A Billion Little Clues (2 page)

As I watched, a new email from him arrived at the top of this huge stack right then. A little hesitantly, I moved my mouse up and opened it.

The first paragraph was all in uppercase. The man had probably broken his shift key again from slamming his fist down on the keyboard. I decided to skip that part of the email. It looked like mostly curse words anyway.

The next paragraph looked more interesting. As I read it, my eyes widened. The CEO of Panther Worldwide, the head man who ran the entire company, was throwing a dinner party tonight! Paul explained how he would be attending, and how he didn't want any screw-ups at all in the next work day so that there wouldn't be any bad press going around about the Marketing division. This was his chance to impress on the CEO how good of a job they were doing, and how Paul totally deserved his most recent raise.

I leaned back from the computer, thinking about this. Roman Wayland, the CEO himself! I had never met the man, of course - none of us had - but we all knew about him. He had been brought in by Panther Worldwide a little over half a decade ago, when the company was old and struggling to even stay afloat.

In under three years, Roman Wayland had turned the entire company around, completely rebranding it and sending the profits soaring. He axed old brands that were no longer profitable, ordered a huge marketing campaign for the top products, and kept Panther Worldwide splashed across the headlines every week for months.

Roman's methods were extreme, but he had accomplished all he wanted and more. When I had first heard of Panther Worldwide, it was just another crappy company that was on its way out. Now, I inspired oohs and aahs every time I announced where I worked. It was quite exhilarating.

And now Roman Wayland, the man himself, was going to be throwing a party!

I wished that I could find a way to get into that party. Unfortunately, they probably already had someone in place to serve the coffee and pastries. And I wasn't exactly the head of a division. I wouldn't have anything to offer as advice to someone like Roman.

After giving myself a few more minutes to fantasize about somehow becoming a top Panther executive by the end of the work day, I returned my attention back to the email. It had been sent out to the entire office, so it was mostly just general comments about making sure that everything stayed shipshape until after the meeting was over and threats about what would happen if one of us messed this up for Keith.

I sighed and deleted the email. I didn't think that I even had enough influence to mess something up. The worst that I could manage was to spill coffee on someone's lap.

So instead, I busied myself scrolling through the rest of the emails, trying to clear out as many as possible before the inevitable loss of interest. I even responded to a few of them, mainly reassuring their senders that I was totally focusing my attention on their projects (false), that their work was nearly complete (also false), and that I totally had everything well in hand and it would all be done by their incredibly unreasonable deadlines (completely, totally false). Even though most of these responses were little massagings of the truth, I felt good about saying them. It meant less stress for everyone, right?

About three hours later, just as I was feeling totally pooped and like I needed to take a break, I heard my phone buzz inside the depths of my purse. I reached in, feeling around past the broken heel of my shoe, and pulled out my phone.

Rachel was texting me. Apparently, she had just woken up, and had given the guy she had met last night one more ride before sending him off and on her way. "Currently on the couch totally naked," she sent me. "That food show with the one guy is on!"

I didn't know which show she was trying to indicate. "Well, I'm stuck at work," I sent back enviously. "Heel broke. Not a good day."

"Aww. Hugs," came back the rapid-fire response. "It will be better! Keep your head up! Smile! Look for opportunity!"

I nodded as I tucked my phone away. I should smile! I was a proud, independent businesswoman, earning her way up the corporate ladder at a high-profile company. I should be celebrating the work I had to do, how much of an impact I made on so many people's lives-

"Hey! Melinda! We're out of coffee!"

My smile vanished. "Coming, coming," I called back as I hobbled up out of my chair. Duty called.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

It was five minutes until five-o'clock PM, and I was totally exhausted.

Seriously. I might be the one who helps keep the rest of the department caffeinated and full of liquid energy, but my personal reserves were running low. No, scratch that - they were totally empty. Barely a drop left. If I wasn't careful, I would probably pass out at my desk and do a face plant forward into my full "In" box.

Aside from my broken heel in the morning, the rest of my day hadn't gone too badly. Of course, it hadn't gone amazingly either, but I was determined to stay on the bright side of things. Keep your head up! I told myself. And in that respect, things were going well!

Sure, I still had an inbox totally full of angry emails from Keith, mainly over things he hadn't received, or full of complaints about things he had received that he didn't like as much as he felt that he should. But at least he hadn't been over to yell at me in person! That was a plus. I really hated when he made an effort to walk over and yell at me in person.

I glanced up at Keith's office. Given how bushed I was, I probably ought to just leave to go home right now, I told myself. If I stay later, I'm just going to end up making more errors because of my cloudy mental state, and that will cost the company even more time to fix them! If the company wants me to stay late and continue to perform at my usual high standard, they really ought to install a nap room around here somewhere.

Keith's office, however, wasn't open. The door, usually propped open so he could angrily yell out at the employees, was closed. And when I raised my eyes up to the glass windows above the door, I could see that the fluorescent lights inside were turned off.

Was my boss playing hooky? If so, he wasn't doing a good job, considering how many emails he'd sent me and how fast he replied with fresh criticisms to any of my responses.

Keith also wasn't a big believer in working from home. I'd sat through the meetings where he insisted, usually at the top of his lungs, that anyone working from home was working with one arm tied behind their back. "Working from home just means you'll be distracted by everything at home," he had thundered down the meeting table at us, one hand clenched in a fist for emphasis. Or perhaps he was going to punch out the first person who tried to protest against him. I was never quite sure.

