by Tiana Laveen
“It’s just wonderful. Sorry for slurping.” He smiled before taking another taste.
“Nope, that’s fine. I like watching you enjoy a good meal.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. He didn’t miss how her dark, almond shaped eyes hooded as she studied him. “So, what do you do?”
He placed the spoon down, and pulled out a couple of crackers from the packaging.
“I’m the CEO of a company called “Fountain Lite.” We focus on exceptional lighting appliances for pools, fountains, and irrigation systems.”
“Oh wow, okay. You know, it’s one of those things we see all the time but never think about. Like, I’ve never looked at the bulbs under a fountain and thought, ‘who is making these?’ Kind of like my job, I guess.” She chuckled. “People never seem to question who is the voice behind a sweet potato pie commercial.” He nodded in agreement. “I go to the mall for instance, and I look at all the pretty lights in the cascades but never think about who installed them, who made the lights that could be in the water that long and still work… It just doesn’t cross the average Joe’s mind I imagine.”
“Quite true.” He tapped his shirt pocket, then reached for his spoon once more.
“Ex-smoker?” She smirked.
“Yes, two years. How’d you know?”
“My father used to do that after he stopped, the tapping of the pocket as you try to feel for your cigarettes. He did it especially when he was nervous.” She winked at him, then she got up and tossed away her soda can.
“Mmm, I see.”
They looked at one another long and hard. In that moment, he wanted to say something, tell her how hard it had been to drop the habit, but he’d had to do it. He wanted to confess his fear that one morning when his heart was beating like a ticking time bomb, and after he had a cat scan and MRI, he was scared straight. He wanted to admit to her how he’d turned from a workaholic chain smoker to a workaholic jogger. But he kept it bottled up inside, hoarding the bits of vulnerability within himself…
“Your soup is all gone. Would you like more?” She pointed to the pot on the stove.
Shaking his head, he rose from his seat. “No, that was plenty. Thank you, though. Well, Bernie, looks like I’m about to eat and run!”
The woman burst out laughing at his little joke as he made his way back towards the front door. She followed close behind him, and so did Bernie, his paws clicking against the dark hard wooden floors.
“It really is a nice house, Bailey.” He turned from side to side, taking it all in. She’d done quite a bit with the place in such a short period of time. “Nice and spacious, too. You have a good eye, maximized the potential.”
“Yeah, way too big for one person. At least that’s what my friends tell me.” She chuckled. “But it’s what I wanted.” She shrugged. “Your home is beautiful, too. I love Tudors, and boy does yours look big, like a small castle.”
“Yeah, I have an appreciation for well built homes, brick preferably, with attention to detail. I, uh… I originally lived here with my son, but once he graduated high school, he moved away to Tennessee to be with his mom’s side of the family and attend college. That was last year, but I saw no reason to pick up and move. I’m comfortable here.” In that moment, his chest tightened, but he kept a smile on his face.
The house feels so empty without him. So quiet… I wish he would visit more…
He shook himself away from the troubling thoughts, the emotions that threatened to tear him apart.
“So, that’s why the house only has me in it,” he clarified, and cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact.
“I see,” she stated softly, her voice like a soothing elixir. “It’s okay that it’s just you.” Her words said more than what was uttered. He looked into her eyes, and didn’t appreciate what he saw—a reflection of his own anxieties, looking right back at him.
“How did you have time to do all of this to the property? I never even knew anyone had moved in,” he said, changing the topic. He leaned against the front door.
“Oh, I hired contractors. I’d come over in the mornings for an hour or two, and then go back to my apartment. I refused to move in until most of the work was done. I detest incomplete things. Really OCD about it, actually. Maybe that’s why I’m single.” She grinned.
You’re too good of a catch to be single. What’s the hitch? Either you’re crazy or clingy … maybe both. But you don’t come across as off your rocker.
“I completely understand. I’m a bit funny that way, too.”
Maybe I should pay more attention to incompletion … because the woman in front of me is quite well put together…
He reached for the knob on the front door and the cold air smacked him in the face, giving him a dose of harsh reality. Suddenly, the warm spell he’d fallen under from her soup and her voice dissipated. No. It had been stolen from him. Perhaps he’d get a chance at a second helping of each…
“Thanks for bringing over the business card, Chancellor.”
“No problem, and thank you for dinner. That was really nice of you.”
He stepped over the threshold and turned to see her standing with Bernie by her hip, and she looked like a delicious dream.
Say something, Chancellor. Why don’t you ask her out?
Because she’s hard to read. That’s why. I like a sure bet.
“Well, I better get going. Thanks again. Good night.”
“Good night.” She smiled.
He turned his back on the woman, hating himself as he trudged down her slippery path, walked across the road, and entered his home. The warmth of his place was appreciated, but it didn’t feel as cozy as Bailey’s residence. He looked over at the microwave, the damn thing blinking and reminding him that his rubbery, flavorless meal was ready for him to attempt to eat and not hurl. He angrily snatched the dinner out of the microwave and tossed it into the trash.
