Chapter 11 #2
The door bangs open, and I smile and pick up the chocolate cake I just made him. He comes around the corner, and I force a smile, even though I feel like bursting into tears at the sight of his sad face. “Hi, Fletch.”
“Hi.” He yanks off his tie aggressively.
“I made you chocolate cake.” I hold it toward him. “Your favorite.”
“Thanks.” He sighs. He sticks his finger out and swipes it through the frosting and shoves it in his mouth.
I brace myself to ask the dreaded question. “How was your day?”
He slumps into a chair. “Hell.”
“Really?” I whisper. Damn it. I really want this to work out. “Why? What happened today?”
“I’m just not very good at it, Mom.”
“Honey, you’re not supposed to be very good at it. You’re just new.”
He exhales heavily and swipes his finger through the icing once more.
“What’s Tristan like?” I ask.
“Mean.”
“Mean?” I frown. “Like how?” I watch him for a moment. “Give me an example.”
He puffs air into his cheeks. I’ve never seen him so deflated. “Well.” He pauses as he gets it right in his head. “We do this thing where he goes and visits all the managers on each floor, and I follow him around like a puppy and take notes. Today there was a meeting of everyone together.”
“Yes, okay, that’s standard.”
“Well, today we got down to the fortieth floor and into the meeting, and I realized that I left my pen up on my desk.”
“Yes.” I frown as I listen to him. “Go on.”
“There weren’t any other pens there, so I just sat and listened to him talk along with everyone else.”
I nod as I listen.
“Halfway through the meeting he noticed I wasn’t taking notes and asked why. I told him I left my pen behind, and he completely lost his shit, screamed at me in front of everyone, and kicked me out of the management meeting.”
“What? He was screaming at you?” I frown.
“Like a madman. Saying that he won’t put up with my laziness or sloppiness, and if I have no desire to learn, then I may as well leave Miles Media right now.”
My mouth falls open in surprise. “What? Over a pen?”
“Mom, that’s not even the half of it. He yells at me the entire day. Everything I do is wrong.”
Anger simmers in my stomach. “He yells at you?”
“Screams the fucking place down. Even Jameson, the CEO, had to come and rescue me today. He told him to settle down.” His eyes widen.
“And Jameson Miles is known for screaming at everyone all the time, Mom, so I know Tristan mustn’t scream at anyone else like he does me.
” He throws his hands up in the air. “Sammia, Jameson’s PA, even bought me a cupcake today.
She feels sorry for me too. She told me not to worry about him—that I was doing a good job.
” His shoulders slump. “He just hates me.”
My eyes narrow as I feel anger twist in my gut. “Just ignore him, buddy.” I fake a smile. “He’ll settle down.” Or else. “Just keep your head down, and do your job.” I cut him a piece of cake and hand it over.
“Cake before dinner?” He frowns.
“Cake for dinner, if you want.” I watch him eat it and stare into space as adrenaline surges through my body.
Tristan fucking Miles ... don’t push me.
“What do you think, Marley?” I ask. “Should I be worried?”
“Hmm, it’s a tough one.” She sips her Coke. We are at a restaurant eating lunch. “On one hand, you want Fletch to be taught the right way.”
“Yes, but he’s screaming at him, Marl. In what job is that okay?”
“It’s not; I agree.” She shrugs. “It’s so not okay in any workplace.”
“God, I’m going crazy over this. What if he just hired him to put him through hell for the way they met? What if he’s purposely being nasty to teach me a lesson for ending it?”
“It’s completely possible.” She shrugs again. “But this job will set Fletch up for life, so more fool him, you know?”
“But at what point is it enough? Like how far do I let it go?” A text comes in. It’s from Fletcher.
Hi.
I smile. “Fletch is on his lunch break.” I text back.
Can I call you?
He texts back.
Yeah.
I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring. “Hi, Fletch.” I smile. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty shit.” He sighs.
“Why?”
“Well, apparently now I’m stupid.”
My hackles rise. “He called you stupid?”
“Yep.”
“That’s it.” My anger explodes. “Don’t go back after lunch.”
“Mom.”
“I mean it,” I snap. “He can’t call you fucking stupid, Fletcher; that is unacceptable.”
Marley’s eyes widen in horror as she listens. “What?” she mouths. “He called him stupid?”
“No job is worth your self-respect, Fletcher. Do not go back.”
“Mom, shut up. You’re making it worse. I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“Fletcher.”
He hangs up.
“That’s it,” I snap. “He’s gone too far this time.” I down my drink and slam my empty glass on the table and stand. “Meet you back at work. I have an appointment with Tristan fucking Miles.”
“Oh shit. Good luck.” She winces.
I punch my fist. “Bail me out of jail, will you?”
