by RJ Blain
“Easily. Once I have a copy of her timesheet, I can have the bonus authorized by accounting for the next payment cycle.”
“Issue it as a one-time direct deposit. Accounting can complain at me later for the inconvenience.”
“I’m paid by check, ma’am.”
I froze, staring at Abby, who met my gaze with an expression so neutral I pitied whoever took the fall for Laura’s employment. Checks weren’t common in our company; direct deposit worked best for everyone, ensuring stable payments for our employees. “Company check?”
“I just cashed them, ma’am. Mr. Harthel signed the checks, though.”
Abby’s phone rang. “Thatcher.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Okay. I’m going to send Miss Madison to your office. I will email you in a moment with the relevant details.” Abby hung up. “Miss Madison, please go down the hall towards reception. Mr. Westley is in the third office to your right.”
Laura got to her feet, excused herself, and fled.
I got up, closed the door to Abby’s office, and locked it so no one could walk in on us. I clacked my teeth together. “It’s a damned good thing Dad fired Mr. Harthel.”
“I had absolutely no idea it was possible to slip an employee into the company and bypass HR, Miss Evans. We—”
“As Vice President, he had full authority to override many of the company protocols. What I need to know is why he slipped her in. I’ve seen her resume, Abby. She’s not qualified for this level of work. I’m taking her as my assistant and having Annamarie teach her the ropes, spreading some of the workload around.” At the first sign of wheezing, I dug into my purse for the weakest of my inhalers.
The last thing I needed was to end up back in the hospital.
“Sit before you fall down.”
I obeyed, sighing as I stretched out and used Abby’s desk as a foot rest. “If she’s an illegal immigrant, I want her legalized. If she’s in trouble, I want her removed from the situation and placed elsewhere. If she’s living in the slums, I want the company to rent an apartment on her behalf, somewhere close to work. We will pick a rent of no more than twenty-five percent of her after-tax wages and function as an intermediary between her new landlord and her. I’ll cover the difference in her rent out of my pay. Have someone from legal draw up an agreement for the lease if this becomes necessary. Maybe she’s Harthel’s mistake, but she’s now our mistake, too, and we don’t abandon employees who haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Understood. What was on her resume?”
“English major with a bachelor’s degree. She was working as a barista before being hired by Harthel. She doesn’t even know how to fill out a purchase order. Harthel was keeping her around for some reason, though. Likely scheduling and answering basic emails, which anyone can do.”
“That’s going to cause you problems.”
“As long as she’s good at scheduling, she can learn the rest. Even if she’s not good at scheduling, I’ll steal a couple of interns to help out. Dad could use Annamarie full-time without her splitting all her time between us.”
“May I make a recommendation?”
I waved my hand in invitation.
“Offer Miss Madison the opportunity to pursue better education. Employ her with flexible hours, allowing her to go to school. We have programs in place to cover the costs of education. This would allow her to develop her skills and grow into the position. Working with you would be a good experience for our paid interns, as well. Annamarie can oversee the schedule and ensure there are no mistakes while avoiding the majority of the work.”
“Salaried?”
“Of course.”
“How long will it take HR to open a file for her?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes. Her banking situation may be a problem, depending on the type of account she has.”
“I’ll walk her down the street to our bank if I need to. I have a feeling I will need to detour her to some department stores for position-appropriate attire. I’ll use my company credit cards. I’ll expect the clothing and other things I purchase to be deducted from my pay.”
“We have a fund for business expenses. Use it. That said, wouldn’t it be better to do her background check first?”
“Annamarie is already on it.”
“Good. Is Ralph aware of the situation?”
“Dad is asleep on the couch. He’ll probably stay there for a few more hours.”
Abby grinned at me. “When are you going to bother with a degree, Miss Evans?”
“Bite me, Abby. When I retire, if I feel like it.”
I’d probably be forced into retirement a lot sooner than I liked, but no one needed to know that.
Chapter Eight
I left Laura in the capable hands of Human Resources and returned to my office—Dad’s office. My every step dragged, and I wanted nothing more than to take over the couch for my own purposes, but unfortunately, my day was just beginning.
I couldn’t go to a meeting with Mirage Resources dressed like I’d come off the street. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t make a very good impression.
When Dad woke up and figured out I had spent the entire day going non-stop, he’d go right back into super-protective mode, smothering me in his efforts to safeguard my health.
Annamarie narrowed her eyes when I stepped into the reception. “You look terrible.”
“Is Sam free? I need a change of clothes for my four o’clock.”
“No. He was drafted to deliver Mr. Harthel’s things to his condominium complex.”
“I don’t want Sam anywhere near Harthel,” I hissed. The coughing fit took me by surprise, and by the time it subsided, I was doubled over with my hands braced on my legs. “Fuck.”
“Use your inhaler. Sam was given instructions to hand the boxes to the security guard of the complex for delivery. Your new phone is ready, by the way.” Annamarie opened a drawer and pulled out a new cell, the same model as my old one, and offered it to me.
