Ambereye

by Gill McKnight

  Jolie faltered, staggered almost. Her body screamed at her to continue with its ever-increasing momentum—she sensed she was winning—while her mind was immediately engaged with a possible work problem.

  Then she realized Nadeem was, in fact, waving a Krispy Kreme napkin at her and her opponent was at that precise moment barreling up to Andre’s door. Nadeem had tricked her into losing the race! She felt the general sigh of relief around the office that she’d been waylaid.

  They’re all on Lushy’s side, ungrateful pack rats. She glowered at Nadeem, the little backstabber.

  “I thought I told you to never, ever, talk to me before the nine a.m. meeting. Never. Not even to tell me the building’s on fire.” She glared at him coldly. “What are you to do if the building’s on fire?”

  Nadeem quaked before her. “Fax you,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Fax your office to tell you there’s a fire.”

  “And why?”

  “Because I am not allowed to talk to you before the nine a.m. meeting, Ms. Garoul.”

  “And why?”

  “Because I annoy you.”

  “Good. So, Chicken Little, I’ll look forward to your report on the schemata falling, where you will no doubt highlight in minute detail what your mistimed alarm relates to. And I expect to see documentation.”

  Over his shoulder she could see a lot of arm action through the glass panels of Andre’s office. The drunk had her back to the door and was animatedly waving her hands in the air as drunks tend to. I knew it.

  Rabid little gin sipper.

  Andre, facing her way, had his hands up in a pleading, placatory fashion. Maybe she’s got a knife. That’ll teach him.

  Deciding there was no point loitering, she returned to her office, slamming the door behind her so hard the glass panels rattled. She was well aware that the minute she turned her back, Nadeem would begin receiving thumbs-ups and back slaps. Let him be the hero of the hour, she huffed. Until nine a.m.

  “What do you mean she must have forgotten?” Hope said. “I swear, Andre, I don’t know which one of you I’m going to throttle first. Did you even tell her?”

  “Of course I—”

  “The truth.” Hope knew him too well.

  “Well, it may have been a tail-ender…at a meeting, and she may have left a little early.” He shrugged as nonchalantly as he dared.

  “What?”

  “Hey, it’s in the minutes. She had plenty of time to read those and get back to me. Plenty of time. Until this morning.”

  Hope slumped on the black leather couch opposite his huge desk.

  “Andre, are you mad? She hates me.”

  “Don’t be silly, she doesn’t even know you.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t help.”

  “I mean, she won’t hate you once she gets to know you and sees how super efficient you are. Then she’ll love you.”

  Hope snorted at this.

  “Okay, okay. Look, Hope, this is a seriously massive project. I need Jolie to pull it together on time. And whether she believes it or not, she needs help. She needs a right-hand guy she can trust and lean on. If she continues at this rate, she’ll go pop one of these days. And she’s my annoying twin sister, and I don’t want that to happen to her. Look, I’ll get her to settle down.” He was practically on his knees. “Please just give it a chance. I’m sorry she was so underprepared and got in a snit. You have to admit it’s not like Jolie. The underprepared bit, I mean.”

  Hope frowned grumpily at him, but the firm set of her jaw was already softening from when she’d first stormed into his office. He knew he had won, but he also knew he had to charm her into believing it was a gracious concession on her part. He’d known Hope Glassy since before he’d opened the doors of Ambereye. They had worked together for another software company, and were the best of friends.

  She had danced at his wedding with none other than his own groom.

  In fact, years earlier she had introduced him to the man who was to become his life partner. Godfrey Meyers was a friend of Hope’s from the Sandpit’s pool team. The Sandpit was an infamous gay bar in Portland, and Godfrey and Hope were a mean mixed doubles team back in the bad old days. Andre had been dragged down there one night to yell support in a cup match. He had met Godfrey’s electric blue gaze over the pool table, and that was that.

  Now he looked at Hope, saw her flushed cheeks, her upset that her first day back was going so wrong, and he felt incredibly guilty. He had in no way underestimated her ability, but maybe he had been too hasty to set this amount of stress on her shoulders. Why the hell couldn’t Jolie just react like someone sane? What was the matter with her? Didn’t she know she was looking a gift horse in the mouth? She was lucky to have Hope on her team, even part-time. Lucky.