Given all of that, it would be pretty hypocritical of him to work from home himself, wouldn't it?

I considered asking him whether he was working from home over an email. What's the worst he could do? He could yell at me in an email reply, of course, but I could just delete that. I wouldn't even have to read it all.

I still didn't want to risk getting yelled at.

A minute later, however, my tired brain had another brilliant solution. Ask for his signature! "Hey Keith," I typed into a new email. "I've got a file here that needs your approval. Could you swing by my desk and give me a quick signature? Thanks a million, Melinda."

Perfect! Professional and straight to the point. No way he could yell at me for this. I clicked the "send" button.

Less than a minute later, I had a response. I opened it up.

"At home. Under the weather. Trying to recover for the CEO party tonight. Why didn't you check my office??? Show more initiative. Panther is aggressive so be that way as an employee. Keith."

Three question marks? That was a little cruel, I felt. I really didn't deserve that.

Nonetheless, my question had been answered. Keith was at home, probably angrily sitting on the couch in his luxury apartment and angrily sipping on some orange juice that he had angrily purchased from the corner store. I couldn't see Keith doing anything unless it was in an angry way.

Quickly, my brain dispensed with that silly mental image. Instead, I realized something much more important - this meant that Keith wouldn't be around to notice if I happened to leave a few minutes early! And really, it was almost five. I deserved to go home after all the hard work I'd been doing.

Of course, one of the other employees could always rat me out, but I trusted that they wouldn't do that. After all, weren't we all in this together? Brothers in arms against the common enemy and all of that. Besides, I was sure that I had just as much dirt on them stored away. I still remembered how Jake had once kicked the copier and broken the container that held all the toner and it had spilled all over the floor. Or Cecilia had once put salt in Keith's coffee after he told her that she looked fat in that paisley dress. He was right, I had to admit, but she still shouldn't have been so petty.

I gathered up my things, even grabbing a couple more folders out of my inbox for good measure. I'd walk out with them, and if anyone tried to stop me, I'd just point to the folders and keep walking. They'd assume that I was doing something very important with the folders and that I couldn't possibly be interrupted, and should even be commended for working so hard right up to the end of the day.

The plan was foolproof.

And sure enough, it all seemed to work. I stood up, only wobbling slightly on my newly repaired heels (one of the janitors, either out of sympathy or pity, had given me some super-strong glue in a tiny little bottle that had done a pretty good job of sticking the two pieces back together). The janitor had warned me that the glue wouldn't be totally dry for at least a day, but I figured that they were just exaggerating to be safe. It had been together for more than six hours! If we didn't have glue that stuck things together after six hours, we should be ashamed of ourselves.

My computer turned off for the evening, my purse over one shoulder, and the all-important files tucked under one arm, I strode over to the elevator. I imagined the eyes of all the other marketing workers on me, but no one spoke up. The folders were doing their job. I pushed the button to call the lift and waited, trying not to bounce up and down too much on the glued heel.

I was in the elevator, down to the ground floor, out of the elevator, and nearly past the security gates when I felt it. My phone, somewhere in the depths of my purse, was vibrating. Dammit.

I was standing right near the desk of the front receptionist. I sidled over and set the file folders down on her desk, giving her a look that hopefully communicated how I was sorry about this but important business matters, you know what I mean? I set my purse down on top of the folders and dug through the contents, searching for that vibrating phone.

Eventually, my fingers managed to find it at the bottom, underneath a pair of old sunglasses that I had been convinced I'd misplaced weeks ago. So this was where they were hiding! I pulled them aside, stuck them up on my forehead, and then picked up my phone.

The caller ID on the phone's screen made my heart sink down into the pit of my stomach. "Keith WORK", the screen read. I hit the answer button and held the speaker up to my ear with a note of hesitation, trying to think of a good excuse.

One of the other employees must have ratted me out! I didn't know who it was, but I would make sure that they regretted it. Next time I brought in pastries, they'd totally be getting oatmeal raisin! No chocolate frosting or buttercream filling for them! Whoever it was, they would rue the day they decided to tattle on Melinda Gaines!

"Hello?" I said into the phone, doing my best to keep my tone neutral. I was pretty successful - it only wavered a tiny little bit. Keith probably didn't even hear it.

"Melinda." Keith's voice sounded even more deep and gravelly than usual. I remembered how he had said he was fighting some sort of illness. The battle must be raging in his vocal chords.

"Listen, I have some very important files that need to be, er, delivered," I cut in before the yelling could begin. "It might have looked like I was leaving early, but I needed my purse with me, um, because it has my security access key in it, and I wanted to be prepared in case any executives wanted to question me about security." I felt proud of myself. An excellent cover.

"Whatever." Keith's rasping voice didn't sound interested. "Just get it done later. Right now, I have a different favor to ask of you."

A favor? This could be my chance to prove myself! I thought about positivity, convincing myself that things were going to get better. This was it coming true! Positive psychology at work! "Whatever you need, boss man!" I replied, my voice brimming with excitement.

"Don't call me that. Look, I don't think that I'm going to be getting over this flu, or whatever I've got, by the time of the party tonight." Keith was angry as usual, but for once, it wasn't directed at me. "Stupid medicine companies. I ought to sue them for false advertising. Anyway, I'd normally send Jake, or Cecilia, or anyone else, but they all have plans for tonight already and aren't available."