Her Favorite Rival

by Sarah Mayberry

  Zach tensed. Was he about to lose his job? He was the last hire in the department, after all. “Last on, first off” was an axiom in business for a good reason.

  “Okay. Should I be worried?” He hoped he didn’t sound as shaken as he felt.

  From the moment Whitman had been appointed to the role of CEO, Zach had known this was coming.

  Gary looked uncomfortable. “I’d love to be able to reassure you, mate, but the truth is I have no idea. All I’ve heard from people in the know is that merchandising is the first department he’s reshuffling.”

  “Right. Well, thanks for the warning. Gives me a chance to clear out my desk.” Zach managed a smile.

  “Hang in there. And know that if I have any say in the matter, you’ll be part of my team.” Gary grimaced, and it hit Zach for the first time that his boss, too, might be in the firing line.

  A restructure was a restructure, after all. In theory, no one was safe.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Gary left and Zach slumped in his chair, his mind racing as he processed the implications.

  He’d been careful with money from a very young age. When he was fifteen, he’d started a catalog distribution business using the kids at school as labor. He had banked everything he earned, being careful to keep it away from his mother. It had been his get-the-hell-out-of-Dodge money, and by the time he was ready to leave home and go to university, it had become a serious nest egg. He’d used it to make a down payment on a small studio apartment, practically picketing the bank until they gave him a loan, and after four years the apartment had doubled in value and he’d been sitting pretty. Prettily enough to indulge his taste for nice things, anyway, while making sure his bank account remained healthy.

  He’d maintained that balance in his life, ensuring that he always had some money in reserve for the lean times, and he was more than confident there was enough there to survive being out of work for a few months without having to compromise on supporting his mother or be at risk of losing his house or car. He didn’t want to be hocking his wares out in the job market, though. He’d researched Makers Hardware extensively before jumping ship with his previous employer and coming on board. Being ousted by a new, carnivorous CEO was not part of his plans.

  Damn it.

  He took a deep breath. There was no point in freaking out. Nothing he did or thought or said in the next few hours was going to have any effect on decisions that Whitman had already made. All he could do was wait and see.

  He did his best to focus on getting through his in-tray, but every time his phone rang or someone stopped in his doorway, adrenaline shot through his belly. By the time four-thirty rolled around, he’d given up the pretense that he could concentrate. Collecting his coffee mug, he walked slowly to the staff kitchen, noting the subdued atmosphere in the department as he went.

  Everyone knew that the ax was about to fall, obviously. A few people made eye contact and he nodded acknowledgment. Audrey was standing inside Lucy’s cubicle as he passed, her dark head bent over Lucy’s auburn one. When Audrey straightened, he saw that Lucy’s nose was red and she was clutching a wad of scrunched-up tissues.

  For a moment he was tempted to stop and reassure her, too—she was smart and able and a real asset to the team, and if Whitman was culling assistants, Lucy would be one of the last to go. But Audrey clearly had things covered, her hand coming to rest comfortingly on the younger woman’s shoulder.

  As if she sensed his regard, Audrey glanced up. Their gazes locked and he knew she was every bit as worried for her future as he was for his. He had no idea what her situation was, but he hoped like hell she’d put something aside for a rainy day.

  She broke the contact, refocusing on Lucy. He continued to the staff room, filling his mug by rote, even though the last thing he needed was caffeine.

  He was walking out of the staff room when he saw Charlie shrugging into his suit jacket and leaving his office. One look at the man’s pale face and Zach knew where he was going.

  Charlie was one of the most experienced category managers, an old-school guy who still talked about the days when Makers had been a regional rather than national chain. If he was slated for retrenchment, no one was safe.

  The next half hour dragged by. Zach shuffled papers around on his desk and tried to pretend there weren’t half moons of sweat beneath his armpits. He went over and over every interaction he’d had with Whitman. Preconference, Zach would have said he was screwed. But he’d definitely kicked a goal with the competitor analysis. Whitman had been openly pleased with his work there.

  You mean you and Audrey kicked a goal, and that he’d been pleased with both your work. Right?

  He swore under his breath as it hit him that the misunderstanding with the report could have very real repercussions today. If Audrey lost her job...

  He shook his head. It wasn’t going to happen. Whitman might be a brutal, ruthless predator, but he was a smart one, and Audrey was great at her job.

  Still, he knew the fact that her work on the report had been overlooked must be burning in her gut right now.

  It was five before Gary appeared in his office doorway again.

  “Charlie, Ned and Rick,” he said solemnly, naming two category managers and one of Zach’s fellow buyers. “And we’ve lost Annie, Sam and Dan.”

  Three assistants, for a total head count of six from the merchandising department.

  “Is that it?” Zach refused to let himself be relieved until he knew the danger had passed.

  “As far as I know. For now, anyway. Marketing’s next.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow, I think. We’re not exactly being kept in the loop.” Gary sounded pissed.

  Zach reached out and hit the button to turn off his monitor. “In that case, can I buy you a beer?”