  He looked at Hope’s left eye. Because he knew her so well, he could tell, could see the difference in the set of the eyelid, the strange luster of her iris. He knew he was lucky to be sitting here looking at her at all. His guts constricted. Hope glanced up and caught him looking at her eye. Her cheeks reddened but she held his stare.

  “We’re lucky to have you, Hope. It’s going to be okay. I need you and Jolie needs you. She just doesn’t realize it yet.”

  “I don’t need her. I don’t need anybody,” Jolie bellowed at him.

  “Are you suggesting I can’t cope? That I can’t do my job? Who the hell is she, anyway?”

  “For God’s sake, woman, calm down.” Andre struggled not to yell back. “No one’s suggesting anything of the sort. You need a PA. I need a PA. We are embarking on a major project and there can be no slipups. You need someone watching your back, picking up the slack—”

  “What slack? Are you suggesting I’m slac—”

  “The slack in the noose around your neck, but you’re too thickskulled to notice it.” He did snap this time. “You were at the meeting when Hope transferred over. It’s in the minutes. Suck it up.”

  She glowered at him, but he could see the cogs grinding away behind her eyes. He knew she wanted this project to come together even more than he did. He knew having a PA was slowly making sense to her, but would she overcome her personal issues? Jolie didn’t want anyone near her. She was like a junkyard dog with a bone, but she had to learn to share…and to trust. Her office was her bolt hole, her place of safety in a world that sometimes confused and threatened her. If he hadn’t made her get out into that world and use her considerable brainpower for the good of their software company, Andre swore Jolie would have happily scrabbled an even bigger hole to sit in and whiled away her life. She had a den mentality all right, but had nothing but work to fill it.

  Stress ruled every waking minute of her life, and from the dark rings around her eyes it played a major part in her sleep patterns, too.

  She didn’t give a damn about anything but Ambereye’s success.

  Andre hadn’t lied to Hope; he was worried about Jolie’s health. It had been months since he’d last seen her smile. The workforce disliked her with a passion that actually broke his heart, but she got results and they had a grudging respect for that, if nothing else. Deep down he was certain Hope Glassy could turn things around for his stressed-out, burned-down sister. He was gambling on it.

  With a sniff Jolie stood and made for the door. There was no time left to argue, the deal was already done. She accepted she’d missed her opportunity for protest. He’d slipped one past her at a hyperbusy moment. Andre’s sneaky methods annoyed her, but he was usually astute, and she trusted his opinion. Maybe he knew something she didn’t about the upcoming project, or this PA person?

  “So, who is she again?” Her hand rested on the door handle and she glanced back at him. Andre looked genuinely surprised.

  “Hope. Hope Glassy.” He looked confused when the name didn’t register with her. “Jesus, Jolie, she was my assistant like, forever.”

  Annoyance bled into his voice and she felt color stain her cheeks.

  It irritated her to b
e judged because she didn’t immediately recognize the name. In fact, she still didn’t. Jolie paid little attention to things like that. Facts and figures were her companions. She reported to Andre alone and had little time for anyone or anything else. People disinterested her.

  To keep him happy, and his acid tongue in his mouth, she feigned recognition. The PA did look vaguely familiar. Nodding slightly, she grunted something that sounded like a confirmation and left, shutting the door behind her with a sharp click.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hope held her hands under the hot air dryer in the ladies’ room and examined her reflection in its chrome surface. She knew she looked shaken, and she was. Her talk with Andre had calmed her down, but now she was annoyed at losing her cool. Especially over a moron like Jolie. The woman was a hard-assed nut.

  She took a long, hard look at her face. She looked okay though she felt tired, and it wasn’t even midmorning. That did not bode well.

  “Okay, you came here to do a job, so go out there and damn well do it.” She gave a pep talk to her reflection in the dryer. “To hell with Jolie Garoul.”

