Conflict of Interest (Employee Relations Book 1)

by Teresa Michaels

  “I thought we called a truce.”

  “We did.”

  She slides into a booth and sets one of the menus in front of me.

  “You look lost,” she says, amused. “Alright, the premise of this place is that they treat you like crap for the fun of it but the food’s actually really good.”

  I grab my menu and try to grasp why she’d take me to this dump. All items on the menu are phonetically spelled out and accompanied by a picture, I assume because they want customers to feel stupid.

  Interesting.

  “Remind me never to let you pick again.”

  “I haven’t got all day,” a disinterested blonde, who I presume is our waitress, appears at my side and checks her nails while snapping her gum.

  “I’ll have a Cosmo—”

  “Typically,” the blonde replies.

  “And I’ll have a martini, extra dirty.”

  She glances at me through her lashes and bites her lip. “Hmm, that’s how I like it too.” She winks and takes off before I can process the exchange.

  “What just happened?”

  Gabriella laughs but otherwise ignores me.

  Minutes later the waitress returns with our drinks and takes our food order. I offer her my menu but she refuses to take it.

  “Oh, keep it. This will be fun,” Gabriella exclaims. “Flip it over.”

  I do as she says. Questions for your date, broken out by portions of the night—before drinks, after you order, while you eat and sealing the deal.

  “This is perfect,” Gabriella insists. “It’s like our own assimilation. Do you want to go first or should I?”

  “By all means,” I gesture for her to go ahead.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Utah,” I deadpan, earning me a handful of popcorn tossed at my face. “Kinsale, a small town in Ireland, just outside of Cork.”

  “Where’d you go to school?” she looks at me expectantly.

  “You do realize you could get this information in my personal file, you know?”

  “Fine,” she huffs and then reviews the list of questions. “What do you do for fun? Wait, wait I know this one. Iron your trousers!”

  “Wow, if this HR thing doesn’t work out you may have a future in comedy.”

  “You’re stalling.”

  I roll my eyes, surprising myself with a detailed answer. “When I lived in New York, I’d go to sporting events with a good friend of mine. I haven’t done much of anything outside of work since I’ve been here, other than working out.”

  “And iron your trousers.”

  I give up. “And iron my trousers.”

  “Is your closet color coded?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I knew it!”

  “Crack yourself up?”

  “A little,” she admits with a grin. “Seriously though, if you want to go to a Celtics game, I can get you good seats. One of my brothers is an account rep for season ticket holders. He’s busy with work and school so we don’t see each other much, but he always hooks me up. In fact, I was going to see if Jack wanted to do a team outing there.”

  “You like basketball?” For some reason this this intrigues me.

  “I grew up with three brothers in one of the biggest sports towns in America. I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “Three brothers?”

  Something about my comment sends Gabriella into a fit of laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Say it again.”

  “What?”

  “How many brothers do I have?” she asks.

  “Three?”

  She explodes into a fit of laughter that has tears rolling down her face. “When you say three…it sounds like tree!”

  “Christ, are you that much of a lightweight?” I eye her drink noting it’s only half gone.

  “Relax, I’m not tipsy. Just having fun.” She gets herself sorted and picks up where she left off. “Alright, where were we? Oh, right. What about you?” she asks. “Any siblings?”

  “Is that the next question on the list?”

  She lowers her attention to the placemat. “Uh…no. What’s your sign?” I lift my brow in confusion. “Your zodiac sign.” She explains.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well when’s your birthday?” she asks.

  “Tomorrow actually.”

  “Yeah right.” she scoffs.

  “Seriously.” I pull out my wallet and show her my license. She smiles wickedly. “What’s so funny?”

  Gabriella lifts her shoulder nonchalantly. “Nothing.”

  Our food comes and once again she helps herself to my plate. “If you wanted fries you should have gotten your own.”

  “Where’s the fun with that? Okay, back to the questions. How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

  “That’s a bit personal don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t ask when you lost your virginity,” she taunts.

  “Twelve,” I reply and she coughs. “First kiss was at twelve.”

  I hold out her glass of water and wait till she’s recovered.

  “Thanks. Alright, tell me something you’re bad at?”

  “Relationships.”

  “Pet peeves?”

  “Answering personal questions.”

  “Why do you think you’re bad at relationships?” she asks several seconds later.

  “Probably because I haven’t really tried. My career is what’s most important to me. I’m not looking for distractions.”

  “You see relationships as distractions?”

  I nod.

  “God that’s sad.”

  “My turn.” I snatch an onion ring from her plate and take her menu too. “Name your least favorite place.”

  “Hospitals,” she replies without hesitation. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to be more original but her explanation makes me glad I didn’t.

  “When I was in college my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fortunately, I was close enough to help out with taking her to chemo,” she pauses. “My mom and I were always close but I felt like I had to distract her while we were there. I’d quiz her on her life. I was so scared I’d lose her. The thought of not knowing all the experiences and choices that made her who she was? I couldn’t take that chance.”

