by KB Winters
“Mr. Christiansen?” Cara’s soft voice cut through my deliberating, and I looked up to see her cautiously entering my office. Her eyes went to the bottle and I swept it off the table and back into the desk drawer where it belonged. Cara wasn’t the type to judge, if anything, she would understand, but I didn’t need her thinking I was cracking under the pressure of everything. It was my job—my duty—to be confident, polished, and assert calm leadership in the face of whatever trials came my way.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she continued, taking another few tentative steps.
My eyes searched her face and immediately, my heart sank low in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
She looked guilty and broke away her eye contact for a moment, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “It’s—well, the marketing team is here to see you.”
“The entire team?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her honey colored eyes met mine again and she visibly swallowed. “I told them you’re busy, but they’re demanding to see you. They say it’s urgent.”
The sudden pit in my stomach twisted and a silent understanding passed between Cara and I. Something was wrong, drastically wrong. “Send them in.”
She nodded before wordlessly turning away to leave the office. Her face said that she knew more than what she was actually putting into words, and I almost stopped her to ask what was going on, but she slipped out before I could decide if I wanted to put her in that position. The silence engulfed me for a moment, as my mind worked through the possibilities. I smoothed my tie and stood up to prepare myself for whatever was about to happen. Minutes later, the door swung back open and Marcy, Robert, Cary, and Linda filed in.
“Good afternoon everyone,” I said slowly, surveying their solemn faces.
A united front.
Something was definitely wrong.
“Come on in, take a seat,” I continued, gesturing around the conference table in the center of my expansive office.
We sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before Robert cleared his throat and started speaking, seemingly prompted by the stares of the others, “We requested this meeting to secure a restructure to the bonus payout to compensate us all for the overtime work we put in on the Shock Watches campaign.”
I released a breath. That was it? They wanted more money?
Marcy chimed in her two cents before I could respond. “We had an entire campaign ready to go and then, in the ninth hour, were forced to work long overtime shifts to accommodate the changes that Megan requested.”
At the sound of her name, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and a surge of frustration boiled up inside me, replacing the fear and anxiety from minutes ago. I looked at each one of them in turn, my face set in stone, to send a very clear message that they were wandering into a dangerous territory. “Let me get this straight, you want more money to do your jobs?”
“We are asking for our extended efforts to be recognized with more of the bonus money for Shock Watches,” Linda clarified. “As a reward for our hard work.”
“As I said, you want more money in reward for doing your jobs,” I repeated, not backing down.
Robert looked disgruntled as he shifted in his seat and crossed his arms on the table. “We heard that the buyer reps are getting a bump.”
I laughed, the cold and mirthless sound bouncing off the walls and windows. “So, that’s what this is about.”
As a part of crisis management that morning, I’d offered a bump in bonuses to the customer service department that worked directly with buyers from big chain stores. The buyers had been raising a ruckus, and the larger bonuses were given to thank the team for hanging in and smoothing the ruffled feathers.
“Listen, I appreciate the extra work, but none of you put in more work than Megan herself, and she never once asked for a bonus or bump in pay,” I continued.
The four of them exchanged a dark look. A mocking look.
“No, just a car…” Robert growled under his breath.
“What was that?” I demanded, leaning across the table to get into his space.
He edged his elbows back, reeling away from me slightly in his seat. Linda—ever the peacemaker among the quartet—jumped in to his defense, “Mr. Christiansen, there is—well it’s probably a rumor—but people in the office have said that Megan was given a rather pricey automobile in exchange for her work.”
“Or something else…” Robert added under his breath.
My blood pressure spiked and I tucked my fisted hands under the table before one of them flew and crushed in Robert’s skull. “You all have contracts on file with HR in regards to compensation and benefits. As far as bonuses, those are solely at my discretion. So, whatever you thought you’d gain by coming in here and trying to railroad me, I’m afraid it’s not going to work. And, if you have a problem with that, then you know where the door is.”
“So, it’s true?” Marcy said, her mouth hanging open long after the shocked question flew from it.
I narrowed my eyes at all of them. “If your department hadn’t failed so epically in the first place, I wouldn’t have even needed to bring in a consultant. The fact that Megan was able to come in and get the campaign reworked and interfaced with our customers to get a laser sharp perspective on what needed to change was worth a dozen cars. What you all did was horse shit and you should be thanking me that I’ve kept any of you on the payroll to this point. So, again, if any of you want out, there’s the door, and I recommend you use it. Otherwise, you can graciously accept any bonus you receive for completing the project. And going forward, I’d recommend that you keep your noses in your own department and focus on the work ahead, instead of lowering yourselves to idle office gossip.”
A beat of silence filled the room, as we all squared off at one another around the oblong table. Marcy tapped her nails nervously, breaking the emotion charged quiet.
Robert was the first to speak as he stood from the table and adjusted his tie. “In that case, I quit.”
I nodded curtly in his direction. “I will have a member of security escort you to clear your desk and walk you out.”