  Another deep breath and she swung open the door and marched to her new cubicle. She knew her job inside out; in fact, she was excellent at it. She was also well respected and liked in this workplace, and she was not going to let her rude, boorish boss take all that away from her.

  She’d already lost enough confidence and self-esteem to last a lifetime.

  Now she was beginning to build it all back up, and no one was going to demolish her. No one.

  Hope was back at her desk when Jolie returned. She seemed intent on organizing her new space and kept her head averted, ignoring Jolie’s presence. Jolie hesitated and took another quick look at her new assistant. Andre insisted she knew her, but Jolie couldn’t place her at all. She was pretty enough, dressed in a smart business suit that did not manage to hide her curvy figure. She was short by Garoul standards, but then many people were. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in waves of rich chestnut that shone in the overhead lighting. Jolie’s gaze lingered on shapely legs and a nicely rounded posterior. Now that’s a lot of little person.

  Uncertain what to do next, Jolie passed by into her own office, sure she had just been snubbed.

  Huffy little thing, ain’t ya? Ms.…What? Already Jolie had forgotten the name. What had Andre said? Ho…Haa…What? Glassy was the surname, of that she was sure. She flicked one last disdainful look at her PA. Well, Ms. Hoohaa Glassy, you better be as good as people say you are or I’ll have you for breakfast.

  Moments later Jolie had lost herself and the rest of her morning in the complexities of a flowchart.

  “Ahem.”

  I’ll have to duck out of the two thirty if I’m to make that teleconference with the East Coast. Damn, have I got those times right?

  Jolie’s mind was crunching twenty-five hours into the clock.

  “Ahem.”

  Jolie looked up from her scheduler at the persistent distraction.

  Her new assistant hovered before her desk, clearing her throat to get attention. Jolie arched an eyebrow. Now what?

  “I’m going to make coffee. Do you want some?” A perfectly shaped eyebrow was raised back at her.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s eleven. Coffee break.”

  “Huh?”

  “Coffee break?”

  Jolie stared at her. She’s sidling off on a coffee break already?

  “Cream, sugar?” Her PA sighed, as if she had embarked on a task of Herculean proportions. “How do you take yours?”

  Jolie was more than surprised at the question. She actually had to think about how she liked her coffee. She’d never had time for coffee in the workday before.

  “Black,” she said, flooded with suspicion and uncertainty at this strange turn of events.

  With a nod, her assistant headed for the door.

  “Strong,” Jolie remembered something else about the way she liked coffee. “And bitter,” came as an afterthought.

  “Now there’s a surprise.”

  Jolie’s keen hearing picked up the exasperated mutter. Yup. That is a surprise, Jolie agreed in wonder. She watched her PA’s swaying walk all the way to the kitchen door. That’s never happened before.

  But then she’d never had an assistant before. Bemused, she returned to her scheduler.

  “About your scheduler.”

  It was early afternoon, and she was back, this assistant person.

  Hovering over Jolie’s desk with more questions and an obvious agenda.

  Well, maybe not that obvious. What does she want now? Jolie scowled at the interruption.

  “What about my scheduler?” Jolie said.

  “I’ll need access to it.”

  “What? Access to my scheduler?” Alarm crept into her voice. Jolie was unused to sharing her workspace. She simply sat in her office at the far end of the floor and calculated diagnostic facts and figures down to nine decimal points. Then she told the rest of the workforce what they could and couldn’t do—and to get on with it double quick. No one came to annoy her, no one was stupid enough to enter her private den. Now this PA person was walking in and out of her door like it was some sort of sports stadium turnstile. And asking for things, like her scheduler, and her time and attention.

  “Why do you want access to my scheduler?” Jolie could feel her heart rate quicken with anxiety. She hated change, and that’s all this little person did. Change things, all the time, all over, and she’s only been here…what? Five hours?

  Her PA’s body seemed to inflate, as if halfway through a massive sigh she had changed her mind and held on to the breath.

  “Well,” she began delicately, “as your assistant it means I know where you are and where you need to be. What meetings are scheduled, on a daily, weekly, monthly basis, and what documents you’ll need readied for them.”

