Page 14 of Crave Me

Clifton scans the table, appearing to relive the last few week he and Anne have spent familiarizing themselves with the details surrounding Adeptus. Not an easy task with the amount of products in our nanorobotics line alone. “I hope we can pull this off,” he says.

“We will,” I assure him. “We’ll make it happen.”

Ashleigh stomps across the gold and white marble tile floor in her absurdly tall shoes. How she hasn’t pitched forwarded and landed on her face continues to astound me. Her gaze shifts between Anne and Clifton as if they’re beneath her, before fixing on my face. She doesn’t regard me with the superior manner as she does them, but I wouldn’t describe her demeanor as welcoming.

She drops a file in front of me with a note clipped to it. “You need to return Mr. Langley’s call.”

I frown. “Langley of Yodel?”

She nods curtly. “He’s interested in Hound Mechanicus and how soon it will be ready.”

“How does he know about Hound?” I ask, lowering my coffee.

She crosses her arms. “Mr. Sherman made him aware and offered—”

“Hound isn’t ready,” I say, cutting her off. “And Sherman is no longer in charge of this branch.”

My anger fires hers. “May I speak to you privately?” she asks, lifting her chin.

“No,” I respond. “If I’m hearing this, Anne and Clifton will hear it, too.”

She purses her lips with obvious distaste. Clifton is in his mid-thirties and almost completely bald. His suits appear outdated and need to be tailored to accommodate his gangly form, but they’re clean and neat. Five years ago, he left everything he knew in his small Wyoming town to work here. In those five years, he’s gone above and beyond without a pay increase or promotion. That changed when I took over. I respect him. Clearly, Ashleigh doesn’t share my sentiment.

“Mr. Sherman made an agreement with Mr. Langley,” she begins.

“In writing?” I ask, my temper building.

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “But Evan, we’re talking tens of millions in revenue,” she whispers urgently, as if I’m missing the point.

“Find out if there’s something in writing, and then let him know I’ll call him this afternoon at four o’clock.”

“Evan,” she interrupts. “He’ll expect a call sooner.”

I don’t dismiss her lack of respect, nor her tone. “I am not available until four. He is not privy to this technology. You will not tell him anything more than he needs to know.” My jaw hardens. “Call Leesa in contracts and find out if anything was put in writing. If it was, phone the head of our legal department and have her see me between appointments.”

Once more, I seemed to have angered our version of Norman Bates’ mother. “Anything else?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“Yes, send two dozen roses to Erin O’Brien at Ford Nation on Lincoln Avenue.”

I have everyone’s attention now.

“Roses?” Ashleigh repeats.

“Yes.” My request seems absurd even to me. I turn toward Anne as an uncomfortable heat crawls up my neck.

“Oh, do fire and ice,” she suggests, appearing to think I sought her advice. “Purple and silver tones if they have it. Women like that.”

“Purple, of course.” Ashleigh smirks, taking another look at Anne’s suit before returning to me. “What would you like on the card?”

Her grossly exaggerated enthusiasm grinds my patience. “Keep it simple. Just ‘thank you’ followed by my first name.”

“Anything else, sir?” she asks.

Ashleigh is walking a fine line with me. Initially she was courteous and respectful. The more I expressed how invaluable I found her, and the more supervisory responsibility I gave her, the more intolerable she’s become. If I didn’t need an experienced secretary, and had the time train one I could trust, I’d personally show her the door.

“No,” I respond.

“Fine.” Her response is more subdued and she quickly walks away, shutting the heavy door behind her.

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