Pink Slips and Glass Slippers (21 page)

“You didn’t have to fire Brooke Hart. With her talents, and the way the media loves us, I could use her in our PR department.”

“PR? They’re the next to go. If it weren’t for Joanne’s New York PR firm, our stock would still be stuck in the mud. Besides, Brooke’s not right for Pharmical.”

“What do you mean?” Chase raised his eyebrow.

“She’s the only VP we have without at least an MBA and she went to a
state school
.”

“Why does everybody have to go to Duke around here?”

“Coming from Mister Blue Devil himself,” Henry coughed into his clenched fist, then continued, “Besides, she’s a lightweight…apparently Greenberg had to call security to remove her from the building.”

“Greenberg’s afraid of his own shadow. He calls security if someone sneezes near him.”

“I don’t understand your fascination with that girl, but take my advice—stop thinking with your dick and see the big picture.” Henry’s eyes cast a ghostly glow.

Chase gulped and flared his nostrils. His head throbbed. Henry’s comment struck like a sucker punch. Chase opened his mouth, then suppressed his return strike, but the question burned inside—did Brooke say something to Greenberg?

The intercom buzzed, “Excuse me, Mr. Stoddard.”

“What is it, Lucy?”

“A Mr. Little from Money Magazine is holding for you on line one.”

Chase seized his cue before Henry even spoke, pacing toward the door. He had wanted an excuse to leave—without speaking his mind. He paused at the entrance, and glimpsed back.

“Oh, tell him I’ll be right with him.” Henry lifted his eyebrows, then lowered them as he pressed line one—without Lucy’s help.

“Mr. Allman?”

“Oh, hi again Lucy. Please call me Chase.”

“I have your coffee, Chase. Would you still like it?”

“Thanks, coffee sounds great right about now.”

He strode back to Lucy’s cubicle; Henry’s voice resembled a snake-oil salesman in the background, and reached for the oversized Styrofoam cup. “Thanks again. You’re the best.”

The coffee was lukewarm, but when Chase reached the elevator, he peeled off the lid and gulped. Before hitting the ground floor, he had drained the entire coffee. Chase tossed the empty cup into the trash receptacle, then nodded as he passed the security stand.

Once outside, the wind whipped his hair back, and flung his tie up and over his shoulder. Reaching for his tie, his briefcase spun in his hand. He paused and clasped his tie down, then buttoned his suit coat, before trudging ahead. Though it smelled like rain, the air was dry. The walk back seemed to take forever as thoughts swirled faster than the gusting wind.

Inside his building, Chase felt a wave of angst. He considered jumping into his BMW and heading to Starbucks, but he needed to speak with David Greenberg. He combed his fingers through his gnarly hair, but only managed to make himself appear more disheveled. People he passed didn’t recognize him.

He pressed the elevator button for twenty—Greenberg’s floor, one below his own. He scraped one more hand comb—to no avail. Stepping off the elevator, his stomach churned. He wondered what Greenberg knew and wondered how he could get him to talk. Greenberg had worked for Chase for the past seven years, yet Chase had never been able to connect with him. He found Greenberg cagey and never felt he could trust him. Now elevated to SVP in charge of Legal, Human Resources, Customer Service, and Public Relations, David Greenberg held the same position as Chase, right before being named CEO. Paranoia flooded Chase—
did Greenberg want my job
? Brooke Hart could furnish Greenberg the keys to the corner office with just one comment.

Chase noticed Greenberg’s door was shut, but his light was on. He inhaled, then plodded over to Janet, Greenberg’s secretary. Glimpsing up from her keyboard, she looked as mousy as her boss. Chase considered office osmosis—like dogs that resembled their owners. “Hello, Mr. Allman, is you here to see Mr. Greenberg?”

“Hi Janet, please call me Chase.” Chase wondered if Greenberg let Janet call him by his first name.

“He’s on the phone. Would you like me to tell him you’re here?”

“No, that’s okay.” Chase maneuvered so Greenberg could spot him through his glass partition. David raised one finger in the air, and then stood with phone pressed against his ear. Chase said, “I think he saw me.”

“You look like you got some color. Have you been out in the sun?”

“Yeah, I took a little family time this past weekend.”

“Well, you picked a good time to get away. It was crazy here yesterday.”

The door swung open, causing the partially open metal blinds to clank. “Are you here to see me?”

“Hi David, you gotta minute?”

“Sure,” he stepped back, bumping his foot against the door, and then stumbled toward his desk. Greenberg plunged into his seat and grabbed some loose papers. With trembling hands, he tried to straighten them against the desktop like an overstuffed deck of cards. After three failed attempts, he flung them on top of another stack. Chase guessed it was Greenberg’s version of an inbox.

Greenberg noticed Chase’s eyes, and then glanced away, saying, “You wanted to see me?”

