Thirty-seven
Danica
After last weekend’s disappointing apartment search, I forced the thought of a new place to live into my rearview mirror for now, and my week has been focused on work.
I thread a stray lock of hair behind my ear and glance around the bustling office space, trying to gauge the mood. Unmanned’s IPO employee celebration and then the investor party were the talk of the day in this morning’s Thursday SHN HR meeting. Everyone is chipping in to make it a grand display of our prosperity. Emerson has been working with the party planner, but many of the details will fall to me. I’ve never done this before, so everyone has been so wonderful and helpful. I’m excited about this chance to showcase the fruits of Unmanned’s labor and mine.
“Danica,” Emerson says from across the room, her strides purposeful as she approaches my desk, iPad in hand. “Can you follow up with those that haven’t RSVPed?”
The party planner hands me a jump drive. “I’m on it,” I assure them.
“And you can work the welcome table at the event?”
“Absolutely. I have a small team of Unmanned employees to help too.”
“Fantastic.” Emerson grins. She leans against my desk, scrolling through her digital checklist. “You’ll have a committee for the gift bags, so don’t worry about that part.”
“Gift bags?” I raise an eyebrow.
“At the last IPO we gave out Orbi boomerang balls.” She laughs, tossing an imaginary ball into the air. “A hit, believe it or not. You know, play catch with yourself since everyone’s too busy. But never again. It was chaos, and people got hit in the head as they left. We’ll figure something else out.”
“Sounds good.” The corners of my mouth twitch.
“They’re thinking some kind of a go camera.” Emerson’s lack of enthusiasm is clear. “Sounds like trouble if you ask me. Bathroom trips, hidden gotcha jokes. Videotaping without someone’s permission isn’t a good look from an HR perspective.”
“Or for company health,” I add dryly.
“Exactly!” She taps the iPad screen. “I have a list I’ll send them as options—iPads, iPhones, a Peloton bike, something they can choose, but something manageable. We want to keep our investors happy and impressed.”
“Of course,” I agree, my mind racing through the logistics. Keep the investors impressed, keep them coming back, keep them believing in Unmanned and their AI-driven cars.
“Great, then it’s settled.” Emerson gives me an encouraging nod before striding away, leaving me with my new assignment.
I turn back to my computer, plug in the jump drive, and type quickly, sending out a reminder to the email list of those that haven’t committed. I’m good at this, at being the unseen hand guiding the pieces into place. There’s a party to prepare for, and I’m going to make sure it goes off without a hitch.
Almost immediately, the replies start coming in, and one of them stands out-- Austin Sands.
“Hey, Danica. Count me in! Looking forward to the event. Hope to catch you there.” His message pops up on my screen, casual as always, but my heart skips a beat.
What ? How did Austin get on the Unmanned list? And he’s just going to respond like nothing has happened between us?
I clench my jaw, feeling that familiar tug of war inside me—curiosity versus self-preservation. It would be so simple to ask if Sandrine will be joining him, so I can prepare myself for the sight of them together. But no, that’s not my place. I’m here to organize, to remind, to ensure everything runs smoothly.
With trembling fingers, I type a quick response. “Great! See you there,” and mark him down for two attendees. No point in prying. No point in letting my feelings get tangled in the professional. Professionalism is my shield, my armor against the unpredictability of emotions, against the fear that I might care too much about who comes with whom.
I refocus on the list, on the task at hand, while somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispers hope for something more than just a successful party.