“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message at the tone.” James scowled at the robot.
The dripping sound behind him turned into a waterfall. “What the? Shit.” The coffeepot overflowed.
AFTER AN HOUR AT HIS desk, James rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, trying to make his headache go away. He inhaled, exhaled and opened his eyes. Reports and files still covered his workspace. “Crap.”
The piles of reports on his desk were not going to read themselves, nor get him closer to seeing Claire or making partner. Firing someone and getting mentally back on the business track would help, so would another cup of coffee, and maybe some aspirin. Caffeine was supposed to help with headaches and fixing that issue took priority over his rumbling gut.
Grace, his secretary startled at the sound of his office door. “See if that that train guy can get in before noon. The sooner the better. Even if it means moving my meeting with HR. I want Walter McKenna in here fifteen minutes before the train meeting. And Grace, find out when IT is going to remove that junk from the empty cubical. It looks sloppy.”
“Yes, Mr. Fordham.” She reached for the rolodex, another genuine relic that should only exist in the movies. The inefficiency of the system made his head hurt even though one of Fordham, Fordham and Schmidt’s executive secretaries vouched for Grace’s skills after a one-day training session.
Adena was a model of inefficiency. From the overstaffing to the maze of hallways between his office and the coffeepot, everything took twice as long as it should. As he turned the final corner, he overheard voices in the coffee room.
“—Is in a good mood. Grace said he smiled today.” A feminine voice gossiped.
“That prick is probably firing OSHA today.” The male voice was completely off base. He couldn’t legally fire OSHA, even though their safety regulations cost a bundle. And he couldn’t lay off more than forty-five percent of the workforce without filing with the state and triggering mandatory retraining.
“She said he was relaxed, like someone took the stick out of his a-s-s.”
“I bet that cost a lot of money. Maybe he’s firing IT or— “
“Or maybe no-one.”
Two sets of eyes widened as James strode through the door. The woman had the decency to blush and mutter “excuse me” as she darted from the room. Unfortunately, she had enough sense to duck her head and cover her badge, so he didn’t get a good look.
According to the name badge hanging from his neck, the guy was Greg from Customer Service.
“Anything wrong? Is there something you wish to say?”
“Just blowing off steam. Better with a coworker than with a customer.”
He tapped his toe and continued to stare at offender. Claire would have leveled this guy with her do-you-need-a-shovel-look, but James settled for a chin jut and silence until the young idiot’s spine began to melt.
“Sorry.”
“Thinking of customers, Greg, I certainly hope none are on hold waiting for a representative.”
Grace was right. He was in a good mood.
Knowing the perpetual stench of burnt coffee and microwave filth ruined everything, he waited until after leaving the kitchenette to take a sip. Coffee splattered everywhere as he spit.
“Grace! Why is the coffee so terrible?”
Her shoulders quivered as if she were laughing before she turned to face him. “Budget cuts, Mr. Fordham. This was the best we could do. Do you need a napkin? You appear to have spilled your drink.”
“Do not offer that filth to guests. They’ll think we’re broke.”
“I thought we were, sir.”
He snatched the napkin from her hand, walked into his office, and then slammed the door behind him. The brown liquid in his cup sloshed through the hole in the lid, so he put the whole thing in the garbage. A coffee spot marred his tie.
“Damn.” Good thing he kept a back-up. These toy people may be local yahoos—their storefront looked half a step from closure—but they were no excuse for sloppiness. He pulled the spare tie from the bottom drawer. The deep purple color reminded him of the sunset, and of Claire. He tried calling her, but the robotic voice reiterated Claire’s unavailability.
“Hrumph.” The top drawer offered a less satisfying solution. Claire would have been a better form of medicine, but he took a swig of Mylanta instead. The thick liquid coated his mouth and made the burnt taste go away but couldn’t spark the embers of his good mood. His phone lit up.
“Swamped with work.” Frowny face.
Another text bubble appeared below Claire’s name. “Later” and a green creature.
“Why did—″ his lips stretched into a grin. “Gator.”
Emoji was practically a foreign language with so many symbols having double meanings, but he replied with a thumbs-up sign. Emboldened, he tried another. He typed two letters “my.” Scrolling through the seemingly endless pictures, he found a house and hit send.
She sent a laughing face. He’d sent a boarded-up house. The churning in his gut began anew. This day was an endless mess.
“Grace?”
“Yes, Mr. Fordham?”
“Did you get the meeting changed?”
“CJ’s will be here at eleven thirty.”
“Great, as soon as he arrives, make sure security is on hand in case we need another escort out of the building. Call the afternoon security guy in early. And get Walter McKenna in here at 11:15. He needs to be here for this meeting.”
“Yes, Mr. Fordham.”
After disconnecting, he picked up the customer service department overview. Greg was on his shit list. The staff needed reduction, and the less efficient representatives had no right to remain employed. Not that he considered himself vindictive, but with any luck those two lists overlapped.
HE WAS DEEP IN ANALYSIS of Customer Service when the intercom sprang to life. “Sir? Walter McKenna is here.”
“Thank you, Grace. Show him in.” He inherited Grace. She was unambitious but efficient and since she moved here a few months before he did, she didn’t have deep personal ties to
