G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Drink up, poppet,” he’d said with a smile. I did and was shocked at the bitter taste.

  “Oh God, that’s putrid,” I’d gasped.

  “That’s London water for you,” was his response. I drank a few more gulps because thirst was thirst and I needed to stay hydrated. I remembered we’d returned to the dance floor, and then not too much after that. I considered the possibility I’d been roofied.

  Easton was back with a tray in his hands.

  Oh God! Don’t let it be food!

  “You need to sit up and get some nourishment in your system.”

  “Oh please, for the love of God, I can’t,” I groaned, trying to bury myself into the comfortable pillows.

  “You can and you will,” he stated firmly. “Tea and dry toast…the best thing for you right now.”

  He placed the tray beside my bed and then pulled me up, stuffing pillows behind my back for support. He brought the tray over, opening the legs on it so it straddled my lap. “Darcy, take small bites and eat as much of the toast as you can tolerate. Sip the tea, trust me, it will help.”

  I nodded, my eyes starting to well up. What the hell had I done? How much of a fool had I made of myself in front of my boss-cubed? He sat down on the bed beside me, watching me take little mouse nibbles of the dry toast, washing them down with sips of tea.

  “Good girl,” he said with a slight smile. That was the most civil he’d been to me since I came to.

  “Easton? Did we, you know…fuck…last night?”

  He gave me a dark look. “Oh, for the love of Christ, woman; I assure you, I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of comatose females,” he growled. “Aside from that, I spent most of the night cleaning vomit off the both of us.”

  I cringed, my face flushing with humiliation.

  “That’s just it. I don’t remember drinking anything after you told me no more. I’m serious. Is it possible I got food poisoning or something?”

  “Doubtful,” he said. “We all ate the same thing. You were the only one that got ill—and I use that word cautiously. Besides that, I saw you and that wanker you were dancing with chugging alcohol at his table with the rest of the tossers.”

  Huh?

  “That was water,” I replied belligerently. “If you noticed, there was a whole pitcher of it on their table.”

  “It was pure grain alcohol. I believe they call it ‘moonshine’ or ‘hooch’ over in the States.”

  “It was bitter,” I said, “The guy—”

  “Damian,” he interjected.

  “Okay, Damian,” I said, “told me it was just the way the water tasted in London. If you knew what it was, why didn’t you stop me?”

  “I was in the loo at the time. When I returned, Colin filled me in, so I went down to their table straightaway, but you were on the dance floor again, so I waited. When you returned, you introduced me to your new friend, ‘Damian’ who happened to have one hand on your ass, and the other on your breast. I told you we were leaving. You called me a stuffy party-pooper. Damian proceeded to tell me to piss off, that you and he were spending the night together, at which time I cleaned the floor up with the maggot.”

  I looked down at the knuckles on Easton’s right hand, seeing they were scraped up a bit.

  “Oh, my God! Did you hurt him badly?”

  “He’ll live,” he replied. “My concern was getting you out of there and back here. I won’t go into details about the very long ride home. Suffice it to say, Dennis earned a bonus for last night’s assignment.”

  “I’m so sorry, Easton. I’m so ashamed of myself. I owe everyone an apology and, as soon as my head stops throbbing, I’ll make calls to Colin and Ronnie, too. What they must think of me!”

  “Relax, everyone will forgive you, I’m sure.”

  “How about you?” I asked, looking up at him. He had dark circles underneath his eyes.

  “You’re forgiven—for now. Will you be alright while I get a shower?”

  I nodded. My stomach was already calming down.

  “Alright then, I won’t be long. Try and finish your tea. I’ll bring some water and aspirin for you when I come back. I want to make sure you keep that down first.”

  He left and I finished my tea and took a few more bites of the dry toast. I lifted the tray and set it aside, pulling the covers back so that I could make my way into my bathroom to pee. Somehow, Easton had gotten me into a pair of sweats last night and a T-shirt that was huge on me. It must be one of his I thought, smiling. God, I was thankful I didn’t remember any more than I already had!