“David, I read your email to Henry and I just wanted to talk to you in person about a couple of things.”

“Okay.”

“I just left Henry’s office and he said some things about Brooke Hart that seemed unsettling.”

“How…how so?”

“I don’t think she got a fair shake.”

“Did she call you and complain?”

Chase rubbed his chin, then said, “I spoke with her, yes.”

Greenberg crossed his arms. “Mr. Allman, sir, I asked her not to call you. I did. You can even ask Stuart.”

“Relax, David—and call me Chase.”

Greenberg gulped then flared his eyes, and paused. He looked like he was about to pee his pants. “What…what did she say? Did she complain about her package?”

“I haven’t even seen what we offered her.”

Greenberg reached down and pulled a file drawer out. He lunged forward, then began leafing through with both hands while twitching his wire rim glasses on his nose. Chase checked his watch. Greenberg set a file on his desk, opened it and with shaking fingers, handed Chase the top page.

Chase scanned the document, frowning three times in ten seconds. He glared at Greenberg, and said, “This is a disgrace. No wonder Brooke’s so upset.”

“Oh, I could tell she was upset. I had to call security after I, uh, after
we
terminated her. She didn’t say anything to me about the severance though. I thought I saved the company a bunch of money.”

“We can’t just throw people under the bus and hope they’ll go away. We need to do the right thing. She was a vice president after all.”

“Well, I don’t have the budget for anything more.”

“To hell with the budget. This was done so fast, I don’t think anybody thought this through.” Though Chase was directing the criticism at Henry and his Butcher board, David’s lips turned pale.

“I was only doing what I was told, Mr. Allman.”

“Call me Chase. Don’t worry about the stupid budget. Besides, I sign your budget. Just take it out of T and E.”

“I’m over on T and E, sir.”

“Stop arguing with me. We can’t treat people like this. If I have to take it out of my own paycheck, I will. Find a way and I’ll sign it!”

“Tell me what you want to offer her.”

Chase’s cheeks and ears were flush. He flipped over the paper and scribbled, filling the page within thirty seconds. Tossing the paper at Greenberg, he said, “Have this drafted and email it to me today. I’ll handle it with Brooke.”

Chapter 14

“Shane, I feel like such a loser. I can’t believe I got fired and then pulled outta there by frickin’ security.”

“Brooke, I know you’re upset—and you have every right to be—but let’s focus on the bright side.”

“Okay, mister bright side, shine some light on this one.”

“Up until the last few days, you were miserable at Pharmical. With the severance, you can take your time and look for a job you really want to do.”

“Severance? I wouldn’t call it that—it’s more like rape.”

“What did they offer you?”

“Two weeks salary and outplacement.”

“Tell me you’re joking?”

“I’m serious as a heart attack. They gave me two frickin’ weeks.”

“You didn’t sign anything I hope?”

“They didn’t afford me the chance. Plus, it’s tough to write with your arms restrained behind your back by some flunky mall cop.”

Shane grinned, imagining tiny Brooke making Pharmical’s security officer sweat.

“This just doesn’t add up. There has to be more to the story.”

Brooke had been restless the night before and even a brisk run didn’t clear her mind. Her head pulsed from caffeine withdrawal, but she’d never go to Starbucks again—the thought of drinking the same liquid as Chase Allman repulsed her. Beyond her resentment, she felt a guilt that she couldn’t shake—or explain. She’d hidden her transgression from everyone except Melissa, yet, somehow she felt compelled to open up to Shane. She always felt comfortable with him and respected his wisdom.

Brooke drew a deep breath, “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell a soul?”

“Of course, you don’t even have to ask.”

“Will you promise not to think poorly of me?”

“I’m your life coach. You need to share everything with me.”

“I do, but this is different.”

“Whatever’s bothering you, we can talk about it later, if you’d like…”

Brooke inhaled deeply, then said, “I slept with the CEO, then he shitcanned me.”

“What?” Shane’s voice hit two octaves.

“I said I had sex with the CEO, then I got fired.”

“That’s textbook sexual harassment. They can’t do that. Tell me what happened—everything.”

“It’s not like it sounds. It just happened.”

“Were you two at the office?”

“No, long story, but he was staying at the same hotel where Melissa was married. I think he had some charity event.”

“Go on.”

“We met in the elevator—just by chance.”

“Was he following you?”

Brooke giggled, “More like the other way around. He was already in the elevator, leaving his event, I was trying to just go to bed and poof, there he was. I actually fell into him on the elevator again. Our rooms were on the same floor.”

“Did you say
again
?”

“Longer story—not important.”

“Did he coerce you into his room against your will?”

“No, not like that.”

“What happened?”

“My key didn’t work and he offered to call down…the champagne and shots at the wedding…everything’s kind of a blur…”

“Did he kiss you?”