Soon, he was back in front of his sprawled paperwork, then on the phone giving a distributor a piece of his mind. He dove deep into his work, burning the midnight oil until he was dragging himself up the steps at 2:00 a.m. He fell down onto his bed face first, dreading that he’d have to be right back up in four hours, to be exact…
CHAPTER THREE
Cakes, Mistakes and Dinner Dates…
“And you can’t do that because it wasn’t authorized!” Chancellor slammed down his office phone, then turned towards Heather, his personal assistant. The woman with long, dirty blond hair and tiny, yet bright, hazel eyes hugged a small pile of papers to her chest as she stood in his open doorway. She blinked several times before speaking, as if batting away tears. So damn emotional…
“Mr. Hartmann?”
“Yes, Heather? What is it?” He pivoted about in his desk chair, pulling out drawer after drawer, searching for a copy of their latest catalog.
“Can you come down to the conference room? Jason has a question about the—”
“I don’t have time.”
“But it’ll only take a minute.”
“How do you know that, Heather? You don’t, do you?” he snapped as he shoved another drawer closed. “Did he give you a demonstration of what he was going to say and you timed it?”
“Well, no, but I just thought that—”
“I didn’t think so. Heather, look, I know you mean well but Jason can figure out whatever the hell he needs to figure out on his own. He is only interested in getting my advice or approval after he’s screwed up and I’m quite honestly sick and tired of it! Shit! Where the hell is the winter catalog?!” He opened another drawer and rummaged through it.
“He has to go out of town in a bit. He said it was important.”
He looked up at the woman, then grabbed the cup of coffee on his desk. It was white with the company logo, and dark brown drips of the beverage had dried on the side, proof that he’d had more than his share. After taking several sips, he got to his feet and ran his hand over his tie.
“This fuckin
g place…” he mumbled under his breath as he brushed past her and made his way to the elevator. He stepped inside and looked through the closing doors, but didn’t see Heather behind him. In fact, she’d disappeared.
Great… she’s probably in the bathroom crying. I can’t deal with sensitive people right now! They keep hiring these girls straight out of college. When I interviewed her, she seemed to have her shit together, but now all I see are those gloomy eyes and a timid attitude. She acts like she’s afraid to speak half the damn time! I don’t have the heart to replace her because, other than that, she does a good enough job. Jason—now he’s a real piece of fucking work! I can’t imagine what has happened now … some more crap he won’t take the blame for that he caused, no doubt.
The elevator doors opened and he burst out like a fireball. Sweeping past the water cooler, he made his way to the main conference room. He stepped inside and looked around at the framed photos of himself and several managers and directors plastered to the wall in expensive frames.
“There’s nobody here!” he screamed out, throwing his hands in the air.
He poked his head out, only to see the usual suspects sitting in the call center, their headphones on, reading their scripts and pretending to be busy at his mere presence. He didn’t miss how some of the loafers had jumped to attention as soon as the elevator doors opened, and it chafed his hide. Most of them would surf various social media networks and gossip all day. Or they’d quip about a stolen lunch bag and demand reimbursement from H.R.—shit like that. He debated installing hidden cameras to catch the little devils in the act of goofing off, wasting valuable company time. He marched to the phone. Snatching the receiver off the cradle, he dialed Jason’s office.
“Hello, you’ve reached Jason Masonry, VP of Product Development at Fountain Lite. Please leave a—”
Chancellor slammed the phone down, leaned on the long, black table, and huffed. Steam fairly poured out of his nostrils. He waited a minute, and another, then decided to go back to his office and pretend the entire matter had never occurred. As he exited the conference room, Jason raced towards him wearing a big grin across his silly face.
“I’m sorry, Chancellor, I got—”
“I have to leave, Jason. I have another meeting across town and need to prepare for it.” He walked past the man.
“Wait! Just one question, Chancellor.” He made his way to the elevator, ignoring the buffoon. “I wanted to say—”
“You wanted to say that you wasted my damn time! That’s what you wanted to say, Jason. Isn’t that right? I have been at this company for eighteen years, running it for sixteen! Not once have I called in sick. Not once have I arrived more than ten minutes late, even in bad weather, and not once have I mangled an important project and then blamed others for my incompetence. For eight of these years here at Fountain Lite, I have had to deal with you … your ineptness, your lack of responsibility, your disrespect for time management. You also have—”
“Mr. Hartmann, please don’t say—”
“Heather, be quiet!” he roared. “This has been long overdue!” Chancellor swept his hand in the air as if clearing the debris floating around them, once and for all. “I look around this office, and I see a bunch of slackers!” He set his disgruntled sights on the whole lot of them. “I read complaints online about our customer service department. How you people drop calls, giggle like school girls as you speak to other employees during an active call, cop an attitude with paying patrons who simply need some clarification on their orders, and have even cursed customers out! I don’t give a damn what a customer says to you—you are to never use vulgarity when addressing them! I found out you all haven’t been following up with the sales team, either, not passing on important leads. And speaking of leads…”
He shifted his weight and placed his hand on his hip.