My voice was calm, but inside my mind was steeling for the rest of the dominoes to crash down. I’d never liked Robert—in fact, he hadn’t even been one of my hires. My father had taken him on and raised him up in the ranks. I was never entirely sure why, but up till this point, had never had any real grounds to dismiss him. It wasn’t that I was sad to see him go, quite the opposite, but if Robert left, it was fairly inevitable that the others would follow. He was the longest running member of the team and somewhat of the foundation. And, if all four of them left, Timeless Timepieces would be left with a gaping hole where the marketing team should be—and I really wasn’t sure how we would survive that loss.
Cary stood next, and the other two ladies followed suit immediately, Marcy’s eyes wild with fear as they ping-ponged between her three co-workers. “We’re out,” Cary said, her voice quivering slightly. They all three looked to Robert and he nodded encouragingly. The whole scene reminded me of a pack of lemmings ready to head for the nearest cliff side. What they were doing was career suicide. I had no reason to write anything close to a glowing review, and they likely couldn’t vouch for each other since they were all ex co-workers, all flooding the same oversaturated market.
I stood, wordlessly, and led them out of my office, pausing briefly to instruct Cara to call someone from security to go with them. Cara quickly followed my instructions and we all waited in an awkward silence until one of the lead security officers for the building arrived to take the marketing team away. None of them even bothered to shake my hand or say goodbye before they trooped off down the hall.
“Holy shit,” Cara breathed as soon as they were all out of earshot. “What now?”
I didn’t have an answer just yet, the surrealness of the entire situation hadn’t quite sunk in. I turned and went back into my office and Cara scurried after me. “Do you need anythin
g?” she asked.
I stood at my desk and picked up a silver pen, twirling it between my fingers as my mind raced.
Finally, something snapped inside of me. “Fuck!” I gritted my teeth together and slammed the pen down onto the desk.
“I’m so sorry,” Cara whispered.
I groaned and raked my hands through my hair, working at the roots with a tight pull.
Get a grip, Grant.
I released my hair, smoothed it down, and rounded the desk to throw myself into my welcoming chair. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I just need to think. Can you get me—what was his name, James? Keegan James? The headhunter we met at that networking brunch a few months ago.”
Cara’s eyes lit with recognition. “Yes! I have his card in my file. I’ll get him on the phone, right away.”
“Thank you. I’m going to call over to the college and see if they have any students who wouldn’t mind starting early on an internship for next year. They can do the grunt work in the meantime.”
Cara nodded, her marching orders received, and bolted from the room.
I sat for as long as I could, trying to calm down, but my heart raced faster and faster despite my inactivity. My thoughts raced even faster, seemingly in some kind of competition with my pulse. I launched out of the chair and paced the floor of my office a few times, wondering how things had gotten so fucked up.
Megan would know what to do. She was a fixer—and that realization didn’t help.
Not at all.
In the midst of my pacing, an idea started to form. It would be farfetched—maybe impossible—but all things considered, it was the best shot I had. I took a seat back at my desk, my nerves soothed ever so slightly, as I reached for the phone.
Minutes later, I had some relatively competent school counselor on the phone, going over a list of students who were in the marketing program and would need an internship lined up for their senior year. As I was waiting for the list to come over to my email inbox, a strange idea entered my mind, and without thinking, I asked, “Is there any chance I could get Megan Louise Sinclair transferred from her current assignment? She’s working at a design studio, but has done some work with me before, and she would be a valuable asset to me.”
“Um, well, let me look,” the woman on the other end stuttered. My question had obviously come out of left field and was a very odd request. Minutes of silence passed and I proceeded to pace the length of my office. My heart hammered in my chest as the plot started to form in my head.
It had to work.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Christiansen, but she’s not a marketing student,” the woman explained.
“I understand that.”
“So, are you interested in marketing students, or graphic design students?”
I suppressed a frustrated sigh. “I’m interested in Megan. How do I make that happen?”
Three transfers, and a large donation later—I got what I wanted…Megan Louise Sinclair.
Chapter Four — Megan
“Good morning, Ms. Sinclair, this is your wake up call.”
Wake up call? The words barely registered. I blinked a few times, the unfamiliar room still bathed in darkness. Where was I? “Ohhhh,” I groaned as the pieces came together. “Thank you,” I told the chirpy voice on the other end of the line and hung up the phone.
I flopped on my back, allowing myself a few more minutes of relaxation before heaving up and out of the plush bed. The drive to clear my head turned into an all night bender that I’d been forced to sleep off at a hotel downtown.
At least I woke up alone.
I stumbled, bleary eyed into the bathroom, splashed water on my face and cringed at the reflection staring back at me. My eyeliner was smudged to form dark raccoon circles under my eyes and my hair was sticking out at every angle from what had once been a sleek topknot.
I looked like hell and felt even worse. My head pounded from the effects of the alcohol last night and the bright lights of the hotel bathroom vanity didn’t help. I flicked the lights off and rested against the cool granite counter for a moment longer, before the realization that I had to get across town in time for my internship in less than an hour and that Monday morning traffic was a particularly nasty bear in the City of Angels.
