11. Aiden
AIDEN
Ialready hated today, and it had barely even begun.
“What do you mean they’re talking about a temporary shutdown?
” I said to George, my production manager, as I stepped off the elevator, phone pressed to my ear.
Our manufacturing facility was undergoing one of its regular inspections to ensure we complied with health, safety, and quality standards, but I was not expecting to be threatened with a shutdown this morning. “I thought we were in good shape?”
“I don’t know, boss. They’re saying we’re non-compliant.”
“How are we non-compliant?”
“They want the records for production and inventory, but we can’t access them on the computer.”
“Why not?”
“Some system glitch. Apparently, there was a software update, and now we can’t get access to the digital records until IT has that sorted.”
“Okay, let’s get them the paper copies in the meantime.”
“That’s exactly what I went to do. Then I realized those are in Sheila’s office, which is locked, and she’s on annual leave.”
“Did you explain that?”
“Yeah, I did. But they don’t care. This guy’s being a real son of a bitch. He says until I produce the records, we don’t technically comply with federal regulations, so he can shut us down until we do.”
I rubbed the space between my eyes. God, the last thing I needed was some power-tripping federal inspector on my ass. I knew it was part of the job, but I hated this bureaucratic bullshit. It was time-consuming and costly and—
The elevator door opened behind me. I stepped aside as Cora emerged.
“Did Sheila not do a hand over with anyone before she went off?” I asked George.
“Yeah, that would be Graham, but he’s down with the flu, and we can’t get a hold of him. Probably passed out on cold medication.”
“So what you’re saying is I’m the only one with the keys to Sheila’s office.” But more importantly, the locked filing cabinet in her office.
“That’s what I’m saying, boss.”
Looked like I was taking a trip up to Newburgh. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Offer to take the inspectors to brunch until I get there.”
“Will do.”
I hung up the call.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cora said, handing me a piece of paper. “I was just dropping off the finalized recipes for the two samples you tried the other day.” She tilted her head, eyeing me. “Everything okay?”
“There’s a little hiccup at our manufacturing facility.”
“With the new line?”
“No, we’re not ready for production on those yet. Just some digital record-keeping issues. But I now need to go resolve said issues to avoid a production shutdown.”
“Hopefully it’s an easy fix?”
“Should be.” And if this was what it took to keep production on track, what choice did I have?
“Actually,” I said. “Did you want to come along? See how and where your drinks will be manufactured once all the recipes and packaging are finalized? Could be an interesting bit of content for your channel.”
“Oh, wow, that would actually be really cool!” Cora said.
“Sounds good. Our facility’s in the Hudson Valley area, so we’ll just hop over to the heliport—”
She froze. “Wait, we’re taking a helicopter?”
“Yes,” I said, hitting the elevator button. “A quick little flight there and back.”
“You know what,” she said, a nervous trill to her voice, backing away from me a bit. “I don’t really need to see the facility after all.”
Huh? I turned to her, suddenly remembering. Cora had always been afraid of heights.
“Thank you, though,” she continued. “It was a really nice offer.”
“We could drive instead,” I said.
“No, you should go. Fly, I mean. It’ll be faster.”
“Honestly, Cora, driving won’t take that much longer.” It was a lie. Newburgh was a short half-hour trip each way via helicopter, but closer to an hour and a half each way to drive.
She hemmed. “You’re sure it’s not an inconvenience?”
“I’m sure. Really.” The thought of spending some time alone with her, where we wouldn’t be interrupted by coworkers, was enticing. “We’ll take my Ferrari. It’s parked downstairs.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing over at Cora quickly as I navigated through the Manhattan traffic and out of the city. She hadn’t said a word since climbing into the car.
She laughed a bit, hands in her lap. “Nothing. I’ve just never been in a car this nice. I’m just…taking it all in. And sort of afraid to touch anything.”
I snorted. “It’s not gonna break.”
“Sorta feels like it might.”
“The interior is carbon fiber. Trust me. You’re good.
” Luxury sports cars were just par for the course for me now.
The first one had been exciting—new, different.
My parents had done fine, financially, but we’d been solidly middle class.
Making my first million had been a big deal to me.
But these days, I didn’t think much of it.
All the same, I hadn’t intended to make her uncomfortable.
“You know what we need?” I said, veering off the main road and into the parking lot of a gas station. “Road trip snacks.”
