12. The Bachelor Pact Problems
12
THE BACHELOR PACT PROBLEMS
ALEX
Here's something they don't teach you at Stanford Business School: how to handle the realization that your most disruptive hire might be the best decision you've ever made.
"The Christmas Gala planning is ahead of schedule," Emma reports, laying out the morning briefing. "Ms. Gallo's changes to the vendor selection process saved us fifteen percent of the budget, and her idea to showcase employee initiatives has boosted RSVPs by thirty percent."
I scan the numbers, impressed despite myself. With the gala just six weeks away, we should be deep in last-minute chaos. Instead, Mac's systematic approach has everything running with military precision.
"What about the employee feedback program?"
"Retention rates are up twenty percent since implementation." Emma pulls up another report. "Even accounting for Keith's... unique approach to corporate criticism, overall job satisfaction has improved significantly."
The evidence is getting harder to ignore. If Mac is really our anonymous blogger, why is she working so hard to actually fix things? The latest @MizzByteMyAlgos posts have shifted from critiquing Drake Enterprises specifically to addressing industry-wide issues.
"Sir?" Emma interrupts my thoughts. "Mr. Dixon and Mr. Reeves are here to?—"
"Intervention time!" Grayson bursts in, followed by Connor, both looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
Looking like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dickead, my college roommates from Stanford march inside my oversized office, Grayson’s dark head of hair bobbing alongside Connor’s dark blond overly-styled strands.
And just like that, my productive morning derails.
"This is an ambush," I inform my two best friends, who have apparently conspired with Emma to hijack my schedule. They sprawl in my visitor chairs like it's our old dorm room, complete with Connor propping his feet on my desk until I glare them off.
"This," Grayson corrects, "is a strategic assessment of your obvious feelings for your corporate culture consultant. Who, by the way, has transformed your company faster than my SecureMatch algorithm finds dating matches."
"I don't have?—"
"Save it." Connor grins. "We've seen the reports. Hell, the whole tech industry's seen them. Drake Enterprises is becoming the model for corporate culture reform, and everyone knows it's because of her."
"Which brings us to our concerns about the bachelor pact," Grayson adds. "You're showing classic signs of violation."
"I'm not?—"
“We already got the goddamned scoop. We already know you got trapped in a meditation room with your corporate culture consultant," Connor interrupts, grinning. "During a storm. That's like, pact-breaking violations right there."
"How did you even?— "
"Brad's wellness journal has gone viral in the Seattle tech scene." Grayson holds up his phone. "My cybersecurity team flagged it as 'potential corporate espionage,' but it reads more like a romance novel."
Fan-fucking-tastic. That’s what every forty-something CEO wants. Their love life becoming tech industry gossip.
"Don't you two have better shit to do?” I check my watch. "Empires to build? Employees to terrorize?"
"SecureMatch's developers can handle themselves for a few hours," Grayson cards a hand through his nearly black hair. "Besides, testing our new AI dating app is the perfect excuse to check on you. You could be our first case study in 'how not to handle midlife dating.'"
"And Reeves Technologies practically runs itself these days," Connor adds, propping his feet back on my desk despite my glare. "The AI division's latest project is so advanced, I barely need to show up."
"Which explains why you're both here, harassing me instead of running your multi-billion dollar companies." I eye Connor's feet until he removes them. “I thought you had an AI ethics board meeting today, Connor?"
"Rescheduled. This intervention is more important." Grayson pulls out his phone. "Besides, I need your input on SecureMatch's dating app. It's specifically designed for successful people over forty who don't have time for traditional dating. Sound familiar?"
"I'm not beta testing your dating app, Gray."
"Why not? Scared you'll actually find someone worth breaking the pact for?" Connor grins. "Besides, Gray needs all the test data he can get before the app launches next quarter."
"Besides," Grayson adds, "this is more important. You're showing classic signs of pact violation."
"Name one. "
“Heard you smiled at your consultant during a board meeting."
"I did not."
"You did," Emma calls from her desk outside. "I have it noted in the risk assessment matrix."
“Backstabber,” I mutter.
"She's just doing her job." Connor stretches. "Unlike you, who's apparently too busy making eyes at her to notice that Keith guy from DevOps has started a Communist book club in the break room."
I start to deny this, then pause. "Wait, he what?"
"Oh yeah." Grayson pulls up his phone again. "According to the corporate grapevine, they're reading 'Das Kapital' while doing dramatic interpretations of agile methodology. There are berets involved."
Before I can process this latest development in Keith's ongoing revolution, my office door bursts open. Mac strides in, tablet in hand, looking like she's either about to solve world hunger or commit homicide.
She stops short at the sight of my visitors. "Oh. I didn't realize you had... company."
There's something off about her voice. Something that makes me want to clear the room and figure out what's wrong. Which is exactly the kind of thinking that prompted this "intervention" in the first place.
"Ms. Gallo," I stand, ignoring my friends' knowing looks. "These are my college roommates, Grayson Dixon and Connor Reeves. They were just leaving."
"No, we weren't," Connor grins, extending his hand. "So you're the famous Mackenzie Gallo. The one who baptized our friend in champagne."
Mac shakes his hand, but her usual sharp wit seems dulled. "My aim's usually better. Next time I'll go for his ego instead of his suit. "
"Next time?" Grayson perks up. "You're planning another assault on Mr. Stiff Back here?”
"Only if he deserves it." She turns to me, all business. "The feedback program results need your signature. And Keith's book club is requesting an expanded budget for... revolutionary literature and authentic French berets."
"Denied." I take the tablet, trying not to notice how she flinches slightly when our fingers brush. "Anything else?"
