Page 12 of Glass Half Full
I have madetwo management mistakes today.
Mistake number one: failing to put my new employee’s start time in my calendar. That led me to mistake number two: failing to have the necessary documents on hand, resulting in me running around like a bat out of hell with no idea how to work a photocopier.
As soon as I spot Renee walking through the door of Taverne Toulouse, I realize I’m on my way to committing mistake number three: stopping mid-stride in my way across the room to stare at said new employee with the shock and wonder of someone who’s just found themselves caught in the middle of a lightning storm.
But that’s what she is.
She’s a goddamn lightning storm. She raises the hair on my arms and makes the air crackle with sparks. I didn’t know what I was facing when she walked into the office last week. I didn’t have time to prepare, but now I’ve got the forecast. Maybe it’s just the collision with the past, the sheer power of coincidence that forces itself to be felt as you face someone you never thought you’d see again, but the sight of Renee Nyobé seems to have the power to split my atmosphere at the seams and light up the rifts in the sky.
Which Monroe will kill me for if she finds out.
Renee’s got jeans on today, dark denim that hugs her legs and exposes an inch of ankle above her black sneakers. Her shirt is black too, the front of it exposed under a grey wool coat. The fading sunlight is streaming in through the windows behind her, catching on dust particles as they swirl through the air, and it lights up her hair like a curly halo as she tries to push it out of her face.
I’d paint her if I had any talent for painting. I’d tell her to stay exactly where she is and raid Monroe’s office for some pens and highlighters. I’d grab a barstool and sketch her on a piece of printer paper in blue ink with fluorescent orange and yellow streaks of light around her face. It wouldn’t be good enough. It wouldn’t even be close to good enough, but someone should try. The sun is begging for someone to turn her into art.
Fucking hell. Monroe really is going to murder me.
“Um, hi.” Renee’s eyes land on me, and she gives a little wave. “I’m a bit early.”
“No problem,” I assure her. “I’m just getting some forms you need to sign all ready. Why don’t you take a seat? Unless you know how to deal with a malfunctioning photocopier.”
“Ben là, just hit it. That’s what Monroe always does.”
DeeDee’s voice makes me jump. I turn to find her leaning over the bar, shaking her head at me. She’s grumpy about the fact that I’m having her start early so Renee can get some training in before the evening rush.
“I’m not going to start hitting the photocopier, DeeDee.”
She shrugs and mutters something in French that sounds like an inappropriately sexual comment about the photocopier liking it a little rough.
“Actually,” Renee chimes in before I’m forced to reprimand DeeDee for not playing nice around the new kid, “I might be able to help. This sounds weird, but I’m kind of good with photocopiers.”
“That does sound weird,” I agree. It sounds especially weird given DeeDee’s remark about photocopiers liking it rough, but I do my best to ignore that. It’s not a thought I can afford to entertain. “But I will take help wherever I can get it. Follow me.”
I lead the way to the office, where the combination printer and photocopier is displaying a half dozen blinking error messages that mean absolutely nothing to me.
“I believe it’s possessed,” I explain. “We may need to perform an exorcism.”
“I think I can sort this out, but maybe have some holy water on hand just in case.”
She’s already pushing buttons on the screen and checking various cables.
“Is this what you wanted to photocopy?” she asks less than a minute later, holding up the paper I left sitting on the machine.
“Yes, that.” I grab the rest of the forms off the desk behind me. “And these.”
She makes a ‘gimme’ gesture, and I fork them over. An embarrassingly short amount of time later, I have a pile of papers in my hand I spent the better part of a half hour trying to obtain on my own.
“Okay, wise one, how did you do that?” I tease, hoping she’ll reveal some sort of photocopier secret that will save me from ever having this problem again.
“Well you just have to press this when it says that, and then you use this button here and select that option.”
Yeah, I will be having this problem again.
“And how did you become such an office technology guru?” I motion for her to grab one of the spare chairs as I take a seat at the desk.
“I used to help my dad a lot at his office,” Renee explains. “He works at the art museum, and I loved going to work with him when I was a kid. I still loved going when I was a teenager, honestly. I spent way too many of my high school summers there. I always did the photocopying for him and all his coworkers. There were a lot of jokes made about illegal child labour.”
I chuckle along with her as she grabs the first form and starts filling it in.
