Her Improper Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  “I got an express for the exec suites. Come on, let us through. Got the big boss’s bird with me, ya know.” He tipped his head in Birdie’s direction. “First day and all.”

  That stopped the grumbles. Only it earned her a lot of stares as the clerks pulled aside making way for her and Freddie to push their carts onto the lift. Most of the stares were curious, a few resentful, some downright unfriendly. Those she could deal with, but one stare had been far too avid from a man about her age who apparently thought he was God’s gift to something. Only he wasn’t that good looking and his jeans and button down shirt looked like they’d been washed a hundred times too many.

  “Welcome aboard, sweets,” he said, casually leaning on an arm braced against the opening framing the elevator doors. “Name’s Nigel. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, ignore the rest of these buggers and ask me.”

  Birdie didn’t answer, but once in the car and looking back, she gave their audience her patented friendly smile. “Looking forward to meeting you all.” It was all she had time to say before the doors slid shut on shocked faces. She heard someone mutter the word Yank.

  After pushing the penthouse button, Freddie said, “Don’t encourage that one. Nigel’s what they would have called a rake, back in the day. Fancies himself a real lady’s man. Truth is every single one of those birds have had some sort of action with him, and they all hate him. Don’t follow in their footsteps.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate the head’s up.”

  “So, you’re a Yank, are you?” Freddie’s glance was anything but casual.

  “Actually, dual citizenship. Half Brit, half Californian.”

  “Ah, that’s why you look like you’ve been on holiday instead of fish-belly white like the rest of us.”

  “Guilty as charged. Undoubtedly I’ll be as pale as everyone else by Christmas. No plans to spend time in a tanning bed.”

  Freddie grunted, his eyes locked on the numbers flashing by as they rose.

  “How long you been here?” she asked.

  “Going on two years now. Been hoping to get promoted up the ladder, but it seems I’ve made myself indispensable down in the mailroom. Heard a rumor Dennis is planning to retire, and he’s picked me as his successor.” The bitter edge to his tone made it clear that wasn’t the career path he’d had in mind when starting out.

  “Where did you want to go from the mailroom?”

  “I started at the warehouses out in Tilbury. Always fancied I’d put my basic accounting certificate to use, but there’ve been no openings in that department.” Another sideways glance came her way. “You’re doin’ one o’ them internships, aren’t you? A couple o’ months in each department, then get settled in Accounts or Marketing, eh? Or higher up with the old man?”

  “Something like that.” The elevator stopped, the door slid open, and she followed Freddie out. The cart gave her enough trouble the doors nearly slid shut on her skirt before someone stopped them.

  “Thank you…” She looked at her savior and found herself staring into Ozzie’s blank face.

  “Trolley giving you some difficulty? I thought that one got tossed a decade ago.” Ozzie looked at Freddie who’d stopped to watch the spectacle. “Or is Dennis still holding on to it for unsuspecting new girls?”

  Freddie shrugged. “Don’t know nothing about that, Mr. Attenborough. Had enough for two trolleys today, found the spare since I knew I’d have some assistance.”

  “Well, be a gentleman and swap trolleys with the lady.”

  Birdie watched Freddie stiffen under Ozzie’s icy gaze.

  “Hey, it’s all right.” Birdie gave her cart a tiny shove. The thing felt as if someone had wrapped tape around the bearings, or rubber cement at least. “If this is my initiation, then I can think of plenty of worse things they could have chosen.” She smiled up at Ozzie to convey her thanks for his defense, but also to let him know she didn’t need it. “Besides, after the last week of weddings and parties, I need the workout. So you go on about your day, Mr. Attenborough, and let us be on about ours. I understand we’re behind.”

  Ozzie narrowed his gaze on her, but spoke to Freddie. “Switch trolleys, then make sure this one gets a new coat of grease or gets tossed in the rubbish. I’ll put in an order for a set of new ones. They’re all looking a little too beat up these days.”

  Freddie nodded. “Thank you, sir. That would be right nice.”

  Ozzie pushed the call button. “Carry on.”

