,” Adam said as we continued on, our footsteps echoing through the vast hallway. “And as much as I appreciate the background, Mr. Costa, I am well-versed on your plant. What I want is to take a look around, figure out what possible weak points could be the cause of the impact to the bottom line.”
The manager appeared flummoxed. I could tell he was the kind of man who wasn’t used to people talking to him like this.
“Of course, Mr. Forde,” he said. “Where…where would you like to start? My factory is your factory.”
“I want to see the floor,” Adam said. “I want to start with seeing what kind of conditions you have your employees working in.”
“Certainly, Mr. Forde,” he said. “Right this way.”
For a moment I found myself wondering why that had been his top priority. But then I began paying attention to the faces of the employees around me. They all appeared tired, worn down, like each step was a struggle. I realized that there was a good chance that Adam had noticed before I did, and was already on the case.
We continued down the hall, eventually reaching a large punch-in station near another set of steel double doors.
“This will lead us to the overlook over the factory floor,” said Pedro. “Come with me.”
One of his assistants opened the doors, and we all filed through. On the other side was a set of stairs that led up. Our feet clanged on the steel as we rose, going up and up, my legs growing sore as we did. The sounds of the factory floor through the walls rose in volume, and I could almost smell the scent of something burning.
“Is it getting hotter?” I asked Adam, wiping away a sheen of sweat that had formed on my forehead. “Or am I just really out of shape?”
I glanced over at him and saw that he was in the same state, his face tinged with pink and a small shine of sweat on his own forehead. I knew right away that it couldn’t have been the “not in shape” part. Adam was clearly in killer form.
“No,” he said. “It’s hot. Very, very hot.”
We soon reached the top of the stairs, and between the exertion and the heat, I needed a break.
“Come on,” said Pedro. “Right this way.”
He opened another door, and we finally got a good look at the factory floor.
And it wasn’t pretty.
Chapter 8
> Isla
It might not have been a sweatshop, but it was pretty darn close.
Down below on the factory floor, hundreds of workers toiled, all dressed in the same white uniform with cap and protective glasses, all focused on whatever task was in front of them. Most looked to be responsible for assembling one particular part of their assigned piece of electronics, attaching or soldering or fastening before handing it over to the worker next to them without looking.
The air was thick with heat and humidity, so much so that it was more effort than I was used to simply to breath. The noise of the machines was enough to hurt my ears. It was a far cry from the comfortable offices of Corliss in San Francisco.
And on the wall overlooking the factory floor was a large clock, counting down the seconds of the workday. A single Christmas-tree-shaped decoration hung by it along with a small poster that said something in Portuguese that appeared to be a countdown until Christmas. It hardly looked celebratory. If anything, it looked more like a joke.
Adam stepped to the railing of the platform, spanning his arms out over it and saying nothing as he observed the scene. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pedro and the rest of the team exchange nervous glances, as if they already knew how the boss was going to feel about what he was seeing.
He watched for several minutes, saying nothing, to the point that even I was starting to get worried about what sort of verdict he was about to render.
Finally, he turned and faced the team.
“Is there a conference room where we can talk?” he asked, keeping his tone even but speaking loudly enough to be heard over the noise.
“Of course, Mr. Forde,” said Pedro.
Pedro nodded to his team, and they quickly assembled and were off. Adam cast me a glance, one that made it clear how he felt about everything. I formed up at his side and we left the factory floor—and not a moment too soon.
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