  I was horrified when I saw my reflection in the mirror. Oh God! He saw me like this? My hair was a wild mess; my mascara and eye-liner were streaked all down my cheeks. I used the bathroom and then scrubbed the make-up off my face. I brushed, gargled and managed to get a comb through my hair…eventually. I felt dizzy again, so I staggered back to the bedroom to a freshly showered, sitting on my bed, arms-crossed Easton.

  “Why did you get out of bed?”

  “I had to use the loo and then I had to wash my war paint off,” I replied. “Did you dress me in this stuff?” I asked, pulling the large T-shirt out and looking down at it.

  “Actually, I asked Dennis to do that,” he replied, helping me up into bed again. He laughed when he saw my eyes widen in horror. “I’m teasing you,” he replied, pulling the covers back up.

  “I wouldn’t have put it past you,” I replied, laying my head back onto the soft pillows. “Did you bring something for my headache?” I asked.

  “Yes, princess,” he quipped, tucking me in. “Give me a second here.”

  He’s unusually playful for being sleep and sex deprived…

  He went over to my tray and picked up a cold bottle of water and a couple of capsules.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing both to me. I took them, and nearly drained the bottle of water. “Go easy,” he said, “I don’t want it all coming back up.”

  When he finished with me, he took the tray and headed towards the door. “Get some sleep. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked, wanting him to stay here.

  “I’m going to clean up the kitchen since the staff doesn’t come in until tomorrow. Then I have to get our flight scheduled for tomorrow.”

  “I’m returning to D.C. tomorrow,” I said, confused.

  “Your trip back has been delayed for a day. I’ve some business to take care of in Leeds and I want you with me. It’s a short flight. We’ll be up and back in a few hours.”

  “What kind of business is it?”

  “Something that requires my direct attention. It’ll be a learning experience for you, trust me.”

  That sounds ominous…

  If Easton wanted me to learn something, I knew I was going to need a good set of reviving hours to sleep off my “London Hangover of 2013.” And, judging from the dark circles that were under his eyes, I knew he probably needed some shut-eye, too.

  I pulled down the covers on the other side of the bed, fluffing up the pillows. “Come on,” I gave him an inviting smile. “I need more sleep and you definitely could use a nap.”

  He sighed, giving me the once-over. “You get your rest. I’ll come back up when I’m finished.”

  A yawn was my first reply, the jaw-movement giving my headache some unneeded encouragement. “‘Kay,” I told him and settled back into my nest of sheets and covers. “Don’t be long.”

  I rolled over on my side, thinking about that conversation I’d overheard yesterday morning between him and his employee, Devon. It was none of my business. He was the boss after all. If anything, I now knew the “hot” buttons to avoid with him. Never embrace motherhood!

  I slipped into a restful sleep, not even waking up when Easton returned and curled up beside me.

  ~ Easton ~

  I gazed down at Darcy, now resting peacefully. Thank. God! She’d kept me up nearly all night. If sh
e wasn’t puking, she was dry-heaving and then came the redundant questions:

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Am I drunk?’

  ‘Why’d you beat the shit out of my friend Damian?’

  ‘Are you mad at me, Easton?’

  Over and over again, I had to reiterate the same answers to the redundant questions:

  ‘We’re at the manor.’

  ‘You’re totally shit-faced.’

  ‘Because he deserved it.’

  ‘I’m furious with you.’

  Of course, the last answer had triggered the water-works, so then I was busy trying to calm her down, assuring her she was forgiven for the moment.

  The last and certainly the most difficult question she’d asked before she closed her eyes:

  ‘Easton, do you love me?’

  I didn’t want to hurt her. I wasn’t about to have the waterworks start again right now. That was the question that caught me the most off-guard. Even after all the others and knowing that she was completely tossed, I wasn’t expecting such a deep question. I had to consider she might not be pleased with the answer.