  The elevator opened but he hesitated, watching, his hand stuck in the opening to keep the doors open, while Freddie made a production of taking over her recalcitrant cart and nodding toward his easier moving model.

  “Follow me, miss.”

  As they left the elevator lobby, she glanced over her shoulder, shaking her head at Ozzie. He merely responded by pretending to tip a nonexistent hat before ducking into the car and letting the doors close.

  * * * *

  The entire circuit of the top two floors took an hour and a half. According to Freddie’s grumbles, about twice as long as usual. In part due to an extra heavy mail day, both dropping off and picking up what needed to go out, but mostly due to the cart she’d taken back after Ozzie disappeared. They’d traded off every so often, so they both bore the brunt of the torture. She was sweating by the time they returned to the mailroom to sort and prepare the outgoing mail they’d retrieved.

  Dennis had peered at them over his reading glasses, then made a production of studying the clock. He also noticed who pushed which cart. Going back, it happened to be Freddie, but they were both slightly on the filthy side. Who knew mail handling could make one dirty? Not her. Also, she’d be rubbing in an extra double helping of lotion tonight and keeping a full tube in her purse. She wasn’t about to let a month in the mailroom ruin her hands.

  “Accounting has called down asking for the afternoon mail,” Dennis said.

  “Would have been faster but for this bloody useless trolley.” Freddie shoved it toward a stack of similarly disabled looking carts. “Ran into Attenborough. Said he’d put in an order for new ones.”

  Dennis looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Glad to see someone upstairs being observant.”

  That seemed to be the end of the discussion, and she trailed after Freddie when he grabbed another already loaded cart, one that rolled easily, and headed back to the elevator.

  “Oi!” Dennis called out. “New girl. Over here. You can process the outgoing while Freddie delivers that last load.”

  She glanced at Freddie who nodded, then turned back to face Dennis. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll get it done.”

  Chapter 12

  Oswald was in Court’s office when Courtney appeared at the end of the day. Well, the usual end of the day for the non-salaried employees. There were plenty who worked an hour or two beyond five o’clock. Partly because of world-wide time zones, partly because there was always more than enough work to be done.

  “Birdie!” Court stood from behind his desk, effectively ending the discussion they’d been in the middle of. Oswald gathered his tablet and a few papers. Court certainly knew technology, worked well with it, but there were some things he felt benefited from being put on actual paper. They were slowly bringing him and his current assistant into the twenty-first century, but at times it was a ponderous process.

  “How’d it go this afternoon?” Court crossed the room to her and held her by the shoulders, looking her over and noting, as Oswald did, the tired eyes and smudges on her outfit. A few hairs had escaped the twist she’d worn all day and a smear of dust graced her nose.

  Frankly, Oswald thought she looked like she was ready for a large glass of wine, an hour in a whirlpool, and twelve hours of sleep. A cup of tea before heading home probably wouldn’t hurt.

  “It was okay. The morning was paperwork. That was tedious, but easy. This afternoon… Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I like walking and I wore flats. Not sure the skirt w
as brilliant, but it seems Dennis likes my cookies. However he feels the chocolate chips would be better in shortbread. All in all, I survived.”

  Court laughed and Oswald allowed himself a small smile. Somehow after her afternoon from hell, she still managed to smile. Those were the Robinson genes showing through. “How about a cup of tea?” Oswald asked, telling himself it was mere common courtesy to offer, not an attempt to show his chivalry. “Can have one up in a few minutes.”

  Birdie followed her father to a seating arrangement off to the side—a sofa, coffee table with a few chairs gathered around.

  “Thanks, but really, I’m just ready to go home and put my feet up. Literally.”

  Court threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She was visibly tired enough she let her head drop to his shoulder.

  “I thought the modern age reduced paperwork. E-mail replaced snail mail. Scanning and texting replaced express delivery.” A yawn stole over her, and she barely managed to cover it with her hand.

  She looked absolutely beautiful and adorable at the same time, Oswald thought as he carefully watched each gesture.

