by Annie Kelly
“But on a more positive note,” Mr. Kensington says, smiling, “I’m happy to introduce you to your new BYC director, Mr. Owen Marshall.”
Oh, fuck.
Clean Cut moves front and center, grinning broadly at the room like he’s won an Oscar. There’s complete silence for a good three seconds—and then the room explodes with sound.
Chapter Two
“Wait, so was Remy in trouble?” Shannon, the morning receptionist, asks.
“You just moved people around—no good-byes, no explanation?” asks Derrick. He runs all of the team sports youth programs, along with a morning boot camp for kids that keeps them out of trouble before school. He looks fucking furious.
A handful of other people are starting to stand up, wearing indignant expressions and looking completely pissed. I, on the other hand, am just sitting here, staring at my phone. If Remy knew this was coming, he would have told me. He never would have let this happen where he couldn’t at least prep the staff. I type out a brief message to him, press send, then stand up. Both Cosby—I mean, Owen—and Mr. Kensington watch me as I approach them. They both look a little shell-shocked, like they weren’t expecting a staff to, oh, I don’t know, care about their entire work life getting completely switched around.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” I say, putting on my best Southern pageant girl smile. “I think everyone’s just a little shook up. Remy was an institution around this place—not to mention a great boss. The kids loved him. So this news—well, it’s just going to take some getting used to.”
That’s what I say out loud.
My inner dialogue? That’s something a little more like, “Hey, douchebags. Way to ruin my morning in ten minutes flat.”
Mr. Kensington adjusts his tie.
“Well, Owen, I’ll leave the staff to your capable hands, then.”
Coward. I have to literally force myself not to roll my eyes. He shakes Owen’s hand, then gives me a weird little part wave, part salute, and strides out of the gym.
“Asshat,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me?”
I look up at Owen—my new boss who I had no idea even existed until about ten minutes ago—and manage another ingratiating smile.
“How about I introduce you to the rest of the staff?”
He pins me with a stare, then cocks his head. “How about you introduce yourself first?”
I blink for a second, completely thrown by his tone. Is he trying to be a dick or is he just completely clueless and socially awkward?
He crosses his arms over his chest and raises one brow.
Oh, yeah. He’s a dick.
“I’m Rainey Wallace,” I say, squaring my shoulders as I look up at him, “and I’m the assistant director of BYC.”
Owen’s eyebrow stays cocked. “Oh, really? I’d seen your name on the list, but I’d assumed you were . . .”
He trails off. I narrow my eyes.
“I was what?”
He shrugs. “A dude.”
I can feel my lip curling. It’s not an insult, exactly, but it still pisses me off.
“Rainey sounds like a boy’s name to you?”
“I don’t know—it didn’t sound like any name I’d ever heard of. I guess I just figured.” To which he adds a lame, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I let it go because, well, really, what else can I do? He’s my boss now.
I start to walk over to where Derrick is sitting. He still looks the most visibly upset of the staff. I give him a smile when he glances up.
“Hey, D.”
He glances from me to Owen, then leans back in his chair, crossing his dark, muscular arms over his chest.
“Look,” I say, sitting down on the empty folding chair next to him, “I know this sucks about Remy—I texted him and I will definitely let you know what I hear—but the best thing for the kids is for us to adjust. And to welcome Owen aboard.”
Derrick’s expression doesn’t change. He’s still furious. But he straightens in his chair and reaches out a hand to Owen. Owen looks at me, then does the same. The two men shake, but Derrick doesn’t let go when our new boss tries to extract his hand from the equation.
“Remy was more than just our supervisor, man,” Derrick says in a low voice. “He loved the kids here. Most of them only have a few adults that they can trust—some of them trusted Remy more than they trusted their own dads. You’ve got some damn big shoes to fill.”
I can tell by Owen’s face that Derrick is squeezing his hand harder than he probably needs to. Then, all of a sudden, he lets go, dropping his hand and moving to stand up. Without another word, Derrick turns and walks past the rows of folding chairs and out the same gym door Mr. Kensington exited a minute ago.
Apparently seeing one employee walk out is enough to inspire a few of the others to do the same. The aquatics director, Jenn, and the facilities manager, Ronald, both walk out without another word. Shannon and the others are staying, but they’re all looking at me as though waiting for permission to leave. Sighing, I make a dismissive motion with my hands.
“Go ahead, everyone. I’ll check in with y’all in a little bit.”
The rest of the staff files out, the scrape of chairs the only sound as they go. I can feel Owen’s eyes on me, so I turn to face him head-on.
Oh, yeah. He’s pissed.
“I understand that you have a certain amount of authority here, Rainey, and I respect that. But, in the future, I would appreciate it if you didn’t dismiss staff from a meeting without my go-ahead.”
I swallow, allowing the few moments it takes for my irritation to settle back down to hang between us.
“Owen, I’m trying to explain to you that Remy is well-liked. Well-loved. He isn’t here now and no one knew it was happening. This is going to be a hard adjustment. If you let me help to smooth the transition, it’ll probably make life easier for you.”
