Page 13 of Joy to Noel
“I’m not here looking to axe anyone’s jobs—not without good reason. If there’s fat, I’ll trim it. But I’m not convinced that’s the issue at hand. More likely, I think there were several ways that the former plant manager was mismanaging production, and those are probably processes that we can fix. What I need from each of you is your transparent honesty about how things were run—what you were asked to do or not do, what your daily responsibilities looked like, anything unusual that you noticed. In return for your honesty, I’ll do my best to optimize this plant’s efficiency without cutting any jobs. Understand?” I ask.
Heads nod, and I make direct eye contact with as many individuals as possible as I sweep my gaze across the room. I’ve been standing up straight, feet shoulder-width apart, for the beginning of my speech. Now, I take a second to unbutton my suit coat and lean my hands on the railing in front of me, adopting a slightly more approachable stance. I need these people to both respectandtrust me enough to speak truthfully when I ask questions.
“I’ll be meeting with employees from every department over the next few weeks, shadowing positions and asking questions. If you have thoughts to share that you think would be beneficial in solving the puzzle here, please feel free to initiate a conversation any time. Amanda will be able to schedule a meeting on my calendar,” I say.
Did I clear that with Amanda ahead of time? No. But I have no doubt she’ll figure it out, if she’s worth her salt. Her eyes widen with surprise, but she straightens her shoulders and nods as though she was completely prepared for this responsibility.
“Please fill in anyone from your department who couldn’t leave their stations and those who work the other shifts. An all-company email will be sent out by the end of the day. Thanks again for taking these few minutes away—now, let’s get back to it,” I end, and the low mumblings of conversation fill the room as people file out. My list of mental notes lengthens as I observe demeanors and facial expressions, cataloging the people with the most influence who I should prioritize meeting with first.
I pull the reMarkable tablet out of my satchel, ready to take a boatload of notes. Loosening my tie as I turn to Beau, I say, “How ’bout that tour? I don’t want to waste any time.”
After all, I have a productivity competition to win.
And a small town to escape.
Chapter eight
Madison
Pressing my palms to my eyelids, I slowly count to three.
When I blink open, the steadily-building pressure of a headache still resides behind my eyes. Apparently, three seconds of respite doesn’t magically fix twelve straight hours of staring at a computer screen.
Working by the glow of Christmas lights in lieu of a brighter overhead light could also be a contributing factor to the eye fatigue. I’m not sure how to explain it, but the combination of the Christmas decor around me and the snowy coffee shop ambience video I looped on my tablet has kept my mind in the zone for this marathon workday. I’ve been too heavily influenced by my best friend.
Clara did bring me lunch, and we sat outside at a picnic table in the crisp air for thirty minutes. But aside from that brief break, I’ve been working nonstop on today’s to-do list. The first (and most critical) item on the list—officially registering my business—slowed me way down when I realized I needed a physical address for the application. Which I currently lack. I had a long debate with myself over whether to use a friend’s address in KC, Clara’s here in Noel, or my parents’ in Nebraska.
Which led me to a mental argument over whether I should even bother officially incorporating a business right away. I could MacGyver my way through for now with PayPal invoices to my personal bank account, especially since I may abandon this idea altogether in the not-so-distant future. At the very least, I might have a permanentaddress attached to my existence by the time I decide to do this long term. I could wait and make things official then.
But even as the rebel devil on one shoulder argued with the rule-following angel on the other, I always knew which side would win out. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.
Hence, hours of productivity lost to the black hole of pesky physical address requirements. I ultimately decided to use Clara’s address (with her permission, of course) since I’m physically located in Noel for the short term. I’ll need access to the documents mailed to the supplied address. I can update it later when I move back to KC.
Although filing the application to register Madison Joy Editorial as a legitimate LLC took up way too much time, it’s a satisfying checkbox to mark off on the to-do list.
Glancing at my watch, I see that it’s nearly 9:00 p.m. A reasonable person would turn off her computer and wind down for the night. But reasonable people don’t have friendly “I can accomplish more than you” competitions to win. Clicking open a new tab in my browser, I navigate to the host I’ve chosen for my website so I can claim a domain name. I can tackle the actual web design tomorrow.
I’ve been debating between two possible web addresses: a straightforward madisonjoyeditorial.com or a succinct mjeditorial.com. I think I’m leaning toward the latter, and I have the domain name pulled up on the browser when I’m startled by a knock at the door. That’s not a light, hope-I’m-not-imposing Clara knock. It’s a strong, self-confident knock.
I bite back a smile and walk the few steps to the door. I couldn’t know with certainty that Liam would actually check in tonight to compare first days . . . but I’m not surprised in the least. And I may be just a tiny bit delighted.
Swinging the door open, Iamsurprised by the catch in my chest when I see Liam’s end-of-day appearance in contrast to his buttoned-up suit this morning. As in, the suit jacket is literally unbuttoned. The blue tie that was so professionally knotted this morning is now draped around his neck as he leans one hand beside the door.
That hair is still perfectly styled, though. Posh, magazine-worthy hair.
Thankfully, Liam doesn’t seem to notice my double take of his appearance because he’s doing his own double take of my surroundings.
“Whoa, why is it Christmas in your cabin?” he asks, bypassing any perfunctory greeting. “You are aware what month it is, right? March is way past acceptable for leaving up Christmas decor. Andwayahead of early decorating.”
“It’s a long story,” I say with a sigh. “Side effect of being best friends with the queen of Christmas spirit. But I’m assuming you didn’t pop by for a long story about Christmas spirit and dreams coming true.”
Liam pushes his weight off the door frame and casually drops his hands to his hips. “I did not. But I admit I’m intrigued now.”
Raising an eyebrow, I sniff. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn that story,” I say as I shift my weight to one foot and rest a hand on my popped hip. “Now, Mr. Exec, did you come to gloat or admit defeat?”
One corner of Liam’s lips twists into a smirk as he reaches into his leather satchel. “I never admit defeat because I never lose,” he says, holding up a thin tablet.
My eyes light up as I reach for the tablet, effectively pulling him inside the cabin since he doesn’t let go. “Is that one of those paper tablets that converts your handwriting to text?”