  She takes a breath, staring off in the distance. “Don’t get me wrong, the nurses and doctors who treated her were amazing…I mean, they saved her life. But the smell in the oncology wing,” she visibly shivers. “It’s not a scent you can easily forget. Anyway, since my mom was sick anytime I have to go to a hospital I swear I have a mini panic attack.”

  We’re silent for a long minute until I have an epiphany. “That’s why you always wear pink. Well, almost always.”

  She gives me a mischievous grin. “It’s a great color, and you were right the first time.”

  Confused, I scan her entire body not finding a bracelet, earrings…anything pink. “Always?”

  “Always.”

  My eyes automatically hone in on her chest and then back to her face for confirmation. Fuck me. I shake my head and curse under my breath. Maybe a martini was the wrong way to go.

  “You realize what you’ve done, right? Anytime you’re not wearing pink I’m going to be picturing what your panties look like, down to the shade.”

  She brushing off my comment but I don’t miss the flush of her cheeks.

  Get back to a safe topic before this goes to shit.

  “How’s your mom now?” I ask.

  “Good. Six years in remission. She’s a fighter.”

  The corners of my mouth tug up. “You had to get it from somewhere.”

  “True. And for your information, that’s how you answer a question. I should get a do over.”

  “Not so fast. This isn’t half bad when you’re on the other side. Tell me about the rest of your family.”

  “My family runs a restaurant in the North End. It’s been in the family for three genera
tions. My parents run it now, with the help of my uncle.”

  “And your brothers?”

  “Vincent’s a doctor. Anthony, he’s the one that works for the Celtics and Leo owns a construction company and dabbles in commercial real-estate.”

  “Sounds like your family is close.”

  Gabriella nods. “Very.”

  I sit back and study her then ask, “Where do you go on Thursday’s?”

  “I stay with my grandmother. She has pretty advanced Alzheimer’s.”

  “That must be rough.”

  “It sucks. It’s weird missing someone who’s still alive but no longer the person they used to be. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her though. Not knowing who people are or what year it is. She lives with my parents. We all take turns spending time with her. Thursday’s I head there after work and relieve my uncle who works nights so both of my parents can be at the restaurant. Depending on her mood we either eat and play cards or watch old movies like Casa Blanca while I paint her nails.”

  “And if it’s a bad day?” I ask.

  “I spend hours trying to calm her down. Sometimes she hallucinates and her moods and memories can give you whiplash. One minute you’re in the present, the next she’s forgotten she has a family and thinks your out to get her. She get’s scared, and when she’s afraid she gets physical.”

  “Physical?”

  “She’s freakishly strong for someone who’s about to turn eighty.”

  My eyes find the small wound at her eyebrow. Gabriella takes note.

  “She refused to go to the bathroom and wet herself. I convinced her that she needed to shower and on the way to the bathroom she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. She went on a tirade about me helping the old lady who follows her and clocked me with a clay sculpture that I made in grade school.”

  “She didn’t recognize her reflection?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “And the bruises on your arm?”

  She nods.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me that? I thought you were mugged or in an abusive relationship.”

  “Do we really need to rehash what an asshat you’ve been?”

  “Point taken. Doesn’t sound like a safe arrangement for any of you. Have you considered putting her in a home?”

  She smiles weakly. “I’m working on it.”

  “The Elder Care Program?”

  “Yeah. Hopefully it works out.”

  I hope so too but don’t get the chance to tell her because our waitress abruptly appears.

  “Finished yet? The longer you sit here chatting, the less tips I’ll make,” the waitress snaps.

  “Here,” I reluctantly give her my card and excuses myself to use the restroom. On my way back I notice the entire wait staff hot on my tails and when I reach the booth they begin singing Happy Birthday. I sit down and shake my head at Gabriella who is extremely pleased. When they finish, they put a desert covered in whipped cream in front of me. Being a good sport, I blow out the candle, make a wish for something I know won’t come true, and then blow out the candle.

  I’m expecting the flame to return, one of those trick candles, but to my surprise the waitress removes the candle and asks if I’d like a piece. Thinking back to her earlier comment about liking it extra dirty, I’m positive there’s double meaning in her question. Maybe she’ll spoon feed me. What I’m not expecting is to have the cake shoved in my face.

  Gabriella gasps. I lick my lips and attempt to scowl at her from under my whipped cream covered eyes. Her head tips back in laughter. I shake my head, causing a blob of cream to fall on my lap, which makes her laugh even harder. When she’s slightly composed she leans over the table and scoops a finger full of whipped cream off my face and eats it. Fuck if that wasn’t sexy.

  She scoots out of her seat and into my side of the booth. Before I can process what she’s doing, she’s holding her phone outstretched, telling me to smile.

  Click.

  “That was…interesting,” I tell her as we leave.

  “It was fun.”

  Later that night after I’ve dropped Gabriella at her place, I walk in the door and my phone chimes with a text. It’s the picture from dinner. She’s sporting a face splitting grin and I’m actually smiling too.