  Gary let out a short, sharp crack of laughter. “Mate, nothing I’d like better, but I’ve got a wife to get home to and reassure.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Gary lifted his hand in farewell. Zach allowed himself a small moment of relief once he was alone.

  He was safe. For now.

  He wouldn’t have to dust off his CV and find some way of finessing the fact that he’d been with Makers for only six months. He wouldn’t have to schmooze and network until he’d found himself the next promising thing.

  He was safe. And so was Audrey.

  It was a little worrying how relieved he was by that last fact.

  He grabbed his briefcase. He was wrung out, and he figured he deserved an early night after the rigors of the last few hours. He deliberately left all the paperwork he should be taking home on his desk and grabbed his jacket. His briefcase felt light as a feather as he made his way to the stairs to the garage. He started plotting his evening as he descended. He’d grab some takeaway and a good bottle of wine, find something decent to watch on TV...

  He frowned as a picture of himself sitting at home on his own like a sad sack formed in his head. Maybe he’d call one of his friends instead. It was short notice, but with a bit of luck Mark or Finn might be available for dinner and a few drinks.

  He sat in his car to make the calls and five minutes later was two for two on the rejection front. Apparently he was all out of luck tonight. He shrugged. Dinner for one it was, then.

  He started the Audi and drove out of the garage. It wasn’t until he was about to turn onto the freeway that he looked across the intersection and saw the faded neon sign for Al’s Place.

  What were the odds that there were Makers staffers over there, drowning their anxieties in a few glasses of beer? The light turned green and he drove across the intersection and into the parking lot at Al’s.

  It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom inside the building. There were three people at the bar, none of whom he recognized as fellow employees. Otherwise, the place was empty.

  So much for enjoying a little postcrisis bonding with his colleagues. He’d assumed b
ecause he’d found Megan and Audrey over here that it must be a Makers haunt. Apparently, he’d assumed wrongly.

  He hovered for a beat, tempted to revert to his earlier plan for the evening. Then he shrugged. Screw it. He was here, and the guy behind the bar undoubtedly had copious quantities of beer to offer up. Being a sad sack in a skeevy bar in the middle of industrial Melbourne was marginally better than being a sad sack at home on his own.

  Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, he made his way to one of the booths lining the far wall and slid onto sticky, patched vinyl. He’d stay for a couple of beers, maybe treat himself to a greasy burger.

  Pretty tragic as celebrations—or wakes—went, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AUDREY COULDN’T WAIT to leave the building. The whole afternoon had been an unrelenting exercise in corporate torture, and even though it wasn’t close to her usual quitting time, she needed to go. If she stayed behind her desk a second longer there was the very real risk she was going to give in to the urge to wreck some furniture like a temperamental rock star.

  High heels tapping out an urgent rhythm, she made her way to her car. When she was behind the wheel and sealed in her own personal privacy chamber, she let her head fall against the headrest.

  She couldn’t believe Whitman had given Charlie his marching orders. Audrey had been Charlie’s assistant for two years while she worked her way up the food chain, and she had enormous respect for his patience, wisdom and knowledge. Whitman was an idiot of the highest order for culling one of the company’s most valuable walking, talking knowledge bases. As for the way he’d gutted their support staff...

  All so the retailers could squeeze a fraction more profit from the business at the expense of any loyalty they’d received from staff.

  It made her sick to think about it. Sick and angry and impotent and ashamed—because, of course, mixed in with her outrage on Charlie’s behalf was a kernel of relief that she wasn’t the one who’d been called to the big man’s office.

  She sighed heavily. Then she started her car and drove the short distance to Al’s. Megan had sent her a text midafternoon suggesting they’d both need a debriefing by the time the day was over, and Audrey had been only too happy to agree. Now, she shed her suit jacket and loosened her hair from its too-tight chignon before getting out of her car and heading for the bar entrance. She needed a cold glass of white wine, deep-fried food and her best friend’s shoulder to bitch on. Not necessarily in that order, but she’d take whatever she could get, however it came.

  She grabbed an empty stool at the far end of the counter and reserved the one next to her with her handbag in case any of the handful of sodden Lotharios propping up the bar got the mistaken idea she might welcome their advances.

  Megan had been on the phone when Audrey left the building, but she’d signaled she wouldn’t be long. Audrey checked her watch before giving the room an idle once-over, more to kill time than anything else. Her gaze got stuck on the dark-headed figure occupying a booth in the far corner.

  Surely that wasn’t...?

  She leaned forward in her seat, craning her neck. It was hard to see from this angle, but it looked as though it was Zach.

  What on earth was he doing here, of all places? This was her and Megan’s secret bolt-hole, as insalubrious as bars came. No one from Makers came here. Ever. So why was he here, of all people?

  It’s a free world, remember? And his day has been every bit as foul as yours.

