by Hayleigh Sol
After admonishing myself about assuming the worst, the next thought—as the phone continued to play its ringtone—was whether or not I should answer. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and I was just about to leave for a bike ride to the beach. Talking to Gram would take who knew how long and delay my exercise, which would affect the rest of my day.
Was I a bad granddaughter because I expected a call meant bad news about her health or because I was considering not answering so I could stick to my plans?
“Hi, Gram. How’re you?” I set my helmet on the counter with a thud.
Our phone calls usually began with the typical conversational gems: “How are you?” “How’s your week been?” “Are your knees feeling any better on that new arthritis medication?” That last only went one direction.
Today, Gram sped through the usual and told me she had news.
Oh God, something is wrong. Stay calm, be supportive and positive. Fall apart when you’re off the phone.
“Okay, what is it?” Steadying breath.
“I’ve been doing some searching on the internet.”
Bless her heart, she was so proud any time she navigated the web successfully. “Uh huh…”
“And I have news I just had to tell you about right away.”
Here it comes. She’s been having symptoms she hasn’t told anyone about and now she’s found a diagnosis on Dr. Google.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Lupine had one open reservation and I snatched it up!”
What the hell was Lupine? Some private medical clinic? The name of a specialist?
“I couldn’t believe it, so I called to verify—you know you can’t trust anything you read on the internet, right dear?—and the woman said they’d had a last minute cancellation. It’s fate.”
“Uh, Gram, what—or who—is Lupine?”
Silence. Had she told me about this last weekend and I’d forgotten?
“Lupine, Maya. Lupine. The campground at Bass Lake.”
Ohhhh. My brain reviewed the conversation with this new, critical information. “Okay, so you’re going camping? I thought you didn’t camp anymore.” She didn’t, not since her arthritis had gotten so bad years ago.
“I didn’t make the reservation for me, silly. I made it for you.”
Aw, crap. “Gram, thank you, that’s very thoughtful. But there’s no way I can take any time off work right now. Or whenever you made the reservation for.”
“That’s the best part. It’s two weeks, with the last night being Fourth of July. You can see the fireworks show over the lake. Remember how much you loved that when you were little?”
My mind flashed to a very special memory of the holiday from years ago, but I certainly hadn’t been a little girl then. And the fireworks had been the furthest thing from my attention at the time.
Gram was telling me the campground was available for two weeks at the end of June to July fifth and she’d made the reservation under my name—and paid for it as a gift to her favorite grandchild.
“Nice try, but I’m your only grandchild.”
“And, as such, you would never want to disappoint your Gram by refusing her very thoughtful gift.”
Big sigh. “But, Gram—”
“Now, Maya, what have I always told you about receiving presents?”
“Just say, ‘Thank you, Gram’,” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you? I’m getting a little hard–of–hearing in my old age, you know.”
Oh, that little stinker. Playing the frail–grandmother card. “Thank you, Gram.” That time, I spoke up and enunciated the words. I swear, I could hear her sneaky, smug grin through the phone.
“You’re most welcome, sweetheart. I think this little vacation is just what you need. Everyone deserves a break from time to time and it’s been far too long since you took one. And you’ve been under such pressure lately.” That wasn’t news. “You know your mother worries about how hard you work. I’d hate for her to make herself sick or for her anxiety attacks to return.”
Jeez, when it came to manipulation tactics, Gram was downright diabolical.
“Anyway, I look forward to hearing all about your trip when you get back. You’ll say hello to Kippy’s Cove for me, won’t you?”
My family had named—and renamed—our favorite spots at the lake over the years, this one after a beloved pet I’d never actually met. It was weird and garnered some confused looks from other vacationers, but everyone in the family knew what the speaker was referring to, so it worked.
Gram ended the call by telling me she had to get to church to set up for the next day’s potluck brunch. She was the queen bee of her church’s social scene and was always volunteering for more projects. It kept her happy and active and I think she not–so–secretly loved being known and appreciated by her fellow churchgoers. She also seemed to relish the gossip she was privy to, though she pretended to be above such things.
Heading out on my bike, I added canceling her campground reservation to my mental to–do list. As I’d told Gram, there was no way I’d be taking a vacation any time soon. Besides, solo camping just sounded like a lot of work—putting up a tent, packing an ice chest and camp stove, unearthing all of that from wherever it lived in my parents’ garage—and the whole point of me taking a vacation was to relax and work less. Nope, camping and vacations were nowhere in my near future.
Chapter 6
A time–devouring, but necessary, habit of checking over my employees’ proposals before they were sent out to customers had developed over the past couple of years; it was now a regular and unshakeable part of my routine. It had started after someone complained about an overcharge when a former employee who’d moved on three or four years ago now, had entered “80” instead of “8” as the quantity of solar panels for a pool heater conversion. We couldn’t return the surplus to the manufacturer so I’d had to store the extra panels in my apartment until we could use them for other projects.