Owen licks his lips, which have formed a small smile. I notice he has the slightest dimple in his left cheek, far more shallow than the deep one in his chin.
“Right. Well, I’ll be sure to let you know if I need any more of your . . . transitioning.”
I open my mouth, completely ready to let loose a snarky response, then close it. It isn’t worth it—not when I’ve got to spend the rest of the day putting out fires.
Finally, I just shrug and start moving toward the door.
“Just remember that when two thirty rolls around,” I say over my shoulder.
“Two thirty?” Owen asks.
I glance back at him.
“If you think a handful of upset adults is a pain to deal with, just wait until the kids get here.”
***
My job at the Baltimore Youth Center has always required me to wear many hats. There are days when it’s mostly administrative, where I spend an entire eight hours working on a proposal for a new grant or enrollments for the next semester. There are days that are the complete opposite, when I spend the entire day running around the building, trying to fix faulty toilets or replacing light bulbs when the facilities staff is down a man or two. And then there are days like today—when my office is a revolving door of people wanting to come and talk. To find out what I know.
To talk shit, essentially.
By lunch, people are coming in and out of my office without rhyme or reason. Owen has gone out to get pizzas for the staff in what is probably a genuinely nice gesture, but everyone is taking the opportunity to talk smack while he is gone.
“A guy like that? He’s never gonna make it,” Jenn says, leaning back on the secondhand couch. It’s a hand-me-down from Cyn’s dad’s old apartment, but it’s seen better days—mustard-colored foam spills out of the split seams like it’s calling “uncle” and running toward the door.
“He could,” her partner, Wendy, says, shrugging. She and Je
nn have been here since the center’s inception and they fell in love almost right after starting to work together. When I met them, they’d been planning their wedding—a small get-together in the Baltimore Harbor that was probably the most fun reception I’ve ever been to.
Wendy pats Jenn’s hand. “Honestly, honey, we need to at least give him a chance to prove himself. For all we know, he was assigned here. We have no idea if he had any say in whether Remy got to stay.”
I look at my phone for the hundredth time. It’s going on three hours since I first texted Remy and he still hasn’t responded. I’m starting to worry, but I’m not going to show it—not until I can at least figure out how to get the rest of the staff here on board with an Owen Marshall takeover.
“Wendy’s always the voice of reason,” someone says from the doorway. We all look up to see Shannon holding the cordless phone.
“There’s a call for you on the main line—the guy said something about a grant we applied for.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling excited. I jump up and motion for her to give me the phone. Jenn and Wendy slip out the door, shutting it quietly behind them, as I school my tone to sound a little less obviously desperate and a little more professional. The truth is that grant money is probably going to be the bread and butter for the BYC before long. I need to remain calm and try not to squeak when I speak.
“This is Rainey Wallace,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t actually sound as breathy as it does in my head. “Can I help you?”
“Rain, it’s me.”
I don’t recognize the voice. I frown.
“Excuse me? Who am I speaking with?”
There’s an audible sigh. “Rainey. Seriously?”
I sit up straight in my chair. “Remy?”
There’s silence for a long moment, and then I can hear Remy sniff. Shit. He’s fucking crying.
Up until now, I was directing all of my emotions into a place within my body that could contain them. Now, though, I can feel them rushing to the surface and flushing my skin.
“Remy—oh my God. Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell Shannon it was you? We were so worried about you!”
He sucks in an audible breath. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone but you.”
“Did you know this was happening? People are freaking the fuck out up in here.”
There’s a silence, then a sort of snuffling sound. Remy takes another shaky breath.
“I didn’t know for sure,” he says. He’s practically whispering and I have to strain to hear him. “It wasn’t until I got a call late last night to come into the city headquarters this morning. Kensington and my replacement were already at BYC by the time they sat me down.”
I roll my eyes, despite being alone in the room. “Yeah—Owen Marshall. He’s . . . different.”
Part of me doesn’t want to talk too badly about the guy I’m going to have to work with and who, let’s face it, could probably fire me if he really wanted. I’d sort of like to avoid that possibility. If my parents hate hearing about me working here, they’ll really hate hearing about me being unemployed and eating Vienna sausages from the can while I stream Netflix using my neighbor’s Wi-Fi.
“The head of Baltimore City Parks and Recreation met with someone at the mayor’s office. I guess there was some kind of concern about me.”
I’d been rocking back and forth on my seen-better-days desk chair. Now, I stop in mid-rock.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Remy sighed. “I guess someone lodged a complaint about my influence on the kids or something. I don’t know if it was a parent or a coworker—I honestly have no idea. All I know is that it was something to do with my being gay and my influence on the kids in my care.”
I thought I’d been mad earlier. Mad at Owen for his snarky comments. Mad at Mr. Kensington for his chickenshit disappearance when things got tough. And maybe I was mad. Maybe that prickle of indignation is what mad really is.
But that means that now I’m fucking furious.