I straightened, digging into my purse for the inhaler with the biggest punch. Once I could breathe without wheezing, I took my replacement phone and stuffed it into my purse. “Okay. I’ll need a cab to Fifth Avenue. I can’t go to a meeting looking like this.”
“Since we’re on the subject of your four o’clock, they agreed to the rescheduling. Considering the original reservation was for dinner, I made arrangements for a shift to a new location. I picked a rather nice Italian restaurant. I hope that’s suitable?”
“Italian sounds great. Thanks, Annamarie.”
“Are you sure you want to go shopping on your own?”
“Positive.”
“Matia.” While Annamarie hadn’t been a mother for long, she had mastered the talent of imbuing my name with the promise of trouble if I didn’t heed her, a perfect imitation of Dad’s tone when I was being stubborn over something.
“I really do not want to deal with the rumor mill when people realize I am colorblind,” I hissed.
“Every single person who has ever seen one of your pie charts knows you are either colorblind or completely incapable of color coordination. You’re going to end up with a neon pink blouse with a pumpkin orange skirt.”
“And they’ll both be gray to me. Who cares?”
“I do.”
“I’ll talk to someone in the store,” I muttered.
“Why don’t you take Laura with you?”
“She’s with HR being sorted out.”
“You could always go as you are.”
“No.”
“Pink blouse and orange skirt,” Annamarie warned.
“Is that combination really that bad?”
“It’s horrific. You’re a beautiful young woman, Matia, but orange is so not your color.”
“I was planning on asking them to select the best black blazer, skirt, and white blouse they had and just go with that.”
“You’re going to a business meeting, not a funeral.”
“It counts as a
funeral. Mine. I’ll have to talk.”
“You also have to take your medicine.” Annamarie got up from her desk and headed to the water cooler in the hallway outside of the reception, returning with a glass, which she handed me. “Sam gave me the rundown of what you need to take if you need help figuring it out.”
There was no point in fighting her over it. I plunked down on one of the reception chairs, dug through my purse for the horrendous number of bottles, and read through the directions, setting aside the ones I needed to take. I ended up with fifteen different pills.
The rest of my life came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Instead of complaining about it, I knocked them back and guzzled water to make sure they all made it down my throat.
“Mr. Harthel has probably already made a mess of the negotiations. Why not show up just like you are, unsettle the whole lot of them, and steamroll them? Knock them off balance from the start, control the conversation, and make them dance to your tune. The restaurant doesn’t have a dress code. Even if it did, the instant you whip out the company credit card, they won’t care if you’re dressed in rags.”
I was tempted to contact HR and suggest Annamarie belonged in negotiations instead of slaving away taking care of me and Dad. Then again, she wouldn’t be taking care of me for too much longer, not if Laura worked out.
I surrendered with a sigh. “I’ll be in my office writing up a job description for the Vice President position. I don’t want to be bothered unless it’s Laura or urgent.”
Annamarie, as gracious as always in her victory, smiled and nodded.
When three o’clock rolled around, I woke Dad so he could get ready for his meeting. I returned to my desk and resumed browsing the internet to find what qualities we really needed in a Vice President.
Dad groped for his phone, blinking blearily at the screen. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
Instead of answering him, I grunted, clicking on the next job description for Vice Presidents. The list of requirements was longer than any other example I’d seen, and I doubted Dad and I could meet the minimums if we pooled all of our experience together.
“Matia, I needed to work. You made us come in to work.”
“So go work. You have a four o’clock meeting.”
Lurching off the couch, Dad staggered to his desk, picked up his wallet and pass, and glared at me. “You could have woken me up for lunch at least.”
“So go eat lunch and go to your meeting. I have a few things to finish here.”
Dad sighed. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
While there were perks to Dad when he was being protective, if I wanted to make my four o’clock, I needed to get him out of my hair—and make a solid game plan so Dad wouldn’t figure out I was leaving the office until I was long gone.
I pointed at the door and focused my attention on my laptop, which the techies had returned to me with a full copy of Harthel’s files.
“Matia.”
The snap of my fingers broke the silence, and I gestured to the door again. “Go.”
“I guess I’ll just go to my meeting straight from lunch,” he complained.
All I could do was hope Dad finished sulking sooner than later. “I was fine the entire time you were dozing on the couch. I’ll be fine the entire time you are at lunch and attending to your meetings.”
“Meetings?”
“Don’t you have a five o’clock, too?” I knew he did; it had been Annamarie’s idea to load in as many impromptu meetings as she could fit, giving me until eight—possibly nine—to make my way back from the restaurant to the office. Sam would be on call to pick me up so I could finish pulling the wool over Dad’s eyes.
He checked his phone. “A six, seven, and eight o’clock, too, apparently. Wonderful.”
“Gives me time to deal with this. Go get lunch and get to your meetings.”
“Not even going to give your old man some sympathy?”
“No.”
“So cruel, Matia.”
