“Their new supervisor will be at the retreat as well,” Soven informs me. “I would like you fill him in on the best conflict prevention solutions or strategies...”
I frown as he rambles about whatever it is he thinks I do around here and wait for him to finish. “Did we hire someone on?”
“Oh, er, the other office did.”
The other office is a much smaller location. It doesn’t have enough employees to justify its own MR, HR, or IT departments, so they usually have to submit a ticket to our office to get those problems solved.
“Yes, given their particular circumstances, I thought it was time they had new leadership. I sought out an expert in the field.”
Oh, sure, an expert. Someone who is actually going to manage Kathy and Ted and their problems instead of letting all the emails I CC them on pile up in their inbox.
He pauses, then adds with just a hint of excitement, “We snagged him from a much bigger company. You might have heard of him, Vladyr Grotesce.”
“Oh. Wow,” I reply, unable to fake my enthusiasm.
I wonder what kind of iron-fist type leadership guru Soven has in mind. Just one more thing I really can’t stand, the kind of weirdo who posts long, practically nonsensical spiels on business forums about how keeping employees in office is best for morale, and then thinks a policy change tacked to the break room wall will do all the work.
Or possibly the worse option, someone who is actually hyper-competent and has centuries of experience under his belt, and a wall of awards and certificates to match. Just the thought of it makes me feel like I don't know enough to be here and that I’m going to have to bullshit about my own competency. Like his arrival means I've immediately forgotten how to do my job.
The call ends mercifully, with this week’s prospects a little worse for wear. The last thing I want is to have to go through a thousand pages of complaint forms explaining Kathy and Ted’s particular dynamic to a big deal manager who would be able to solve their problems in a snap and ask me why it took so long.
I really don’t want to go to this retreat. I can already feel the ceaseless hunger starting to gnaw at my insides, insatiable and needy. If it’s anything like the last time this cycle came around, I’m going to become a feral version of myself.
2
Don’t book flights for work trips with anyone in your department. Have some work-life separation, for your own sanity.
I book my ticket on a red-eye flight a few precious hours before I have to “Meet and Mingle” with people I’m already cursed to spend eternity in daily conference call meetings with. I specifically booked a flight that wasn’t listed on the shared spreadsheet, not caring that it was at an untenable hour of night. I don’t care if I get an email from Accounting again about taking the same flights so that we can all carpool to the hotel from the airport; a girl has got to maintain her boundaries. The fact that you’re staying at a gorgeous vista doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to be spending all of it with the same people whose meeting invites you’ve been avoiding.
I turn away from the ticket kiosk with the single-minded pursuit of getting to the terminal where my flight is, only to bump into my suitcase. It starts rolling down the incline to the airport security check without me.
My scramble to find any kind of traction in my slippers and chase my bag down is deeply inelegant, a flurry of sweatpants and unbrushed hair fighting against the unusually smooth tile.
“Come back, come back, come back,” I hiss at my bag, fruitlessly. I didn’t really expect my bag to listen, and it doesn’t.
At least, not to me.
“You need to stop right there, miss,” a fathomlessly deep voice commands, velvety low with a stern edge to it. My spine locks up.
I look up at the source of the voice, and the imposing figure whose shadow I’ve just slid into. He turns, the casual grace in the movement of his wings and tail becoming fluid yet formal.
Gargoyles are something of a rare sighting. It's a lot more common to find them at Fortune 666 companies in the Peak District, always wearing crisp suits and thick-chained watches.
This guy isn't any different, but when my eyes meet his, a deep molten amber, I feel the warmth in my cheeks burn through me like whiskey, spreading all the way down to my lower stomach. My posture changes like I desperately need to get a good grade in standing still, like that’s a normal thing to want.
He turns around slowly to face me, and I’m a little taken aback at how my weird little presence could collide with someone as put together as him. In airports, at least, people this well-dressed slip past me as easily as oil and water.
My bag rolls until it collides with his leg, like a beanbag hitting a brick wall. I don’t think he even notices, his eyes are so trained on me. The weight of his full attention is staggering. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t really been having face-to-face conversations with people much lately.
Ok, this is how I know my cycle is about to kick me in the face in the middle of this work trip. I’m never this easily interested in people right off the bat.
“Not you. You’re perfect the way you are,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “It’s just your bag that’s disobedient.”
“Disobedient,” I repeat, perhaps giving away the fact that I clearly think he’s gorgeous. His voice has a grip on me that is too easy to give into.
“Running off without you,” he explains, offering me a little smile.
“Yeah, she’s all hyped-up on sugar. It’s all the plane snacks I put in her,” I say. He’s cute. He’s very cute. Either this is a sign that I’m absolutely starved for connection, or he’s downright charming. I honestly can’t tell.
