Home, changed, and ready to ride.
Just me and the bike. The sound of the chain and wheels rolling and the freedom of the road. If I hit all the traffic lights right, I might be able to get back from my twenty-mile ride before the sun sets. With three months to go until my 300 km cycling race in Athens, I can’t slack on my training if I want to place in my age group. All that stands between me and my evening is one final meeting.
With my water bottle in one hand and my notepad in the other, I head out of my office to the conference room. My timing is horrible, because Charlie Ross hops up from her desk at the same time. Her perky ponytail bobs along, all she needs is a yellow pencil in her hair and she’ll have the quirky librarian look down. The glasses, the hair. The pencil skirts that are professional yet still highlight her sculpted calves. She has her security badge on a lanyard round her neck, as if she is trying to rub it in my face that I left her stranded outside on Monday.
“Hey, Declan.” She makes eye contact, which means we’ll end up walking to this meeting together.
I give her a nod in response.
“So, you were just in Finland?” Charlie asks. Her tone is so peppy and upbeat, I wince as if I’ve been hit in the eyes with direct sunlight.
“Yes. And?” I answer, not sure where her line of questioning is going.
“Oh, I saw a headline that the peace treaty was negotiated there. I’ve gone years of my life not thinking about the country and then two times in one week: Finland!” She talks with her hands and it only accentuates her prattling.
“Hmm,” is all I can muster in response.She knows something. I don’t know what, but she does.
Charlie presses her lips together. I hope my short responses are enough to end her questions. I’m all for helping the new team member out, but her direct questioning, the timing of her arrival, are too uncanny for me.
We pass by accounting in silence, for which the number crunchers are likely grateful. This corner of the office is the quietest, even with half the race operations team out on site all year.
“So you’re the VP of strategic operations?” Charlie pries once more.
“Yep,” I respond, happy to see the conference-room door just ahead. I won’t have to deal with her inane babbling for much longer.
“What does that even mean?” she asks. “I mean, sorry, that came out rude. But we have race operations, so how is strategic operations distinct from that?”
I stop short a few paces before we reach the conference room. Charlie stops a half-step later and turns round. Her blue eyes gaze up at me behind those librarian glasses. She is searching for something. She could be trying to make small talk, get the lay of the land in the office, but my instincts are telling me that there is more to her sudden appearance and expedited hiring process. I answer her query: “Business development. Making contacts with decision-makers in each market.”
“That sounds fun,” she replies with a nod.
I brush past her and enter the conference room. There are two open seats left, thankfully on opposite sides of the room. My options are the chair next to the A/C vent or Celine from PR Celine is good at her job, but she can’t take a hint. I’m not interested in anything other than the necessary professional interactions with her. I elect to sit near the A/C.
The meeting is productive and efficient. Each department head gives a brief update, a few even cede their time so others can go over more pressing topics. Trey, who leads our corporate travel logistics, asks for an update on the visas for the executive team. Charlie provides her update succinctly. I have to hand it to her, she’s on top of things. That’s a good sign. But then, of course, Little Miss Questions pipes up.
“I have one name from the previous executive list that I can’t get a hold of. Is Xander Caruso still traveling with the same itinerary as Oliver?”
The room shifts. Everyone was quiet before, but now it sounds like they are all holding their breath. They are all frozen. And instead of looking to Charlie, who was just speaking, or Trey, who could easily have deleted X.C. from the list, I can sense that the whole room is focused on me. I look over and Ian Turner has shifted his gaze back to Charlie; his expression mirrors my own.
I flex my hands as if I have some imaginary stress ball in my palms. The motion helps, fractionally. “He’s no longer with us.”
We never recovered his body from the bottom of Osaka Bay. But Shauna still sent the obituary in a company-wide email. They brought in grief counselors for employees to talk to. I worked from home for a few weeks to avoid questions. I needn’t have bothered. The rumor mill turned out enough theories.
X.C. might have looked fit, but he had a heart condition. Went for a run before one of their meetings and dropped dead.
Well, I heard X.C. was wasted and drove his rental car into the water. It’s a miracle Declan made it out alive.
None of the rumors got close to the truth and that was just fine. Let people create their own story.
Charlie glances over to me and I can read the look on her face. The “oh, I’ve stepped in it” expression.
Next to her, Celine catches my attention. She rolls her eyes at Charlie’s expense. I may not like Charlie very much, and I certainly don’t trust her, but no one likes a bully either. I ignore Celine’s non-verbal commentary and resume my notes.
The meeting ends a few moments later. I stay back as everyone else filters out – everyone except Ian. “We need to talk to Oliver about his new assistant.” His terse words confirm that he shares my suspicions.
“Couldn’t agree more,” I say before we both march over to Oliver’s office. Charlie is sitting at her desk, already dutifully typing her meeting notes.
Ian walks right past without giving her a second glance. He starts right in before the door is closed. “Oliver, Charlie is asking alotof questions.”
