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“Shit, did I wake you?”
“No! Just a long day. I had to get up early to take Amelia to soccer practice. And yet I have a shirt that says just that. Actually, it says ‘Number One Soccer Dad.’ Speaking of relationships, how’s Bradford?”
“I don’t know. With the hours I’ve been keeping, we haven’t seen much of each other.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “We kind of got into it tonight. I don’t know, Gorlag. I want this to work so badly, but what if I’m just really shitty at relationships?”
“Hey, I am, too. Emily helped me see the error of my ways, though. Once I realized that if I didn’t make some changes I’d lose her, you better believe I changed really quickly.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I grumble.
“If you really love someone, then it is,” he says. “And you know what made it even easier? Knowing that the shit she was calling me on was, actually, shit. She wanted me to be better not just for her, but for myself.”
“I think that’s where Bradford’s coming from, too,” I say slowly. “I just wasn’t thinking about it like that.”
“That’s why you keep me around,” Gorlag jokes.
“Exactly. Alright, man, I’ve got to get cracking on some of these emails. I’m about to run out of storage space.”
“Can’t let that happen,” Gorlag agrees. “Good luck. Let me know how it goes with Bradford.”
“I will,” I promise.
I spend the next two hours slogging through my messages before finally crashing on my office couch. I wake up at dawn with a sore back and a headache.
Fortunately, my office has its own bathroom and I still have a few changes of clothes stashed away from before my forced vacation. A hot shower and a new suit make me feel marginally better, and the extra-large coffee I get from the café in the lobby makes me think that maybe this day will be better than yesterday.
I check my messages, disappointed but not surprised that Bradford hasn’t reached out. If he wasn’t pissed at me before, staying at the office all night certainly didn’t improve his mood. I sigh and promise myself that I’ll be home by eight tonight at the latest.
The morning passes quickly, until I’m called into yet another meeting. This is with the head of my Communications team and my top PR specialist. I know that they’re both good at their jobs, but I hate that we have to keep talking about the best way to spin the company’s troubles.
“Look,” I say after we’ve spent an hour discussing messaging. “Why can’t we just be blunt?”
The Head of Comms shakes her head. “We do that, the stock price is going to take a hit. No one wants to actually know the truth of what’s happening at a company.”
“Yeah, but like you just said, we’re publicly traded,” I point out. “Trying to hide shit will just get us in hot water down the line. Sorry,” I add, since the PR guy winces at my use of “shit.”
“It’s fine,” he says, even though the expression on his face says otherwise. “But I agree that that’s not the best course of action, Ragnar. There’s a fine line between diplomacy and transparency. I don’t think that we should hide anything, but we also don’t need to disclose more than is necessary.”
I sigh in frustration. “If you’re both going to keep shooting down my ideas, do I even need to be here?”
“Yes,” the Comms director says firmly. “We need you to sign off on a coordinated messaging strategy that we can deploy as quickly as possible.”
My head aches with all the corporate lingo she just threw at me. “But it sounds like the two of you alreadyhaveyour strategy!” I argue, aware that my voice is rising. “Look,” I say, making a great effort to stay calm and measured. “Why don’t the two of you collaborate on this strategy and I’ll sign whatever you want.”
The PR guy shakes his head. “We understand you’re impatient with all this, and we sympathize. But this is an issue that we need to solve together.”
Before I can say anything, there’s a knock on the door and the receptionist pokes her head in. “Ragnar, your noon appointment is here.”
“Noon appointment?” I ask, confused but happy for an excuse to leave. “Okay. Let’s break for lunch. We’ll pick up this afternoon,” I say and follow the receptionist to the lobby.
Bradford is standing by the desk, and I can’t help grinning in relief when I see him. “You’re my noon appointment?” I ask happily.
“I figured this was the only way to see you.” Bradford smiles, but his tone is cool. “I made a reservation at the place down the block you said you liked.”
“Thanks.” I step closer, wanting to hug him, but he just shakes his head slightly. Puzzled, I follow him out of the building and to the restaurant.