  “Think about what correspondence was like before the advent of fax machines, computers, and the internet. In my day the mail load was at least five times what it is today. We’ve actually cut four staff positions down there in the last ten years.” Court’s hand came up to hold Birdie’s head on his shoulder, and Oswald surprised himself when he wanted to knock it off and place his hand there.

  “Well, start by ordering those new carts, Ozzie. Because that one relic was awful. And the fact you made Freddie take over pushing it only succeeded in ruining his bit of fun. I only saved myself from ridicule by grabbing it the first time he let go of the handle. God only knows what he’ll plan for tomorrow.”

  “Oswald did what?” Court asked, his gaze swinging right toward Oswald.

  “I met them at the elevator. Freddie had her pushing a trolley that must have had the bearings glued. I suggested he be a gentleman and switch out. Also promised to order new ones. What the mailroom has are looking more decrepit every week.”

  Courtney turned her narrowed eyes on him next. “Don’t step in next time. I’m here to find my own way into the company, and you jumping in and reminding Freddie of his manners didn’t help. Good thing he and I traded off handling that beast of a cart, so at least I’ve recovered some brownie points. But what you did smacks of preferential treatment, and that will not go over well if you keep it up.”

  “I would have done the same for any other intern,” Oswald said mildly. “I’d hope our employees would exhibit plain old-fashioned good manners at all times. But your point is made. Duke it out yourself as you please.”

  “Thank you,” she snapped, then turned and grinned at her father. “There. One battle down.” Her bravado immediately faded and she visibly drooped. She opened her eyes long enough for her gaze to hit him like a Taser. Absently he rubbed his chest, unable to look away.

  “Well, if you don’t want a cup of tea, your mum’s making something special for dinner tonight.” Court pushed himself up, then took Courtney’s hand and pulled her up. “Oswald, Randi’s making enough for you to join us if you don’t have other plans.”

  “Thanks, but I have some things to handle tonight. Appreciate the invite, but I’ll take a rain check.” He hated saying it when he’d love one of Randi’s home-cooked meals, but he had a perfectly fine dinner waiting in his fridge and Deirdre coming over to placate.

  “Sure we can’t twist your arm?” Court grabbed his suit jacket from a hanger in his closet.

  “Extremely tempting, but sorry. Not tonight.”

  “Your loss.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Court made to put his arm around Courtney’s waist but she stepped aside. “No preferential treatment in the office,” she reminded them both. “Save the cuddling for Mom.”

  Court chuckled. “Should I ring down for a cab?”

  “What? And miss my five block walk home? Make you miss your daily exercise?” Mock shock took over her tired expression.

  “I guess we’re walking.”

  Courtney nodded. “I need to build my stamina. A few weeks out of school and I’m already getting flabby and pokey slow.”

  Oswald nearly swallowed his tongue. Flabby? Not from his view. If anything, Courtney’s trim body looked tighter than it had during her graduation party. She’d toned up since completing her degree after two years of long hours in the library and eating takeout food her final quarter. Despite the walking and bicycling across the huge Stanford campus, she’d been chair-bound more than she’d liked, he’d overheard her telling her mother.

  No, her perfectly respectable skirt hugged perfectly rounded hips and showcased a slender hour-glass figure that drew the eye of many a man with a skinnier woman on his arm.

  He had trouble looking away.

  Something Court noticed as he ushered his daughter out the door. “Oswald, walk us out. I have a couple more comments on our discussion.”

  “Of course.”

  He followed in their wake as they said their good-byes to Mrs. Cuthbert and her junior clerks who were clearing their desktops and digging out handbags. Near the elevators they came face to face with Danielle Richards and a handful of upper level managers. Not many lower managers, who’d surely been handed lists to be accomplished by morning only moments before. He’d been handed a few tasks himself, usually because Court passed them on to him at the end of the day. In fact, Oswald was still waiting for the rest of his list when they climbed on the elevator.

  While Courtney chatted with Danielle, Court leaned toward him and spoke softly. “Dennis was party to the little set up?”

  He shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Thanks for stepping in.”

