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Sidetracked

Page 8

by Lola Karns


  Chapter 9

  His day started with a cold and empty bed. He wanted to wake up next to Claire, to see her hair sprawled across his pillows as the sunlight crept in and to watch a sly grin transform her face from innocent to wanton. In the lazy twilight between sleep and consciousness, he wondered what she liked for breakfast and how she drank her coffee. Instead, he woke up unsettled and alone. Not that he would have had much time for coffee. He needed to get into the office.

  He picked up what he could find of his clothes, and then showered, both with a sense of unease. Never had an empty bed bothered him so much. She’d turned his world upside down. Even before making love, and in his mind, that seemed the best way to describe last night, she made him laugh and think.

  Would Claire prefer the whimsy of the martini glass tie or the simplicity of the black on black silk check? The black glided over his fingers, but the texture and tone weren’t right. With all he had to do at the office, the basic red bespoke power. Plus the color was closer to Claire’s flushed lips. When the day got bad, he could look at the tie and think of her. Except, she left before they made plans and he still didn’t know her last name or where she lived.

  With the covers aired out, he made the bed. As he reached for pillows on the floor, the condom box caught his attention. Claire must have ripped open the box because on one flap was a drawing of a phone, with a number on the screen. “Use wisely.”

  “Oh, I will.” Right up until the competition for the partnership ended and he was able to get the hell out of Dodge.

  His muscles relaxed as he fluffed the pillows. Over the past weekend, Danny convinced the partners to extend the competition to the end of the bookstore’s fiscal year in January. The extension hurt his chances to become partner, unless Ohio experienced an exceptionally cold January. But it gave him a little more time with Claire. He didn’t like the idea of this burgeoning relationship having a pre-determined expiration date, but she could make his time more tolerable.

  James went downstairs, but instead of the mess he expected, he saw dishes in the sink and a swept floor. Her tidiness was another point in her favor. He filled and started the coffee maker. He ate a yogurt while it brewed and called Claire’s number.

  “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message at the tone.” James scowled at the robot.

  The dripping sound behind him turned into a waterfall. “What the? Shit.” The coffeepot overflowed.

  AFTER AN HOUR AT HIS desk, James rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, trying to make his headache go away. He inhaled, exhaled and opened his eyes. Reports and files still covered his workspace. “Crap.”

  The piles of reports on his desk were not going to read themselves, nor get him closer to seeing Claire or making partner. Firing someone and getting mentally back on the business track would help, so would another cup of coffee, and maybe some aspirin. Caffeine was supposed to help with headaches and fixing that issue took priority over his rumbling gut.

  Grace, his secretary startled at the sound of his office door. “See if that that train guy can get in before noon. The sooner the better. Even if it means moving my meeting with HR. I want Walter McKenna in here fifteen minutes before the train meeting. And Grace, find out when IT is going to remove that junk from the empty cubical. It looks sloppy.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fordham.” She reached for the rolodex, another genuine relic that should only exist in the movies. The inefficiency of the system made his head hurt even though one of Fordham, Fordham and Schmidt’s executive secretaries vouched for Grace’s skills after a one-day training session.

  Adena was a model of inefficiency. From the overstaffing to the maze of hallways between his office and the coffeepot, everything took twice as long as it should. As he turned the final corner, he overheard voices in the coffee room.

  “—Is in a good mood. Grace said he smiled today.” A feminine voice gossiped.

  “That prick is probably firing OSHA today.” The male voice was completely off base. He couldn’t legally fire OSHA, even though their safety regulations cost a bundle. And he couldn’t lay off more than forty-five percent of the workforce without filing with the state and triggering mandatory retraining.

  “She said he was relaxed, like someone took the stick out of his a-s-s.”

  “I bet that cost a lot of money. Maybe he’s firing IT or— “

  “Or maybe no-one.”

