by B. E. Baker
I need to knock Jack's slobby, disorganized socks off.
I stand up and smooth my shirt and pants, picking at invisible lint while I wait for him to reach the office where I’m waiting. I try to imagine what this mystery boss with the deep, rolling voice might look like. He arrives at the office at three in the afternoon, and his workspace looks like a scene out of A Beautiful Mind. Clearly he's a little more creative than business minded, which is probably an occupational hazard when you're developing tech. I realize I have no idea what this company even manufactures. Watches? Phones? Apps? Pedometers?
Not that it really matters to me as long as the checks clear.
“I'm here as promised.” Jack walks around the corner with a smile on his bearded face. It's not a shaggy beard, but it's more than scruff. He's got such a pretty face that the facial hair keeps him from looking effeminate. His teeth are straight and white and his hair isn’t long and it isn’t short. He’s a study in perfect symmetry and balance.
“And you’ve got a candidate, as you promised.” He holds out his hand. “I'm Jack Campbell.”
I meet his eyes and extend my hand. He clasps it firmly, and his arm flexes noticeably underneath his dress shirt. I should extricate my hand from his, but his eyes distract me. I can't decide whether they're more green or brown.
Nancy clears her throat. “Can you talk to her in your office?”
He drops my hand and cocks his head. “If we hire her, that means I can't ask her on a date, right?”
He must be kidding, but my eyelashes flutter anyway. My heart races and my breathing hitches, because slobby Jack is the hottest guy I've seen in, well, in years maybe.
But I need this job, so I hope it was a stupid, poorly considered joke. “I don't need a date, sir,” I say. “But I really, really need employment.”
“My assessment so far is that Gerty is competent, resourceful and clear,” Nancy interjects. “I've interviewed twelve people for this position in the past two weeks. None rose to her level of interpersonal competency or inspired as much confidence.” She turns toward me and lowers her voice. “I'm very sorry. He's never been unprofessional like this before.”
He waves toward his office. “I'm sorry for the inappropriate joke. I've been working pretty long hours lately, and I think I may need a good night's sleep.”
I immediately imagine where he might sleep, and an enormous king-sized four poster bed comes to mind. I think about sinking onto it myself. What is wrong with me? I close my eyes and clear my throat. “No problem.”
He motions toward the doorway. “No more flirting, I promise.”
I follow him out of Nancy's office and into his. He glances from one black leather armchair to the other, clearly at a loss. Both are so covered with notepads that there's no clear place to sit. Nancy said not to touch anything, but this is unworkable. I carefully gather up the pile of notes resting on one chair and set them on the corner of his desk.
“Not afraid to take action,” he says. “I like it. Just make sure you never trash anything, even if it looks useless to you.”
He's talking like I've already got the job. Clearly he values Nancy's opinion. “Got it. Never throw anything away, including stained napkins covered in incomprehensible equations. Probably contains the cure to cancer, and I’d doom the entire world.”
He barks a laugh. “Exactly.”
“Is that what SITB does?” I ask. “Medical research?”
He sits in his desk chair and drops his arms down on the messy surface, undermining my belief in the precious nature of his notes. “Something like that.”
“Wait, seriously? You do cancer research?” That was a lucky guess.
“Not cancer, no.” He smiles and I’m glad I’m sitting down so my knees don’t wobble. “We’re working on a prototype for a portable EKG. It'll allow docs to do an EKG from anywhere, including the privacy of a patient's own home. If we succeed, it'll save half a billion dollars on medical bills annually, and allow efficient monitoring for patients who would otherwise be cut loose. Plus it’ll minimize equipment waste.”
Wow, I really shouldn't toss his old napkins. “That sounds amazing.”
He nods. “I certainly hope so.”
“What questions do you have for me?” I ask.
“Let's say I have a meeting on the books and clients arrive as planned, but I'm not here. What would you do?”