She giggles and raises her glass at me. “Yes, okay, what account do I take the bail money out of?”
“You’ll have to rob a bank.”
“Roger that.”
I storm out of the restaurant on a mission. Tristan Miles is looking for a fight, and he just found one.
Nobody calls my son stupid and gets away with it.
I march up to the reception desk in the Miles Media building.
“Hello, may I help you?” The young girl smiles.
“I’d like to see Tristan Miles, please.”
“Did you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry; that will be impossible.”
“You tell him Claire Anderson is here to see him.”
“I’m sorry—” she continues.
“Tell him,” I interrupt her. “I’m not leaving until I see him.”
She and the other receptionist exchange glances, and she dials a number. “Hi, Sammia. I have a Claire Anderson to see Tristan Miles in reception.”
She listens and then holds the phone down. “She’s just checking.”
I can hear my pulse as it pumps boiling blood around my body.
Boom ... boom ... boom.
“Okay, thank you.” She types something and hands over a security card on a lanyard. “You can go up. Hector will accompany you.”
“I can find it myself,” I snap.
“Nobody goes to the top floor without a security guard.”
He’s going to need one. “Fine.”
She waves over a security guard, and he comes over. “Can you please escort Mrs. Anderson to see Tristan Miles, please?”
“Sure thing.” He smiles at me. “This way, please.” He gestures to the elevator, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from speaking. I’m so mad that I can’t put two words together.
I glare straight ahead at the doors as I go over in my head what I’m going to say.
The doors open, and I storm out. My step falters as I see the floor.
What the fuck?
Expansive views all over New York. White marble. Contemporary luxury at its finest. Of course his office looks like this ... it only boils my blood more.
The pretty receptionist smiles. “Hello, I’m Sammia. You’re here to see Tristan?”
“Yes, please.” I remember my manners and force a smile. “Hello, I’m Claire Anderson.”
“Are you ...” Her voice trails off.
“Yes, I’m Fletcher’s mother.”
I see the exact moment that she realizes why I’m here—her eyes widen. “Oh, I see.” She stands and puts her hand out. “This way, please.”
We turn left and go down a wide corridor. I can see the sprawling New York skyline at the end, and offices are all to the left. “His office is at the end,” she says.
I keep following her, and we get to a large room, another reception area, and I see Fletcher sitting at a desk. Two girls are at desks beside him: one looks younger.
Fletcher’s face falls when he sees me. “Mom, what are you doing here?” he stammers in a panic.
“Just visiting Tristan.” I fake a smile. “Thanks, Sammia.” I barge open Tristan’s door and close it behind me.
I find him sitting at his desk. He looks up and runs his tongue over his bottom lip and sits back in his chair, as if amused.
Arrogance personified.
“Claire Anderson.” He smiles.
I narrow my eyes.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he says, pen in hand.
“Oh, I think you know,” I sneer.
He raises an eyebrow. “No. Actually, I don’t.”
“What the hell are you doing to Fletcher?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I bark, “how dare you call him stupid? How dare you scream at him in front of other staff? Or at all, for that matter.”
He tilts his chin to the sky defiantly. “Did he run to Mommy, did he?”
“Tristan,” I whisper angrily. “I understand that you met in terrible circumstances, but it’s clearly obvious that you only hired him to make a fool of him. And I won’t have it.”
He narrows his eyes and sits back in his chair. “Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know.”
He stands and comes around in front of me. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing with Fletcher Anderson. I’m teaching him work ethic. He’s lazy and needs discipline.”
“You are not training him; you are belittling him,” I fire back.
“I’m teaching him to have some respect,” he replies calmly. “Something that he quite obviously hasn’t learned at home.”
“Why on earth would he respect a jerk like you?” I whisper angrily.
“Because I’m his boss, Claire, and I am not putting up with his excuses,” he replies.
“By calling him stupid,” I snap.
“I did not call him stupid. I told him to stop acting stupid. There’s a big difference. He’s intelligent, Claire, a lot more than you give him credit for. He doesn’t have anger issues; he has a fucking attitude issue, and I’m getting rid of it.”
“By making a fool of him?” I gasp.
“By making him learn from his mistakes. If he is not punished as he does them, he will keep doing it. You don’t learn a lesson unless it makes you uncomfortable.”
“You yelled at him for forgetting a pen, for Christ’s sake,” I stammer.
His face contorts in anger. “How many CEOs do you know that don’t take a pen to a meeting, Claire?” he sneers. “Rule number one.” He holds his finger up to accentuate his point. “Be prepared. Do not turn up to a meeting unprepared.”
The door opens, and Fletcher comes into view. He closes it behind him.
Tristan glares at him. “You run to Mommy when you get into trouble?” he asks.