Casually, Angie tries one of the doors to see if it’s open.
“Angie!” I whisper-yell.
She clasps her hands behind her back and continues forward. “Right. Just a stroll,” she says.
“The promotion is going to mean so many more events like this,” I say. “Corporate hand-shaking. Black-tie dinners. International video calls. I’ll have to learn about tuxedos.”
Our accounting firm is among the oldest and most reputable in the Pacific Northwest, offering real security for me and my future. I got into the profession because of the pleasure I find in numbers and order, and the company is rewarding me by letting me take those skills to the next level, comprehensive systems-level management and major responsibilities.
If it comes with a side of office politics, I can rise to that challenge, too.
“There’s reason why I’m staying steady where I am,” Angie says. “It’s very comfortable leading a small tech department that most people never think about. It will be fun to see you in a tux, though.”
We stop, and I lean against the railing. The waves are inky dark beneath us, but studded with crystal reflections of the moon and stars. We’ve finally gone far enough that I can’t hear the party any longer, and I let out a deep sigh into the tranquility.
“You’ll be great at all the boss stuff,” Angie says and pats my arm. “Especially if you go easy on yourself and indulge in some of those upper-management privileges, like walks down the forbidden deck.”
I smile, the sounds of the ocean soothing. “Thanks, Angie.”
She nods. “I’ll leave you to it. When you’re done, you’ll find me in deep at the poker table.”
“I’ll be hovering around the penny slots if you need me. Best of luck.”
She brushes off her shoulder. “Don’t need it,” she says, and I chuckle.
Angie takes off down the deck, leaving me alone. I stroll slowly, my hand on the railing, and let the rhythmic magic of the ocean transport me.
A door swings open, and my heart jumps. Darryl Peterson, the CFO of our company and my new boss, huffs out onto the deck. Dressed in a dark gray suit, with thinning hair carefully combed and serious eyes peering out from behind his heavy glasses, he startles when he sees me.
“Hansley!”
He always manages an intimidating presence despite his fidgety gestures. The man runs the firm with rigid expectations, and he keeps only a small support staff close while watching the rest of us like a hawk in the distance.
“Mr. Peterson,” I say, swallowing back the anxiety that’s rising up my throat as I search my mind for an excuse.
Why am I on the forbidden deck?
He finally learned my name a few years ago, after many years devoted to the company. But I’m Darryl Peterson’s direct report going forward, and this is not the impression I hoped to make.
“I was, you see, just getting some air,” I sputter out.
“No one is supposed to be back here,” he says as he sets his eyes firmly on me. “Did you overhear my phone call? That was a very sensitive conversation.”
“No, not at all! I heard nothing. And I’m sorry,” I say, hating every second of this, but he continues to study me.
“You attend casino night every year. Is that right?” he asks carefully.
“That’s right.”
He nods brusquely. “It’s important. Events like this let everyone know that you’re part of our family.” He considers me again. “Remind me, how many years have you been with us?”
“Nine,” I answer.
“And you’ve been hardworking and dedicated the entire time,” he says, jaw set. He looks out over the water, and I get the clear impression that he’s no longer talking about me. “Loyalty. Practicality. Commitment. You wouldn’t think values like that would go out of style.”
Darryl Peterson seems to pull himself back together. With a quick turn of his head, he eyes me up and down.
“As you’ve been out wandering the decks,” he says, and his tone becomes clipped and professional again, “have you seen anyone else?”
