Page 46 of Due South

“Oh, phew. Well, India’s here, but she’s not taking calls. I can leave her a message if you like or you could try emailing her. You know she can’t help responding to email.”

Greg laughs, because I’m sure he’s gotten emails from her at three in the morning too. “I wasn’t calling for India, actually. I was calling for you.”

What? What possible reason could Greg Wu have for calling me? Unless I made a mistake in the report and he wants to give me a chance to fix it without mentioning it to India, which would be much appreciated. She’s gotten way better with the yelling, but I hate that icky feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I disappoint her, like someone left a bottle of milk in the fridge too long and it’s all curdled and chunky.

“Um, why?” My voice is small and flimsy, as if he could break it with a word, which he probably could, though Greg’s never been that guy.

Another laugh, which should make me feel silly, but all I feel is the lightening of relief. I didn’t do anything wrong. He wouldn’t laugh if he were going to yell. And I like it when Greg laughs; it’s kind of a funny sound, which makes it infectious.

“We have a position opening up in my office and I thought you might be interested. How do you feel about Phoenix?”

Whoa. Never have I gotten a phone call like this before. He thought of me for a job? I suppose other guys have thought of me for jobs before, but usually it’s for the hand- or blow- variety.

“I’ve never been.”

“It’s nice here. And I hear we’re on the rise.”

“Sure.” I’m so stunned I’ve lost my ability to make chatter, which is one of my core competencies as a secretary.

“Our office manager is retiring rather abruptly, and I thought you’d be a good fit for us. You’re a hard worker, you have an eye for detail, and India speaks very highly of you.”

“She does?”

I mean, I know India and I have been getting along well for a while now and she keeps giving me more responsibilities, which I’ve somehow found the time for, but I didn’t know she’d go so far as to say nice things about me to other people. Especially not nice enough things that would make them want to poach me.

“She does indeed. Plus, being able to survive working for that woman for—what is it, going on seven years now? That’s probably the best endorsement a person could have.”

I do sometimes feel like a soldier who’s made it through a long battle and it’s nice someone else recognizes how challenging it’s been. “What exactly would this position entail?”

There, that’s a nice, sensible thing to ask.

“Administrative work, supervising less senior admins, keeping the office well-supplied, helping format and proof reports, assisting with organizing public and internal meetings. And if it’s not a deal breaker, India raves about the coffee you make for her and I’d like a taste of that. Of course, I’m a two-cup-a-day kind of guy, whereas your current boss…”

He leaves off meaningfully, and I can picture him smiling on the other end of the line. Yeah, not having to fetch India’s coffee a dozen times a day would totally add some productive time to my day. And aside from managing other admins, there’s nothing in that list I haven’t done before. When Jack left, Jerome left too, and I had to take over ordering all the office supplies. It’s actually fun, picking out pens and Post-Its. No one gets to say boo when half of them are pink.

“When would I have to let you know by?”

“I’d understand if you wanted to wait until you’d had a chance to come out here and see the office, meet the people you’d be working with, but I’m in a bit of a spot. It would be amazing to know by the New Year, since if you don’t take it, I’ll have to start a formal search process and that business takes forever. Usually I’d be required to do it for this position, but I got a waiver from HR for you. Really, you’d be doing me a favor, so I hope you’ll seriously consider it.”

It would probably be the smart thing to do to go to Phoenix first, but I don’t want to put Greg out, and besides, how would I be able to find the time anytime soon? I don’t want him to change his mind.

“I will, Mr. Wu. Thank you for thinking of me. That’s very…well, it’s very flattering.”

“And I will be very flattered if you accept, especially if you can stop managing to call me Mr. Wu. But for now, I’ve got to give Joe a call and make sure he’s got the kids all packed up to leave this afternoon. Merry Christmas, Lucy.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mi—I mean, Greg.”

Chapter Seventeen

‡

December 23rd

Evans

It’s eleven-thirty, andI’m so worn out it may as well be eleven-thirty at night. I open the desk drawer where I’ve restocked my guilty pleasures: those vending machine cupcakes that are disturbingly resistant to going stale. I can’t imagine there’s anything of nutritional value in them whatsoever, but they make me briefly happy.

After I’ve chowed down on one and am about to start in on the second, there’s a knock on my door. I shove the crinkly wrapper of evidence back in the drawer, even though why should I care if someone sees me eating junk food? The way things have been going this week, they’re lucky it’s not a flask. Or a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

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