Page 7 of The Holiday Fakers
PIPER
The biting winter wind burns my cheeks as I sprint down the sidewalk, weaving around people like it’s an Olympic sport. I can’t think about Brody right now. Grabbing a coffee was supposed to take ten minutes, not twenty. It was meant to clear my head before the very secret, no agenda, company-wide meeting.
Closing down? Buyout? Diversification? Stanley finally retiring?
Possibilities circle my brain like runners on a track with no finish line. The only thing that makes perfect sense is my boss tapping into his 401(k) and finally taking that cruise he’s always talked about.
The thought of him leaving is bittersweet. Stanley Parker is one of America’s finest, a good-hearted family man who took a chance on me straight out of college and has done his best to keep the business he inherited afloat during times no one could’ve predicted.
I slow my pace as the brick building comes into view, Parker & Overton Office Products—the first letter of each word far larger than all the rest—painted across the entire side in white over eighty years ago, now chipped and fading.
I shake my head. How did they not think that name through? The brown “POOP” building is famous throughout Brooklyn, and even though Mr. Overton left the business entirely to the Parkers in the fifties, the name never changed.
I take the stairs to the second floor. It’s quicker and more reliable than the elevator. The only incentive to step inside that creaking metal box is the hope that the fire department gets called when you get stuck, and that your rescuer is single, drop-dead gorgeous, and asks you on a date.
Of course, if that hunky firefighter were to break up with you after a few months, you’d better not risk getting stuck again unless you want him thinking you did it on purpose to win him back.
Which I would never do, and definitely didn’t happen. Okay?
Tentatively pulling open the conference room door, I step in. Luckily, the meeting hasn’t started yet. I scan the room, checking for any unfamiliar faces.
None. Is that a good or a bad thing?
A moment later, the door opens behind me, and Stanley Parker enters with his oldest son, also called Stanley. I don’t think they mean to dress the same, but they’re almost always wearing beige slacks and white button-downs. With their identical bald spots and rosy cheeks, they look like twins separated by thirty years.
The room falls silent as they make their way to the front.
This feels bad.Reallybad.
Stanley Parker Sr. gives us a confident smile, but his fingers twist in front of him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a breath.
“I know you’re all wondering what this is about, so I won’t drag it out. I’m retiring, and Stanley is stepping in to take my place.”
A collective breath is released, then the room breaks into spontaneous applause.
Thank God. My job’s safe.
Stanley raises his hands, quieting us. “But you know, folks, the market is changing, and times are tough.”
Uh-oh.
“I’m not gonna lie. It’s been challenging, but Stanley and I have been determined to keep the company going.”
I glance at my colleagues, a sea of tense postures and frowns.
“And to do that,” Stanley continues, “we’re partnering with another company.”
I swallow as alarm stabs at my stomach. A merger usually means half of us will lose our jobs.
“I don’t want anyone to worry. This is a good thing,” Stanley says, raising his voice above the murmurs rippling around the room. “There will be generous voluntary redundancy packages on the table, and a six-month transition period during which we’ll work side by side to figure out the best fit for the new company.”
Six months to fight for my job while sitting across from someone doing exactly the same thing.Ugh.
“What’s the other company?” someone asks.
Stanley smiles. “Turner’s Office Supply Solutions.”
I stop breathing. This can’t be happening. Not them.