  Blessedly, she’d passed out without hearing my answer.

  chapter 30

  Thankfully, I was fully recovered Monday morning, no remnants of my killer hangover left. I swore off drinking forever! Easton said that was the hangover talking, but I meant it. Well, at least for a while anyway.

  I’d bathed and eaten breakfast, thankful that Anna had returned to cook. The extent of my food intake yesterday was the dry toast and tea, then chicken broth and ginger-ale for dinner. Easton was punishing me, I think.

  I dressed in a teal suit that was certain to please ‘Mr. Conservative’s’ stringent inspection. My God! He’d tossed my new Lipso dress in the trash, telling me it was ruined from ‘my sick’ (I think that’s Brit for ‘my puke’). I’d argued it was machine washable, to which he replied that it would go in no machine of his!

  I’d called Ronnie and Colin to apologize. She assured me there was no need. She said she’d had so much fun partying with me and wanted to do it again. I told her I’d better get an invitation to her September wedding. She assured me that I would.

  Easton wanted to see me in his study before Dennis picked us up to take us to the private airstrip Easton had on his property.

  “Can’t we just walk?” I’d asked. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

  “It’s on the other side of the woods, nearly 5 kilometers,” he chuckled.

  “That far, huh?”

  I have no fucking clue how that equates to miles.

  “That’s around three miles, Darcy.”

  “Of course.”

  I peered around the corner into his study. Easton was there, his gorgeous head of nearly-black hair still damp from his shower. He was dressed in business casual. Apparently, he didn’t think this meeting was important enough to warrant a business suit. Still, I wanted to look professional, since I’d be meeting some of the top management in the Leeds facility, according to him.

  “Come on in Darcy, please have a seat. I’ve printed out the financials that’ll be discussed in today’s meeting. There are also some productivity charts and business trends for the past four years, along with the revenue projections for this year and first half of next year. Also, if you look here, I’ve charted the customer satisfaction responses year-to-year for the past four years. Take a few moments and study the charts and graphs for comparison. I want you to tell me what you derive from them when finished.”

  Oh God! I hate this kind of shit.

  “Take your time and study them,” he said getting up and coming from around his desk. “I need to speak with my pilot about our flight, so you have some time.”

  “Okay, great,” I said, inwardly hoping I could make heads or tails of these charts and graphs. This was probably some kind of a test he was giving me. I cleared my mind and separated the charts/graphs into separate stacks, based on what metric they represented. Finished there, I then put them in chronological order to see the changes or trends. I studied them glancing back and forth between each group in chronological order. I pulled my steno pad out of my briefcase and jotted some notes. It wasn’t rocket science, once I understood what I was looking for.

  Easton returned a few minutes later, taking his seat, leaning back in his leather chair, crossing his arms and giving me a wicked smile. “I’m ready for your high-level analysis, Ms. Sheridan,” he said.

  “According to these charts, it appears that Leeds has had year-over-year revenue growth in the first three years of the data provided. In Year 4, the revenue had no growth or loss, but the gross profits declined about 7% in direct proportion to the drop on the productivity chart for the same period.”

  “Excellent,” he said, rubbing his chin. “That shows me you can read the graphs, but I want more. I want you to think like a manager. What might the possible causes be for revenue to stay the same, but profits declining along with productivity?”

  “Well,” I said, trying to remember what I’d learned in Cost Accounting at school. “It could be a result of payroll increases, overhead increases, or material costs, or a combination of those and the product pricing remaining the same?”

  “Is that a question or an answer?”

  Good God, is he about to give me detention?

  “I guess they’re some possibilities to consider.”

  “Alright, then let’s dig a little deeper and tell me how the slip in productivity may be explained.”

  “Increases in overtime premiums, issues with absenteeism, employee turnover, paid medical leaves—I guess there could be others, but those are the ones that come to mind.”

