35
The meeting ended after an hour and a half. Tamara bolted from the room, ignoring a few members who wanted to meet her in person. To call the meeting a disaster would be a drastic understatement. Humiliated, Tamara bypassed the crowd. She had to stay steps ahead of Don, Abigail, and the rest of the group with their stares reinforcing her incompetence. Six flights of stairs dumped her into the lobby. Her purse and few belongings were being held hostage upstairs, with the exception of her hotel room key card and the eight dollars she had in her pocket for lunch. Her things were safe until later, when she could return undetected. She paced along the sidewalk. Where she went was insignificant as long as she was moving away from the building.
She couldn’t appear inadequate again, not if the goal was to stay on board. Tamara pondered how to fix her problem. She needed more time. That’s all. She’d been at the company only two weeks. Another two months and concerns about her worth would vanish. Based on Don’s reaction in the meeting, he wasn’t going to give her the time she needed. He could be asking Madeline to return at this very second. Now that she had been lured into coming back, Tamara wasn’t interested in bailing. Figuring out a plan of action was her priority.
Tamara’s walk slowed four blocks from the DMI building. When she initially arrived in Detroit, every man had looked like Remo, creating constant bouts of subdued hysteria. The two weeks since then had converted into dog years. Europe and Remo felt like fourteen weeks ago, at least. The bouts of fear were faint, a low-grade pain she could feel only when her mind was completely idle. Establishing a presence in DMI was the healing drug she’d come to crave. Getting smarter was the foremost objective, and she had to do it quickly. She’d walk until either the sidewalk ran out or her confidence started rising. She stepped into a local café. “May I please have a large latte with a splash of cinnamon, to go?”
“Will there be anything else with your order?”
Tamara completed her order and waited for the drink, thinking hard. The latte was handed to her. “Thanks.”
“If your drink isn’t exactly the way you want it, please don’t hesitate to bring the empty cup back. We’ll give you a new cup or fully refund your money,” the worker standing behind the counter said.
“What great customer service,” Tamara said. “How refreshing.”
“That’s our policy. I make sure every one of my employees understands how valuable each customer is. Every cup we sell has to be perfect.”
“Are you the manager?”
“Worse, I’m the owner. The cup stops with me.”
Tamara laughed. “Well, I’m impressed.” She extended another thank-you and exited the café with her enthusiasm soaring. The café owner inspired her to think broader. Ideas were flying around as she strode down the sidewalk, sipping the latte. Two blocks’ worth of thinking and bam, her answer was clear. She had to create her own company. That was it. Taking direction wasn’t her preference. She had to be in charge of her business, no matter how small. She radiated excitement, dumping her cup in the nearest garbage can, eliminating even the tiniest distraction. Focusing was critical. Time was short and getting shorter as Don grew more disappointed with her menial contributions.
Despite Tamara’s allegiance to Don, she decided she deserved to have her own piece of DMI.
Bolstered by hope, Tamara considered walking to her hotel, ten miles away. The distance was great. Her tenacity was greater. She picked up the pace, letting the possibilities catapult her forward. Today was ending much better than it had started. The Mitchell name was fitting better and better. This weekend she’d secure a furnished apartment, move in, and lay the foundation for stability, for the first time in her adult life. Good times were ahead.