  Two sets of eyes widened as James strode through the door. The woman had the decency to blush and mutter “excuse me” as she darted from the room. Unfortunately, she had enough sense to duck her head and cover her badge, so he didn’t get a good look.

  According to the name badge hanging from his neck, the guy was Greg from Customer Service.

  “Anything wrong? Is there something you wish to say?”

  “Just blowing off steam. Better with a coworker than with a customer.”

  He tapped his toe and continued to stare at offender. Claire would have leveled this guy with her do-you-need-a-shovel-look, but James settled for a chin jut and silence until the young idiot’s spine began to melt.

  “Sorry.”

  “Thinking of customers, Greg, I certainly hope none are on hold waiting for a representative.”

  Grace was right. He was in a good mood.

  Knowing the perpetual stench of burnt coffee and microwave filth ruined everything, he waited until after leaving the kitchenette to take a sip. Coffee splattered everywhere as he spit.

  “Grace! Why is the coffee so terrible?”

  Her shoulders quivered as if she were laughing before she turned to face him. “Budget cuts, Mr. Fordham. This was the best we could do. Do you need a napkin? You appear to have spilled your drink.”

  “Do not offer that filth to guests. They’ll think we’re broke.”

  “I thought we were, sir.”

  He snatched the napkin from her hand, walked into his office, and then slammed the door behind him. The brown liquid in his cup sloshed through the hole in the lid, so he put the whole thing in the garbage. A coffee spot marred his tie.

  “Damn.” Good thing he kept a back-up. These toy people may be local yahoos—their storefront looked half a step from closure—but they were no excuse for sloppiness. He pulled the spare tie from the bottom drawer. The deep purple color reminded him of the sunset, and of Claire. He tried calling her, but the robotic voice reiterated Claire’s unavailability.

  “Hrumph.” The top drawer offered a less satisfying solution. Claire would have been a better form of medicine, but he took a swig of Mylanta instead. The thick liquid coated his mouth and made the burnt taste go away but couldn’t spark the embers of his good mood. His phone lit up.

  “Swamped with work.” Frowny face.

  Another text bubble appeared below Claire’s name. “Later” and a green creature.

  “Why did—″ his lips stretched into a grin. “Gator.”

  Emoji was practically a foreign language with so many symbols having double meanings, but he replied with a thumbs-up sign. Emboldened, he tried another. He typed two letters “my.” Scrolling through the seemingly endless pictures, he found a house and hit send.

  She sent a laughing face. He’d sent a boarded-up house. The churning in his gut began anew. This day was an endless mess.

  “Grace?”

  “Yes, Mr. Fordham?”

  “Did you get the meeting changed?”

  “CJ’s will be here at eleven thirty.”

  “Great, as soon as he arrives, make sure security is on hand in case we need another escort out of the building. Call the afternoon security guy in early. And get Walter McKenna in here at 11:15. He needs to be here for this meeting.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fordham.”

  After disconnecting, he picked up the customer service department overview. Greg was on his shit list. The staff needed reduction, and the less efficient representatives had no right to remain employed. Not that he considered himself vindictive, but with any
luck those two lists overlapped.

  HE WAS DEEP IN ANALYSIS of Customer Service when the intercom sprang to life. “Sir? Walter McKenna is here.”

  “Thank you, Grace. Show him in.” He inherited Grace. She was unambitious but efficient and since she moved here a few months before he did, she didn’t have deep personal ties to the people of Belkin and employees of Adena. Since she assisted in the termination paperwork, not caring was another point in her favor.

  Walter entered his office with the fluidity of a robot. He put on a brave front as they shook hands, but he saw the fear in the other man’s eyes.

  “Please. Take a seat.” James remained standing a few seconds longer, all the better to show who was in charge.

  “I wanted to follow up. Did any issues arise when you termed Mike Mitchell?” He’d seen a security incident report, but only one for the marketing department.

