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She’d had no idea that he expected his assistant to travel with him. “I typically ran the offices when Mr. Newman was gone.”
“I’m sure we have VPs who are capable of stepping in. Or, preferably, Martha could sit at your desk.”
“She only works part-time,” Kelsey replied.
“See if she can cover. It’s only a day and a half. If not her, find someone else. We’ll be available in an emergency.”
She nodded slowly.
“What can I do for you?” He clasped his hands on the desktop.
“About Seward…” She placed the manila folder in front of him.
He flipped it open, scanned the contents faster than should have been humanly possible then looked up. As if it had never existed, the momentary weariness etched beside his eyes had vanished, replaced by steely intensity. “Three months’ severance? Do you think that’s appropriate?”
“It’s not atypical for someone who’s been with us for so many years.”
“And will potentially cost the company tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of dollars?”
“I’m thinking more about his family.”
“As Seward should have done. Donovan Worldwide pays severance when it’s warranted but never in cases of severe misconduct.”
“Potential misconduct.”
“Ms. Lane.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please.”
She exhaled. While she knew Seward might eventually be cleared of responsibility, the truth was, he had violated the company’s abuse policy.
“Have this amended to cover only his to-date pay and accrued vacation.” He closed the folder and pushed it back to her. His action and tone left no room for argument. “We’ll set you up as a signer on the bank account in the next couple of weeks.”
“Yes, Mr. Donovan,” she said, voice tight. She snatched back the folder and left his office.
Instead of returning to her desk, she headed to HR to request a new check. Rather than riding the elevator, she took the stairs, needing the exercise to clear her mind.
After meeting with Lawrence, she decided to grab a latte from the coffee-cart vendor in the building’s lobby. She took it outside and crossed the road to the urban park with concrete seats, a large swatch of grass, oleanders that had lost most of their blooms and several small fountains.
Since she only had on a lightweight suit jacket and the sun was obscured by clouds, the breeze chilled her.
After a couple of sips, she called her friend Andi.
“What’s going on, girl?” Andi asked.
“Not sure you’ll believe it.”
“Hold on. Let me get away for a minute.”
Andi owned a massively successful salon or, in her words, a hair artistry and design studio. They’d been friends since high school. Both of them had lost their moms early, and both of them had fathers who were overbearing.
“You’re calling to make an appointment, right? That’s what I won’t believe. You’re finally ready to do something about those poor, neglected tresses. Highlights? A new cut? Oh halleluiah, tell me we’re going to get rid of some of that length. We can always put in extensions to make it look longer.” Andi growled deep in her throat.
“Was that supposed to be sexy? Or were you trying to sound like a cat in pain?”
“Bitch.”
In the background, Kelsey heard blow dryers and a man yelling. “Lorean?” she guessed.
“Shampoo girl didn’t do a proper rinse,” Andi said. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll put up with him being a bitch.”
“Another ten years?”
“Probably. But only if he takes his PMS medication.”
She knew Lorean had been Andi’s first employee. Despite, and maybe because of, his mercurial moods, he brought in tons of clients. Pissed off plenty of them too. But all the bad reviews that former clients left online just seemed to fuel the drama and attract more interested people. He was becoming a legend in Houston.
“So if you’re not going to let me do something about that mess on top of your head, why did you call?”
Andi’s bluntness was her most compelling asset. Kelsey never knew what her friend would say, or show up wearing—from a designer dress and heels to cartoon-print leggings and an oversized sweater. But it was the hair and makeup that was always the best surprise. Blue. Pink. Bob. Shoulder-length blonde extensions, or even ash-gray ones which gave her purple eye shadow and false lashes the look of a movie star’s.
“Come on,” Andi encouraged. “I’m going to need to run to wrestle a fucking flatiron away from Lorean. Jesus H. Where’s my Xanax?”
