Chapter 14
Unlike other people I knew, Beckett didn’t show very much emotion on his face.
My boss’s expressionless expression was something I’d wanted to emulate in my own career, but I had decided that I did better with acting than with blankness.
So right now, I was trying to portray “calm and circumspect.” Actually, my thoughts were racing about what I should say.
He had asked for my honest opinion, so I gave it to him…mostly: “Octavia is doing better.”
“Really.” His one word was a statement, not a question, but I still understood that he wanted to hear more.
“Once the Four-Squared project was off her shoulders, she was able to devote more time to everything else and I’ve been satisfied with her work product,” I continued. “I’ve been stepping back with my supervision because I haven’t seen anything that makes me doubt her.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
I nodded and then I took a breath. It wasn’t a great look to whine to your boss, but I was about to do it.
I was going to tell him that taking things away from Octavia had been great for her and better for our clients, but it had created a difficult situation for me—an overworked situation.
But again, it was never a good idea to admit to your employer that you wanted to be lazier, so… I took another breath.
Before I had the chance to potentially sink my career, my boss spoke up. “When I came to Whitaker Enterprises, this department was accomplishing close to nothing,” he commented. “It was appalling.”
“I remember how much we had to catch up on,” I said, because those first few months had been a whirlwind of late nights and many stiff necks for me.
“Then I was out of the office due to my illness, and Octavia struggled,” he went on. “Your tenure here has been marked by a succession of challenges.”
“I think we’re doing ok now,” I said. “I think this is a great department.”
“As do I.”
Thank goodness. I almost said it out loud. Instead, I just nodded very fervently to show him how much I agreed. He had more to say about our department and the people who worked with us, but mostly he talked about me. The meeting was far from over.
When we finally finished, our corner of the twentieth floor seemed unusually quiet.
We had all been on our best behavior since Beckett had returned full-time but right now, the library atmosphere was even more pronounced.
It was almost funereal—was Rashelle trying not to cry?
The moment she spotted that I was out of our boss’s office, she jumped up from her desk and so did Munir.
They joined me in the hallway and announced (loudly) that there was a serious legal issue that the three of us needed to discuss.
“Ok, come to my—” I started to agree, but she shook her head sharply and I stopped. They moved to either side of me and walked fast, directing our steps into the stairwell.
The minute that heavy door closed behind us, she spoke up. “We’re with you. One hundred percent!” she announced.
“Thank you,” I answered, bewildered.
“We’ll go talk to him,” Munir told me, and Rashelle actually groaned aloud. “Rash, you said you’d do it. Don’t chicken-shit out on me now!”
“I’m not. I’m only being cautious because I’m…never mind.”
“We all know you’re pregnant,” he said. “Several of us have already bought baby gifts for you, so you can stop acting cagey about that. And if you seriously think that your newborn needs a new gas barbecue, you’re out of your mind.”
They seemed poised to get into a large argument about her baby registry, so I stepped in. “Can someone please explain why we came into the stairwell to talk about grills?” I requested, and they remembered their purpose.
“We just wanted to tell you that we’re on your side,” Rashelle reiterated. “How much notice did he give you, the big asshole?”
“Notice?” It suddenly dawned on me what they meant. “I didn’t get fired,” I assured them. “Were y’all going to stand up to Beckett for me? Wow!” I got overwhelmed by their loyalty. “Thank you!”
“There was no way that we were going to stay in this department with Octavia if you weren’t around to yank on her reins,” Munir explained.
So, there was self-interest involved here too, but that was normal in life. “I’m not yanking any reins,” I said. “Beckett and I we were discussing plans for the future.”
“Oh my God!” Rashelle put her hand protectively over her stomach. “You are leaving!”
“No, I’m not.” Definitely not. A big part of the talk I’d just had with my boss was him trying to make sure that I wasn’t going to jump to another firm due to the increased workload I’d been under.
We’d come up with a better plan to delegate that, which would be much easier due to his presence in the office every day.
