Can't Touch This (2 page)

I bolt upright at the sight of my very pregnant boss standing where Griz was moments ago.

“Oh.  Hi, Aislin,” I say as my cheeks heat.

Aislin Honan.  Tall, beautiful red hair showing her Irish heritage, and thirty-eight.  She’s totally the woman I want to be someday.  Smart, successful, mature…and married.

I watch as she rubs her distended belly.  “Let’s go to a conference room.”

“Sure thing, Ais.”

Aislin’s my perfect mentor.  Although I studied communications in school, I’d been flying by the seat of my pants with the marketing assignments at my first company out of college.  Now I’m learning from Aislin and making sure the textbook knowledge I gained in school applies to real work situations.  Instinct’s one thing, but actually succeeding and helping the company’s bottom line grow is another.

Okay, maybe Griz is right.  I am too serious about everything.

I need a boyfriend.  Something else in my life besides work.  Something other than watching
The Food Network
when I get home, or playing Frontierville on Facebook into the wee hours.

I get no kicks from the online dating sites.  The guys are after one thing and one thing only.  What happened to getting to know someone or flirting or clicking?  It’s all about making the move, getting drunk, and falling into bed.  I didn’t even do that in college (not very well anyway), so why would I want to do it at twenty-five?

Besides, I have to be committed to my position here at The Compass.  I want to make a difference.  I don’t want to do anything to screw up my chances here.  Took me three interviews to get in the door here.  I want to do a good job, get recognized for it, learn, grow, and support myself.  (And keep the  company management complaints to myself.)

I follow Aislin into the Great Barrier Reef conference room.  All of our conference rooms are named after the Natural Wonders of the World.  Since no one wants to sign up for the Iguassu Falls or Bay of Fundy conference rooms because they can’t spell them, the HR department has devised a company-wide contest to rename the seven rooms, hoping for something more user-friendly.

My entry:  The Seven Dwarfs.  (To reflect the size of management.)

Once in the room, Aislin lowers her girth into the chair, which moans accepting her and her unborn child that looks overdue at this point.  “I have some news for you, Vanessa.”

My pulse accelerates and I silently send up a prayer that my job isn’t on the line.

I sit opposite Aislin and lace my fingers together on top of the table in the most professional manner possible.  My heart slams against my ribcage in a cocktail of anticipation, trepidation, and a bit of excitement when I see a smile break across her face.

She leans forward, her Irish green eyes bright like she knows a huge secret.  “I’d like to congratulate you on your promotion.”

I bite my lower lip to squash the desire to shout like I’m at a Patriots’ playoffs game.  I can’t help but beam at her.  “A promotion?”

“Yes.  You’ve been doing a great job since we hired you.  You’re dedicated, trustworthy, creative, and very responsible.”

It feels as if my skin is scorched from her amazing words.  No one’s ever complimented my work like this before.  Prior to joining The Compass, I worked thankless hours at one of the big boy financial institutes downtown answering phones, making coffee, and doing other people’s shit work that they didn’t want to do.  To get out of that mundane position, I reworked my resume detailing everything I did for the bubbly marketing chick—who had hair the color of whatever dye was on sale at CVS that week—and landed me the position here at DigitalDirection on Aislin’s team.  And now…a promotion!

“Since I’ll be taking maternity leave in a few weeks, Jiles and I decided to split my responsibilities evenly between you and Jack.”

Jack Daniels—not the guy who makes the whiskey—is my marketing teammate and resident webmaster.  Jack—short for Johannes—is half Norwegian, half American.  He spent most of his life in Norway, so he doesn’t
get
that his name is the same as the God of College Alcoholics.

Jack’s one of those hurly-burly, muscular Scandinavian speed skater types you see in the Olympics.  But I don’t flirt with him or have any interest in dating him.  Or any of the guys at The Compass, although it’s a virtual smorgasbord of hot men in business casual attire.

Company policy: 
No Dating
.

It’s in the employee handbook in black and white on page twenty-three.  Even the mere hint of flirting with a co-worker can land you a starring role in the office e-mail loops and coffee machine gossip.  I am focused on my career.  No time for a quicky in the copy room with a co-worker.

