Chapter 11
CHARLIE
“Good morning, Declan!” I chirp as my surly office neighbor strolls into the office on Thursday.
I’ve thawed out from Montana and already find the Florida heat infuriating.
The quiet sounds of the office are punctuated with the regular arrivals of the staff.
Greetings, computer start chimes, conversations over cubicles that are just out of range.
Every morning, I say hello, or hi, or try to engage in some positive manner with Declan Davidson.
I get silence back. I guess strategic operations is too serious and all-consuming to offer basic niceties in return.
At least Ian, our CTO, seems to have warmed to me.
After Oliver explained who I was, Ian has been very helpful and kind.
Earning Declan’s approval feels impossible, like he’s already made his mind up about me.
I never had a fair chance. I’m running a deficit.
Always one step behind at FIRE or saying the wrong thing in a meeting.
Or I forgot my security badge! I have never not been the top achiever, the ideal employee.
I know I need to prove myself. If I can win Declan Davidson’s approval, then maybe I’ll feel like I really belong here.
“Hi,” Declan grumbles in response, which is better than the silent treatment I’ve received up until today.
At this point, I know it’s just who he is.
Since attending last weekend’s race, I’ve become more familiar with many of my other coworkers and I’m getting along with almost everyone in the office.
The legal team even invited me to join their Hangman games.
The only two who continue to give me the cold shoulder are Celine and Declan.
I don’t have to see Celine too often. But Declan’s office is right across from my desk.
“I know you just got in, but I need your slides for the fiscal year budget meeting,” I say with a smile. You catch more flies with sugar and all that.
I can’t spend too much time thinking about how to impress my surly neighbor, how to get him to flash any kind of smile on his handsome face.
I have a slide deck to review and proof before Friday’s quarterly finance meeting.
Each department has submitted a full spreadsheet with requested budgets for the new fiscal year, which starts in July.
But they only have two slides to summarize what they need to provide to our finance team for approval. And Declan’s are still MIA.
“Right, coming up,” he says with a nod, actually looking at me this time. Oh my gosh, I exist. He looked at me, so I must therefore exist, right? My sarcastic inner voice is in full gear this morning.
Declan has ignored my previous reminders about this slide deck. He was in Mexico City over the weekend, which is very interesting since our closest competitor had a staged mountain bike race there at the same time. Perhaps Declan is the person sharing company secrets?
My inbox chimes and I see a wordless email with no title from Declan. Attached are the slides. He must have already had them done but forgot to hit send. I regret thinking the worst of him, but first impressions are hard to beat.
I add his slides to the deck so they match the formatting and style.
After a quick glance, I catch his numbers.
The budget for the current fiscal year and the requested budget for next are close.
He is only asking for a slight increase to match inflation.
That’s fair. What makes my eyes pop is the amount he has to work with.
The sum nearly equals the total operating budget for the rest of the company.
This can’t be right. I jot down the numbers on a bright green sticky note and walk the five paces over to Declan’s office. His door is ajar. I tap on it lightly to catch his attention.
“Declan?” I say, hoping to avoid getting snarled at.
He glances up from his computer and levels his dark brown eyes at me, waiting for me to say something.
“I think there’s an error on the numbers you sent me, maybe a wrong decimal place, but in the budget you sent, the entire strategic ops line item is more than the rest of the business.” I throw in a laugh to show how funny this little mistake is. See, no biggie.
Declan adjusts his jaw, chewing on the words he is planning to say to me. Perhaps fighting to bite back more snark.
“I know what my budget is,” he says, returning his attention to his computer screen.
Honestly, I’m sick of this guy’s attitude. People make mistakes sometimes. It’s fine. Just fix it. My tactic of attracting more flies with sugar is not working with this one. Time for some vinegar. I roll my shoulders back, erase my smile, and slip into competitor mode.
“Please submit your revised numbers by close of business so I can update the deck for tomorrow’s meeting,” I say with a firm tone, then turn and walk away.
I’ve dealt with his type before. People who treat me like nothing I do will ever be good enough.
People who doubted my skill and speed, assumed I earned a spot on varsity track and field because my dad was the coach.
Well, I smoked those assholes in practice and meets, and I’ll show this guy too.
I sit back down at my desk and finish the other slides. I mark Declan’s with a bright yellow digital highlight. I’ll get back to those later.
“Good morning, Charlie,” Ian Turner says as he passes by my desk, leaving Oliver’s office. See, being nice costs nothing.
“Hi, Ian,” I chime back. I watch as Ian raps on Declan’s door and then closes it behind him. They chat for a bit, and I don’t even notice when Ian leaves. The presentation has my full attention.
I’m about to head out to pick up lunches for the executive team when Declan exits his office.
I expect him to brush by without acknowledging me again.
Instead, he walks right up to my desk, pocketing his cell phone.
A new one, I might add. I can tell it’s brand new; I’ve seen the latest ads for this model all over the place.
“Hi, Charlie,” Declan says. This is the first time there isn’t a hint of venom in his voice. “Why don’t you send me the deck? I’ll correct my numbers.”
I’m sorry, did hell just freeze? I may need to run to the window to see if pigs are flying around. “Are you sure?”
Declan smiles at me. Actually smiles. I see perfectly straight teeth and dimples.
My goodness. Now I get why he reserves this weapon of mass attraction and uses it sparingly.
Why does he have to be so good-looking? “Yeah, it was my error, I should fix it.” He runs his hand through his hair.
He is definitely dialing up his charm. Maybe he is trying to make nice after nearly three weeks of being a jerk.
I stare back into his eyes, the color of fresh hot coffee. “OK, that would be great,” I say, accepting this olive branch. I save the deck and send it to him. Maybe things are turning round?