After doing a careful sweep of the room for any stray belongings, I went downstairs and checked out at the counter, knowing that everyone in the lobby probably thought they were witnessing the most embarrassing walk of shame in history.
I crossed town and made it to New Leaf Design Studio with ten minutes to spare before my shift was scheduled to start. Ever since Terry’s threats, I’d been extra cautious about being on time, regardless of how horrific I looked. As long as I was on time—I considered it a victory. I took the extra time to wipe off the dark smudges under my eyes and applied a thin coat of my normal shade of maroon lipstick, in hopes of looking at least a little more normal and put together. I gave up on my hair and raced across the parking lot to scurry inside the small shop.
“God, Megan, you look like shit,” Roxanne commented as soon as I stepped in the doors.
“Gee, thanks.” I rounded the counter and stopped dead in my tracks as my boss, Terry, emerged from the back office area. The last time I’d seen her, she was there to tell me that if I was late one more shift, she would fail me and I’d likely be forced to stay in school for another year to give myself time to complete another internship. Her mouth was a tight lipped line and a sinking feeling clutched my insides.
She waved me into the office. “Good morning, Megan.”
I cast a glance back at Roxanne who offered a tiny—and most unhelpful—shrug. I followed Terry into the office and she shut the door behind us. She gestured for me to sit and I plopped onto the chair she’d indicated with a complete lack of grace. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” she started.
Somewhere inside of me a switch flipped and I couldn’t contain myself from blurting out, “I was on time! Every shift since the meeting! Ask Roxanne, check the time stamp on my punch-ins, and pull the security tape!”
Desperation is never a good look, but considering my already haggard appearance, what did I really have to lose?
Terry sighed and gave me a pitying look. “Megan, you’re not being let go because of your constant tardiness.”
My mouth dropped open, prepared to fire back, but as her statement processed in my head, I lost my ammo and was rendered mute.
“The school called this morning and it seems that you’re being reassigned at their request,” Terry continued.
“What? But, it’s like a month to graduation. They can’t seriously expect me to start all over again. There must be a mistake,” I rambled, my mind churning the new information, trying to make sense of it. “Terry, please, it’s a mistake. Just let me do my shift and I’ll call the school when I’m done. It’s probably just a paperwork glitch or something.”
Terry shrugged. “I’m sorry, Megan, but it’s out of my hands. You’ll have to take it up with them. I’ve already given Roxanne your shift for today.”
I released the breath I’d been holding and felt like a deflated balloon. Why did everything have to be a fight? Why was it all so damned hard?
Terry stood and looked down her nose at me. “Megan?” she said after a minute.
“Right.” I stood and turned to exit the small office space. I gave a slight wave to Roxanne on my way through the shop. I paused at the front door and looked back at the two women at the counter, trying to figure out if I should offer a word of thanks for the opportunity, or to tell them it was a pleasure, but in the end, I pushed out through the front door and let it swing shut behind me without a word. In reality, the entire experience had been a little bit of a nightmare, and despite the threat to my graduation schedule, I really wasn’t sad at all to leave.
I stopped at the coffee shop next door and ordered the biggest coffee they sold before going back to my car and driving down to the campus. Before going inside, I chugged my
scalding cup of coffee, feeling the caffeine work its way into my system and adjusted my hair into a low ponytail. I glanced in the rear view mirror and decided it was enough of an improvement that I could go inside and not fear ridicule from the other students. I stated my purpose to the student manning the front desk, and then waited nearly half an hour before the right person was available to speak with me.
“This way, Ms. Sinclair,” a counselor said, before shepherding me to her cubicle where I recounted the conversation with Terry.
When I was done, I sat on the edge of my chair, hoping she could wave a magic wand and fix the entire fiasco. “I apologize for any confusion. The entire thing was a rather odd turn of events, especially this close to completion.” She stopped and let out a long sigh. “In a nutshell, you’re being reassigned.”
“Reassigned?”
“Yes. Mr. Grant Christiansen called the office yesterday and told us that it was imperative that he have you complete your internship with his business, Timeless Timepieces. He said you’ve worked together in the past. Is that true?”
My blood was pounding in my ears so loudly that I almost missed her question. “Yes, but that was something completely different. He can’t really just demand me like that, can he? I mean, that’s so…so…well, I don’t even know the word, but it’s wrong! Please, there has to be another way to fix this.”
The woman gave me a compassionate face, but shrugged and held out her open palms to me as though saying there was nothing she could do.
“Please?” I said, my voice high and bordering on hysterical.
The counselor shot me a confused look, before lowering her voice, “Is this man a threat? Has he…assaulted you?”
Oh shit. Now I was going to get Grant put on some kind of watch list. “No, no, it’s not like that.”
“Were you romantically involved?”
Images and sensations from our one night together rushed through me and made it hard to think clearly enough to answer. My cheeks flushed and the counselor’s horror only grew. She handed me a wad of tissue even though I wasn’t crying. “Honey, it’s all right. This is a safe space. If that man is a predator,” she whispered, like the word itself was dangerous “…you don’t have to go there. We can make alternate arrangements.”