“This isn’t a road trip,” she pointed out.
“I beg to differ. Anything longer than an hour constitutes a road trip.”
“It could take you that long to drive across Manhattan during rush hour.”
“Is that you saying you don’t want snacks?”
“To eat in your fancy, ridiculously expensive car?” She pursed her lips, and I had a hell of a time focusing my gaze anywhere else.
“Yes.”
“That feels like a bad idea.”
“Ah, so you do want snacks—you just don’t think you should have them. Don’t worry,” I said, getting out of the car. I leaned back down, arching my brow. “If you mess up the upholstery, I’ll just buy a new one.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” she muttered.
“Are you coming inside? Or are you giving me total authority over snack selection?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, climbing out of the car and following me into the gas station. The aisles were small and crammed, but I managed to find the ultimate road trip essentials: mini-powdered donuts and an assortment of sour gummy candy. Cora picked out pretzels and chocolate-covered almonds.
“What are you smirking about?” she asked as we climbed back into my Ferrari.
“Nothing.” I passed her the plastic bag, amused to see our go-to snacks hadn’t changed much since high school. “Just that you still choose subpar gas station snacks.”
“Excuse me!” she cried. “What does that mean? Pretzels and chocolate are a classic combo!”
“Classic but not elite,” I clarified, checking my blind spots before I peeled out of the parking lot.
“And your mini donuts are elite, are they?” she said, digging the snacks out of the bag. She placed the box of donuts on the center console, popping it open for me. “I don’t even think these are made of real ingredients.”
“I try not to look too closely at the packaging.”
“Exactly!” Cora said, wiggling her finger at me. “You admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That my snack selections are the superior choice.”
I laughed. “I admit to nothing.”
“Remember when we used to sneak them into the movie theater when we were dating so we didn’t have to pay for overpriced popcorn?”
“Oh my God. Yes!” I said. “You used to stuff the pockets of my letterman jacket.”
“It was perfect for getting all those snacks in there.”
“I had to walk so slowly or else all the packages rattled.”
“And there was that manager who always suspected and would glare at you.”
“Stanley!” we both cried at the same time, grinning at each other.
“You used to poke my sides,” I accused playfully. “It was like you wanted me to get caught.”
Cora threw her head back and laughed. “I totally would have ditched you at the scene of the crime.”
“I can see you leaving me to unload my pockets with Stanley while you went in to watch Robert Pattinson sparkle.”
Cora gasped. “I forgot about my Twilight obsession.”
“I wish I could forget.”
Cora needled my side with her finger. “You loved it. I know you did.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t.”
“No, I definitely remember you being Team Jacob.” She lifted her hand to her mouth, hiding her amusement. “You even had a t-shirt!”
“Because werewolves are infinitely cooler than vampires.” God, I’d forgotten how much fun we used to have. “I’m pretty sure I used to have the physique to be one of those little werewolves, too.”
Cora’s cheeks pinked, and I couldn’t help thinking it was the prettiest shade of pink I’d ever seen. It clashed with her hair in the best way, and I wanted to chase the flush with the tip of my finger, across her cheekbones and over the bridge of her nose.
“I have no memory of this physique,” she said, settling back into her seat with the bag of pretzels.
“Sure you don’t.” I focused on the road again. Probably best I didn’t start thinking about what she used to say about my physique anyway. “You know who would like your subpar snacks? Dominic. When we used to go drinking in college, he’d fill his pockets with pretzels. And licorice sticks.”
“I see nothing wrong with this,” Cora said.
“Of course you don’t.”
“So, you met Dominic in college, and now you two work together?”
“We’ve been working together since college. There was a whole group of us that started a cosmetics company together as a class project.”
“Wait, you started a whole company? As college students?” Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead.
“Yeah, I was partnered up with Dominic and our other buddies Vincent and Trent with the assignment to come up with a concept for a new brand. We developed this multifunction cosmetics tool.” I saw her confused expression. “Think a Swiss army knife but for make-up.”
“Wait!” she said, her eyebrows lifting. “You invented the BeautiTool?”
“Invented, patented, trademarked.”
“Wow.” She sneakily plucked a donut from the container between us and started nibbling, humming to herself. I could tell she was taken aback by the information. I supposed the jump from make-up to liquor wasn’t exactly an expected career move. “I can’t believe that was your company.”