No matter. This guy would not bully her. “What about Lauralee?”
“Since she’s been back to work, there are a number of issues I have with her performance, and I’d like to demote her back to part of the crew.”
Somehow Quinn managed to smile calmly at the man. “Issues? What kind of issues?”
He shot off a list of things that, to be honest, Quinn had no idea what they really entailed, but they didn’t sound that…important. She wrote them down with the intention of discovering more as Paul continued. “This isn’t something new with her. She’s always had problems with these things before.”
Seriously? Quinn’s patience was ebbing. If these had indeed been problems, why hadn’t they ever been included in her annual performance reviews? “Have you ever disciplined her before for this? Have you sat down and discussed or issued a written warning that identified these things as problems so she knew she needed to correct them?”
“She knows.”
He didn’t even try to explain, so confident he was in his decision, and Quinn worked to restrain her boiling temper. “Well, I want to be clear right now. Until I can check a few things, you shouldn’t demote her or make any changes in her job duties. In fact, I did want to discuss with you some concerns of my own.”
The man just smiled, a calculating gleam in those light eyes. “I bet you do.”
She wanted to stab him with her pen.
She wouldn’t let him see just how much his condescension was bothering her. She had a job to do, plain and simple, and she was going to make sure she had her own answers.
And if he didn’t like it, he could take it up with James Thornhill himself. She knew she would be.
Chapter 8
“This woman has six years of stellar performance reviews and only now Paul wants to bring a microscope to her work and demote her?”
Quinn’s eyes were blazing and her face was flushed a bright red as she spoke across the table in a restaurant, where they were eating lunch the next afternoon. And as frustrated as she was, James couldn’t help but enjoy watching the way she spoke, so determined and impassioned.
“It’s ridiculous. And frankly, James, it could get the company in a lot of hot water if he tries to do anything. It’s called retaliation.”
He nodded, trying to toe the line since he knew very well that Paul was something of a chauvinistic windbag, but he’d been with the company for more than thirty years, and he’d aligned himself with both Neil and Dennis. The old guard. Paul also had a few friends and supporters on the board who, to be honest, would side with Paul even if he were to drop his pants in the middle of the restaurant. It wouldn’t do well to draw a battle line with the man, not right now, when James was just starting to prove his mettle as CEO. “So what did you tell him?”
“Well, I didn’t yell at him or stab him with my pen like I wanted.”
That earned a smile. Especially the image of Quinn launching herself at the unsuspecting man who was nearly three times her size. “Good choice.”
“But I did outline that he can’t very well take disciplinary action against someone now when, for six years, it wasn’t an issue to her performance. Not when the only thing different is her discrimination complaint. I suggested a few other measures first,” she said and expanded on a few of them.
He nodded and picked up his water glass, taking a drink. “That sounds reasonable. Have you considered what you might do if she still doesn’t comply?”
“I know it won’t be a problem, not with Lauralee,” she added with steely determination before conceding, “But if it did continue, of course I’d treat her like anyone else and recommend termination.”
Despite his grandfather’s fears that Quinn would be too much of a champion of the employees and not respectful of the rules and management, James had faith that she’d ultimately be fair. And James would say as much, should Dennis, the board, or even his grandfather take him to task on this issue.
“How did Paul take it when you curtailed his plans to demote her?” James asked, cutting into his steak.
“His chest puffed out two times its usual size and he smirked before saying it wouldn’t be a problem. That he’d handle it. Which tells me I’m going to definitely continue to monitor the situation.”
“How is everything for you, Mr. Thornhill?” the slight blonde server asked, appearing on his right. She was a cute, fairly competent server who deserved points for attentiveness, even if, from the corner of his eyes, he could see Quinn rolling her eyes.
“Everything is excellent, isn’t that right?” he asked Quinn, who was sucking down her second Coke Zero since they’d arrived.
She nodded. “Sure. Can I get another Coke Zero, please?”
“You know, Kimberly, I think I might have room for one of those chocolate soufflés today. Would you mind having one of those thrown in for us now?”
Although the restaurant wasn’t a Thornhill Management holding, they’d eaten here often enough that he knew many of the employees by name.
“Sure thing. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” Kimberly said and scurried away.
“I’ll bet you will,” Quinn said under her breath.
James glanced at her, noting the way her dark eyes were narrowed in his direction now. “What? Don’t you like Kimberly? I thought she was a sweet girl. Very…attentive.”
Quinn snorted. “I’ll bet you do. James, do you think it’s possible for you to go one meal without getting the phone number of our server?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kimberly’s barely out of the crib.”
He turned to see their server disappearing into the kitchen. Yes, she was young, and he wouldn’t deny that she was attractive. But little did Quinn know, as kind as he tried to be to the people who helped them, and yes, maybe he flirted with them a little, he never actually called any of the numbers they left him.
Well, not many.