Is this a trick question? Where else would he be? I lean toward him. “Is your real name Bruce Wayne?”
Blood drains from his face for some reason. “I'm not a hero, that's for sure.”
“Is this a real scenario?” I ask. “Do you regularly miss important meetings you've scheduled?”
He sighs. “I have a lot of things going on in my life other than this startup. I’m not Batman, but that's a reality for me. I need someone who can run interference if things don’t run smoothly.”
I lick my lips. “I suppose I'd let them know you were delayed by circumstances outside your control and make sure to offer them amazing snacks while they wait. There's a great bakery around the corner. I’d order muffins and cookies to be brought in for any days when important meetings are scheduled. Then I'd try and message you to find out whether you're merely delayed, or not coming at all. If you're on your way, I'd do my best to keep them happy until you arrived. If you're not coming, I'd make up a plausible lie, if the truth is off limits, and try to reschedule.”
The corner of his mouth turns up in something that approximates a smile.
“It would help if you had someone else prepped to take over for you when you're not around. A second-in-command, so to speak, who could do the presentations without you.”
He shakes his head. “Not possible. Only I have all the puzzle pieces of this particular piece of tech. Some of them are up here.” He taps his head.
“Can I ask why?”
“You can ask,” he says, “and maybe one day I'll even answer, but today is not that day.”
“You're the boss.”
“That I am. Did Nancy already talk to you about numbers?”
I nod.
“And you're okay with them?”
I nod again.
He stands up and offers me his hand. “Then I guess you're hired.”
“Just like that?”
This time he’s the one who nods. “Nancy will expect you to be in the office daily by nine a.m. It's short notice, but we'd love it if you could start tomorrow. Nancy doesn't have much time left to train you.”
He holds out his hand, and I reach to take it again. It's a mistake. The second our fingers touch, my heart goes haywire, and my face flushes.
His hazel eyes sparkle at me, as if he knows exactly how I'm feeling. I’m sure every girl he meets goes gaga around him. I snatch my hand away. The joke's on him, because his face might rival a young Brad Pitt. His voice probably causes most women to swoon. None of that makes a difference to me.
I'm as dead inside as Troy's beloved daisy.
I fill out the new hire paperwork before I head out to my car. My excitement one hundred percent stems from the fact that I’ve found a job with decent pay and medical. It has nothing to do with the mesmerizing eyes of my new boss.
Nothing whatsoever.
4
Trudy
Nancy spends the first hour teaching me the safety protocols at SITB. We enter my biometric data for the after hours scanner, and I'm issued badges and passwords. I've been here sixty-four minutes and already my head feels stuffed full of pointless information. Basically, it’s like being in high school again.
Eventually, when my head feels so full of new stuff it might burst, Nancy starts showing me how to set up appointments in their system and telling me what the various codes and acronyms mean.
“That reminds me. What does SITB stand for?” I ask.
Nancy shrugs. “Jack won't say, so it's turned into a bit of an office joke. We're working on portable medical testing equipment, so most of our ideas have something
to do with that. Best idea at the end of every week gets whatever’s in the change jar in the break room. We all dump out our pocket change as we come and go each day. We vote on the idea on Friday at three.”
“Seriously?” I ask. “Jack knows about this weekly contest?”
Nancy grins. “It was his idea. He says it's good for office morale. I think the lion's share of the change comes from him, actually.”
I think about the letters and can't come up with any ideas off the top of my head. Maybe Paisley will be better at it. I probably need to come up with a decent submission for my first week. I don't want to be the office loser.
About halfway through the day, Nancy leaves for lunch. I'm working on a spreadsheet when I realize I never ate anything myself. I pull my peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of my purse, but it looks even worse than I remember them looking in grade school. I decide to try my luck with the vending machine.
Two dollars later, the dumb machine still hasn't spit out a single bag of chips. I kick it.
“Hey now, assault is illegal in Georgia.”
