The Reckoning by Thomas Dan

Author:Thomas, Dan [Thomas, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Black Death Books
Published: 2011-04-02T23:00:00+00:00

10

No More Mr. Nice Guy

“What clients I elect to work with is my concern, not yours. Do you understand, Brenda?”

First thing Monday morning Royce decided to “clear the air” with his secretary.

“I understand. It’s your company,” she said defensively.

He knew she was taken back by his directness.

“But…”

“But what, Brenda?”

“But I have a basic right to not associate with people I find morally objectionable.”

“You’re referring to Monica Pleshette.”

“Yes. There’s something about her, Royce. It’s not just the slutty act she puts on, or the kind of business she runs. She’s trouble.”

“Trouble? What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged. “I guess that’s all I can say for now.”

“Okay, Brenda, maybe she is a little different. But this company has always been open to helping different people. Baltimore prides itself in its diversity.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Fine, but I do intend to retain her as a client.”

Brenda ruminated, her eyes getting bigger, softer. “I like you, Royce. More importantly, I respect you. You’ve been decent to me. But I’d be doing both of us a disservice if I stayed.”

He exhaled, saying, “If that’s your decision.”

She said it was. While he wrote out her final paycheck, Brenda gathered her personal belongings from her desk, including all the photos of her kids. He could tell she was fighting hard not to cry.

“Here,” he said, giving her the check. “I put two week’s severance in there, too. If you need a letter of reference, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, slinging the strap of her book bag over her shoulder. “I guess that’s it.”

Royce smiled. “I guess so.”

And she was gone.

Royce felt bad, yeah. Hey, even tigers can be soft-hearted, he told himself.

Then the pragmatic side of the loss began to sink in. True, she was only halftime, but she was a whiz on that word processor, doing all his correspondence and proposals, making everything look crisp and professional, no typos, etc. Well, he’d just have to bite the bullet and learn how to use the friggin’ computer—or hire a temp (with big jugs) to come in. Either avenue posed no real problem. He assumed any work in progress must be stored on a disk somewhere.

Brenda did answer the phone in the morning, but that was an easy fix. He’d just use the answering service more often, covering himself when he was in a meeting or out and about.

The only real problem he could see was her attachment to many of his clients. They’d come to appreciate her dry sense of humor, her “street smarts,” even her mystical aloofness. She sat in on many of his meetings; her insights were often right on the mark, though she possessed no business training or experience. More important, the woman was an underdog, and Royce had relied on her to make his clients (most of them underdogs themselves) feel more at ease.

He needed a script. The phone rang. It was Tony.

“Hey, what’s up? Long time no see.”

“Been busy, Tony.”

“Brenda out?”

“No, she’s home hitting the books.

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