Page 10 of Handling the CEO

Ms. Jones has highlighted your request to work from home for at least 4 days a week. However, it is against company policy 176/45-2019 to allow this demand. All new starters need to be in the office full time for the first 6 months to ensure adherence to business processes, familiarization to procedures and team integration.

Your supplication is hereby refused. Please be in the office starting tomorrow between the business hours of 9 and 5 pm.

Best regards,

Jon McMaster

CEO McAv Aviation

There, all processes are applied. She had no way of fighting a company procedure. Though at least a part of me wanted to see her try. Maybe see that red coloring in her cheeks. Maybe hear that razor sharp mind come up with some flaying words.

Michaela shakes her head at me, mumbling something along the lines of “Why do I even bother,” but I realize I still have a useless EA I need to discuss with her.

“So, when are you finding me a new assistant? Can’t be that hard!”

“HR is on the case Jon, not really my job as I keep trying to remind you… they are culling through the applicants and should have a shortlist for you by the end of next week. I think you will survive with Anya for a few more weeks.”

“Come on Mike, you know you are my right-hand woman, couldn’t do the job without you taking care of it all! You’d think I can endure my assistant! Yesterday she erased half the slides I was prepping for the meeting with X-Access. Good thing I thought of showing them the assembly line instead, which actually worked better. Old-boy Franken loved it, otherwise we would have been in trouble!”

“Oh Jon, don’t worry, Anya will be out of your hair soon enough. However, I hope whatever you wrote in that email to Dahlia won’t come back to bite you in the ass. We need her to finish that code.” Grasping my stress ball again, I was beginning to think I shouldn’t have written the email, and definitely shouldn’t be eagerly awaiting the consequences.

“I know, and I am sure she will. Hey, isn’t that Cole?” I flag down the young blond guy wandering around the open-plan desk area outside my private office, looking a bit lost.

“Jon, how’s it going? Haven’t seen you in months!” he says as he walks in to shake my hand. “Hey mom, I was searching for you. We need to discuss some party prep stuff.”

“Sure, I will be right there,” my VP confirms.

“It’s all good,” I answer. “What are your plans now that you finished college? Any job leads?”

I’ve known her youngest son for a long time. For a while he used to follow me around like a puppy, but I haven’t seen much of him in the past few years as he was studying in Colorado. So, I am glad he is finally back, and by the party she is paying for, so is Mike.

“Umm,” he hesitates, glancing at his mother. “A few, actually, but still work in progress.”

“OK, hope they all pan out. If you need a job, I am sure we can find a new starter role here as well. Ah, and sorry I can’t make your celebration. There is this charity thing during the day, and I don’t know when it will end.” Also, the thought of spending the night with Cole’s 20-year-old friends makes me break out in hives.

“That won’t be necessary, Jon,” Michaela intervenes. “He is looking a bit higher than starter roles. By the way, I must send someone with you to that Julia Li event the following Saturday, as I’ll be at my son’s party.”

“Well, I am sure you’ll find someone. I definitely don’t want to face those sharks by myself.”

“Oh, I have just the person,” she smiles conspiratorially. “But for now, I need to see what this urgent issue with the party is.”

On that note, they return to her office, leaving me staring at my Outbox, and the hurricane Jara my email will bring.

Jon

FridaycamearoundandI had meetings downtown in the morning, but my Friday’s afternoons were blocked for my hands-on time in the workshops, where my 1975 Cessna 172 plane was awaiting a rebuild.

I had rented half the minor reworks hangar for my own use. Despite the mountains of Health and Safety documents with every disclaimer known to man which had to be signed, I had my personal airplane in the company’s hangar as I did when I was a teenager. I recall fondly those times struggling to fix the even older model and asking the technicians for help as I had no idea what I was doing back then.

I chuckle, reminding myself how they sometimes made fun of me or pulled my leg and sent me for blinker fluid and other inexistent items. It wasn’t until I started pranking them right back, switching their tools around or hiding their kit did they embrace me there, not seeing me as the CEO’s son but just a kid needing help. I was almost glad my dad was not interested and left me to my own devices when I was a teenager, as I would have never gotten too close to my staff with him here.

I love working on old planes, selling them after fixing them, nothing like rebuilding an engine to calm me down after another shit week, peppered by memories of long dark brown hair and a burned orange dress, or of ridiculous shorts hugging a stellar bottom. Or of intense comebacks which made me chuckle in the shop and made me feel ridiculously alive on Monday.

Dressed down in overalls and an old t-shirt, grabbing my tool kit, I start on landing gear, leaving the wiring for the flaps to the last minute. I tried doing some work on that before, but I pretty much just made matters worse. I really needed to get an electrician from the factory to come have a look. I didn’t have the patience to match all the connectors and re-pin the whole thing.

An hour into stripping the landing gear, my peace is interrupted by a click-clack on the hangar floor, heading towards me at speed.

“What the actual fuck is this email?” an indignant female voice echoes on the walls, causing me to unintentionally smile as I instantly recognize the owner.

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