“Mia. Good to see you.” He cleared his throat, and then held up his finger. He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket. “Excuse me.”
I watched him stride a few steps away, checking his phone.
Maureen rolled her eyes. “He’s always working.” Her lips twisted as she looked over at her husband. “You’re the one who wanted to be here,” she reminded him.
Suddenly, I felt like I was witnessing what should’ve been a private conversation.
“He’s the one who loves Malcolm Gladwell,” she told me. “That book about what makes someone successful and what’s it called?” She snapped her fingers.
“Outliers?” I provided.
“That’s it. Jarrett all but raved about it for weeks after reading it. Now, look at him.” She gestured toward Jarrett, who was now on an actual call in lieu of just texting. “That’s what I get for marrying a workaholic.”
My stomach muscles tightened.
“All he does is work,” Maureen continued. “You know what it’s like.” She looked at me expectedly.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
She snorted and waved a hand. “He’s like you. Working all crazy hours of the day and night. I tell him all the time corporate law cannot be that damn exciting. He promised me that we’d have the entire night to ourselves.” Maureen moved in closer. “Our oldest was sick a few weeks ago. Something he brought home from school. He, of course, passed it to his sisters. Then I got sick. Had to take a week off from work to care for all of us because he,” she gestured toward her husband, “was on a business trip that he just couldn’t cancel.”
She made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat while folding her arms.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to think of anything better to say.
“It’s not your fault,” she quickly replied. “It’s his. I don’t know how you do it.” She thought for a moment. “But I guess that’s how. You don’t have a husband or kids,” she stated bluntly.
I gave her a side-eye. One she didn’t pick up on because Maureen always had a problem recognizing when it was time for her to stop talking.
“So, where are you working now? I know a workaholic like you found a job in no time.”
I hadn’t told many people at my former job about my plans to take a three month break before opening my coffee shop. I was glad for that decision right then.
“Oh,” Maureen started before I could respond to her question. She grabbed my arm like women who were friends, sharing the latest gossip, did.
The woman didn’t even notice when I eased my arm out of her hold.
“Well, if you want to know, that managerial role you were eyeing right before you left might be vacant again soon.”
That made me perk up. Though I didn’t truly want to know, a small piece of me was interested in what Maureen had to say.
“The position that Vincent took?”
Maureen eagerly nodded.
“He quit?”
Maureen let out a laugh. She shook her head. “No, but he’s this close,” she pinched her thumb and forefinger together for me to see, “from losing his job. Three accounts under his supervision have decided to sever ties with Corsica.”
My eyes widened. “Which ones?”
“Champion, Lutheran Hospital, and Walker Medical.” She ticked off each name on her fingers.
“Those were three of our most loyal accounts.” I wondered what would make them part ways with Corsica.
“Yeah.” She huffed. “Theywere.”
A part of me felt territorial. I had worked hard to earn all three of those accounts more than five years earlier. Then, I remembered that the happenings at Corsica were no longer my concern.
