“Thanks everyone, let’s make this a great week.” Rob closed his laptop and unplugged it from the conference room projector as his senior staff gathered their things and rose from the table. “Sandra, do you think you can give me a minute?”
His help desk manager gave him a look that said she had an inkling of what was coming. “Sure.” She followed Rob to his office and closed the door behind her without his asking.
He sat at his desk, waving at a guest chair. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the rest of the managers, but apparently your people’s reduced response times have something to do with closing out tickets before they’ve even addressed the problem.”
Sandra rubbed her forehead and sighed. Her brown cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. “That batch of new hires. I’ve talked to them. I’ve had more come-to-Jesus meetings than a revival tent preacher. Two of them seem to think that they should be interacting with the programmers all the time and they blow off anyone who isn’t directly involved in making games. I think they think they should have been hired as game developers or programmers instead of help desk staff.”
Rob empathized with Sandra. But he also had a bigger problem on his hands. “One of the people they’ve blown off is Anna Walter-Venturo. I got a call this morning.”
Sandra covered her eyes with her hands. “Tell me that didn’t happen.”
“Twice.” Anna, CFO and Executive Vice President of Operations of Potomac Games, was not someone he wanted to make unhappy. Not least because she was his boss.
Wincing, Sandra put her hands in her lap with a resolute air and asked, “On a scale of one to livid, how livid is she?”
“Angry. I think it’s fair that you can tell your staff they close tickets after solving problems or they get their own problems. The kind that has security marching them out of the building.”
Sandra nodded, running her hand over her short-cropped black curls. “I’ll go through the help desk logs, see who is specifically letting us down and put the fear of…something into them.”
“Good. These guys need to know that it isn’t just programming that writes their paychecks.”
“In Anna’s case, that’s a bit on the nose, considering she manages the people who really do write our paychecks,” Sandra said, fingering an earring.
“Exactly. Let me know if I can help.”
Sandra sat straighter in her chair. “No. My staff, my problem.”
“Yes. Your call. But if you change your mind, let me know. We’re a team. I have your back and every faith in you.”
“You got it.” With a firm little nod, Sandra stood, clasping her tablet to her chest as she left his office.
Rob docked his laptop and turned on his monitor array, muttering. “What else can possibly go wrong today?”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Sapna, what are you trying to do?” Kari paused in the break room doorway, a takeout dispenser box of coffee in each hand and a paper carrier bag with cups, cream, sugar, and other items looped over one wrist. Sapna was half on the countertop next to the sink, trying to reach the top shelf of the cupboard on the wall.
“Trying to get the serving stuff for the quarterly afternoon coffee social,” Sapna grumbled. “Why it’s up here, I can’t tell.”
“Because I’m the one who organizes it and sets up for it and breaks it down and we don’t use the serving stuff at any other time so it makes sense. And yeah, I’m tall,” Kari put the coffee and paper bag on one of the break room tables as Sapna scrambled down. “Why are you working on this anyway?” She appreciated the help but some notice would have been nice.
“Assistant to The Man thought you were swamped, asked me to help out.” Sapna frowned as Kari stretched to her tiptoes and pulled the tray of serving dishes and utensils down. “And it’s not fair that you’re vertically gifted.”
“No, not fair,” Kari agreed, setting the tray down on one of the break room tables. “But it’s a fact. And it’s a fact that I’m always swamped. But it’s also a fact I also always do the setup for the quarterly coffee.” And the breakdown and clean-up afterward.
Sapna shrugged.
Kari leaned on the table. “Why didn’t you let me know you’d been tapped to do this?”
“I figured you must be in a real crunch if Logan’s right hand woman asked me to help out.” Sapna shrugged again. “I hate to admit it, but I didn’t notice how much stuff you seem to do that isn’t really work-stuff. Stuff like the quarterly social, the company newsletter, any time there’s a wedding or baby shower. You get shit done, Halvorsen. You grease the social wheels of this place. I guess I wanted to contribute.”
“That’s really nice of you.” Kari’s eyelids sank closed. “But honestly, it’s easier for me to do this myself.”
“You sure?” Sapna’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. Damn. Kari had thought she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. But now she was exhausted.
Kari cracked her eyes open. Nodded. “Yeah. Go edit. Let me set this up. Do you even know who’s volunteered to bring stuff?”
Sapna shook her head, her eyes wide. “I feel like I’m being initiated into a secret society.”
“Yes, the secret society of flour and vanilla extract. Go. I got this. I know who I need to visit to obtain the baked goods and get this show on the road.”
“Okay.” Sapna left, the door closing softly behind her. Kari shook her head and laid out the serving items and the coffee on the counter, then went in search of her volunteers.
Who, she realized as she collected a plate of cookies, a coffee cake, and a fruit salad, were all women.
Her shoulders rounded as she finished laying everything out. The first arrival after the clock ticked to two was a cis male editor. And then The Man himself, Logan, came in. As always, he was the only one in the company who wore a suit and tie, and also as always, his suit jacket was in his office, his tie was loosened, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. Not for the first time, Kari wondered what the point of dressing up was if he was going to essentially dismantle it as soon as he got into his office.
Performance, Kari guessed. Costume. Posturing.
The rest of the employees filtered in, selected snacks, and had the kind of semi-casual, semi-weary, polite conversation that such events seemed to bring out in people. It would all devolve into shop talk by the end of the hour, Kari knew from many years of watching this sort of thing. Logan (or, more probably, his assistant Camille) thought occasional company social events would give the workplace a more “family” atmosphere. But the only real similarity to family was the fact that these people didn’t have much of a choice about their association.