  The old man shifted in his chair. His jaw moved so much, James half expected a wad of gum to come flying out. Fortunately, nothing but bad breath came out through his curled lips. Walter rubbed one hand in another. At this rate, the train guy would arrive before Walter answered the question. James cleared his throat.

  “Neither one of us was happy about it. His wife’s family owns O’Meara’s Tavern so don’t be surprised if you see your face on the dart board.”

  “They offer a terrible selection of beer anyway.”

  “For the record, again, I completely disagree with your decision. He was, I mean is, our photography genius and owns the drone. We need him.”

  “No, we don’t. Adena will save money on his salary, but more importantly on his expenditures, which were double his salary. Adena does not need to waste money on quarterly photography. I’m sure you have more than enough photos stockpiled to show every building and substation in every season. We’ll save enough money to put one of the other artists through a weeklong seminar to learn Photoshop or better yet they can watch YouTube tutorials. If that proves insufficient, we can hire someone young, eager, fresh out of college, who’s up to date on the latest and greatest software.”

  “You mean cheap!” Walter’s belligerent tone matched the red spreading across his face and neck.

  “That too.” James shrugged, and leaned back. Walter’s nostrils flared. He looked like a cartoon character getting ready to have a burst of steam erupt from his ears.

  “Have you given any more thought as to which admin your department will retain? Since you’ll be working closely with this person, you pick who you would like to keep on. However, since Margaret Bishop is close to retirement age, I am prepared to offer her early retirement. The broad details of which are included in this information packet Grace prepared, but I need your decision by Friday.” He slid a folder across the desk.

  “There are times we have all three of our assistants so busy that we pay overtime to the two hourly workers. We can’t function with one.”

  “I noticed that ridiculous line item as well. You will have one full time person, fire a second person and the third will be transferred to an in-house temp pool. Different departments have different busy seasons, so we will keep several employees as ‘floaters.’ During your busy season, you can request additional staff through H.R.”

  “That’s actually a good idea. I’m surprised.”

  James recognized a backhanded compliment when he heard it. For now, he ignored the insolence. He had other matters to attend to. He glanced at the wall clock.

  “Third, and last agenda item today, we are formally rescinding the holiday train contract in about eight minutes.”

  “But almost everything is in place for this year’s display. We have a contract. Set up starts in two weeks.”

  “It will be cheaper to break the contract than to run the display.”

  “But it’s a tradi—”

  “An expensive tradition. The company loses money on it ever year. With the increased use of electricity and additional staffing required, the liability insurance, the catering—”

  “This is our best PR opportunity all year. Families come in from miles around—”

  “And we spend money hand over fist without any substantial benefit.”

  “Corporate good will?”

  “Research shows people care about the environment. Going ‘green’ creates buzz and improves people’s perceptions about a company. The trains are a waste of elec—”

  “The trains are a beloved trad—” A thunderous noise filled his office as Walter pounded on his large wooden desk. He knew the man loved his trains based on the toys in his office, but this was ridiculous.

  “By eliminating the train display we can save eleven jobs. Would you like to decide who to fire instead? Perhaps the older lady with the candy dish? Perhaps the young father? Perhaps you? Toy trains or eleven jobs. Which would you choose?”

  Walter slid into his chair. The backbone he’d shown fighting for his toys ran away under the weight of facts, of the reality of his neighbors losing jobs. James tried not to gloat. Instead he offered the old man a glass of water from the pitcher he kept on the side bar. It was a little trick he learned. Give the receiver of bad news a chance to consider their options and send their emotional response packing.

  Walter drank his water, both hands on the glass in quiet contemplation. Standing, he set the glass back on the desk and closed his eyes for a long blink. When he opened them, he stared back with a confrontational spark. “Fine. Have it your way, but you have to deal with CJ’s. Not me.”

  Walter slammed the door against the wall as he left. He sank back in his chair. All in all, it could have been worse. Walter hadn’t tried to take a swing at him, and he’d ducked a few punches before.

