“I don’t take lunches.” This was a lie. I did take my meals at my desk more often than not, but I wasn’t opposed to hitting up a restaurant every now and then when the mood struck. It wasn’t like I was chained to my computer. But I’d be damned if I would agree to wasting an hour of my time sitting under her microscope.
“Then you could meet me after work?” she suggested.
“I have to pick up my daughter once I leave the office. My evenings with my family are short enough as it is. What’s so important that this has to be done face to face?”
I quite literally witnessed her momentum deflate over the phone lines. Pleased with myself, I allowed her the time that she required to formulate an answer.
“Fine then,” she relented, “I’ll come see you at work. Do you think you could squeeze fifteen minutes out of your busy day to visit with me?”
“Perhaps.”
“I assume that’s the best that I’m going to get?”
“You’re starting to get the picture.”
There was no way that I’d be able to deny her if she showed up at the operations center of the bank, tucking her tail between her legs and hovering at my office door like a wounded animal. I wasn’t cold and heartless. But let her have the fear of rejection in the back of her mind. Just in case my bravado took a leap out the window, I could use her nervousness to my advantage.
“Very well. I’ll arrive at ten, if that works for you.”
“I suppose so. I’ll have the receptionist pencil you in.”
This drew a quiet laugh from George, something that wouldn’t be overhead on Patricia’s end. We weren’t that formal here, not really. And since we didn’t meet personally with clients, the only appointments that were actually made were few and far between - things like sales calls from vendors or candidates for a job posting. If a friend or family member wanted to stop by, they simply dropped in.
But Patricia was neither, though I sensed that for some inexplicable reason, she wanted that to change.
“See you soon, Lauren.”
“Goodbye.”
I replaced the phone gently in its cradle after my intentionally impersonal farewell. My elbows resting on the top of my desk, I ran my hands through my hair, attempting to rub the throbbing pain from my temples.
As much as I had smooth talked my way through that exchange, I knew I was screwed.
“What was that all about?” George inquired after a moment of observation.
“That was Patricia Snyder.”
His eyebrow raised. He knew of her, and not just because of who I was married to. Banking executives traveled in high society circles, and he was at least familiar with both her and her husband. Alan Snyder was a prominent local attorney, and grabbing his financial accounts would be akin to something of a coup in the Fort Wayne area. He’d been loyal to one bank - not ours - for several years, despite some of our higher ups’ cajoling to get him to switch institutions. Since I’d begun working there, knowing my history with the family, George had called off the hounds.
“And what did she want? A mortgage loan?” he teased.
“You’re oh so optimistic, aren’t you?” I grinned, appreciating the humor.
“It never hurts to try.”
“No, I think her sudden interest in me has very little to do with dollar signs and everything to do with making my life a living hell.”
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