“You okay?” Sapna was at Kari’s elbow, a slice of cake in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.
“Fine. Just tired.”
“You look more than tired,” Sapna said, taking a bite that muffled her next words. “You look pissed.”
“Great.” Kari made an effort to lighten her expression in case anyone other than Sapna was watching.
“Any reason?” Sapna asked through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Just realizing the sheer amount of stuff the women in this company do day in and day out. And when another woman realizes that a woman is overloaded, what does she do? She sends yet another woman. So yeah. I’m tired.” It was all too like her upbringing, being the one who was constantly expected to step up, to do more. To constantly prove her worth in unending labor.
Sapna’s mouth twisted and she raised her paper cup to tap against Kari’s. “Yeah, don’t send a man to do a woman’s job. But oh, sister. You’re singing my song.”
“So yeah. I’m tired. Sick and tired.”
Rob’s office phone rang, Mia’s number on the display. He took a deep breath and held it for a count of five before letting it go with a gust and snatching up the receiver. “Hey kiddo.”
“Hi Daddy…”
Shit. Not today. But no, fatherhood wasn’t a part-time gig, even now that Mia was grown. “What’s the situation?” The words came out sharper than he’d intended. “Sorry. Work today has been a minefield.”
“It’s just…I’ve started packing up my place.” Mia’s tone and the knowledge that her plans were moving forward so quickly twisted Rob’s heart.
She’ll only be a few hours away. She’s an adult. Let go. But it was hard. Mia might be twenty-five, but in his mind her round-cheeked, solemn little face peered at him that first week they spent together alone, after he and Liz had separated. He would probably never get away from that helpless feeling of being fully responsible for her.
“So, what’s the matter?” he asked.
“Hugo. He’s stressing all over the place. He knows something’s up. He’s shedding so much there’s practically a cloud of fur around him. He whines and paces nonstop. He only eats about half of what he usually does.” Mia’s voice was strained and thin. “Can I bring him to you early?”
Oh, God. What it must cost the kid to even think about spending her last days before her move without the fuzzball. He rubbed his chest as if he could erase the heartache he felt for her. “Of course. And if you want to come over and sleep in your old room any time before you move so you can be with him, you just do that.”
“I might.” Mia’s voice sounded all too close to tears for Rob’s liking.
“You can spend time with your old man while you’re at it, you know. Not just the dog.”
She gave a watery laugh. Definitely crying now. Oh, twist the knife, kiddo. “Of course.”
“I’ll be home by six. Or do you need me to come by and get him?”
“No, I’ll bring him. Thanks, Dad.”
Dad. Not Daddy.
“Drive safe, kiddo.”
Kari reached up and put the serving utensils back on the top shelf of the cupboard, heaving a big sigh.
“Well, that’s done for another three months,” Sapna commented from behind her where she was drying the bowl that had held the fruit salad.
Kari made a mental note to return the bowl to its owner before she left for the day, rolled her shoulders, and rocked her head from side to side. “Yeah.” Camille, assistant to The Man, was wiping down the last of the tables in the break room. Kari had gotten her quarterly update on Camille’s grandkids earlier—whether I wanted it or not. She tried to quash the unruly, unworthy thought.
But why was it unworthy?
She was expected to care about someone’s grandkids because she was a woman. If she’d been a guy and sort-of wearing a tie—or not wearing a tie at all, for that matter—nobody would expect her to care about kids she’d never met.
Sapna poked Kari in the ribs and she flinched. “What’s with the long face?”
“Nothing.” Kari waved a tired hand. “Ignore me.” She forced a smile for Camille who straightened from her task with a tired grunt and a fist knuckling into the small of her back. Kari reached out a hand for the sponge Camille had been using. “I’ve got this, Camille. Thanks.”
Camille relinquished the sponge, gave a stately wave, and left the break room.
Sapna rolled her eyes. “She sponges down a few tables and is the martyr of the hour.”
Kari rinsed the sponge, squeezed it out, and set it beside the sink. “She showed up. She shows up a lot.”
“I hear a ‘but’ behind that statement.”
Kari turned and leaned her hips against the counter. “The guys. They’re happy enough to show up and eat, but do they ever pitch in?” Kari folded her arms across her chest. “No. Hardly ever. And if they do? Oh. It’s like they’ve done something miraculous, turned water into wine. And here we all are doing this shit like it’s part of our jobs.” Kari waved around the empty break room. Her shoulders were tight. Her jaw was tense. She was so tired.
“Yeah, there aren’t a lot of men like your plumber neighbor now, are there?” Sapna asked.
Kari’s face went hot. “I told you he’s not really a plumber.”
“Yeah. Just…good with his hands.” Sapna waggled her eyebrows and Kari’s face nearly went up in flames. “Oh, wait. Just how good with his hands is he?” Sapna cackled with glee as Kari slapped her hand over her eyes.
“Just…keep it down, Sapna. I don’t exactly want the rest of the company to know about my private life.” She dropped her hand and glared at her colleague.
Sapna bit her lips together, brown eyes bright with humor. “But back to the point. He sounded like a good guy. Someone who helps out.”
Kari fought the urge to let a sappy smile spread across her face. “Yeah. You’re right about that. He’s…he’s kind.”
“Don’t let that one go, then. He’s a keeper.” Sapna snapped her fingers and pointed at Kari. “How long has it been a thing?”
Kari snorted. “Two days, pretty much.”
Sapna clasped her hands under her chin and fluttered her eyelashes. “Ah, young love.”
“Middle-aged. And not love.” The notion scared Kari a little. What if she did fall in love with Rob?
And what if he didn’t love her back?