“Thrilled to be here,” he says without irony. “Great opportunity. TKCORP is legendary. And I’ll get to learn so much about the workings of the C-suite.”
“Mm,” I say with a tart little nod. “You’re the ambitious type.”
Mom’s voice rings in my ears, saying,You should find someone with more ambition!
I don’t even need that scammer/bot/whatever in Slack. I’m haunted enough on my own!
Mark Winterson smiles glossily. “Love your candor.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say, taking some napkins out of the dispenser to stuff into my purse when he’s not looking. “I got it on sale.”
He grabs a pink sugar packet from the holder, turning it over and over in one hand. “Have you readNo Rules Rules?”
“Should I have?”
His eyes flick down and a quick, self-conscious grin stretches his face. “It’s a good read. We need more of that candor around here—it’s time for TKCORP to confront some hard truths, that’s what I said in my interview.”
“What kind of hard truths?”
Mark Winterson launches into a fairly involved explanation of his management philosophy—the new ways of thinking that interest him, the problems the “folks upstairs” brought him on to help with—but it’s a dense thicket of buzzwords, and I understand only about half of it.Talent density. Distributed decision-making. Synergy.
He must clock that he’s losing me, because he clears his throat and takes a beat. “I’m talking too much,” he says, waving a chicken finger. “Tell me about you.”
“Well…I’m out here writing copy. With great talent density. And synergy.”
He gives me a hearty laugh. “And you’re funny too.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “What did you really ask me here to talk about, though?”
“Wooow,” he says, smiling open-mouthed like I’ve scandalized him. “Cynical!” The dimple is back.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Look, I don’t have a big agenda.” Mark Winterson leans back in his chair and peers around the cafeteria, cords of muscle flexing in his neck. “Just trying to talk to as many people asI can. Figure out how this place actually works. What makes it tick.” His gaze settles on me again. “And it’s interesting to me that you’ve been around here your whole life, but always on the outside.”
Something about what he said—an accidentally profound layer he doesn’t mean—cuts right through me.
“Um. Yeah, I guess.” I fidget with the basket’s wax paper lining. “What do you want to know?”
“Nah, that’s boring. Let’s talk about something else.” He leans forward like he’s about to tell me a secret, and I try not to let my eyes linger on his lips. “We can talk about work next time.”
My heart flutters.Next time?
“What do you want to talk about?” he adds.
Now that he’s asked me that, every possible answer seems to have skittered right out of my brain.
“Um…do you play…sports?” Ugh! Of all things, why would I waste a question on that?
“Not really. Rugby, in school.”
I laugh much louder than is probably appropriate. “Is that a real sport? Who even plays that?”
A furrow appears between his brows. “Millions of people around the world?” A self-deprecating grin spreads over his face. “I went to college in London. I know it sounds pretentious.”
It makes him more attractive, somehow, seeing that he can poke fun at himself.
My phone lights up, and there are a bunch of missed Slack notifications on the screen—this time all from Erica.
