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At least, I think he does.
Forty-Eight
PHILLIP
So.Many. Ranting. Emails. I knew that email would cause a lot of frustration. Maybe even some anger. I guess I underestimated the effect it would have because I’ve spent the past six hours dealing with the hundreds of angry emails. Trying to calm people down so they don’t leave isn’t my favorite part of the job.
No matter what the response was, this is the best solution. I’m sure of it. I’ve spent the last week trying to decide what route to take to manage this transition, and Andrew and I have gone through every feasible option. Downsizing our typical business. Holds on bonuses. Even bringing in new hires with less experience. They all had their pros and cons, but this way, everyone gets to experience the new department, and nobody loses anything.
It's just a little extra work. They’re salaried, so that’s part of the contract, and it’s not even that much extra. Four or five hours a week, most of it from home. Plus, we’re going to give them bonuses based on those hours, which isn’t necessary at all.
But since we’ve never expected them to work overtime consistently, they act like we’re taking advantage of them. They’re the ones that signed the contracts. I don’t want them to quit, but it’s a little outrageous that they’re so fired up over a few extra hours.
Leaning back in my chair, I look out at the city. I’ve given so much to this company. Probably more than I should. I want to go home to Addison, to spend my time enjoying the woman that I crave. She needs a chance to experience the world, to see why she should put up with these stupid hours.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I’m close, though. People are in their new positions. The plans are decided. Now, all I’m waiting for is some execution, but I won’t have to oversee every little decision at this point. It’ll be back to detailed reports and checking over people.
And going home at five o’clock. And spending my weekends with Addison.
I just have to get through the next few days. That’s all.
* * *
My body is exhausted. My head hurts like I’ve been slamming it into the wall all day. At least I got through half of Addison’s book while I was waiting on the end of day reports.
And it’s pretty fantastic. I think?
I’m not thinking straight at this point, and when I walk in the door, Addison is coming down the stairs. Even after a hell of a day, seeing her reminds me why I’m pushing so hard. I get to have my cake and eat it, too. I get Addison. I get time. I get a life. And I get to run the business that I was born to run.
All I have to do is survive the rest of the week. That’s all.
“You look beautiful,” I say as she stops in the foyer's doorway.
I hang up my laptop bag and glance at her. She hasn’t said anything since I walked in the door. No hug. No kiss. What’s going on?
“You sent an email today…” she says. Her voice is quiet and uncertain. I can’t help but cringe at her words. Wasn’t I supposed to be done with criticism for the day?
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Can I have a beer and some food before we talk about that? I’ve spent all day dealing with that email. I’m not trying to ignore your question, but I think it’d be better for both of us if I had some food first.”
She chews her cheek for a second, as though she isn’t sure she’s okay with that request. But then she nods and heads toward the kitchen. I follow her, glad that she didn’t push the topic yet. “I made herb crusted tilapia with a side of cilantro and citrus rice. It’s nice getting to play with weird ingredients,” she says with a smile.
“You can play with any ingredients you want if you’re making food. I still think that your food is better than any chef’s.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Phillip. I’m glad you’ve embraced it.” Addison’s trying to be happy, to ignore the thing that’s been eating at her, and I appreciate the effort. I hadn’t expected the responses to that email, but after getting all of them, I should have known that she’d have questions.
She’s not just my live-in girlfriend or the girl that I’m madly in love with. She’s also an employee.
“Well, sit down and I’ll get you a beer. The tilapia may be a little dry since it’s been in the oven on the warm setting, but that’s the price of a boyfriend who doesn’t have any idea when he’s getting home.”
I chuckle and sit down at the table, glad to be home, even if I’m dreading the conversation that’s going to happen after dinner. Living with Addison is still a little strange. It was one thing when I was living in Addison’s apartment, and she cooked, but now we’re at my house. The house that had almost no life before she moved in.
Now, instead of empty cabinets, she’s filled them with groceries, her ridiculous mugs, and more than one set of dishes. There are pots and pans she brought over from her apartment which don’t fit at all. None of them match, and half of them have dents in them. There are weird crocheted oven mitts hanging from haphazard screws she’s stuck in the walls in seemingly random places.
I’d have been furious to have had my space ruined by her crazy before I lived with her, but now… Well, now it only brings me joy. I don’t want to buy her new oven mitts that match the countertops. There’s no need for fine china or crystal glasses. I want all the things that make this space hers. Because I didn’t fall in love with a body or even a personality. I fell in love with all the things that make her so special.
And that includes inappropriate chipped mugs from a thrift store and handmade oven mitts she got from her Nana.