There were still two propped against a wall in my second bedroom–slash–office. Some people used their neglected treadmills and stair climbers as coat racks; I had spare boxes of solar panels.
Doing spot audits of the proposals every couple of weeks after that initial heartburn–inducing mistake had revealed frequent errors, usually to the client’s benefit and our loss. Cory, for example, tended to leave certain items off his bid sheets, which would have cost us several hundred dollars…on each project. For a time, I’d tried refresher training sessions for the staff, thinking more exposure and fun competitions with prizes—spot the error and win an Amazon gift card—would improve their accuracy. They hadn’t.
I had no desire to micromanage or give myself more work, but we couldn’t afford to lose that kind of revenue. So now I reviewed every single bid before it was emailed to a client. It was usually something I did at the end of the day, in the comfort of my pajamas at home, music or late night TV playing in the background. Tonight, I was still at the office, enjoying the peace and quiet of the empty space.
“…but the lights shouldn’t be on still.” The back door opened as a familiar voice filtered into the room.
Tiffany came around the corner and looked just as surprised to see me there as I was to see her. She turned to look over her shoulder and Brad stepped up beside her.
“Oh, Maya, you’re still here. I didn’t see your car in the lot.”
“Uh, yeah, I rode my bike again. Hey, guys. What’s up?”
This was weird. What were either of them doing here so late? And together?
A boulder dropped beneath my sternum. Oh my God, they’re together together and they’re here for kinky office sex. Probably on my desk.
I must’ve flinched involuntarily at the image in my mind or Brad realized how the situation looked, as he rushed to provide an explana
tion. “Tiff and I bumped into each other in the parking lot. She was telling me she remembered something she’d left off one of her bids and didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to fix it.” That kind of dedication didn’t sound like “Tiff”, but okay… “And I’m pretty sure I left something here the other day, some paperwork on a refurbishment job for TechCycle.”
My head tilted,eyes following him as he walked into the conference room. He seemed twitchy. “I haven’t seen anything in there, Brad. And, Tiffany, I already went through your proposals for the week and added the items they were missing.”
Tiffany raised her eyebrows at me, looking like she was about to argue that she hadn’t omitted any line items.
But wasn’t that her reason for being here right now?
“Oh…thanks, Maya. Glad you caught that; it’s so unlike me to leave anything off.” Her tinkling laughter was aimed toward Brad, who’d come out of the conference room empty–handed.
You leave charges off bids more often than you realize, “Tiff”, I thought to myself. But I didn’t say it; there wasn’t any point.
“Guess I didn’t leave those papers here after all. Damn, wonder where I put ‘em.” Brad looked convincingly perturbed, but this entire scene just felt…off. Tiffany was throwing glances his way rather than leaving and Brad was avoiding eye contact with both of us.
“If I find them, I can scan and email them to you,” I offered, thinking that was something he could’ve texted and asked me to do without driving all the way over here himself.
He nodded. “That’d be great, thanks. Well”—he looked around the open office space once more, still managing not to look at the two women in the room with him—“I guess I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re working on. Don’t stay up too late.” A slight step toward me was a reminder that he might’ve given me a kiss goodbye just a month or two ago. He caught himself, though, and he and Tiffany left.
“Goodnight,” I said to their retreating backs. Two sets of headlights flashed the side window as they turned onto the street, Brad turning left toward his place and Tiffany right to wherever she was going.
For several minutes, I sat back in my chair, wondering. I knew, if my best friend Bailey were here, she’d tell me they were absolutely having an affair and probably had been even while Brad and I were a couple. I couldn’t think of a reason for them to be here at this hour together, unless their timing had been truly coincidental and their stories legitimate. Brad had never cheated on me—as far as I knew—and Tiffany was seeing some guy named Ricky, I thought. Nothing in their behavior when they were here tonight or during work hours seemed to indicate that either was more than the occasional light flirtation for the other. They’d been in separate cars and driven off in different directions.
Bailey would say they’d hastily orchestrated their exit in the parking lot.
I was probably reading into the odd circumstances of tonight’s encounter. Even if there was something going on with them, Brad and I were on a break. He’d told me he was dating. Did I have a right to be bothered by this?
If it’s Tiffany, my problematic employee, and Brad, her potential future boss, yeah, I just might.
For the next couple of days, I worked from home with a couple of on–site client meetings in between. I was mostly able to talk myself out of the suspicions I’d had about Tiffany and Brad. He’d sent a text later the same night they’d shown up at the office, saying he’d found the papers he’d been searching for under the seat of his car. A perfectly logical explanation.
Still, when all three of us were back in the office on Friday morning, I couldn’t help but watch the way they interacted with each other from under my lashes. Most of the time, Brad was ensconced in the conference room, as always. Tiffany was going out of town for the weekend and leaving before noon; she’d been sitting near me all morning at a workstation that was shared by whoever was scheduled to be in the office on any given day. Other than a brief trip to the kitchen, they hadn’t been around each other, or even spoken beyond a greeting, that I’d seen.