  Suddenly she remembered the moment when she’d been comforting Lucy. Her assistant had practically been hyperventilating over the prospect of losing her job. Lucy and her fiancé had recently bought a house and land package and she’d been sick that she’d soon be unemployed and unable to meet her share of the mortgage payments. Audrey had been talking her down from the cliff edge when Zach had walked past. His concern for Lucy had been there for anyone to see. There’d even been a small hitch in his step, as though he was contemplating stopping to reassure her, too. Then their gazes had met and she’d felt a current of...connection was too strong a word. Maybe fellow feeling was a better characterization. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling, because he was thinking and feeling the same things. For those few split seconds, she’d forgotten everything that had gone wrong between them. He was simply her colleague, and they were both secretly terrified of losing their jobs, and it sucked, hard.

  Now, she stared at his profile. Spurred by the memory of that earlier moment, she stood and walked to his booth. He looked up from the menu, clearly surprised to see her.

  “I wanted to say thank you for the chocolates.” Because somehow, after today, it felt stupid and petty to be angry with him.

  His eyebrows shot up and she knew she’d caught him off guard. After all, she’d been a hard nut to crack, holding on to her outrage like a security blanket.

  After a second he nodded. “My pleasure. I hope you enjoyed them.”

  “I did. Thank you,” she lied. She hadn’t eaten a single bonbon, no matter how tempting they’d been. Her pride had demanded it.

  Stupid pride.

  A knowing light came into Zach’s eyes and she knew that he knew she’d given his fancy chocolates away to anyone who’d take one.

  “What can I get you?” Cameron asked.

  “I’ll have a Stella Artois.” Zach looked at her. “What would you like?”

  “Oh.” Audrey glanced over her shoulder. Megan still hadn’t arrived. “Um. A glass of white wine would be nice, thanks. Maybe that semillon sauvignon we had last week, Cam.”

  “Done.”

  She hovered for a moment, then slid into the booth opposite Zach. She could hardly stand while drinking the wine he’d bought her.

  “I thought this place would be stuffed to the rafters after the day we’ve all had,” Zach said.

  “Most people go to the big pub farther up the road. It’s a little less sticky.”

  “Right.” Zach inspected the bar for a few seconds before focusing on her. “But you don’t have a problem with sticky?”

  “It’s not great, but Al’s is the bar equivalent of the Cone of Silence. Megan and I know we can bitch and whine to our hearts’ content here and we don’t have to worry we’ll be overheard.”

  Cameron appeared with a drink in each hand, sliding the beer to Zach and the wine to her. They both nodded their thanks before he headed to the bar.

  “So. We survived,” Zach said after a short silence.

  “We did. For now.”

  “You think he’ll come back for a second pass at the department?”

  “I have no idea.”

  They both drank. She could feel how wary Zach was, could feel her own awkwardness.

  She took a deep breath. “Maybe we should get this out of the way—I don’t think you were trying to screw me over.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m still a little pissed that I put in all that work for no reward, but I acknowledge that what happened was not your fault.”

  “Good. Because I enjoyed working with you. And I never intended for any of that to happen. It was just really crappy timing.”

  “I believe you.” She did. She’d been blinded by anger and frustration initially, but the events of the afternoon had been like a bucket of cold water in the face. A wake-up call to quit with the bullshit and let go of anything that wasn’t helping her get where she needed to be.

  Bottom line: she trusted the impression she’d formed of Zach during those late nights together. She believed he was a decent man. And she believed he’d made the best decision he could in a difficult situation.

  She also believed that he genuinely regretted it.

  “So if I send you flowers tomorrow, you won’t give them to Jan and Jean in the warehouse?”

  So he’d discovered what she’d done with his floral offering.

  “You don’t need to send me flowers.”

  He pointed the neck of h
is beer bottle at her. “You’re a stubborn woman.”

  “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. Neither would you.”

  He smiled a little, which she chose to take as agreement.

  She settled into the booth. “I think this day has to go down as one of my top five, all-time bad days. Just above the time I broke my leg in third grade, in fact.”

  “What sort of break are we talking? Compound?”

  “You know, I’m not sure. But don’t tell my parents that—they’re both doctors and they’d die of shame.”

  “Really? How come you didn’t go into the family business?”

  It wasn’t an uncommon response when she happened to mention that both of her parents were doctors. She took a sip of her wine before shrugging casually. “Not smart enough. But my sister is doing them proud, so they’ve got someone to pass their charts and anatomical models on to. What about you? What do your parents do?”

  There was the smallest of pauses as Zach took a pull from his beer. “My parents are dead.”

  “Oh, God. I’m sorry.” Way to put her foot in it.

  “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

  His voice was utterly uninflected, but she had the sense that there was a lot going on beneath his easygoing demeanor. She wasn’t sure how she knew, she just did.

  “Hey. Started without me, I see.” Megan slid in beside Audrey and lifted a hand to get Cameron’s attention. “I’ll have what she’s having,” she called.

  Megan and Zach exchanged small talk while they waited for her drink to come.

  “Listen, I don’t want to cramp your style,” Zach said. “Just let me know if three’s a crowd.”

  “Hey, the more the merrier after the godawful day we’ve all had,” Megan said.

  Zach was watching Audrey. Waiting.

  “Stay,” she said.

  His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, as though he was letting go of a heavy burden. Had he been that worried about her forgiving him?