AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Quintessa to Zahara: ugh…I can’t concentrate
Zahara to Quintessa: trust me, nobody can. btw, looks like he’s heading to Greta’s desk.
Quintessa to Zahara: is Greta about to get canned?
Zahara to Quintessa: I doubt it, but we’ll find out for sure in a minute.
Our cubicles are set up open-style where we can see each other. There are no privacy walls – everyone is exposed. I sit directly behind Greta, then Mauve is behind me. Zahara’s at the back. Ian and Jake are across from us, and there’s an empty cubicle in their row.
I’m looking at the computer screen when, out of my peripherals, I see Mr. DePaul walk up to Greta’s desk. He tells her:
“I need to see you and your entire team in the conference room.”
“Sure, Mr. DePaul,” Greta says. “We’ll be right there.”
He walks that way, leaving a trail of his intoxicating cologne behind. The man smells good, but his attitude stinks. The imbalance is confusing.
Greta says, “Alright, guys. You heard him. Let’s go.”
“A meeting on a Monday morning?” Jake says. “We’re all about to get pink slips. I can feel it.”
“Ugh…shut up, Bieber,” Mauve says.
“What’s going on, Greta?” Zahara asks in a tizzy. “Why a sudden meeting request?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t give me a heads up about this, so I guess we’re all going to find out at the same time.”
“It’s starting…” Ian says, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, his eyes appearing twice their original size through his thick spectacles. “That three-week hiatus Mr. DePaul took was a prelude to this very moment. I’m so glad I took the time to re-do my resume.”
“Y’all get it together,” Greta says. “Ain’t nobody getting fired. And we can’t be walking up in this conference room in discord.”
“Should we bring our laptops?” Zahara asks.
“I’m not sure, so bring them just in case.”
We grab our laptops and get into a single file line like we’re kids leaving the classroom, taking our weekly trip to the media center to check out books.
As we file into the room and take our seats, Mr. DePaul is standing at a wall of windows with his back toward us. His hands are locked together behind his back as well. I can’t tell what kind of mood he’s in. Is he annoyed? Maybe. He’s always such a grouch.
When he hears the door close, he turns around and looks at us – all of us – before his eyes land on me like a private jet descending onto a small, uninhabited island. He stares long enough for me to surmise it’s intentional. As always, he’s looking dapper in a dark blue suit. The room smells like him. I try not to associate that cologne with him, but it’s too late. That’s his signature smell.
He says, “Fifty returns a week. It’s a simple goal. A more aggressive one would be seventy-five to a hundred, but for the last five years, it’s been hovering around forty. I want that number brought up to seventy-five. Mrs. Wilburn, what challenges will this pose to your team?”
Greta looks dumbfounded. She says, “With all due respect, Mr. DePaul, you’re already aware of my team’s limitations. We—”
“You asked for a new hire. I gave you one,” he says, cutting her off in pure Essex DePaul fashion.
He glances over at me. I pretend not to see him.
Greta says, “Surely, you’re not expecting Quintessa to start working one-on-one with clients after only being here for a little over three weeks. She’s still training, which includes shadowing the rest of the team.”
“She doesn’t need all that training. She knows how to do returns. Right, Ms. Bailey?”
I guess it’s my turn to speak. I say, “Yes, I do, but I don’t want to rush it, especially if Greta is not ready for me to get my feet wet just yet.”
“Your feet? Your whole body should’ve been wet a week ago. I’m thoroughly displeased that you haven’t been doing what I hired you to do.”
“I’ve been maintaining addresses and—”