“More like the other way around. I mauled him. I’ve never been so attracted before in my life…I just…Lost my mind…I couldn’t control myself.”

“And, you slept with him?”

“Yes. I realize I made a huge mistake.”

“Stop it right there. First of all, what happened, happened. You can’t do anything to change it. Second, you’re not alone—forty percent of employees have dated a coworker.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It should. And that statistic is for workplace dating. In your case, yours was offsite and off hours. Plus, alcohol was involved and that lowers your IQ at least thirty points. I’m sure he’s attractive too.”

“Not any more. After my robotic boss canned me, Chase had the audacity to call me the next day and rub it in my face.”

“How so?”

“He told me he wanted to meet and hand over my pink slip.”

“What?” Two and a half octaves this time.

“He told me he wanted to give me the pink slip himself.”

“The day after they let you go?”

“Yep.”

“That’s harassment too. That guy’s begging for a lawsuit. Have you told your father any of this?”

“Oh, God no. He’s the last person I’d tell. Look, I’m not interested in suing them. I know what happens in that type of case—the victim gets trashed and leaves with a
Scarlet Letter
tattooed across her forehead. I’m not a victim, believe it or not. I’m a big girl who slept with a guy who turned out to be a Class A Creep—but not a criminal.”

***

“You really fucked me up!”

“Who is this?”

“Who do ya think this is? For a friggin’ CEO, you’re not too bright, pullin’ a stunt like this.”

“Max?”

“Yeah, it’s Max, hotshot. I’m not the friggin’ tooth fairy—and I’m not your PI no more. I’m done.”

“What are you talking about?” Chase rubbed his temples.

“Your little girl’s flown the coop, thanks to you sending in the friggin’ cavalry. You still owe me for my wasted time.”

“Max, speak English.”

“I’ll spell it out for you. You used the address I gave you—without me knowing, and without my friggin’ blessing—and sent in three bozos from Minneapolis PD. Your girl Heather took off with her little boy toy.”

Chase pulled on the hair above his ears. “Shit.”

“You wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinkin’?”

“My lawyer has been trying to serve Heather divorce papers for months. All they had to do was hand deliver an envelope. It’s my fault—I said to make sure they sent enough manpower—I didn’t want to take any chances…I didn’t think she’d escape from three cops.”

“Well, she did, dumbass. If I was there, I’d kick your ass. She’s not hangin’ out with nice people. They spot those cop clowns a mile away. My guy was babysittin’ the front and could see the side door. When Barney Fife and his two side humps started waving badges, calling for Heather Ann Allman, she spooked and musta got out some other way. Now, she’s gone—and so is he.”

“I…I don’t know what to say…”

“Well, my guy’s pissed and wants his money—and then some. You’re lucky I’m level headed or you’d be missin’ too. You owe me big time.”

Chase gulped, “I told you I’m sorry. Of course I’ll pay you. Can your guys find them? It should be easier to spot two of them.”

“Nope, guess again. My guy’s out. I don’t even wanna tell you what he called me—be thankful I don’t have a big mouth like you and your friggin’ lawyer. If you expect me to make more calls, you gotta come up with double.”

Chase bolted upright, eyes wide, “Done. I’ll wire the money into your account right after we hang up. Do you know anything about this guy she’s running around with?”

“Of course. I thought you’d never ask. Name’s Douglas John, goes by ‘Rusty.’ He tells people his uncle’s Tommy John—the big league pitcher. Rusty’s no big leaguer, lemme tell ya. This guy’s a loser with a capital ‘L.’ He’s a minor league washout who’s been boozin’ and snortin’ away his whole crummy life. He’s forty, 6’2”, about 230, been convicted of small time stuff, did a little time. Basically, he’s a pretty boy punk. Your girl picked a real winner.”

Chase’s pen ran out of ink. He leafed through his desk drawer, then grabbed a new pen and scribbled furiously in silence. Max tapped his fingers into the mouthpiece, then said, “You there?”

After a pause, Chase said, “Yeah. I’m trying to write down everything you just said.”

“Well, write this down. Before you pull another bonehead stunt, do me a favor—call me first. And make sure you don’t forget your little deposit. Oh, and one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The rent-a-cops got inside that crack house and found a bunch of stolen shit. The guys in there tossed your little girl and Rusty under da bus. So, on top of my guys, the cops are lookin’ for her too.”

***

Brooke merged onto the highway as a fog enveloped her car like a gray netherworld. She drew a deep breath, leaned forward, flipped on her lights, and switched the wipers on. The air conditioning worsened her visibility and the lights illuminated the eerie mist. She felt unsure both inside and out.

The drive to Charlotte always brought out mixed emotions. Both her mother and Tanner were buried there, but in separate cemeteries. She feared she couldn’t stomach visiting either one this trip. This would be all about her father. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do without him. With Tanner and her mother gone, she never took her daddy for granted. She looked forward to seeing him and spending time doing nothing. He always wanted to offer fatherly advice and Brooke usually listened. Brooke figured she could never tell her father the same information about Chase.