“Besides,” he said, dipping his steak into the juices on his plate. “You weren’t complaining when they brought out that extra basket of cheesy bread the other day, or when…Danielle, was it?...threw in the extra piece of chocolate cheesecake that you devoured.” He chewed the bite of steak for a minute as he considered what he was going to say next. “You know, Quinn, you might find that you get more out of life with honey than you do vinegar.”
“Really? Thanks. That’s so helpful,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’ll remember to talk super sweet the next time a busser is accused of grabbing a server’s butt.”
“Well, you do have a certain…glower—is that the word?—that could be off-putting to some. Fortunately, I’ve learned to look past that tight-lipped grimace you give when someone doesn’t do something that meets your approval. You know, tilting your head just as you are right now. As if you’re taking your measure of them.”
“I do not do that,” she insisted. “Just because I don’t flirt with everyone who breathes and passes in my vicinity doesn’t mean I’m grimacing or taking my measure of them. You know, you might do with some legal training yourself. Brush up on a few things about sexual harassment, hostile work environment…”
He raised his brows. “What, do you think I sexually harass good old Pauline when I have nothing else to do?”
“No, not because you sexually harass your secretary. But because you just said good old Pauline.”
He grinned. “I’ll give it some thought. So, did you ever give that real estate fellow of mine a call?”
Quinn picked up her glass and drained the last of the contents, then shook the ice as she glanced around, probably searching for their server, who was supposed to be bringing her a refill. “I decided that, for the time being, I’m just going to stay where I am. I like my roommates, and I’d hate for them to spend time finding a new roommate who flakes out on them when it’s time to pay the rent, leaving them in the lurch.”
“Sure. Or…could it be you have the tiniest bit of concern that they might just
be replacing you?”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, her laugh coming more forced than natural.
Ha. That was most certainly it. From what he’d learned these past few months working with Quinn, her roommates weren’t just friends but almost sisters to her, even if she hadn’t been able to see them as much as she usually did these past few months—as she liked to remind him.
But she was missing his point. About the realtor. “You do realize, though, that when I sent you that number, you were supposed to call Rich not just to be your realtor but to maybe give the guy a chance and go out with him?”
“Rich.” She looked incredulously at him. “Rich, the guy you introduced me to last week at the Thai place? Rich, the guy with the stick shoved so high up his butt that I could see it when he talked?”
“I assure you, it wasn’t a stick. He just has rather swollen tonsils.”
She ignored his joke. “No. Sorry, he’s just not my type.”
Curious. As James knew that Rich would be hard-pressed to find any woman whose type he wasn’t. Usually. But Quinn was unique. Not that he was complaining, since even though he’d passed on Rich’s information at Rich’s request as a favor to an old friend, James might have been hoping that Quinn wouldn’t be interested. Which didn’t quite make sense. It’s not like he could date her himself. Nor would he even want to. They were just so…different.
He tried to imagine taking the feisty attorney on a date. She’d probably spend half the night attacking his voting record and the other half detailing why his last dozen relationships hadn’t worked.
Although…he had to admit, the possibility of seeing her get all worked up had its advantages, especially when the color crept up those cheeks and her eyes seemed like they’d pop from her face. A good-night kiss would also offer some intrigue as well. Would she kiss with as much passion as she argued with? And what would his prim little attorney look like with that hair falling down her—
What the hell was he thinking? This was the last thing he needed right now, mixing his professional life with his personal. It would not end well.
James grabbed the ketchup bottle and, after a few shakes, squeezed some on his plate before he dipped his steak fry, trying to put Quinn back firmly in the place of annoying but oddly interesting—and indispensable—employee. “Okay. Then before I try and set you up with the next poor guy, why don’t you tell me a little about who is your type. Maybe start with your last boyfriend. What was his name?”
She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to figure out his angle. He gave her his most innocent expression.
“Chuck,” she said relenting. “His name was Chuck.”
James choked on his drink. “Chuck as in chuck steak? Chuck wagon? Chuck the giant murderous doll? Chuck like—”
“Yes, James. Chuck. Can we grow up a little? You’re the one who asked.”
“You’re quite right. So what was Chuck like? What did he do for a living?”
“He was an actuary.”
He would not laugh. “An actuary? As in one of those guys who calculates risk into a quantifiable number for insurance purposes? Wow. He must have been quite…adventurous.”
“Okay, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m sorry. Please. Continue. What kind of man was Chuck the actuary?”
She rearranged the fries on her plate with her fork, taking a moment to answer. “He was really quite…nice. Maybe not exactly adventurous, but then again, neither am I.”
Maybe. Maybe not. James doubted she’d ever tried adventurous, and for some reason, the thought of showing her all the things out there she’d never tried…such as cliff diving in Costa Rica or traipsing through the Australian outback or just driving across the country in a convertible sounded…interesting.
He cleared his throat. “And did you really like this guy, this Chuck?”
She avoided meeting his eyes. “Of course. He was nice. Sweet. Good-looking in an understated way.”
“Hardly a ringing endorsement,” he said dryly. “Maybe tell me about the last guy you went out with that you actually really cared about. That you were head-over-heels in love with.”
