“That’s not polite.” But she says it with the air of a disappointed kindergarten teacher and I have to smile.
“I’m going to call it Toothless.”
Toothless? The dragon inHow to Train Your Dragon? The car is black, so it makes some kind of sense. But somehow, I know we’re in trouble. “It doesn’t belong to us,” I tell her. “We can’t name it.”
But as she sets off into school, she whispers, “Goodbye, Toothless.”
All the trouble at breakfast means I’m a little late for work. I messaged Anders to let him know, but he’s already in a meeting when I arrive at my desk. I’ll work through lunch to make it up. Anders has never had a problem with it on the rare occasions it has happened before.
When there is a break in his schedule, I slip into his office. I wait until he finishes giving quick instructions from his morning’s work before I say, “Thank you for yesterday. And your car was a godsend this morning.” I have a momentary vision of trying to wrangle Effie onto a bus at the crack of dawn, and it adds real feeling to my words.
“I owe you,” I add as I drop his car key onto his desk.
Anders looks up, surprised. “Cora, there will never be any debt between us. You should know that.”
I look at the floor, shamed. He’s right. Friends help friends. No balance sheet required. Except I’ve never thought of Anders as my friend. My boss, the visionary leader and sometimes the bane of my life, but not a friend.
“Of course,” I mutter and turn to escape the awkwardness.
“One more thing,” he says. I stop and twist around at his words, one eyebrow raised as a prompt.
He slides a piece of paper across his desk. “Your new car.”
For a moment, I’m floored. Has Anders bought me a car? This is too much. “What? No! We agreed no gifts!”
Anders leans back. “What we agreed is no gifts from me. If the gift is from the company, it is acceptable. “
I hurry back to his desk and snatch up the paper.
He frowns. “Technically speaking, it’s not a gift. Cerium hasn’t bought you a car. That would be a crazy thing to do. This is a taxable benefit.”
Itwouldbe a crazy thing to do, especially given our finances. I look at the document. It mentions a lease agreement. The company has leased an electric car for me.
He continues. “I need you to have a reliable mode of transport. What if I forget my sword again?”
A year ago, Anders was at a convention bigging up excitement for one of our older games by dressing as the main character. Except, a crucial part of his outfit was still at home. I’d been tasked with getting the essential prop to him. But are we really going to ignore the existence of taxis and rideshares?
“Besides, it’s not new. Steve handed it back when they left. I’ve upgraded your compensation package to include the car. I’ve already spoken to Finance. You just need to sign this.”
My mouth drops open. He’s making it very difficult to refuse. It all sounds so simple and easy, but it isn’t. How many others drive a company car? If he hadn’t proposed, would he still be doing this?
To be fair to him, it’s not out of the ballpark. The company has paid for compassionate benefits before, private medical referrals, specialist equipment, and so forth. Anders prides himself on running a company that values its employees. And I do need a car. My little girl will struggle with the exigencies of public transport. It takes a toll on her that others don’t experience. This way we will get a car and yet I can still afford to take her to see her grandparents for her birthday. It’s so tempting.
But am I playing into his hands? Can I afford not to? And does it matter if I do? Finally, I come to my decision. Dipping my head, I say, “Thank you.”
Anders’s smile is slow, like he knows he’s won. How much is yet to be determined.
Smauglette
Nur hands me the keys in return for my signature. She has a speculative look in her eyes, but I ignore it. I’m not going to give her any explanation other than whatever Anders has already said to her. And I doubt Anders has said much. He’s not one for revealing his strategies until they’re all played out, and often not even then. He seems to have less need to feed his ego than the average CEO.
“It’s the blue one,” she says. “Parked by the entrance.”
I permit myself a little whoop when I see it. It’s perfect; an attractive midnight blue, not that I can afford to be fussy about colour, small enough to park almost anywhere. Rear doors mean I can get Effie in and out of her rear seat easily. And it’s a year old, so although it’s lost that new car smell, it’s immaculate inside and it’s highly unlikely to break down, stranding us by the side of the road.
Muttering a quick thanks to Steve and their lack of need for a big, showy, dick-swinging SUV, I install Effie’s car seat retrievedfrom Anders’s car before slipping behind the wheel. I have to pull the seat forward and readjust everything before I press the start button and set off. It’s smooth and whisper quiet. Effie may be able to manage without her headphones.
Traffic means I’m frazzled by the time I pick my daughter up. Effie is in a corner by herself, her leg jiggling. The play worker stops me to sign a consent form on the way out but eventually, we get to the car park. Effie looks about. “Where’s Toothless?” she asks.
