✅ My Cousin's Keeper [NaNoWriMo 2021]

54. My Typical Work Day

I was really starting to get into the plot of Mommy's Little Devil. If it kept on adding interesting new twists, there was a chance it could even dethrone The Baby Button as my favourite current story. It didn't make that much difference to me that I was now forced to read them on my phone, while my office computer displayed only spreadsheets and the things that I needed to research for something related to my job.

I quickly called up FriendSpace, and sent a message to Ffrances saying I hoped that her work wasn't causing her too much trouble today. She told me a little about the problem; apparently a paranoid patient who refused to tell the truth about his symptoms because she was the only doctor he trusted. The guy was well known to staff, and they'd decided some time ago that if this guy was sick again, they should ask him to wait until Ffrances was available. That didn't quite explain why she expected to be putting in significant overtime tonight, but I didn't press for details. If she wasn't being entirely honest with me, I could easily believe that she was setting up some kind of surprise gift. It was nearly Christmas,after all, and I still needed to organise something thoughtful and special. For my girlfriend, and for my little as well. So I asked Ffrances what time she would be home, and promised that one of her favourite, extra-special meals would be waiting on the table when she got home.

Before I put my phone down, I checked one more time to see if there was a new update from TheAuthor'sLittleSister. No luck today; perhaps she was doing her own preparations ready for the holidays. She hadn't even responded to any of the usual messages on her story's comments section, or the forum. But I knew I would have something more to read sooner or later.

Before I had time to turn my attention to the documents on my screen, I saw movement through my doorway. My office was somewhere between a real office and a cubicle, and didn't have a real door to knock on, which often left visitors unsure if they could just enter, or needed to get my attention somehow.

"Good morning, Belle," I greeted my visitor. She was somewhere between an intern and a temp, and I was in the dark about her precise role, in much the same way she was about my lack of a door. If the boss had been a misogynistic jerk, I could have believed she'd been hired as eye candy. She was certainly easy to look at, and didn't make much effort to hide it, but seemed to be genuinely interested in supporting the company when she wasn't texting her college-age friends. I'd wondered about disciplining her a few times in the past because she spent half the day glued to her phone; but any work I gave her was always done promptly and conscientiously, leaving me no reason to complain.

She gave a little curtsey, and mumbled something I didn't quite catch. Normally she didn't make much of the difference in seniority, despite much of her workday being spent acting as my receptionist, secretary, messenger, or general dogsbody. She must be nervous today, and I found myself wondering if somebody else had made a complaint. Would she be asking me to serve as a character reference in front of some HR tribunal.

"What can I help you with?" I asked.

"I've just been to see... uhh..." she caught herself, and choked back a word she probably shouldn't have said. Nicknames for someone else in the office, when she should be using their official title? It was the first thing that came to my mind. "Miss Bracewell. From the Site Oversight Team."

I sighed, and realised that there was probably little I could do to help if any kind of complaint had escalated that far. Bracewell was dreaded throughout the office, and had any number of intimidating nicknames. She also had supreme responsibility for maintaining a positive working culture and emotional balance in the Upper Ashfields project. Since this branch office had started growing, more like a college campus than a traditional office environment, Bracewell had been in charge of making sure people wanted to work here. That meant that she could do whatever she wanted, and didn't need to answer to anyone but the board of directors. Even more than Human Resources or the Management Ethics Subcommittee, she was the person whose name you didn't want to hear.

"Oh," I mumbled, trying to show a little sympathy. I hadn't expected to see a member of my team in Bracewell's sights. "Is there a problem? Anything we can do to bring the office closer to the company ethos?"

"She wants to see you," Belle mumbled, and gave a little smile. "It's probably not anything serious. She's put a request in with the meeting request system, but she asked me to let you know that... umm... she would rather see you immediately."

I froze then, and by the time I opened my mouth, the young woman was gone. And I knew that regardless of any worries, I needed to find a space on my calendar this afternoon.

* * *

I paced back and forth in front of the office door, wondering what she Who Must Not Be Named could possibly want with me. It wasn't like I was behind on deadlines; I was never tough with the people who worked under me, and they all knew I would cut them some slack if they had personal problems. I had suggested monthly office cinema trips six months before, and many of the people from the Fitzgerald Building were in the habit of joining me now; especially after I discovered that SYL owned half of the local cinema, and could bring back nostalgic or iconic movies from our youth if we gave HR a heads up what we would like to see. Could I be due a commendation for that? It didn't seem likely, now so much time had passed, but it was possible.

I didn't seriously consider any of the possibilities that crossed my mind. I'd gone over this again and again in my head as I made the slow walk to the Committee Building, and I knew exactly what this was about. Someone had found out about the stories I had been reading, not just on company time, but on the office computer. Somehow, someone in my office had found a way to get a document printed out from my PC, or it had been the result of a technical fault after all. And someone had seen it, or had taken the first few pages, and jumped to all the wrong conclusions about the type of things I must be into. Just this morning, I had with the help of a friend in the admin office received an itemised spreadsheet of every document sent to our main office printer on the day in question, with estimated values for the amount of ink used as well as a page count. If I'd just found a way to link those job ID numbers back to the person or workstation printing them, I would at least know who had decided to ruin my life. But right now I had nothing.

The best I could hope for was that they had no evidence; or that I could find someone in HR who would be willing to look at the story and realise that it didn't actually contain sex, or children. That it was all a misunderstanding, and my reading habits should be on the same level as people who played fantasy football with their workmates. It would probably still taint my reputation if this stuff got out, and nobody would trust me. And I would have to find an arbitrator open-minded enough to listen to the whole story without jumping to conclusions, and then willing to stick their neck out for me. I was being called to see Bracewell, the court of no appeal, so it was already too late to start any search for sympathy.

I was pacing in front of the door for five minutes before a message from Ffrances distracted me. She told me that she was thinking about me; and that she was looking forward to tonight. And she wished me good luck with my work; completely unaware of the drama that was now unfolding. Should I have told her that I might be out of a job soon? Or that we might be disgraced? I couldn't say those words to her. I couldn't tell her the worst case until I knew for sure. So I gave a quick reply to say how much I loved her. Then I muted my phone, slipped it back into my pocket, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. There was a small waiting room here, with a secretary sitting behind a desk that was even more cluttered than mine.

"Do you have an appointment to see Miss Bracewell?" he asked. I hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. I had searched my calendar for the meeting request as soon as Belle left, accepted it, and cleared a space on my schedule until it slotted into place. So she would already be expecting me, preparing what she had to say. Given the woman's fearsome reputation, I had no doubt that my punishment had already been decided, but that I would also have to face a stern lecture to drill into me exactly what I had done wrong. She would want to make an example of me as well. So I quietly gave my name, and didn't add any comments about what the meeting might be about.

"She's spoken to a bunch of people from your office today," the secretary commented. Just small talk, I guessed. "Is there something big going on over there?"