"Just Brad asking if the wellness journal can be optioned for a movie deal."
Connor chokes on his coffee.
"Tell him no," I sign the documents quickly. "And maybe suggest he focus on actual work instead of documenting office drama?"
"I'll add it to the list, right after 'convince Keith that poetry slams aren't an appropriate use of meeting rooms.'" She takes the tablet back, careful not to touch me this time. "Gentlemen, it was... interesting meeting you."
She leaves before anyone can respond, her usual confident stride slightly off.
"Well," Connor drawls into the silence, "she seems..."
"Professional," I cut in. "She seems professional."
"I was going to say 'distracted,'" he finishes. "Trouble in corporate paradise?"
I think about Mac's odd behavior in this morning's staff meeting. About the email she'd been staring at when I walked into her office. About how she's been avoiding eye contact since yesterday's meditation room incident.
"Just focus on your dating app, Gray.”
"Speaking of dating," Grayson pulls out his phone again, "have you seen the latest post from your anonymous blogger? They've got some interesting thoughts about tech CEO dating habits."
My heart stops. "What? "
He reads aloud: "@MizzByteMyAlgos: 'Breaking News: Local tech bros are basically frat bros wit corporate cards. Honey, if your commitment issues are old enough to drink, maybe it's time for therapy. #TechDating #BroCode #WhoNeedsEmotionalGrowth'"
"That's..." I grab the phone, scanning the post. "When was this posted?"
"This morning." Grayson watches me carefully. "Right after a certain consultant left your office looking like someone pissed in her Raisin Bran.”
"Mac doesn't like Raisin Bran.”
“Weird that you know that. And…you’re missing the point spectacularly there, buddy."
Connor leans forward. "You know, for someone who's supposedly just your corporate culture consultant, you're awfully quick to defend?—"
A commotion outside interrupts him. Through the glass walls, we watch Keith march past with what appears to be a procession of developers, all wearing berets and carrying copies of "The Communist Manifesto."
"Is that..." Connor blinks. "Are they singing 'Do You Hear the People Code'?"
"Les Misérables references." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Perfect. Just perfect."
" Do you hear the developers sing? Singing the songs of agile men... " The parade continues past my office, led by Keith wielding a ping pong paddle like a revolutionary flag.
"Should we..." Grayson gestures at the spectacle.
"Emma's handling it." I check my phone – no new messages from Mac, but three urgent emails from HR about "concerning revolutionary behavior in the workplace."
"You know," Connor observes, "for someone trying to maintain a business-only no-marriage pact, you spend a lot of time watching your corporate culture consultant's office."
I tear my gaze away from where Mac is visibly organizing her desk supplies. Again.
"I'm monitoring potential security risks."
"Right." Grayson rolls his eyes. "Because security risks usually involve longing glances and almost-kisses in meditation rooms."
"How did you?—"
“I told you. That Brad guy’s very detailed in his journal entries." Connor grins. "The man has a future in romance novels if tech doesn't work out."
My phone buzzes with a notification – another post from @MizzByteMyAlgos:
"TECH TEA: Corporate is scarily similar to Revenge of the Nerds. The football players are still going against the geeks. What's next, a show down underneath the goal post? #BroLogic #ThisIsWhyWeCantHaveNiceThings"
"Okay," Grayson snatches my phone, "either this blogger is in your office, or they've got scary good timing."
I look through the glass walls at Mac's office, where she's now color-coding file folders with terrifying intensity.
"Or maybe," Connor muses, following my gaze, "their timing isn’t so bad after all.”
Before I can respond, Keith's revolutionary parade circles back, now performing what appears to be an interpretive dance about sprint planning.
" One sprint more! Another sprint, another destiny... "
"That's it." I stand. "Emergency management meeting. Now."
"Want backup?" Grayson offers, clearly enjoying this far too much.
“You guys couldn’t just wait for our next boxing sesh, could you?”
"And miss this? Not a chance." He settles deeper into his chair. "Besides, I want to see if Keith does the barricade scene next."
I head for the door, then pause. "This conversation isn't over."
"About Keith's musical theater revolution or your obvious feelings for?—"
"Out." I point to the door. "Both of you. Go run your companies."
"Fine." Connor stands, straightening his jacket. "But this isn't over. Bachelor weekend is coming up, and you've got some explaining to do."
"Speaking of explanations," Grayson adds, "your consultant looks like she could use one of those."
Through the glass, I watch Mac drop an entire stack of files, scattering papers everywhere. It's so unlike her usual graceful efficiency that something in my chest tightens.
"Go," I repeat firmly. "Some of us have actual work to do."
"Right." Connor grins. "Work. Is that what we're calling making eyes at?—"
"Goodbye, Connor."
They leave, finally, but not before Grayson calls over his shoulder: "Remember - last man standing gets the yacht!"
I wait until they're gone before pulling up the blog posts again. The timing is too perfect, the observations too specific. Either we have a leak in my office...
Or Mac's having a much worse day than I thought.
My phone buzzes – Emma:
"Keith is now accepting song requests for the revolution. Brad's requested 'All By Myself' and HR is concerned."
I head for the door, already composing an email to facilities about removing all copies of Les Misérables from the office Spotify playlist.
Just another day at Drake Enterprises, where apparently corporate rebellion comes with musical numbers and my love life has become a tech industry subplot .
At forty-five, I should probably be better at handling either situation.
Then again, at forty-five, I probably shouldn't be letting a twenty-year-old bachelor pact influence my decisions.
Especially when those decisions involve a certain corporate culture consultant who might or might not be trying to take down my company through strategically timed blog posts.
But first, I have a revolution to quell.
Preferably before Keith starts on the second act of Les Mis.