Aislin continues, “Jack will work on promotions, handle ads, and manage the web design.”  She passes a piece of paper along the tabletop.  “You’ll be in charge of tradeshows and events, as well as the marketing budget.  Nothing more than a few invoices and reporting to Jiles.”

I gulp hard and read the title on the job description.  “Marketing Events Manager.”  Me...a manager.

Aislin talks on about the bump in salary—
thank you!—
and the new responsibilities, but I barely hear her as I am still focused on the word
manager
.  Sure, I can get ahead in my student loan payments and maybe buy that awesome Kenneth Cole carrier bag I’ve had my eye on, but more importantly, I’ll get new business cards that I can send to my parents that read, “Vanessa Virtue.  Marketing Events Manager.”

Aislin clears her throat.  “Here’s everything you’ll need to know about the Atlantic City show.”

Taking the bright yellow folder labeled “CRM Strategic Conference,” I await further explanation.  I’m going to Atlantic City?

“You’ll need to ship the tradeshow booth to the Taj Mahal Casino and Hotel,” Aislin slides over a small silver key.  “Don’t lose that.  It unlocks the booth and is our only one.”  I take the tiny key as she continues.  “You’ll be staying at the Taj Mahal with Ted Spencer, since New Jersey is his territory.  He can teach you how to put the tradeshow booth together.”

“Excellent,” I say.  Wait a sec.  What do I know about building a booth?  Do I need nails and a hammer?  Should I not get a manicure beforehand?  What are we doing at a casino?  Will people be more interested in seeing software demos or gambling?

“So, just the two of us—Ted and me?”  Ted is a bit of a corporate dork who wears attitude glasses and sports a closely-cropped goatee.  I don’t know how much fun a trip with him will be.  Wait a minute...it’s not about fun.  It’s about work.  Must be a professional at all times no matter how much I want to celebrate right now.

“Well, I shouldn’t say anything until the company meeting, but there might be a new person coming with you.  More on that later.  In the meantime, send Ted an e-mail.  He’ll need to give you a crash course in demoing the software.”

I thumb through the paperwork.  “What’s the gist of this show?”

“It’s all about CRM—customer relationship management, you know.  And since our software provides such a huge client services function, we need to make sure we show up our competition.”

“You mean SalesTracker?”  I’ll admit I don’t know much about how our software works, but I do know who our competition is.  Or SalesWankers as our British transplant sales person, Penelope Dunsbury coined them when she first started working here.  They’ve been around a few years more than DigitalDirection and they’re rumored to have just received a huge influx of venture capital and have vowed to put the rest of us out of business.  True wankers.

“Exactly,” Aislin stands and pushes her chair under the table.  “I know you’re going to do a great job, Vanessa.”

“Thanks for believing in me.”  I crush the desire to scream for joy.  Not professional.  Or dance.  Not the place.  Or at least call Griz and give her the news.  More doable.

And how cool is this?  I’ll be able to travel and meet new people and...

Oh God...

Travel.  I gulp hard at the sudden lump of anxiety in my throat.

That means airplanes.

Security checks.  Take offs.  Landings.

The folder in my hand begins to shake.  I think my blood pressure just went into the danger zone.  Someone hand me a Zocor...no wait, that’s for high cholesterol.  I can’t think.

Mentally, I shake it off, realizing I don’t need to dwell on my insecurity at this moment.  Not when all of this good news is still soaking in.  I’ll deal with it.  I always have.

As we leave to return to our cubes, Aislin says, “One more thing.  I’ve requested a company credit card for your travel-related expenses.  You’re going to be on the road quite a bit.”

Nothing’s better than traveling on the company’s dime.  I tamp down the apprehension of facing my biggest fear, forcing it to the pit of my stomach.  This will be an adventure.  More work experience to add to my resume.

The door to Jiles’ office opens and I see the back of the mystery man Griz was talking about.  If the front looks anything as nice as the back...
well…wow…

The rest of him better not be good looking.

It doesn’t matter.  Company policy...no fraternization or cavorting.

And I’m not going to let anything—not even a cute ass—get in the way of my success.