  Gabriella: This should be framed!!!

  The next morning I make it to the office before Gabby. We never did confirm that she’d be here today so there’s a possibility I could be spending the day alone. I waste no time getting to work and around noon I sit back to check my progress. Her sticky-note method looked chaotic but it actually works.

  The elevator chimes in the distance. I peek out into the hallway hating how much I want it to be her.

  “You going to help me or stand there and stare?” Gabriella’s balancing a bag on top of a pizza box.

  I shake my head and walk toward her to grab the food, and try not to smile at the fact that she’s here and thought to bring me lunch. “You’re late,” is all I say.

  “You’re welcome,” she replies. She walks past me into the conference room and kicks off her shoes.

  “If they aren’t comfortable, why do you wear them?” I ask.

  Gabriella glances down at her scattered heels and shrugs as if it’s obvious. “They’re pretty.”

  It’s then that I notice that she’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a white silk blouse with a faded pink pattern. “Hot date?” I ask, cringing at that thought. “Chris decide he’s ready to be a dad?”

  “Very funny, but no. He won’t answer my calls and I’d be willing to bet he starts getting his coffee somewhere else.” She sets out the food and I busy myself to hide the annoyance that she called him. “It’s a family thing. I told you last night that my family owns a restaurant in the North End, right?” I nod. “Well, every Sunday for as long as I can remember we shut down at 4 o’clock and have a huge family dinner. I’m talking cousins and aunts and uncles. It’s great.”

  She lights up when she talks about her family. It’s obvious they’re important to her the way a family is supposed to be.

  I take a paper plate from the table, hand it to Gabriella when it’s filled with pizza and salad. She accepts it and turns to look at the progress I’ve made. I watch her every move as she pads across the floor, taking her time on each scenario.

  Gabriella finally turns to me and smiles. “I’m impressed.”

  I can’t help smiling in return. “You are?”

  “Don’t be so surprised. You’re brilliant.” She walks back to one chart and points at it with her pizza. “I like this idea best. It’ll give you the opportunity to delegate more.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I agree.

  “Can I suggest a minor tweak?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Over the next several hours we walk through a few options not only for the structure of my organization, but also for my plans to get a more global experience when it comes to understanding customers.

  She steps back and looks at the final version. “This is good. If you can do this successfully I have no doubt you’ll earn that SVP title.”

  I watch her thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t support me getting that promotion today?” I ask already knowing her response.

  “Based on your experience I don’t think you’re ready.” I open my mouth to defend myself when she stops me by placing her hand on my arm. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t capable,” she continues. “I believe in you. Oh, I almost forgot.”

  Gabriella scampers across the room and pulls a box out of the bag she carried in earlier. She flips the lights off and turns around with a small chocolate cake and walks toward me singing ‘happy birthday’ as a small LED candle flickers in its center. Singing is not her forte but she makes it work and it’s the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a long time. I haven’t celebrated my birthday in almost a decade, aside from my 21st with Ki.

  She stops a foot in front of me. “Make a wish.”
>
  I laugh and blow out the fake candle and blink when it goes out. “Remote control,” she says holding it up. “Sorry it’s not real, I didn’t want to set off the alarms.”

  I ignore the tightening in my chest that’s begun happening more often and nod. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  For your help. For making me smile. For believing in me. “This weekend.”

  “We make a good team, Lucas.”

  I glance at my watch needing a diversion. “What time did you say your dinner was?”

  “I should be there between 5 and 6 o’clock. Why?”

  “Then you better get going,” I tell her. “It’s nearly four-thirty.”

  “Oh crap.” She scrambles to put her coat on and searches for one of her shoes.

  Christ she’s disorganized.

  I spot the missing shoe under the table and fetch it for her. She takes it from my hand and steadies her hand on my arm as she bends her leg behind her to slip it on. She teeters a bit and fists my shirt to keep her balance. I grab her hips to steady her only to be zapped by a jolt of chemistry.

  “Wait, we didn’t get to eat your cake.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Once her shoes are on and both feet are back on solid ground, I release her and back away. I turn to clean up the left over pizza and toss it into the trash at the opposite end of the conference room.

  “I have a great idea. If you don’t have any plans you should come with me,” Gabriella offers.

  “I don’t want to impose on time with your family.”

  “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then it’s settled. No one should be alone on their birthday. Promise it’ll be the best Italian food you’ve ever had.”

  Twenty some people fill the restaurant, ranging in age from infant to ancient. All eyes turn to Gabriella and me as we enter the back room. One incredibly long table that must be made up of at least six smaller ones is the focal piece. Each person she passes embraces her and kisses her on the cheek as if they’ve gone years without seeing each other, rather than a week. It warms my heart and makes me jealous at the same time.

  “Who’s your friend?” a guy bearing a strong resemblance to Gabriella asks.

  “This,” she says, pulling me forward. “Is my co-worker Lucas. He’s just moved here from New York City. Lucas, this is my brother, Vincent.”