Chapter Fifty-Seven Rae
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Rae
AFTER TRYING SAM, YET again to no avail, I walk into work on Tuesday to hear Dorothy’s boss voice coming from our office. “You’re coming.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Grant replies. Sounding all stern and Grant-y.
I repress a shiver that’s trying to work its way up my spine because the one thing I decided, last night when I ignored his messages, is that I’d nip this whole thing between us in the bud.
“I need you there. In case…”
“In case what?”
“Of a confrontation.”
He sighs. “Yeah. You need me to be the bad guy.”
“I’m sorry. You’re also part of the team now, right?”
He scoffs. “Not permanently, Dorothy. This is just until the investors convene.”
Dorothy dips into the very rare, very scary mom voice. “You are coming to the retreat, Grant Bowman. And that’s final.” She bursts out of the office, sees me, and waves stiffly over her shoulder as she carries on walking.
“Hi.” I stick my head in.
“Hello, Rae.” He gets up and follows me into the reception area. “You okay?”
“Just great.”
“No replies last night. What’s that mean?” He watches me for a second. When I don’t answer, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, looks around, and says, “Tell me about this retreat.”
“It’s fun.” Usually. No guarantees this year.
“I was afraid of that.”
“Maybe not your sort of fun.”
He looks me over, clearly reading all kinds of things into my comment, and I can’t even deny that I meant them, because I did. Even when I try to ignore the man, he’s all I think about.
“What is my sort of fun, Rae?”
“Oh, you know. Tightly controlled. Sedate.” His brows go up. “Lots of rules.”
“Always.”
“Anyway.” I open my computer and click on the email icon. “The retreat is nothing like that. You’ll hate it.”
He groans, turning around like he’s going to head back into the office, though he’s slow to move.
I ignore his retreating back and concentrate on the many messages from staff asking questions they already have the answer to. I’ll need to start hiring for Sam’s position.
I’m just creating a folder when Phil pops around the corner and smiles at me. “Quick question.”
“All ears.”
“First off, are you free evenings next week?”
“Sure—”
Grant pops out from our office, eyes narrowed, mouth open, and I rush to add, “—ly you jest?”
“What? No. You’ll love this. So, you know in the Glen Allen office, how we turned the break room into a haunted house, and had everyone—”
“No,” I interrupt, my eyes on Grant, who isn’t even pretending not to listen.
“Wait, I didn’t even—”
“Is this about benefits?”
“No.”
“Hiring?”
“No.”
“Professional training? A problem with a colleague?”
“No, bu—”
“This doesn’t sound like an HR problem.”
“It’s not. It’s a—”
“No, then, Phil. The answer is no. Whatever it is, it’s a no.”
“But you made it all so perfect last time.”
I nod, a little bit hating the wash of pride I get from those words, but the truth is that the haunted house was, in fact, perfect.
I spent a ton of time on it. I recruited staff to help and used up every second of my day outside of work to get it done.
For like, three weeks. Truly, the scream room was pro level. And the sensory boxes? Amazing.
But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s not my job. Grant was right. I can’t run around doing all this extra stuff. I am so tired right now. And still, I have to fight the urge to give in.
“I am not a party planner. I am not a chef, or a cleaner, organizer, office manager…” I stand at Sam’s desk and let my voice carry a little farther.
“I’m not the receptionist or the marketing manager.
I’m not in charge of office supplies or events, and above all…
” Every deep breath I suck in brings me more than just oxygen.
This is justified. This is the truth. I am right, my brain is telling me, and, right there to back it up, Grant watches from the door to our office, his eyes bright with approval.
So when the last words come out, I don’t have to scream them or even look at Phil. I just open my mouth, meet Grant’s eyes with all the ferocity I feel, and say, “And I am absolutely no one’s work mom.” I give Phil a quick, close-lipped, no-nonsense smile. “Is that it?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” I’m all benevolence now. Placid, kind. “Thanks for stopping by. I’m here should you need any help with subjects pertaining to human resources.”
I look back at my computer; Grant’s attention is still on me, a warm, wholesome glow.
It feels way too good.
That evening, the entire staff rushes out to get ready for tomorrow’s retreat.
I finish up preparations at the front desk and ignore the impulse to rush out too.
I’ve packed my bag, along with everything I could possibly need over the next few days.
Ironically, given everything that’s happened recently, I am more relaxed about this year’s retreat than I’ve ever been.
I’ve just turned off my computer when the exterior door buzzes open, and Grant, who I thought had left for the night, walks in. He’s got a big, beautiful bouquet in his arms. It’s green and soft pink and puffs out like a cloud.
“Rae.”
I say nothing.
“These are, um…” Why is he embarrassed right now? What is happening? “They’re for your mom. For her…” He huffs out a frustrated sound. “You said you forgot, and it was my fault and…”
“They’re ranunculus flowers,” I say as he presses them into my arms.
“You had them on your pj’s.”
“You remembered.”
“Yeah.”
I nod. Swallow. Stare at the bouquet, which is somehow light and sweet with all that pink, but there are also warm, earthy greens. It’s the perfect bouquet. I don’t know how else to say it.
“Mom would have loved these,” I whisper, meeting his gaze from my hiding place behind the flowers. “Thank you.”
He nods, looking more awkward than I’ve ever seen him. “I could, uh, drive you? To her… you know.”
“That’s okay. I… We don’t put them on her grave. We put them in water, usually. And… you know. Look at them. To think of her.”
“Ah. That seems nicer.”
“Yeah.”
Another nod.
“Anyway. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” I reply, hoping he’ll leave soon so I can cry all on my own.