I stared at him until he left. The instant the door closed, I smiled. In twenty minutes, Sam would pick me up for my meeting. I had already reviewed the information from the original meeting. It helped I had done the majority of the work on the proposal, from inception to final presentation. Harthel’s data, while complete, was an unorganized mess, and I hadn’t found his notes for the meeting—if he had any. I had my doubts.
Checking his email had been one of the first things I had done. Like his computer, his emails were an unorganized disaster. He had hundreds of emails dealing with Mirage Resources, and I hadn’t had time to read through them all. The newest ones confirmed the original place and time of the meeting. Dredging through the newer emails hadn’t helped any, either. It had taken a twenty-email exchange to settle on the meeting time.
I’d need hours I didn’t have to unravel the tangled mess.
I also had the problem of Laura to deal with. Bypassing HR was no easy task, yet Harthel had pulled it off flawlessly. HR would be examining the circumstances and likely have proposals on how to close every single loophole Harthel had used to sneak her in.
I needed to know why he had done it, and I had the feeling it had something to do with her background check. Picking up my landline, I punched speed dial for Annamarie’s desk.
“What can I do for you?” Annamarie asked.
“Has Laura’s background check come back yet?”
“I’ll call downstairs and find out.” Annamarie hung up.
While I waited, I grabbed a pad of paper and pen, backing my chair from my desk so I could spin in slow circles. What did Pallodia Industries really need in a vice president?
Integrity came to mind first, and I had no idea how to weed out the scumbags from the good-natured people we wanted working for the company. I narrowed my eyes and turned back to the job hunting sites, browsing through the staggering assortment of executive roles available.
Certain skills and experience were needed for such an important role, but integrity, a strong work ethic, and the ability to think in stressful situations rose to the top of my wish list for a candidate.
I could have hired a head hunter to investigate other businesses for a candidate, but I didn’t want someone just out for their next paycheck. Money mattered; Laura was proof of that. The hope in my new assistant’s eyes when she realized she was moving up in the world reminded me just how much it mattered.
There was no denying the truth; I was a spoiled rich girl. I didn’t worry much about household budgets, although I was the one who tracked how much we spent versus how much we made.
Dad had insisted we live within our means, and I even paid my fair share of the rent and bills, but with two of us contributing, I could have lived a lavish lifestyle without ever dipping a toe into our savings.
Maybe once everything blew over, I’d talk to Dad and get some perspective on the real world—the one our employees faced each and every day. Was our company-wide minimum wage close enough to a solid living wage?
I didn’t know, but I did know one thing for certain: I wanted whoever replaced Harthel to know what struggling to get by was like from bitter experience. It’d help give us the insight we needed to run the company better for all of our employees, and it would give us someone who’d work hard to keep the job once they had it.
I wouldn’t find such a person with a typical job description, that much was certain.
My phone rang, and I picked it up. “Yes?”
“Her background check is completed.” There was a slight hesitancy in Annamarie’s voice.
“Bring it in.” I hung up.
Five minutes later, Annamarie knocked and entered, carrying a manilla folder, which she dropped on my desk. Her lack of expression told me far more than I think she wanted me to guess.
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s her credit.”
“Is that all?” I canted my head to the side and arched a brow. “How is it a problem?”
“Sh
e’s worse than bankrupt.”
“And?”
“Are you sure you want someone incapable of handling her finances working on sensitive material?”
I wanted to get angry at the question, but I forced myself to bury my irritation and hide it behind a smile. “Does she have a criminal record?”
“No.”
“So it’s just her credit?”
“I took the liberty of calling her landlord to inquire on her as a tenant. She’s under an eviction notice, effective at the end of the week.”
“That makes it easier to relocate her to a better apartment nearby. See what you can do so she has a new apartment on Friday. Somewhere in a good neighborhood with a reasonable commute. Find out her current travel times and shave off a few minutes here and there as you can. If you’re too busy, get HR to handle the apartment acquisition or whoever else would take care of corporate-acquired housing.”
“You’re serious.”
“No one can survive in this city on minimum wage living alone, Annamarie. She has student loans. She was a barista. Hell, the fact she has no criminal record is damned impressive. Desperate people do desperate things—including working under an asshole like Harthel. What I want to know is how he found her, why he kept her, and what he was trying to hide bypassing HR.”
My next words would either sink me or lift me up in Annamarie’s eyes, and I knew it. “The pay she was given was the real crime here, and we’re the ones who need to clean up the mess. I’m giving her a chance to prove she deserves the job. I absolutely refuse to make her a homeless woman when it isn’t her fault. Harthel’s behavior does not reflect on her performance and integrity. It does everything to show we do not treat our employees in a way they deserve. Okay. She has a poor credit rating. So what?”
Annamarie’s mouth hung open, and she spluttered before falling silent.
“If an apartment can’t be found for her by Friday, make reservations at a hotel for her and have her things put into storage in the interim. I’ll pay the balance myself.”
