“Begonia—”
She swings back to me. “Happy employees are productive employees. Fight me.”
She’s so very ruffled and tired yet still sparking with an undeniable Begonia energy that I find I can’t stop an unexpected smile.
And honestly?
I can’t find fault with her logic.
Razzle Dazzle’s corporate offices do have room for improvement.
I saw the surveys myself last week. Most executive assistants are doing far more than calendar and coffee management.
“We can fight later, my love.” I rise and study the two women.
Neither of them drops their gazes from my face, neither of them smiles, and neither of them winks or makes pouty lips at me.
Dear god, I hate the pouty lips the worst. “Ladies. Pleasure to meet you both. I’m sure you’ll find me cranky and difficult and say horrible things about me behind my back, and I honestly don’t care, so long as my office runs smoothly.”
Begonia puts her fists on her hips and glares at me.
“I’m being honest, bluebell.”
“Names, Hayes. You haven’t even asked their names.”
My lips part, and an all-too-familiar sensation settles in my gut.
Unfortunately, this time I know I’ve earned it.
“Apologies, ladies. This is quite the awkward start, isn’t it?” I’ll have to fire them both and start this whole process over again. They undoubtedly think I’m easily pushed around, and I can’t do my job if I’m having my assistants issuing me the orders.
But I asked for Begonia’s involvement.
I should’ve known this is what I’d get.
She sighs. “Stop making that face. No one’s questioning your authority, and you don’t have to fire anyone. Technically, you haven’t even hired them yet, but I might break up with you if you don’t.” She nods to the white woman in a crisp blue suit. “Merriweather has six older brothers and can handle your attitude and won’t blink at strange requests, because she’s already seen them all.” And now she gestures to the Black woman who’s wearing nearly the same ensemble as Merriweather, but in ivory. “Winnie color-coded and reorganized your calendar faster than Therese could on the twenty-fourth time I made her race a candidate, and Therese does not like to lose, so she wasn’t just playing to get out of helping me. Be yourself, Hayes. That’s why I picked them. So you could be yourself.”
“That lets us be ourselves too, Mr. Rutherford,” Merriweather says.
“I quit my last job because my boss couldn’t handle me pointing out errors in his spreadsheets,” Winnie adds. “Begonia assures me your ego can handle it. If she’s wrong, Merriweather will have to handle you solo, and I like her. I don’t want to have to leave her and make her deal with you all on her own.”
“You’re competent with finding errors?” I ask. “Databases, spreadsheets, balance sheets?”
“The day artificial intelligence takes over and I can date a computer, my life will be complete. I live for logic.”
I tell myself the relief I feel is knowing that at least one of these two is machine-sexual and not at all attracted to me, but it’s probably more that Begonia has potentially found competence among the personalities that she interviewed.
Begonia beams. “Therese scheduled you all for a getting-to-know-you breakfast at eight tomorrow morning at that adorable brunch café behind City Hall so you can verify for yourself that I’m right and they’re perfect and make everything official. But it’s past my dinnertime, and past my dog’s dinnertime, and I get ugly when I’m hangry, and Marshmallow—well, you know what Marshmallow does even when he’s not overdue for dinner. Also, please ignore anything anyone tells you about an incident with an umbrella and a coffee mug, and yes, it’s worse than it sounds.”
Once again, I’m smiling at Begonia. “Ever seeing you angry in any manner would be quite the sight. Merriweather, Winnie, I look forward to working with you.”
“Good job. Now, take me home. I’m famished.” She turns, hugs both of the women as if we’re not in an office. I’d correct her, but it’s Begonia.
This is how she operates.
I saw her do the same thing nearly every time we left a restaurant in Sprightly and after our impromptu picnic on the beach.
Corporate life doesn’t match up with Begonia, and I wouldn’t want it to.
“Good luck tomorrow,” she calls to both women as they head for the doors, neither of them looking near as frazzled and tired as Begonia.