“Let’s talk about the Sales Department, shall we? If I see one more goddamn expense report submitted to Accounts Payable asking for reimbursement for funds spent at a nightclub, gentleman’s club, the Mickey Mouse club, or any type of damn club, you’re fired!” He pointed a stiff finger in the general direction of the crowd, but not at anyone in particular. “For the past two months, I’ve asked for copies of these expenses, and it looks like our sales boys are havin’ an awesome time on the company dime, but have little to show for it! The free ride stops here. Party over. Shape up or ship out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do!”
As he turned back towards the elevator to push the up button, the doors opened and there stood Mary, the H.R. Director, a short woman with black hair pulled taut into a bun. She stepped off the elevator and peeked straight ahead. With a huge grin on her face, she held on to a large yellow cake in a white box with a clear window, showcasing the words:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHANCELLOR!
His heart dropped.
He slowly turned back around, only to see hundreds of eyes on him, the entire room as quiet as a cemetery. Every now and again, a phone would ring and a customer service rep would answer, but kept staring at him, talking in whispers.
“We wanted to surprise you, Chancellor … give you a nice birthday party. That’s why I wanted you to come down here.” Jason sighed before he turned and walked away.
Chancellor hadn’t even remembered his birthday was today. In fact, he’d looked at the calendar on his phone several times, and was none the wiser. That would surely explain the voicemails he hadn’t checked, all of them piling up. It would explain the unopened emails that had rolled in from relatives, including his son. He didn’t read his personal emails, texts and the like during work. He always believed it would be far too distracting. He kept his work cell phone and networks separate from his personal communication devices … because he was dedicated to his job, always striving to be the best. But right now, he didn’t feel like the best at all…
He slowly turned away.
“Uh, thank you, everyone. I’m … I’m not hungry … please enjoy the cake,” he stated softly as he stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors close.
It was them on the outside, him on the inside—away, alone. He always was, in one fashion or another. He got off the elevator and made his way to his office. Slumping down in his chair, he simply sat there, pumped full of adrenaline and a bit of remorse, too. After a few moments, he dove back into his work.
A mere ten minutes or so had passed before his office door swung open, and there stood Mr. Bernardino, Chairman of the Board.
“Chancellor, come into my office, please. We need to talk…”
He sat on the edge of his bed, naked. The alarm had gone off, and like clockwork he’d risen, but didn’t quite shine. Chancellor had gotten up and fixed his coffee, turned on the morning news, ate a plain bagel and a peppered boiled egg, then took his shower. This time, it had been a long one. After drying off, instead of selecting one of his many suits—the ones he prided himself on—he sat there with nothing on. Naked on the inside and the outside, he had no idea what to do with his hands, his feet, his mind. He must’ve sat there for at least thirty minutes, practically motionless.
In less than fifteen minutes after the birthday fiasco, his world had come crashing down. He was given a mandatory paid leave of absence. Apparently, there’d been discussions for the past year behind the scenes, for he’d garnered a reputation of being difficult to work with, a slave driver, a workaholic who cared more about the bottom line than people—and so the list of complaints went.
Three months. Ninety days, give or take…
Raking a hand through his hair, he wasn’t certain what had happened, or even how it had happened. Though he’d always taken pride in his work, he had no idea he was perceived in such a way, and a part of him still didn’t quite fancy it as truth. He would be allowed to return in ninety days, contingent upon him having at least two sessions with an anger management professional of his choosing.
He stood and walked to his bedroom’s picture window. Pulling the cream curtai
n aside, he looked down at the snow on the ground, and the freshly falling flakes. He geared up to throw on some layered clothing, grab the shovel, and clear his driveway. Several minutes later, he was doing just that. The only sound was his own shuffling, huffing, and the hard metal hitting the concrete as he turned over the heavy white stuff and tossed it aside. If only getting rid of his problems were that easy…
His muscles burned as he went along his business, but then he paused and looked across the street.
The windows were dark in Bailey’s house, signifying she was gone at that moment. But her driveway was full of snow, and perhaps ice. He finished up his work, then headed her way. Turning over the snow, one heap at a time, he worked hard and diligently until he’d cleared a good walking path from her front door to her mailbox. It took him a bit of time, but it was well worth the end result. His chest felt a bit tight, and a budding headache emerged, but he followed suit with her driveway, too. When it was all done, he surveyed his handiwork. Nodding in approval, he was pleased with the end result and made his way back home, closing and locking the door behind him.
He debated on doing a bit of competitor research, and possibly going to the grocery store to restock on some of his essentials—eggs, bread, and butter—but instead, soon found himself in the bed, the sheets pulled taut over his head and several hours passing before he so much as flinched. That was the only time his brain turned off, and he could get a much-needed vacation from his ever-running mind, but even those sleepy moments of relief were sparse. The heavy cloak of depression consumed him, eating him from the inside out. He lay in bed, his thoughts racing, thinking of the worst-case scenarios. All he could see over and over again were the employees looking at him, that yellow cake Mary had presented, and the look in his assistant’s eyes. It had been a look of utter disappointment. And it stung.