J
iles Chancey stands
on a raised platform at the front of the Paricutan Volcano room and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention, spreading them wide like he’s the Messiah about to feed loaves and fishes to all of us.

Jack, who’s sitting next to me, must’ve picked up on my thought because he leans over and says, “Jiles acts like he walks on water.”

“I dread dealing with him directly.”  With Aislin about to take maternity leave, I’m not looking forward to working with Jiles.

“Who does he think he is?” Jack mutters as the room quiets down.  “Little Baby Jesus?  His initials
are
J.C.  What kind of coincidence is that?”

I stifle a laugh by clearing my throat.  I also elbow Jack.  He’s my touchstone here at work and totally knows how to cut to the chase about the bullshit in the office.  He and I do our jobs and do them right, but we always find time to make each other laugh about the corporate crap that swirls around on a day-to-day basis.

“That’s it...that’s going to be our code word for him,” Jack says quietly.  “Little Baby Jesus.”

I muffle my choked laugh.  “I can’t.  It’s sacrilegious, Jack.”  Not like that’ll stop us at this point.  The name totally fits.

“Okay, we’ll just refer to him as ‘LBJ’ like the former president.  But you’ll know what it really means.”

“Stop it,” I hiss.

Aislin looks over at us and places her index finger to her lips.  Up ahead, I see the backs of three men that I don’t recognize sitting in the front row.  Is one of them the “babe” Griz was referring to?  Not like it matters, but a girl can look.

Jiles clears his throat; a phlegm-filled noise that makes my back arch.  He’s wearing a puke green button-down and navy blue pants.  His blond hair is mussed from running his fingers through it and his skin matches his shirt.

Aislin said Jiles was catching a lot of crap from the clients over their level of customer satisfaction.  Seeing how we’ve lost some clients to SalesWanker, Jiles apparently has been staying at the office until eleven-ish most nights.  I won’t cry for Argentina, though, because the guy makes a small fortune and it
is
his responsibility to manage this company.  He’s anything but a traditional manager.  I mean, he might play at all the corporate games, but the only thing that matters to him is that bonus at the end of the year.  His professionalism...well...it lacks.

“People, let’s get started,” Jiles shouts out.  “We’ve got a lot to do here, so let’s rock and roll.”

The mumbling around the room subsides.

“It’s time to get down to brass balls,” Jiles says.  “Our chief competitor has been beating us on some very important sales, all because of the industry buzz on Twitter and Facebook about their new software version.  But it’s vaporware.  Not like our new improvements.  We’ve got to watch that they don’t get the jump in the market over us.”

I shift in my seat as I scribble notes with the keywords Jiles mentions, thinking that Jack needs to start massaging our social media outlets a bit more to get our own industry buzz up on the trending topics list.

LBJ continues, “The Board of Directors has given me the authority to run this company any way I see fit.  Think of me as the corporate gynecologist.  I’m going to spread the company’s legs, punch ‘em into the stirrups, glove up our fingers and then delve on in and see what’s going on up there.  Then, if there are any infections, we’ll treat them.  Warts and all.”

My mouth drops open.  So does pretty much everyone else’s.  Every woman in the room cringes over his revolting analogy.  Some of the men seem uncomfortable as well.

“Our sales forecast is lower than projected.  We’re hurting, people.  We’ve got to cut expenditures to get some results-driven actions around here,” Jiles says, pacing as he talks out of the side of his mouth.  “We
can
and
will
do better.”

I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering how this will affect my new position.

Jiles stands behind the podium, hushing people as they murmur over his announcement.  Yeah, Little Baby Jesus fits him just fine.  He loves the power and control he has over a room of a hundred and twenty people.  I hope my new responsibilities don’t put me on the Jiles radar as being something that’s not good for the bottom line.  He blathers on about win-win situations, but I’m more curious about the Three Wise Men with him at the front of the room.

“As of this morning,” Jiles says, “we’ve let a few people go.  Head of development, two top programmers and our VP of Client Services.  They didn’t know what they were doing, so they’re gone.”

There’s more mumbling as this information soaks in.  Those were top people he just named.  I hold onto my chair in the event that he wants to throw out the marketing manager with the company bath water.  But Jiles has bigger fish to fry than me.