“Whenever I see your smiling face…” startled her. The familiar ringtone sounded foreign today. Her first instinct—Chase—made her stomach sink. She reached for her cell on the passenger seat buzzing on top of three dimes. That’s odd—I keep finding dimes in weird places. Not wanting to take her eyes off the already hard to see road, she answered without viewing caller ID, and cringed, “Hello, this is Brooke.”

“Well hello stranger. You’re tougher to reach than the president.”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar—definitely not Chase. She exhaled a sigh, and said, “Who’s this?”

“Oh, I’m hurt. You never call, you never write…now you forget—”

“Travis, is that you? I’m driving in a Carolina cloud right now and couldn’t see your number on caller ID.”

“How are things?”

“You have impeccable timing. I swear you’re psychic.”

“I’ve been called
psycho
but never psychic…”

Brooke laughed, then said, “Have any jobs?”

“You know I always do. Why, you looking?”

“You could say that. Pharmical just eliminated my entire division and let me go Monday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve only been there a few months. What happened?”

“Long story.” Brooke bit her lip, then said, “Basically, they brought me in to build a new division—which I did—then, they decided to dump everyone and outsource it to India.”

“That’s messed up. Didn’t they offer you something else? Pharmical always has openings.”

“Apparently not, and with what I saw from that place—good riddance.”

“Have you updated your resume?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even have one when you placed me at GenSense. I hate doing those things.”

Travis inhaled, then said, “I don’t have anything now, but I can probably get you in front of Pfizer. With your background, they’re bound to find a place for you. I’m afraid you’ve gotta send me a resume first.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Travis. I’m not looking for a big drug company. I’m still stinging from Pharmical. Are you working on any more startups?”

“Not right now, but that can change in one phone call. GenSense was a magical placement, wasn’t it?”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, I’ve gotta grab this call—somebody I paged—but, I’ll call you later. I have some ideas.”

Travis Bodady had run Bodady Search Partners, a one-man recruiting firm out of Richmond, Virginia, for sixteen years. Brooke recalled the day he called her as if it just happened. He termed it magical, but words couldn’t describe how he affected her life. She marveled at his timing, half-wondering if he found her through the obituaries. He never did divulge his source, but it didn’t matter—she said “yes” right on the spot.

Brooke noticed the fog clearing and sunshine ahead on the horizon. Shutting off her lights, she felt uplifted. Travis breathed new hope into her. She wished for another GenSense, thinking it would be funny if Travis worked his magic again.

The ringtone sounded, this time warming her. She picked up on the first ring, “That was fast.”

“Huh?”

Brooke recognized that voice with just one syllable. “Oh, hey Melissa. I thought you were somebody else.”

“Thanks a lot. Did you think I was Chase?”

Brooke cringed—the mention of the word Chase sent shivers down her spine. “He’s the last person I want to talk to right now.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you said he was this most amazing something or other?”

“Not anymore. He turned into a real creep.”

“What happened?”

“How much time do we have?”

“As long as you need. Talk to me.”

Brooke glanced at the clock in her Lexus, then scratched the back of her neck. “I’m meeting my daddy for lunch. Almost there. Basically, that guy used me on Sunday, then had someone fire me on Monday, then called me and rubbed it in my face yesterday.”

After a silence, Melissa said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I was. Hey, I’m pulling into the parking lot. You know how my daddy is about being punctual—I guarantee he’s pacing. I’ll call ya later.”

Melissa said, “Don’t you dare—” as the phone line went dead.

Though still a mile away from the Charlotte Country Club, Brooke needed to clear her head. The last thing she wanted was Melissa peppering her with questions as her father opened her car door.

Brooke entered the historic Plaza-Midwood neighborhood, providing a nice diversion for her cluttered mind. Majestic trees lined the streets, guiding her toward the sprawling grounds at Charlotte CC. Though recently remodeled, the clubhouse still maintained its historic southern charm—with unique moldings and millwork, grandiose chandeliers, priceless murals, and antique furniture. Weston had said “wear something nice,” and she feared he was planning on parading her around to his network. Driving up the circular path to the great white clubhouse, Brooke felt uneasy. She craved BBQ, but figured she was in for a formal lunch.

She didn’t spot her father, so she parked several yards away, near his car. As she trudged up the hill, she realized how well her ankle had healed—in spite of that tacky Doctor Dawg.

Once inside the clubhouse, she spotted the distinguished Weston Ingram, Esq., already working the room. Even at age 62, he was debonair in his charcoal suit and red tie. Brooke snuck up behind him. Weston sensed she was near, and spun around. “Brooke, you made it...you look great.”