And every other officer up here sat in the same kind of luxury. For a company that was swimming in red ink just a couple years ago, I’d think we would be better stewards of the company’s resources. I couldn’t understand how Houghton had made such a fast turnaround.
With this office, I’d traded my pedestrian view of Peachtree Street in the Legal Department for the tranquil vista of Piedmont Park. I could even see the playground area. I relished this sprawling view, although today the freezing temperatures and the metal-gray sky made the park a deserted island. On warmer days, the playground would be teeming with squealing kids. I’d convinced myself that I didn’t want kids. Or maybe the choices I made convinced me that I didn’t. Either way, I usually found myself staring at them with a quizzical eye, wondering what it would be like to have someone else to think about before myself, to make sacrifices for someone totally and completely dependent on me.
I rubbed the back of my neck and released a deep breath. Michael was murdered right here in this office. My first thought had been like Grace’s—maybe his wife, Anna, did it. Maybe she’d found out about us. It might explain why she looked at me so weirdly at Michael’s funeral. But why would she come into the office to stage his suicide? Maybe she was smarter than I gave her credit for. If she knew about us and she hired someone to do it, then perhaps I was supposed to be in the office too. Maybe . . . The thought made me shudder.
“Hey there!” Anita said, rolling into my office with a fistful of papers. She wore a pair of black slacks and a neon pink blouse that fit so snug it left the buttons in a precarious dance with the buttonholes to keep everything under wraps. “Here’s the Executive Committee agenda and the backup you need for the meeting. Also, bad news on Michael’s emails. I’ve spent the past couple of days on the phone with IT getting the runaround about getting you access to Michael’s email account.”
“What do you mean?”
“IT said they deleted all his emails. They said it was company policy whenever somebody left the company.”
“That’s either a bald-faced lie or we’ve got a huge e-discovery problem if we’re automatically deleting emails. I’ll check with Jonathan. IT rolls up to him.”
“I would have checked with Michael’s assistant, but she quit. She said she’s not working in any office where people get murdered.”
“That’s probably not a bad policy to follow.”
Anita snickered. She set the documents on my desk, cupping the edges in a tight little stack. “By the way, I set up the meeting you wanted with Queen Willow to talk about minority hiring like you asked. You’re all set for this Friday.”
“Queen Willow?” I slid the documents across the desk and giggled. Anita’s sense of humor was refreshing in an office where everyone took themselves so seriously.
“HR is a different world down there now that Joe Barton was kicked out and Queen Willow took over.”
I grinned. “You’re not following the corporate messaging—Willow Sommerville was promoted to replace Joe Barton after his retirement.”
“Corporate messaging, my foot! She’s a stuck-up little lightweight if you ask me.”
My interest was officially piqued. “Why do you say that?”
“One day, Joe was here. The next day, he’s out. And all because Willow cuddles up to Jonathan.”
“So you think Willow got promoted because she was having an affair with Jonathan?”
“Duh.”
“You’re funny.” I swiveled my chair and stared out the window. I locked in on a runner down in the park, just as he approached the playground. Long and lean. His stride confident and even.
Anita kept talking. “By the way, Operations wants to set up a meeting out at the Conyers Operations Center to go over some shipping orders. And Mallory wants to know if she could get about thirty minutes on your calendar to talk about managing her team. It seems George’s flatulence problem has reared its ugly head again and the folks in the nearby cubicles are convinced he’s doing it on purpose. And a few of the attorneys are complaining about the memo you sent out this morning with the new deadlines for budget submissions. You know, you’re the new boss so everybody wants to push ya buttons.”
I sighed, still staring out the window. “A forty-five-minute drive out to Conyers each way?” I shook my head no. “Have Rudy go to the meeting with Operations,” I said flatly to Anita over my shoulder. “And it’s a no to Mallory. I don’t have time to deal with George’s particular brand of nonsense. She’ll have to figure it out. As for the attorney complaints, I don’t give a damn, but you don’t have to share that with them.”