She paused, as if remembering something, but quickly shook her head, meeting his gaze. “You know, if anyone needs their love life dissected around here, it’s you. I mean, really, James? How many women can you possibly date in one night? Wait, don’t answer that. Maybe the better question isn’t how many can you but how many should you date in one night? There is something to be said for quality over quantity.”
“I’m sure you make a valid point, but I can’t think of any reason why getting to know as many beautiful women as I can is a bad thing. Sure, maybe some of them aren’t as cultured or as smart as the others…” He trailed off, enjoying the flash of anger in her eyes as her pupils dilated and her face reddened.
Sometimes it was really just too easy.
“James, your last date thought the Alamo was a country-western band. Maybe you could strive a little harder—” She paused as her cell phone chirped and she glanced down. “Shoot. I have a meeting with a couple managers in ten minutes to review some accommodation procedures.” She dropped her napkin on the table and shook the ice in her glass again, trying to get a last swallow.
“You’re still going to tour those properties with me and the Blossom Brew group later this evening?”
She was typing something on her phone, not yet looking up. “I can, but isn’t Dennis more than capable of answering any questions they may have?”
“Answering them, I suppose. But since Dennis’s interest in finalizing this deal is questionable at best, I would prefer to have someone around that I can trust.”
“I guess I can tell the girls I won’t be able to make it to the new Tina Fey movie after all. I don’t need a life outside of work, right?”
“You have a life,” he countered. “Just last week I took you to the Seattle Mariners game. You had a hot dog, some nachos. And even laughed a time or two, if memory serves.”
She didn’t appear amused by his quip, however. “I need a life outside of Thornhill Management. Outside of being your Girl Friday. Which reminds me, don’t forget that next month I’ll be taking a few days of vacation time.”
Wait. She was going somewhere?
“My parent’s thirtieth anniversary?” she explained. “Back home in Eureka, Idaho? Ring a bell?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Although he was almost certain she’d never mentioned this before.
“I’ve already blown them off for Thanksgiving and Christmas. My sister will hire a hit man if I miss this.”
“Don’t worry, I’m quite capable of holding down the fort until then. Besides, we should have this Blossom Brew deal finalized by then, and we’ll all be needing a little vacation.”
She came to her feet. “Good. But I still have to run.”
“You really have to leave? Can’t you reschedule? I just ordered us a chocolate soufflé.”
“You can save me a bite.” She scooped her red handbag off the seat next to her and, with a wave, started across the restaurant.
He watched her as she left, noticing how, in the past few weeks, she’d relaxed her no-nonsense masculine style to something slightly more feminine. The black pencil skirt hugged her surprisingly enticing curves and flipped provocatively around her knees. She’d even taken to loosening her hair a bit, so that a tendril or two framed her face.
She paused when she caught sight of Kimberly, who was making a direct beeline for him—he’d bet having waited for Quinn to leave—before shaking her head and probably muttering something under her breath.
Quinn was definitely unlike any woman he’d met before. In a good way.
He thought about not having her around the office while she vacationed in Idaho. And even though he’d told her he was more than capable of running things without her, there certainly would be something missing.
Quinn took a moment at the door of the restaurant to watch
as Kimberly approached James, fawning over him as Quinn had come to expect. James smiled like he always did and sipped his drink while she talked. She knew that he was just being polite, not wanting to hurt her feelings, preferring his women a little older and more worldly. Which didn’t really help the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that had been becoming more and more regular.
A small sigh pulled at the back of her throat.
Wait. Where’d that come from?
Before James could spot her spying from the front door, Quinn turned and raced out of the restaurant. Had she really been considering, for a minute, putting off her meeting so she could share dessert with James?
It was one thing these past few weeks to have suddenly found herself wanting to look her best—or at least less like a prude and more like the young semi-attractive woman she knew she could be—and another thing to consider blowing off work to put herself under the spell of James Thornhill any more than she had to.
James was her boss.
Quinn would never date her boss under any circumstance, least of all when she was now only three months away from having the medical bills paid in full. Not to mention that said boss was a womanizing philanderer allergic to any romantic commitment that lasted longer than a common cold.
And then there was the fact that he would never in a million years find anyone as ordinary as her as dating material.
But knowing all of this didn’t seem to help her ease the conflict she was struggling with of late.
Quinn waved to James’s driver but kept walking, needing the few blocks to the office to clear her head. Fortunately, it was a warmer-than-average afternoon in San Francisco for January, and she had her jacket to ward off any chill.
What she’d told James, about feeling like she’d become his Girl Friday of late, had been absolutely true. In fact, maybe it was this codependency that was the reason she couldn’t go an hour—awake or asleep—without some passing thought that involved the guy.
After all, they’d spent nearly fifteen hours a day almost six days a week together since she’d started. She was bound to become delusional, what with the lack of regular interaction with any other man—or person, for that matter.
Crazy for the Boss (Crazy in Love Book 1) Page 6