  “Not sure what else happened today, but at least I caught that one.”

  “Good job covering by ordering new trolleys. I’m sure they needed replacing a year or two ago. Just never made it to the top of the list of updates.”

  “It is now.”

  “Nose around and see what else needs updating down there?”

  “I’ll look into it. Or ask Courtney after a few days. Maybe she’ll have some better observations.”

  “Excellent idea.” Court smiled without looking at Oswald. “Sure I can’t talk you into joining us?”

  “Positive. Another night, perhaps.”

  “Count on it. I think Randi wants to adopt you too. She’s making a hard run at pulling Paul into line, so watch out for yourself unless you actually like the idea of being mothered to death.”

  Something warm inexplicitly flooded his veins. As he’d barely known a mother’s love, the concept was entirely foreign to him now. At his age? Then again, look at how Drew had taken to his stepmother. Surely a man of twenty-four was as much past a need for a mother figure as one who was twenty-eight?

  Stopping that line of thought, he followed the others out when the lift reached the ground floor.

  “Anything else you need to tell me before you leave?” he asked Court.

  “I had a thought, but it’s flown right out of my head. We’ll take it up again in the morning. Unless it hits me three steps out the door, and then I’ll send a text. Don’t stay too late.”

  Oswald nearly smiled at that. As his boss and mentor well knew, staying late was often the most productive time. It was easier to talk to Los Angeles and early risers in Tokyo. India and China were already in bed for the night, so an early morning was best for those issues.

  “No worries. Enjoy your evening.” With a nod to Courtney, he turned back to the elevator to return to his office until he absolutely had to leave to meet Deirdre at his flat.

  Chapter 13

  Birdie slept hard that night after giving her parents a blow-by-blow accounting of her first day. She skipped a few things, such as Dennis’s less than patient instructions on how to process the outgoing mail. Thankfully
she’d helped in her grandfather’s office a time or two and had done similar work. The systems weren’t so different, although Dennis tried to make it seem as if her unfamiliarity made her stupid.

  By the end of the week she was gaining a handle on the rather simple, straightforward routines of the mailroom. Her decision to wear sturdier fabrics, and slacks, had proven wise. She’d toned down her already natural looking makeup and basically treated everyone as pleasantly as possible, ignoring any comments she’d been meant to overhear that were cutting. Of course the girls who’d been whispering about her had interpreted her silence as ignorance. Let them think she was stupid.

  At the start of her second week she’d arrived Monday morning with a large box of iced cinnamon buns she’d made the night before and witnessed the arrival of two dozen new carts. Shiny chrome, the top basket held hanging file folders, the easier to sort mail by department or person. The wheels didn’t stick or squeak, in fact they were pretty close to silent as they were pushed. Only Dennis and Freddie had looked at her with speculation, although she never confirmed Ozzie’s hand in the shiny new toys.

  During the morning delivery she had priority envelopes for Dad and Ozzie.

  “Take ’em straight up,” Dennis told her after looking over the hand addressed, heavy stationary. The cards, or paper, inside were probably just as expensive. Possibly handmade, designer paper.

  As she took the elevator up, she examined the envelope addressed to Ozzie. Deirdre Portman-Wright. Huh. Could have guessed that one, but there was one for her parents as well. The handwriting was elegant script, written with a calligraphy pen. Interestingly enough, although the return address was the same, the handwriting was different. Probably two different assistants who’d been given the job of addressing a few hundred envelopes. Wonder what the woman wanted with both men.

  Not that she’d seen Ozzie much since she’d started a week ago. In fact, the last three days of the week she hadn’t seen him at all. At least she hadn’t been consciously looking for him. She’d been too busy learning the layout of the offices, meeting the secretaries who ruled their sections, making small talk with some of the lower managers. Always a fast study, she had all the floors memorized and knew who sat where. Dad had been right about one thing, her name had preceded her, and she’d been met with various reactions from wariness to over-friendliness. Nigel was one who kept pressing her daily, much to Freddie’s disgust. And she didn’t encourage him. Not one bit.