Chapter Twenty-Two
Emails are the answer to every problem.
Ruby
Dear whoever replaced Mr. Warrick’s last assistant:
I’m lodging a complaint – twelve complaints, to be exact – and I’m lodging them with you instead of HR because a member of HR is part of the problem.
The lack of professionalism in this office since Operation Countdown to Valentine started is, frankly, absurd. Not that we were exactly top of the heap before this mess, but it’s gotten quite out of hand.
Today, in an effort to win this moronic sticker contest, twelve members of staff set up in-person meetings with me for the sole purpose of stickering me. During these meetings, they came behind my desk and implemented ‘casual’ touches that were not only unwanted, but unwarranted.
As Mr. Warrick is plainly aware, though I recognize that you might not be, I am blind. I could not see these stickers. I could not remove them from my person on my own. I had to request the help of a colleague, which was potentially embarrassing and raised the unprofessional behavior in the office by, I estimate, five thousand percent. I am a math whiz, so you can trust these numbers to be accurate.
Please advise Mr. Warrick that his planned sensitivity training needs to happen sooner rather than later.
Wishing you a better day than mine,
Ruby Vann
Finance Director
Whirlwind Branding
P.S. I’m leaving for the day. I will not be participating in the stickering. I will gladly take whatever negative consequences this incurs on Monday.
I attach a color-coded spreadsheet listing the names of the culprits of this morning’s giant waste of time, complete with detailed recollections of our meetings that depict exactly how useless they were, and how many stickers I suspect each person attached to me.
Over my shoulder, Will clears his throat. “Rubble, not to tell you how to write an email, but I don’t know if Liam’s new assistant is going to quite understand your tone here.”
“Oh?” I ask. “And what tone is that?”
“Uh… cute and amusing?”
“Wrong,” I slam the send button. “The tone is angry and expecting repercussions.”
“Ah,” he says. “Very well then. Carry on.”
I snort. “Great, thanks. I’ll do just that.”
He chuckles, then sighs. “You ready for your apology tour yet?” he asks.
My nose wrinkles. “Um.”
He puffs a breath of air at my cheek. “Come on, Rubble. You’ve been putting it off all through the lunch hour, holed up in here making me starve with you. I thought you were braver than that, huh?”
Hmph. Well. “Starving is a bit dramatic.”
His stomach growls. Loudly.
“Have mercy on a poor man, please. I cannot survive on my love for you alone.”
Ugh.
“I’m getting to it,” I assure him, moving exactly zero inches. “In just a moment, I’ll go out there and apologize.”
“Of course you will,” he replies, jovial. “And that moment is going to happen right now!”
“Wha- Will!” I screech, wildly reaching for my desk as he pulls my chair out, wheeling me to the exit. “Wait! Just one- Will!”
He spins the chair, tipping it up to deposit me on my feet in front of my door – a door which he swiftly opens and pushes me through.
“Ruby has something she’d like to say to you!” he chirps.
My face is made of flames. They’re forty feet tall and could fuel a sun – a squadron of suns, probably.
“Boss?” Charlie asks. The hesitation in his voice confirms my theory that I am the worst person to have ever existed on this planet. I am mud. I am worms. I am sewage under the earth.
“Charlie.” I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry – for yelling at you and for accusing you of conniving with others to treat me poorly. As your boss, that was unacceptable behavior. As a person , that was unacceptable behavior. I’m deeply ashamed by the way I’ve acted, and I hope that you can accept my assurances that I will not ever treat you like that again.”
The sigh he lets loose could knock down a house.
“No worries, Ms. Vann! No worries at all!” Relieved laughter bumbles out of him. “It comes with the hair,” he assures me. “No hard feelings!”
I frown.
“Charlie. Hair does not dictate decency. Value yourself more immediately.”
“Right, boss!” he answers swiftly. “Definitely! Redheads are not more prone to anger at all! I’ll certainly not take it into consideration in the future, should you become… um… less than happy!”
My eyes narrow, trying to distinguish my assistant’s shadow from those around him.
“Good,” I snip. “Very good.”
“Okay!” Will claps his hands. “If you’re done trying to intimidate your assistant into not forgiving you, it’s time for lunch!”
“Right.” I nod. “Lunch.” Addressing our assistants, I say, “Will and I are leaving for the day. You two can go home early as well. We’ll see you bright and early Monday morning!”
“A half day?” Clarise squeals. “You guys are the best!”
I scowl. The best? Charlie just spent the last couple of hours shaking in his boots because I was too much of a coward to come out here and issue a simple apology. Where on the list of best people would that place me? Right under Joseph Stalin?
“Totally the best!” Charlie agrees, and my brows slam together. Has he learned nothing?
Will bids them farewell, and I holler a firm “Value yourself!” as he drags me to the elevator.
“I want Panera,” Will says, beating me to the elevator button. “That one turkey sandwich. Chips. Broccoli cheese soup.”
“Tell that to the guy at the counter, not me.”
A ding, and then we’re on the death trap, but Will doesn’t settle into his corner like he’s supposed to. Instead, he hovers behind me, not quite resting his head on my shoulder.
“So, does Panera get your approval?”
I sniff. Obviously Panera gets my approval. That turkey sandwich has crack cocaine in it.
“I guess we can go there,” I answer. “If you want.”
He commits to using my shoulder as a headrest, going so far as to smoosh his cheek against my own. “You gonna get a turkey sandwich?”
I tilt my head away from him, nose wrinkled. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll need to hear the menu.”
I’m definitely getting the turkey sandwich.
“Gonna get some broccoli cheese soup?” he asks, lips brushing my ear.
I shiver and take a tiny step forward, unwilling to lose my hold on the safety rail to truly get away.
“Like I said,” I clip, nose in the air, “I’ll have to hear the menu.”
He laughs, hand hovering over my hip before landing, squishing.
“I see,” he chuckles. “No worries, Rubble. You want to hear your man’s voice? Then you can hear your man’s voice.”
My jaw drops as the doors open to the echoey sounds of the lobby.
Will twists around me, finger tipping my mouth shut before he grabs my hand, leading me out.
“This way to your dreamy lunch narration, my love. Better be quick if you want to get the full experience. They’ve got a big menu. It could take me ages to get through.”
I sputter, stumbling after him, then a breeze whipping through an open door jumpstarts my brain, making me realize I don’t have my coat. Or my cane. Or my bag, which has my house keys.
“Will!” I pull against his hold. “We forgot my stuff.”
Silence greets me, then, “Ah. So we did.”
The second smartest man in the company, ladies and gentlemen. Below only genius savant Liam Warrick.
“I’m not going back up the elevator,” I tell him. “You couldn’t pay me to go in that thing again today.”
He laughs, squeezing my hand before he lets it go. “I’ll go get our stuff. Wait down here for me, yeah?”
I nod. I can wait down here. I’m excellent at waiting. Waiting involves not a one near-death experience. Big fan.
“I’ll be here.”
A gentle touch at my elbow, and then he’s gone.
“Dreamy lunch narration,” I mumble, head shaking. “ My man.” My eyes roll. “He’s such an idiot.”
And no, that’s not code for anything.
Only idiots speak in code.