  “Let me stop you right there, Darcy. You’ve nailed it nicely. What about the rest? The customer satisfaction surveys and revenue projections?”

  “The customer satisfaction graphs were all stable. There’s nothing there to indicate the performance at Leeds, as far as quality and delivery, has slipped. The forecast projections going forward puzzled me, to be honest. It looks like sales are going to drop off by £4.5 million the second half of this year—and £9 million next year.”

  “What does that indicate?”

  “Lost business,” I replied with a shrug.

  “Exactly,” he replied, gracing me with his smile. I beamed, feeling as if I’d won a prize for my answer. I figured he should be pissed about losing a chunk of business like that, not happy that I got it.

  “Why is it important to you that I understand all of this right now? You aren’t thinking about promoting me, are you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

  Okay, that one stung a little…

  “It’s for the purpose of you understanding the reason for this meeting this afternoon and the actions necessary to stop the bleeding in Leeds.”

  “What actions are you taking?” I asked, not quite sure I wanted or needed to know.

  “I’m going to be cleaning house. You see, the reason this facility lost what should’ve been a sure thing on a government renewal contract representing £9 million in annual revenue is failure to submit the bid package before the deadline.”

  “Wait a minute. Does this have something to do with the conversation I overheard yesterday between you and someone named Devon?” I blurted out.

  “That’s right,” he said, resuming a business-like tone, steepling his hands under his chin. “Devon Roberts is the current General Manager at Leeds.”

  “The one you told that women whelp in the middle of rice paddies and then continue harvesting without skipping a beat. I see. So, she’s in trouble for the loss of the government contract?” I asked, tapping my fingers impatiently on the top of his desk.

  “Yes, one and the same. She bears responsibility for ensuring that bids are completed and submitted in a timely fashion. That did not happen.” He swiveled in his chair, turning from me.

  “Whoa, hold up there a minute. Are you telling me that Leeds is a ‘
One Woman Show?’?”

  “I don’t follow,” he replied, furrowing his brow.

  “It sounded like she’d been off on maternity leave when this happened.”

  “You must have heard the whole damn conversation, Darcy,” he remarked, turning his attention back to his monitor.

  “I heard enough,” I replied. “So, is that correct? She was off on medical leave when the bid package was due for submission?”

  “It is,” he replied, stiffly.

  “Well, let me ask you this then, isn’t there a Marketing or Contracts Manager at Leeds who prepares the bid package? I mean, that’s how it’s done at Sheridan & Associates,” I snapped, tilting my chin up ever-so-slightly.

  “Baronton-Sheridan,” he corrected, giving me a slight glare. “And yes, there’s a Contracts Manager at Leeds.”

  “Uh huh,” I replied. “Name please?”

  “Clive Biser,” he replied, frowning.

  “So, are you going to terminate Clive during your visit today?”

  “No, Clive was traveling in North America when this occurred. He’d given the preliminary data to his department supervisor to delegate to one of the administrators to audit, and then prepare for submission, once the terms and conditions were in compliance.”

  “Okay, so the way I see it, you’re holding Devon’s feet to the fire for a misstep that happened while she was out on an approved medical leave for something that wasn’t under her direct control at the time.”

  “Being on maternity leave doesn’t relieve Devon from the responsibilities of her position with the company. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have ample notice that she’d be gone for a period of time. Nine months’ notice is sufficient for her to make sure she had an executable plan in place, assign an interim manager during her absence, and schedule teleconferences to ensure that the schedule was not slipping on anything. My God, in this day of internet magic, lack of communication isn’t a viable excuse.”

  “Dear God! The woman worked up to her due date?”

  “Yes, pretty much.”

  I crossed my legs and leaned forward in my chair. “So, she gives birth, and then you expect her to focus on what’s going on at the company while she’s recovering and taking care of a newborn to boot? I mean, it sounds as if she had a plan that simply wasn’t executed. Who was the interim GM?”