  Per the vintage Omega Seamaster wristwatch inherited from his grandfather, he had a few minutes until 11:30. His fingers itched to call Claire, but she indicated later was better. He moved the files from atop the desk into a nearly empty drawer until only the ones related to the display remained.

  He took another swig of disturbingly light bottle of Mylanta. He hadn’t counted on breaking the contract with the toy shop personally and on his own. He had to admire Walter’s courage. Danny would have fired the man on the spot for challenging a directive, but personally, he liked the man for sticking up for himself. People like him demonstrated why a little company like this was worth trying to save.

  His watch echoed in the quiet office. Tick, tick, tick. Pressing the orange button on the old phone he reached his admin.

  “Grace?”

  “Yes, Mr. Fordham?”

  “Is security set?”

  THE MESSENGER BAG SLAPPED against Claire’s hip as she walked into corporate headquarters. She could hold it, but she needed a free hand for opening the heavy glass doors of the office building. Her left hand gripped the portfolio. She’d been waiting for and dreading this meeting, excited to show off this year’s design after months of hard work, but nervous about going alone.

  In two weeks, she’d have temporary quarters here so all the details would finalize in situ. With only six weeks until opening day, a lot of work remained. Recreating James’ brown-bronze-gold eyes on three figures took all morning, but it was a vital task of community building. Her dreamy goo-goo-eyes had nothing to do with it.

  Adena’s large marble interior, currently devoid of all decoration, brought a smile to her face as shoes clicked across the floor to the security desk. Her mind’s eye saw shiny ornaments dangling from the ceiling and velvet ropes creating a path leading to the centerpiece, her tribute to Grandpa Clem. The audience wouldn’t notice that part per se. She wanted them to be too enthralled to notice anything but their own happiness. Last night’s magic revitalized her spirit. Soon she’d share the joy. There was no better feeling.

  “Good Morning, Ryan!”

  A dark blue rent-a-cop uniform replaced the high school football uniform he had worn when she was a sophomore and he was a senior. His eyes shifted nervously as he wiggled his index finger to invite her. The gesture p
ut her on edge. They were acquaintances on a first name basis, but they never shared a close bond.

  “You’d know. Are the rumors true? Are they cancelling the trains?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.” Walter’s words echoed in her mind. The secretary to whom she’d spoken failed to remind her to bring her portfolio, but she might be new. Heck, Claire was new to this formalized meeting. The Adena contract was another business task Grandpa handled so she could focus on the creative side.

  “I hope so. The wife’s counting on the overtime pay to cover Christmas this year. The kids want one of them handheld video games that also work on the TV.”

  “Kallie used to work at Ace, right? I might need help at the store on weekends. She could bring the kids.” She bit her lip. That store occupied way far more mental real estate than she could afford. “The call for OT hours should go out soon. I’m getting the keys today.” Her brows furrowed. She thought Grandpa got a schedule for set up day when he got the keys. Her rib cage contracted, squeezing her lungs. “I hope the kids get what they want.”

  “Me too. Should I page Walter for you?”

  “No. I’m here to see a Mr. Fordham.”

  Ryan grimaced at the name.

  “Uh, oh. That bad?”

  “Last Thursday, seven people required a security escort as they cleaned out their desks. Yesterday it was only one, but it was a doozy. I don’t know what went down, but Mike Mitchell was swearing a blue streak.”

  Her eyes widened as she shook her head. Back in high school, she interned with Mike at his part time photography business. He yelled once when she made a big mistake, ruining a sheet of negatives, but she’d never heard him swear. Ryan must have recognized her distress; his face softened.

  “Do you want someone to go in there with you? I—I—I could get Walter or one of Clem’s other friends. I’d go myself, but I’m not really supposed to leave my post unsupervised and the other full-timer won’t be in for another hour.” He seemed unnerved, his words spilling out fast compared to his usual languid demeanor.

 

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