I jump at the sound of the man’s voice and turn around to face him. A tall guy I saw working in one of the big side offices stands behind me, smiling. I didn't even hear him approach. His hair is perfectly mussed and his shoes are perfectly shined, but a few freckles on the bridge of his nose add a little character to his face.
I laugh. “I'm not even intimidating enough to scare a vending machine, apparently.”
“It's more about leverage. You've got to press your numbers and then hit enter. Twice.” He points.
I try it again and this time, it works. Two bags of Cheetos drop, so apparently the machine registered my multiple requests at some level. I offer one to my new friend.
“Cheetos?” His eyes and tone judge me. “Really?”
“My son loves these,” I say. “Maybe I miss him more than I thought I would.”
“I have three boys myself,” he says. “Nine, six and one. I've liked Cheetos since I was a kid. I just didn't peg you for a cheese-powder girl.”
“Troy just turned four. They grow too fast.”
“Some nights I think they don't grow fast enough.” He rubs at his eyes.
“Not getting enough sleep is the worst for sure.” I laugh. “My feelings on Troy growing up change by the hour.”
“I completely agree.” He holds out his hand for a shake. “I'm Greg. Welcome to SITB, an office run by a guy with a Stick in the Butt.”
I wouldn't ever describe Jack that way, but it's a funny acronym. “That must have been a weekly winner.”
He grins. “Yep, the first month I was here. It's getting harder to come up with something original, but that one kind of stuck. You'll get it once you've spent a little more time with Jack.”
“Is he a hard boss?” I ask. “I've only been in the same room with him for five minutes, and that was an interview.”
Greg grunts. “He's a maniac. Nothing we do is ever good enough, which is rich coming from a guy who can't be bothered to show up before two in the afternoon. When he's being especially awful, I try to remind myself that he's probably got a lot riding on this. That must be scary for someone who never learned to have any kind of work ethic. It must suck for a trust baby when their parents insist that they finally do something.”
“Is he really a trust baby?” I scrunch my nose. “He didn't seem like it to me.” But then, I’ve never met one.
“Oh please, he must be. He’s got several cars, breezes in and out like this is a hobby to him, and orders people around like he’s Prince Charles.”
Jack did say I should plan on him missing important meetings.
“I don't envy you being his assistant,” Greg says. “It's hard enough meeting his expectations from the business side. Being his assistant sounds like a job no one could ever win.”
“Gee thanks,” I say.
“If you ever need anything at all, let me know. I'm happy to help and I've been with SITB since it opened. I can't believe it's coming up on a year.”
Greg seems nice enough, but I really hope he's wrong. Even if I don't want to finish my career as an assistant here at SITB, I have to survive at least a few months. Nancy and I work dutifully all afternoon, but in the end, my enigmatic boss doesn't even show up on my first day. Even so, I do the math and realize that I earned $135 today. I'd have to sell sixteen signs on Etsy to make that much money.
It feels good. Really good.
The next day, I know immediately when Jack shows up. The reverb from his shouts echoes from all the way down the hall. Nancy stands up to see what's happening and I follow her to sneak a look around the doorframe.
Jack's face is red, and his arms gesture wildly. “You have thirty seconds to grab your stuff and get out. I'll leave whatever you can’t carry at the front desk tomorrow. Give me your security clearance now, because you're done here.”
When Greg walks out of his office, his face is pale enough to pass for a sparkly vampire. My heart sinks. I had one friend and my horrible new boss just fired him. But for what?
“Conference room in five minutes. Staffwide meeting,” Jack says to Nancy as he storms into his office.
Nancy crosses her arms under her chest, resting them on the top of her belly. I wish I knew what she was thinking, because I'm a little freaked out.
“Let's finish this up,” she tells me. “We should be able to wrap it up before the meeting.”
My hands shake as I type the updated press release and drop the document into the email we prepared.