Evan showed up just as Tiffany was washing out her coffee mug and slid into the seat she’d vacated. He hadn’t been there longer than thirty seconds when he jumped up, the sudden move catching my attention. The frown on his face and strides toward the back door Tiffany approached piqued my curiosity.
“Hey, Tiffany, did you have the Crawley account open for any particular reason?”
Her face reflected surprise and…was that a hint of guilt?
“Yeah, I took a call from them earlier; they had some questions I was able to answer.”
“What did they want to know?” Off the top of my head, I was fairly certain that the Crawleys were Evan’s account, one he’d gotten as a referral from a client who’d thought he was “completely amazing”.
Tiffany shifted restlessly, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder and folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t really remember, dude. That phone call wasn’t exactly high on my priority list this morning. Did you read the notes?”
Mirroring her pose, Evan’s arms crossed. “Yeah, funny enough, there wasn’t anything after my last entry of sending them the revised bid last week.”
“I guess whatever they were asking wasn’t important enough for me to note in the file, then. Look, I’m running late. Are we done here?”
Yikes. Neither of them seemed to notice my focus on their exchange or that Brad was now standing in the open door of the conference room, listening in.
“I just want to check something first. You’re pretty sure you didn’t make any changes to the file, just opened it to answer some questions, none of which you can recall.”
“That’s what I just said, yeah.” Uh oh, Tiffany was getting defensive and pissy. I could see her nostrils flare from fifteen feet away.
“Then why is your name in the assigned account manager field now?”
Brad straightened from his doorjamb–leaning position and hotfooted it over to them. “Hey guys, couldn’t help but overhear. Is there something wrong with one of the client files?”
Evan glanced over at Brad, then zeroed back in on his prey. I’d never gotten the impression that he was Brad’s biggest fan—or Tiffany’s, for that matter—nor did he seem to appreciate an outsider’s participation in the current dispute.
Tiffany sighed. “Look, Evan, I was just trying to help you out. I know how busy you are with this mega hospital project and I thought I could lighten your load by taking one of your smaller accounts. You weren’t here when they called and I was. No big deal.”
At this point, I had to get involved. Joining the group, I made sure to position myself equally between Evan and Tiffany. I was neutral Switzerland. At least until I had all the facts.
“Strangely enough, Tiffany, I think stealing one of my accounts is a big deal.”
I hadn’t said anything yet, not knowing quite how to deescalate the situation and still get answers from the account thief—alleged account thief.
Brad didn’t have that uncertainty. “Hold up, Evan buddy, that’s a heavy accusation. I don’t think Tiffany was trying to steal your commission or anything like that. Right, Tiff?”
“Of course not! I was just trying to help out a teammate, like I said.”
I was probably biased, but her innocence seemed a touch contrived. All that was missing was the eyelash–batting. “But Tiffany, you know the person assigned to an account is the one who receives the bonus. Which gets calculated by the financial software when we run payroll. If your name’s on the account, the software will automatically apply that fifteen percent bonus to you. Not Evan.”
“God, Maya, I don’t know how payroll works.” That seemed highly unlikely, especially since it was explained to every employee when they started and written in the new hire packet. “Besides, if I’m willing to do the work on a small account like the Crawleys, why shouldn’t I get the bonus? Evan’s
gonna be too busy to give them the excellent customer service Green for Green prides itself on.”
Was it just me or was she sarcastically quoting me on the customer service thing?
“But it sounds like you didn’t discuss it with Evan before you assigned yourself to his client. You didn’t come to me about it, either.”
Evan was silent, Tiffany looked flustered but annoyed, and Brad assumed the role of peacekeeper. “Okay, maybe Tiffany didn’t go about this in the best way”—Evan’s eyebrows shot up—“but I do believe she had good intentions.”
Seriously?
“She was trying to help a teammate and keep a client happy, which is ultimately in the company’s best interests. Right?” Brad didn’t wait for a response from any of us, though Tiffany nodded with the wide eyes of the virtuous. “Evan, will you be able to take care of the Crawleys with your typical efficiency or should we consider transferring that account to Tiffany?”
“I can handle it.”
“Alright, then. Maya or Evan, if one of you can correct the account manager assignment in the file, I think we can all get back to work—and Tiffany back to her weekend plans.”
Tiffany mumbled an apology to Evan and beat a hasty retreat out the door. Brad returned to the conference room and Evan looked at me, shook his head, and walked back to the workstation. I was sure undoing Tiffany’s “help” was the first thing he did.
Emails and calls to customers who’d been dodging me on their past–due balances soon distracted me. I strove to find the ideal balance between firm reminder and polite request in my messages. Not that it seemed to help much once an account had become delinquent. Brad texted, asking me to come to the conference room.
