CHAPTER 2
Carson
They brought me in to cut costs and restructure the company. Well, whoever this Amelia Perkins is just handed me a gift.
She’ll be the first to go. She made it too easy. I can start with her and the rest will fall like dominos.
The rest of the office will be so terrified that they’ll be ten times as productive as before. This is going to be way too easy, the easiest restructuring project I’ve ever taken on.
I can just imagine it now, that poor little thing is walking as slowly as she can to delay the inevitable.
Come on. How can I feel any sympathy for this girl? What in the hell was she doing sending a message like that? A message the entire company just saw.
You don’t talk like that in an office environment, and you certainly don’t talk that way to me.
She’s going to learn her lesson as soon as she walks…through…that…do—…oh!
She shuts the door behind her and just stands there. She’s trembling. You can see the fear in her entire body from all the way across my office.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. I didn’t know where your office was.”
Her voice is cracking, and as much as I want to jump on her and make an example of her, for some reason I just can’t.
You’re here to do a job, Carson. You’ve done this a million times. It’s not difficult.
I can see by her simple attire and the way she holds herself that this isn’t the type of girl I expected. I thought I was going to see some slacker who’s wasting company time trying to make jokes, or even someone who wanted to get fired. A severance payment heading into summer, plus collecting those unemployment checks every two weeks while lying at the beach was her strategy, at least that’s what I had her pegged for…a rich girl, who just held a job to keep mommy and daddy happy.
I was wrong, and I don’t like being wrong.
This girl looks like she needs the money. She’s shy and introverted. I can clearly see it. But underneath that unpolished exterior is a diamond.
She looks like the kind of girl who is no-nonsense. She comes to work to get work done, not to compete in an imaginary beauty pageant.
Her knees are literally trembling. She’s got her hands clasped in front of her, and her meek body posture signifies she knows what’s coming, and she’s not looking forward to it one bit.
“Have a seat,” I say.
She turns to the side looking for the couch that doesn’t exist. Damn, what’s wrong with me? I’m asking her to sit in furniture that hasn’t been brought to my office yet.
She bends down in such a feminine way and places her hand on the floor.
No you don’t!
“Wait!” I say, darting up from my desk and moving to her side.
I offer her my hand, which she just looks at. I’m staring down into her eyes. They’re a beautiful shade of light brown. I’ve never seen eyes that color before, and I notice there seems to be little gold specs just outside her pupils.
She looks up at me, like a little mouse. Something inside me wants to protect her, but from what? I’m the lion that’s about to chew her up and spit her out. I can’t protect her from myself.
She reaches out her hand slowly, placing it in mine.
I feel her hand, every groove of her fingerprints as her fingertips rest in my palm. I pause for a moment, feeling the sensation move through me. I grasp her hand and help her from her position. She was about to sit on the floor. I feel like a fool.
“Please, allow me,” I say, moving towards my desk, before realizing I haven’t let go of her hand.
“Sorry,” I say, releasing my grip and immediately feeling the void of not having her hand in mine. I’m thrown off, and I don’t like it. I’ve never met a woman like this, but then again she’s not a woman. She’s a girl. She can’t be much more than a teenager. How in the world did she get a job here? Her own merit?
I grab the one sitting chair I do have in my office. I move it in front of my desk and offer her a seat. She sits down with the kind of manners that someone who’s received formal education in such things has, at least that’s my guess.
I move away from her chair and back around behind my desk. I look out the window and across L.A. It’s another perfect, sunny day, with a light coating of haze. I was planning on my arrival here at the company intensifying that haze, but now I’m not so sure. She’s come in just like the afternoon sun and cut through that morning marine layer. Cut through that haze that I’m expected to deliver relentlessly on this company until it’s profitable.
I turn and move two steps forward to my chair, where I sit. There’s a stack of cardboard boxes next to it. I grab the one that’s labeled “M - P.”
I sort through to the back until I get to the P’s. Perkins. There she is. I remove her file and drop it on my desk.
Surely she knows what I’m looking at, and surely she knows what I need. Just one reason to terminate her now, on the spot. Just one subpar performance review. Just one other slip up over the course of her time here. Just one reason.
But there are none. She’s a shining example of what an employee should be. She works overtime, but doesn’t put it on her time sheet. She works Saturdays every single time she’s been asked. Thirty-seven Saturdays last year alone. Unbelievable, she’s working Wall Street investment banker hours, but in L.A. as an accounts receivable clerk.
Not only is there no just cause for termination, but also there’s likely cause for promotion in here.
That’s not what you’re here to do Carson. Bring down the hatchet.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Miss Perkins,” I say, still looking down at her file. “What you did is unacceptable.”
“Yes, sir. I’m very, very sorry.”
I flip to the first page of her file and look at her birthdate. You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s the same day as mine, but sixteen years earlier. She’s twenty-one, just a baby. She doesn’t deserve this. It’s probably her first real job.
I know the kind. She started with an after school job as a kid, maybe babysitting. Then after high school she applied for this job.
My suspicions are confirmed. “It says here you’ve been with the company for three years. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
Her life is this job. I bet she relies on this paycheck. Why else would she work thirty-seven Saturdays out of fifty-two?
I know why. She’s hungry. I know the type perfectly…because I am one.
We’re cut from the same cloth. Started with nothing, but trying like hell to become something.
She keeps working like this she’ll either run herself into the ground, or she’ll be so damn successful she won’t know what to do with herself.
But she’s quiet, and shy. Yeah, she’s terrified about what she did, but I can see she’s an introvert by nature.
What’s she working so hard for? What’s her motivation?
I know the other types. Women in tight skirts, and even tighter white blouses…always one too many buttons unbuttoned. They’ll sleep or stab their way to the top. They’ll screw anyone to get ahead, physically or metaphorically. She’s not like them. There’s absolutely no way.
And I have to know why.
I need to know why.
“Miss Perkins, your behavior is way out of line.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You do know I should fire you on the spot.”
“Yes, sir. I hope you don’t, but if you do I understand.”
She’s not groveling. She’s stronger than she looks. She’s got more balls than most of the men I fire.
“Do you know why I’m here, Miss Perkins?”
“No, sir.”
“Restructuring. To eliminate all the subpar performers. The slackers. To cut and cut and cut to the bone until the company is at the peak of profitability.”
She nods her head.
“If you have time to mess around, then you have time for more work, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m expecting her to say it was a mistake, and to beg, but still she doesn’t. She’s owning up for her actions, mistake or not. Now that I’ve met her face-to-face I clearly see some mistake was made. Maybe someone even walked by her computer and typed the message when she wasn’t looking. I don’t know, but I don’t really care at this point.
My main concern is keeping my growing erection hidden behind this desk.
“Later this afternoon you’ll receive more responsibilities, since you’re obviously not busy enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
Damn! I didn’t do it. I couldn’t let her go. I have to know more. The first time in my entire career I didn’t ax someone when I had their head right there on the chopping block. She survived. The one and only.
“Don’t just sit there, Miss Perkins. Get back to work.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, as she rises from her chair. I can see she’s just as shocked at my words as I am.
She moves quickly to the door before I can change my mind. Smart girl.
I can make out her beautiful shape, even through her loose fitting clothes. She places her hand on the handle, and I lock my eyes on it. It’s the same hand that was in mine just a couple minutes ago. The one that made me feel like I’ve never felt before. The one that caused my pulse to quicken and all the blood to flow right to my groin. The reason I can’t even stand up right now to properly show her out.
“And Miss Perkins,” I say.
“Yes, sir,” she says turning around just before opening the door.
“I can help you with that problem of yours.”