Chapter Seven
Rich people need hobbies, lest we all fall to their whims.
Ruby
“Brian will be leading this meeting,” Mr. Warrick’s voice rings out in the rarely used extra-large conference room. “You’re expected to listen quietly and respectfully until the end, at which point the floor will be open for questions. He will tell you when the presentation is over.”
A loaded pause as we all wonder why Brian the mailroom guy would be in charge of a mandatory meeting for all of the department heads in the building, then Mr. Warrick speaks again, a single command.
“Don’t interrupt.”
Whispers and shuffling meet my ears while we wait for Brian to begin, and Will’s breath fans against my face as his heat presses into my shoulder.
“Do you want me to grab you a quesadilla? Or do you want a Crunchwrap?” he asks, referring to the catered lunch Mr. Warrick used to lure us all here. As if the threat of losing our jobs by missing a meeting designated MANDATORY – all caps, italicized, bold red letters – was not enough, we were further bribed by the promise of free Taco Bell.
“A quesadilla,” I answer. “Are there any sauces?”
“I’m grabbing you a couple of mild,” he tells me. “And a hot.”
I nod my thanks.
“Hello!” Brian yells from the front of the room. “As you all know, Valentine’s Day is only one month away.”
My brows shoot together. Valentine’s Day? Our work was interrupted to talk about Valentine’s Day?
“This year, my team and I, working closely with the human relations department, have put together a thirty-day plan to bring us all closer to each other and increase workplace satisfaction. We estimate that morale will increase by up to 200% in the coming days.”
A click sounds from Brian’s direction at the front of the room, then Will’s voice is in my ear.
“There’s a slide with about a million pink and blue hearts on it,” he says, choking back laughter. “And a line graph going up off the side, depicting Whirlwind Branding Morale. A group of cupids are celebrating in the corner of the screen.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, chomping off a bite of my quesadilla.
Will snorts, and another click comes from the front.
“Here you’ll see a comprehensive list of the activities we have planned for the month. You’ll notice that some of these are a bit more involved, such as the Valentine box decorating workshop on the 2nd, and some are less involved, like wearing pink on the 9th. Big or small, participation is not elective. Anyone caught not participating will be reprimanded. Multiple offenses will result in a formal write-up, and continuing mutiny will result in more drastic measures.”
“Mutiny?” Frank, one of our most talented graphic designers, cries out in disbelief. Several people voice their displeasure after her, and I quietly concur. Mutiny? Because we don’t want to participate in quasi-holiday nonsense? It’s ridiculous. Why would Mr. Warrick let this happen?
“No interruptions,” the boss’ voice rings out, whip-sharp, and the room falls silent.
Brian clears his throat.
“It’s going to be fun, you guys,” he assures us. “We have a plan!”
“It does look pretty fun to me,” Will murmurs. “There’s a coloring page competition. And a candy exchange!”
“What are we, children?” I whisper back, scowling.
“Come on, Rubble. Enjoy a little bit of nostalgic whimsy with me.”
I snap a bite of my quesadilla.
He sighs.
Brian clicks again.
“Oh my gosh,” someone says, and several people shush them.
“What?” I ask.
“A slide has come up on the screen depicting an example of the Valentine boxes Brian mentioned,” Mr. Warrick says. “It’s roughly eight inches squared, and decorated in a variety of reds and pinks, which are offset by pale blue accents. Hearts adorn the box, as well as glitter, confetti, and a message that reads, ‘I heart U 4 EVA’. The top of the box has a rectangular hole cut into it, only a few inches wide and perhaps one inch in depth.”
I blink.
“Thanks, twinsie!” Will exclaims beside me. “That was perfect!”
I blink again, then slowly twist toward the man beside me.
“What did you do?” I hiss as Brian explains what the box is for and when it will be used – candies, mostly, and it’s to sit on our desks starting at the end of the workshop and staying there through February 14.
“Me?” Will whispers, playing innocent.
My eyes narrow on his bulky shadow. “What did you do to Mr. Warrick?” I grit out, trying to stay quiet.
“I didn’t do anything!” the lying liar claims. “He’s just a really good boss.”
I huff, turning my attention back to Brian, who’s telling us that all of the information we need for “full Valentine fun!” will be in an email we can expect in our inboxes by end of day.
Great. Not only was this a massive waste of time, energy, and work hours, but it also could’ve been an email the whole time. Typical.
I frown as I finish off my cheesy, chickeny goodness.
At least we got yummy food, I guess.
“Any questions?” Brian asks.
Mayhem ensues.
“Rookie move,” I mutter as six people speak at once, all vying to be louder than the others.
Will hums in agreement.
“Stop,” Mr. Warrick cuts in, instantly silencing them.
“He’s like a magician,” Will whispers to me.
I don’t exactly disagree.
“Frank. Go,” he orders.
“Thank you,” she says. “Can I ask how I’m supposed to make the time for all this stuff when I also have a job to do? I love a good coloring contest as much as the next girl, but I’m on deadlines. I can’t spend every day worrying about whether or not I’m going to get written up for prioritizing my actual work duties over silly stringing the lobby.”
Frank, as always, with the pertinent questions. What a queen.
“We’ve hired temps to handle any tasks that you’re able to delegate in an effort to free up your time,” Mr. Warrick answers. “The Valentine List should be considered top priority.”
My jaw drops.
“Sir?” Frank squeaks. “Top priority?”
“Correct,” he affirms.
He’s lost it. Really and truly lost it.
“Any other questions?”
No one says anything for a long moment.
“Great,” he says. “Get back to work.”