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I give him a wry lift of my brows, knowing he’s well aware that in my work life, a ten o’clock arrival would mean I’m being a lazy bum. “Yes, of course, I’ll be there early to roll out the red carpet.”
Ace blinks, seeming to search his mind for anything else he wants to tell me or any other promises he wants to extort from me. “Okay, I’ll leave everything ready when I close on Friday night. The last dog gets picked up at six, and Harper and Kevin and I will be on the road by six-oh-one.”
“Perfect. Just one last thing.”
Ace looks at me expectantly, and I consider extorting some promises of my own. But I grin, joking, “I’ll be charging you for a manicure on Sunday if the little demon dogs mess mine up. I can’t go to work on Monday with chipped polish. Oh, and a reward dinner on Saturday. It’s not only the dogs that need treats for good behavior.”
Ace pats my head like I’m one of his daycare doggies, chuckling. “Of course. Anything for you, Sis. You deserve it.”
“Damn straight, I do.”
Ace gives me a side hug, and I’m struck with a deep sense of gratitude. Not too long ago, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to save Ace, even from himself. But it turned out, he saved himself when he was done mourning a woman who didn’t deserve his love.
Ace turns to go back inside, Kevin trotting along happily at his side. I call out, “Hey, Ace?”
He turns back. “Yeah?”
“I like to give you shit, but you deserve the best things too.”
“Thanks, Tiff. I’ve already got them. You, Mom and Dad, Kevin, and after this weekend . . . Harper.”
Chapter 2
Tiffany
“Megan, make sure those boxes are ready to roll. Arnold will be here in twenty.” I point at the boxes piled up in the floor and then the line-up of clocks on the wall, specifically noting the one with our time zone.
The front desk area at Fox Industries HQ is more than your average greeting area. Or at least it is now. Once upon a time, it was old-school, with one pretty face in a professionally tight blouse, set right inside the door, whose sole function was to greet people with a friendly smile and direct them to the elevator.
But those days are long gone.
Now, I supervise a two-woman team at the front desk, Megan and her cohort Stephanie, who are my right and left hands, plus a floating crew of clerical staff who rotate projects throughout the company depending on needs.
Speaking of needs, we need to get a move on. Megan, Stephanie, and I are a well-oiled machine that runs like clockwork, but this huge stack of outgoing mail won’t prep itself.
I have the ‘back room’ laid out into different work zones, all intended to make sure nothing gets lost, misplaced, slowed down, or in any other way messed up, and the three of us dance around the mail area in a well-practiced choreography to meet our deadline. Though ‘deadline’ is a moving target.
Our FedEx guy, Arnold, is notorious for being early for our scheduled pick-up time and doesn’t like to delay even a second. He usually comes in sporting a deep frown, his arms pumping as he speed-walks his way in the front door and to the mailroom, his blue shorts swish-swish-swishing with every step like one of those grannies at the park.
He’ll make a single sweep over the packages on the table with his scanner. No more, no less. If something doesn’t register, too bad, so sad, drop it off at a store or wait until tomorrow.
Everything that scans, he grabs and stacks with manic speed in his cart, and he’s out the door in under sixty seconds. And yes, we actually have timed him.
Normally, I let him go. Live and let live, and I can run a letter to the FedEx store in a strip mall nearby on my way home if need be. But if necessary, I’ve been known to literally stand in front of Arnold as a blockade and demand that he wait until our scheduled time. Especially if it’s a big or heavy item. But that’s a move I try to save for desperate days because Arnold always spends a solid week acting a little extra snippy after I pull that card out of my arsenal.
“Yes ma’am,” Megan responds crisply. “Twenty minutes, on it.”
Stephanie has more to say, and a lot more sass to her response. “We’ll get it out today, even if Asshole Arnie has to wait. Don’t you worry, Boss.”
I’m still not used to that label, even though I’ve held it for a while now. It feels good to succeed, and I’m proud of myself, especially since I never would’ve thought this would be my life. I had to fight to get to college. Not because of my grades, which were fine. My parents didn’t have money, so I had to scratch, claw, beg, and borrow to get tuition every semester.