  Hope could swear Jolie Garoul was actually squinting at her, like some sort of organic lie detector.

  She underscored her raison d’être for being in Jolie’s office in the first place. “It’s so I can assist.”

  She watched as Jolie began to slowly circle her heavy silver pinky ring. A nervous habit, it seemed. Hope surreptitiously examined the rotating ring; it was a wolf head with inlaid yellow diamond eyes.

  A little too rock and roll for Hope’s taste, but an expensive bauble nonetheless.

  “Okay.” Jolie relented, the scowl never leaving her face. “I’ll open up my calendar for you. What’s your e-mail address?”

  Hallelujah. Hope had thought she’d have to hack into it. She was a little surprised Jolie was being so reasonable. Maybe it was the caffeine buzz? She noticed the coffee had been practically inhaled, and a slightly improved mood had followed almost immediately. Aha, I’ve found your opiate. She reached for the empty coffee mug, noticing as she did so the splendid black leather chair Jolie lounged in.

  “Okay. Go check that you can see my calendar.” Jolie’s head dipped back to her monitor and the conversation was over.

  Hope rinsed out their mugs and placed them back in the kitchen cupboard, very carefully as she could still misjudge the edge of a shelf or countertop too easily. She was feeling tired now. It had been a long day with an overemotional start and her head was getting achy. Looking back at the morning, she was a little embarrassed she had lost her cool so easily, but she had been so keyed up at coming back. Lord knew why. Everyone had been lovely, as usual. She had been silly to get so stressed out, especially with Jolie Garoul as her new boss.

  Jolie wasn’t a nasty person, more like an absolute workaholic, and as blinkered to the world as a Kentucky mare on the home straight. She had to remember that and try to be kind to the oddball she was now working for. But hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before she smoothed out Jolie’s rough edges. If there was one thing Hope excelled at, it was managing the managers. Hope knew she’d also need to work on her own self-confidence if she was to get her old upbeat self back. The last f
ew months had been hard—her world had shaken apart around her, but she was on the way back. Determined to make this new start work.

  Satisfied the kitchen was tidy, she returned to her desk. Once more she squirmed in the uncomfortable chair, frowning at the worn armrests.

  She recalled Candace’s earlier claim that Andre had spoiled Hope with a top-of-the-range computer and executive chair. Well, the computer was fantastic. The monitor was nearly as big as her TV back home, but the chair? She remembered Jolie’s sleek leather number. Now that’s a chair—Hope stopped short and wriggled her bottom once more, as if to confirm the facts: the worn fabric, the bum groove, the squeaky castor.

  Then, exploding at her beautiful roses, she spat out in total disbelief, “That’s my chair! That skinny-assed bitch has stolen my chair.”

  The following morning Jolie Garoul stood at her desk looking in amazement at the steaming cup of black coffee and the pecan maple twist waiting for her. Well, she assumed they were for her. Hard luck if you ain’t, because you’re mine now.

  She plunked down in her seat and, lifting the fresh Danish, sniffed it.

  “Mmm.” Her appreciation came out as a deep, happy growl.

  Tentatively, her tongue tip touched the sticky surface and a soft croon drifted from her throat. With a deep sigh of satisfaction she bit into it and reached for her bitter brew. The day was going to be perfect—if Nadeem stayed away from her.

  On her way to the daily nine o’clock meeting, Jolie passed her assistant’s cubicle. She rose to meet her with laptop in hand.

  “Nine o’clock, room two, right?” she said.

  Jolie blinked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

  “I’ll take the minutes.” She tapped the laptop.

  This was apparently an explanation for something. Jolie looked at the overflowing notebook in her own hand. Reams of loose papers sprung haphazardly from its edges. Inside was a mass of scrawled notes in scratchy biro. Minutes, memos, hasty diagrams, and doodles of dismembered coworkers made the notebook twice as thick as it was manufactured to be. She had crammed so much loose paper between the battered covers that the spine had popped ages ago. A good sneeze and it would disintegrate into confetti.