“Send it,” she says, “and let's go. We need to make sure Jack has what he needs before he faces everyone. Greg was well liked.”
She picks up the phone and calls building security to let them know about Greg's departure.
“How'd you know to do that?” I ask as we walk to the conference room.
She glances my way. “Part of your new job is doing whatever needs to be done so that by the time Jack thinks about it, it's already taken care of.”
How am I supposed to know what he's going to think of?
Jack strides up and falls into step next to us. “We need to call security and let them know Greg Killean's clearance is revoked.”
Nancy shoots me a sideways glance. “It's been done already, sir.”
Jack smiles and takes a seat at the head of the table. Nancy sits next to him, a notepad in hand. Why didn't I think to bring something to write on?
“Why are we here today?” Jack asks.
No one offers any ideas.
“You heard me fire Greg, obviously. I was too upset to be circumspect.”
Heads bob silently.
“We’ve long had a clear company policy that private activities aren't allowed in the office during the day. You're being paid for your time, and most of you clock out at five p.m. daily. That means that when you're here, I expect you to be working and not wasting time and effort on personal websites. Not to mention, your access of such websites exposes us to all sorts of security risks I won't waste time enumerating.”
He fired Greg for what? Checking his email? My heart goes out to his wife and three kids. Jack fired him for wasting a little time? I kind of hate Mr. Campbell, even if he does have a beautiful face. That should have prepared me for this, actually. Chris had a pretty enough face and look where that got me.
Jack talks on and on about the importance of following the protocols and rules and then dismisses everyone abruptly.
“I may run to the bathroom,” I say to Nancy. “If that's okay?” I wonder whether Jack considers trips to the restroom a waste of valuable company time. Maybe he should ration them.
She bobs her head. “Of course.”
On my way back, I notice several people whispering in the break room. A woman I haven't met, Ish from the front desk, and a guy whose office was next door to the dearly departed Greg.
“I can't believe he did that,” the neighbor guy says.
I pause, and they notice.
&n
bsp; “What?” The woman lifts one eyebrow at me, like I'm an informant. I can't have them thinking I agree with Jack. What he did to Greg was terrible. I should have spoken up during the meeting. Someone should have defended Greg, but it's only my second day. I always assumed I'd have stood up to the regime in Germany before World War II, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe we're all cowards at a baseline, more inclined to duck our heads than risk our necks.
At least the other employees should know where I stand. “I agree with you guys. Jack's a complete jerk. He never should have fired poor Greg. I mean, who doesn't check their email once or twice a day, right? Where are we working? Nazi occupied Germany?”
Ish clears his throat, and I turn around slowly.
Jack breathes in and out slowly and the three people behind me scatter like cockroaches when the light's flipped on. They're the real cowards. I stand my ground, even if my knees shake and my fingers feel rubbery, like microwaved hotdogs.
“I prefer to think of myself as Napoleonic, but I suppose you're entitled to your opinion. Maybe I should shave off my beard and leave a little mustache. What do you think?”
He's making a joke about me mocking him fifteen minutes after he fired someone? Greg will struggle to feed his kids next month, and Jack’s smirking about it. Which is infinitely better than fuming at me for my horribly disproportionate and unflattering comparison of him to the most famous tyrant of all time.
“I'm so sorry, sir. I don't know what I was thinking.”
He grabs a soda from the fridge behind me. “You were thinking you'd sure like to fit in at your new job, and my other employees were grumbling.”
Oh, no, no, I can't let him throw them under the bus. They'll never talk to me again. I shake my head emphatically. “No, sir, they weren't complaining. It was only me.”
“Uh huh. Well, a helpful bit of advice. If I were you, I might wait until my second day before likening my boss to Hitler, who was undeniably way, way shorter than me FYI. But it’s your life, so it’s your call to make.”
“Actually, today is my second day.” I put my hands on my hips. “You didn't bother to show up at all on my first.” I could kick myself for being such a brat. I’m so fired.