“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?”
I yell it. Loudly. I don’t even try not to. I yell it loud enough that Jenn and Shannon and Wendy and Derrick and Thom, a volunteer who missed the meeting and was just folding pool towels by my door a few seconds ago, all make it into my office in the span of ten short seconds.
“What? What is it? What happened?” Jenn asks, her face almost panicked. I hold up a finger in the universal “hold on” symbol.
“So are you fired? Are you demoted? What’s the deal?”
I’m already composing my resignation letter in my head. I don’t particularly want to be unemployed, but I will not work in a place that upholds any kind of bullshit prejudice against anyone. Not when that’s what we’re trying so hard not to perpetuate in the kids in our care.
“No, I just got transferred,” Remy says quietly. “I’m on my office phone now during my lunch break. They’ve got me in an adult recreation center—apparently I’ll be working with senior citizen groups now. I guess that’s where my replacement came from. Oscar? Was that his name?”
“Owen.”
And like destiny, or something far less dramatic, Owen walks through the office door. He smiles broadly at everyone as he heads for the break room.
“Pizza’s here!”
We all silently watch him go. I close my eyes.
“Remy . . . I need to go. I’ll call you back after work.”
I gently set the receiver back in its cradle, then look up at the rest of my coworkers. I know they’re reading my face, my expression. They can see I’m barely holding it together without screaming at the top of my lungs or throwing something really hard at the wall.
“What happened?” Derrick asks. His fists are clenching on either side of his body, which tells me that I can’t possibly tell him the truth right now. I might want to channel the Incredible Hulk, but Derrick might actually do it.
“I need to talk to Owen first,” I say slowly. “You guys totally deserve to hear about what happened, but I kind of need to talk to him about it first.”
“Why?” Shannon asks, frowning.
I exhale as I stand up, then smooth a hand over my uniform shirt.
“Because I want to know his side. I want to know what he knows.”
I take slow, purposeful strides from my desk to the door. I’m not usually one to relish dramatics, although I appreciate them now and again. For a morning like this one, I decide I can relish in a little over-the-top drama.
“Because if I find out that Owen was a part of what happened to Remy,” I say in a low voice, “then today is my last day at BYC.”
I swing my ponytail over one shoulder, then walk with purpose, and feigned confidence, toward the break room.
Chapter Three
“I need to talk to you.”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m nervous when I say it and I’m nervous for Owen’s reaction. This is because of multiple reasons: I am fucking pissed. Like, really, legitimately furious. The fact that anyone could be moved from their job because of one complaint is ridiculous. But the fact that it’s because of someone’s personal life—any part of their personal life—is utter bullshit.
If I find out that my new boss, who I met all of four hours ago, was a part of the decision to “out” Remy, then I have to quit. I’ve never quit anything in my life and I’m not sure I’ll be that good at it—especially when it’s over principles and not, say, a pay raise.
Worst of all, Owen went out and changed out of his dress shirt and into his uniform polo, which makes me realize that he’s actually completely cut from marble and far more muscular than I realized. Between that and his face, he looks like an earnest and hardworking Greek god, like the kind of guy who brings his mom dinner when she’s sick, then heads off to a UFC tournament.
Dammit. I can’t let myself be distracted. I
have to stay vigilant.
Owen, in the meantime, is looking at me expectantly as he lays out the cheap white paper plates that we’ve been storing on top of the fridge.
“What’s up? Where is everyone?”
I drop down into one of the plastic chairs and brace my hands on both my knees.
“I need to ask you a question,” I say carefully, forcing myself to temper my anger with something like professionalism.
Owen senses the seriousness in my tone or my body language, or both. He pulls a chair out and swings it around to straddle it backwards. The move is so unexpectedly sexy that I almost forget what I’m about to say.
“I spoke with Remy on the phone a bit ago—I guess he’s been moved to one of the senior centers. He said that’s where you used to be the supervisor.”
Owen smiles then as he nods. “It’s a great place. I can’t tell you how many times I won Scrabble championships over there. I’ll miss it.”
For a second, I just stare at him. Scrabble. That’s . . . not hot.
“Right, so . . . anyway. Remy is there now. Do you know anything about the circumstances behind the move? The switch? Like, why you were brought over here?”
Owen cocks his head for a second, his tan arms crossed and balanced on the back of the chair in front of him.
“Why are you asking?”
My heart stutters. Fuck. That means yes.
Then Owen shakes his head. “Look, honestly, I came into work yesterday and Burt Kensington was there with a few other people and they told me I was being transferred. That’s really all I know. A bunch of supervisors were shifted around.”
He shrugs, then stands up.
“It’s not a conspiracy theory, Rainey.”
I bristle at that.
“I don’t think it’s a conspiracy theory. I just . . . was curious.”
I don’t tell him about the phone call with Remy. I was going to. I wanted to. But now I have another thought—a thought that would need me to bide my time a little bit. And not show my cards to my new boss right away.
I stand up then and force a genial smile.