So now, I truthfully assured them that things were fine, and that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Even if it was only about their fear of being left with Octavia, it still felt good that they were this interested in keeping me around.
It felt especially good when Munir told me that I was a great boss, and that if I left, he would want to go where I did. “Thank you,” I repeated, and Rashelle did start to cry.
“I swear, I’ve never been so damn weepy! It’s because of…” She glanced at us. “Do you guys really know?”
“Everyone knows,” Munir said, rolling his eyes. “Congratulations, and let’s get back to work.” He pulled open the metal door and then we all jumped a little when we saw the figure standing just outside it.
“What’s going on in there?” Octavia asked suspiciously. “Rashelle, are you vomiting on the steps due to your pregnancy? You could cause a slip and fall accident.”
“Everyone really does know about the baby!” Rashelle marveled, and Munir rolled his eyes again.
“I purchased the diaper pail off your registry and had it sent to your house last month,” Octavia pointed out. “It would have been an odd gift for someone who wasn’t expecting.”
At that moment, Beckett himself rounded the corner and asked what we were all doing. Munir and Rashelle quickly returned to their offices, and after glancing suspiciously into the stairwell, our boss followed.
But Octavia grabbed my arm before I could get away myself. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said, and it sounded menacing.
“We can meet in the conference room,” I suggested, but she was already barreling ahead with her topic.
“Is Beckett planning to let me go?” she asked.
“Uh, we should include him in this—”
“No, I want to hear it now.” She paused. “Please.”
I glanced around at the empty hallway and decided that with the way her voice carried, the stairwell was our best option. I opened the heavy door again. “Have a seat,” I offered, and we each took a step.
Octavia and I had a productive conversation.
She managed not to raise her voice (too much) or get defensive (to a great degree).
Instead, we talked honestly about how the Four-Squared project had gone awry and why she hadn’t asked for help with it.
She wouldn’t say it directly, but I did get the feeling that the issue was that I was younger and less experienced.
Then she said it directly. “I’m older and with a great deal more experience. However, I did become overwhelmed. I should have reached out to you. I do understand why Beckett chose to promote you, instead of me.”
She may have understood, but she sure didn’t seem happy about it. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t have been, either. “When I met with him this morning, I let him know that you and I are now working much more collaboratively,” I said. “I told him that we get along just fine.”
Her eyebrows drew down and she studied me. “Why did you say that?”
“I think it’s true. I also think that you’re a good lawyer, but things did get badly off-track and that absolutely can’t happen again. You have to tell me that you need help. I’ll tell you, too.”
“You do everything on your own. You never need help,” she scoffed, and this sounded much like a conversation I’d recently had in the new truck on the way to the memorial service.
There was a story for that—I’d thought about it and what Silas had been trying to say made sense, in an odd way. “Let me tell you about a little boy stealing a crate of ice cream,” I said, and she stared at me.
“Is this more about your life with the criminal element?” she asked, and I became instantly enraged.
“Silas isn’t—”
“I don’t mean him,” she told me. “I’m talking about your former boyfriend. Your fiancé, Dax Miststuck.”
I stared at her in shock. “What do you know about Dax?” I asked, and the answer was plenty. Apparently, Octavia hadn’t been missing too much around here, from Rashelle’s pregnancy (when it actually had been a secret) to the fact that I had been engaged to someone she termed “a horse’s patoot.”
“He was awful,” she said. “Your relationship sounded pathetic.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, still amazed.
“That song about you was quite telling,” she explained. “Full of sour grapes.”
“You listened to it? When? How?”
“It got a lot of airtime,” she sniffed, “although I found the flow and lyrical quality to be less than compelling.” Then, to my surprise, she cleared her throat and started to rap. “‘She moved like a baby hippo, but with an ass that made—’”
“Please! I don’t want to hear that again.”
“I was certain that you hadn’t stolen his jewelry or done any of the other terrible things he talked about,” she said. Then she tilted her head and raised her index finger. “I did have a question. It mentions that his mother’s name rhymes with—”
“People call her Mitch,” I explained.