A Bad Bit Nice (3 page)

Tripp stormed into Em’s shared office. Tom scurried out of the office, citing the urgent need to dust the servers.

“What in the hell were you thinking, Em, filing a complaint with HR about Robertson without going through the proper channels?”

“According to the HR manual, I only needed to have one conversation with my supervisor about said questionable behavior, and I did, so I escalated.”

“Now, Em...” Tripp began, but she held up her hand.

“No, Tripp. Don’t ‘now, Em,’ me. I’ve talked to you many, many times about Robertson’s rude and lewd remarks, about him calling me into his office to ‘see about an issue with a video deposition’ that turned out to be some sort of ridiculous office porno, and about his general harassment. Yesterday after work, he cornered me and put his hands on me when I said I wouldn’t come to his house to ‘check out his personal equipment’.”

“He’s 62 years old, Em! He has no idea about technology.”

“He grabbed my boobs, Tripp! With both hands, like he was honking them! And his pants were unzipped!”

“He’s got prostate problems. He’s always in the john. He probably just didn’t mind his zipper.”

“Okay, Tripp, this?
This
is why I went to HR. I don’t need you excusing his bad behavior because he looks the other way when you screw up.”

“When
I
screw up?
You
were the one who ordered all the wrong equipment for the Williams project; equipment that, by the way, can’t be returned.”

“And who was the person that filled out the spec documents, Tripp? Hm? And who was the person that insisted we go with this new vendor, the vendor that hadn’t gone through the official approval process but amazingly ended up on the approved vendor list?”

Tripp fisted his hair in his hands. God, Em infuriated him. Always asking questions, always looking deeper into things. She needed to just do what her
supervisor
told her do and do it with a smile on her face.

“You know there’s going to be an investigation, Em. It’s going to be his word against yours. He’s a partner, and you’re just a tech support monkey.”

“You’re not going to back me up, are you?” she said with a laugh of disbelief.

“I’m not seeing any issues except with
your
behavior and
your
attitude.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I documented all the times that Robertson has said inappropriate things to me and had Tom sign a witness statement.”

Fuck
.
Did she always have to be Little Miss Hospital Corners?

“Em, sweetheart...”

“Oh, now it’s ‘sweetheart,’ is it? God, I should have just gone to Tara right when I got the job and not tried to do the right thing and not leave anybody hanging.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job here at the moment. You’ve been distracted and you’re making mistakes, like on the Williams project.”

“You’re not transitioning anything, Tripp. I’m going to be gone in six weeks and you’re going to be screwed because no one’s taken over my projects.”

Tripp barked a laugh. “Oh sweetheart, you’re not that indispensible. And you’re not going to win this little thing with Robertson.
You’re
the one who needs to suck it up, buttercup.”

And Tripp walked out the door.

*****

“I can’t believe you just walked out of the Holbrook Firm, Em. Good for you,” Ashley was saying as she cleared out the closet of her guest room. “Honey, why do you look so miserable?”

“Because I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, Ash.” Ashley cocked an eyebrow at Em, waiting for her continue. “I seriously hoped that the break would do us some good. I was only at Holbrook three days a week, and only for a few hours at a time. I didn’t usually even see Tripp during the work day. But at home, the new job’s made things even worse. We don’t talk, we don’t do
anything
.”

“
Anything
anything
?”

“We haven’t had sex in over a year, Ashley,
way
over a year. I guess I was naive, thinking things would be better, huh?”

“No, you’re just an optimist and a romantic. I’m sorry, Em. Even if I think Tripp’s the asshattiest of the asshats, you love him, and that should count for something. But in the meantime, you can stay here for as long as you want.”

“Thanks, Ashley,” Em said. She gave her best friend a tight hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Still be being humiliated by the dirty old man and living with the asshat. Oh!”

“What?”

“What did the father of the asshat say? Have you talked to Ed?”

“I haven’t, but he left a very interesting voice mail on my cell. He offered me the contractor’s rate for ten hours a week, exclusively off-site, to write documentation about the projects that need to be handed off.”

“That’s great, right?”

“Yes! I mean, I still need to be available, but now I can actually go to the
Tara
client sites, something that Rory’s wanted me to do since I took the job. I mean, I can’t be out of town for weeks at a time, but I could go on two or three day spec trips.”

“And you’re hoping that since you’re not in the office and not at home, Tripp will come to his senses and realize what a good thing you two have?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m hoping.”

Ashley looked at Em and shook her head.
The woman is completely delusional. Tripp is going to move onto the next cute support worker faster than shit through a goose.

*****

“Lucy, I’m home!” called Em.

“I’m in the kitchen, Ethel! Get your ass in here!”

“Always the demure one, Ashley,” laughed Em as she perched on a barstool. “Hit me, barkeep.”

Ashley slid a Scotch in front of Em. “I don’t know how you drink that, Em. It’ll put hair on your chest. Good God a’mighty.” Em shrugged and grinned. “So are you staying put for a few weeks?”

“Yep! I’m back until the middle of January, so enjoy my company for the next month because then I’m back on the road. Rory actually wanted me to come to Portland with him the week before Christmas, but I’ve already committed to delivering the documentation then.”

Ashley froze where she stood. “You’re going back to Holbrook?”

Em shook her head. “I’m not going
back
to Holbrook; I’m just delivering manuals and making sure that Tom’s not buried.”

Ashley raised her eyebrow at her friend. There was no way that it was going to be that easy. Em squirmed under Ashley’s steady gaze.

“What aren’t you telling me, Em?” Em tapped her fingers on the bar, her drink untouched in front of her. “Ermengarde Maude Davidson, what is going on?”

Em squeezed her eyes shut so she couldn’t see Ashley’s head explode. “Tripp and I have been talking. A lot. About stuff. And other stuff.”

“Oh my God, Em. You’ve had phone sex with Tripp, haven’t you?”

Em laid her head on the bar. “Yes,” she said in quiet voice. To her surprise, Ashley started laughing.

“Thank God, Em. I mean, I’d rather you didn’t with Tripp, of all people, but anyway, what’s done is done, and I’m not going to even ask you how it was. But I am going to ask you if you know what you’re doing.”

“I think I do. I
do
care for Tripp. He’s different since I’ve left, and I think that if we don’t live together or work together, this can work.”

Ashley looked at Em. Em had a hopeful smile on her face, the first she had seen in a long time, and that little spark had returned to her eyes.

“You really think this can work?”

“Yeah, I do. And I need you to help me go shopping.”

Ashley perked up. She was always game for shopping.

“This must be serious, Em. You’re going to let me take you lingerie shopping?”

Em scoffed. “Uh, no, not lingerie shopping. But I do need a new dress for the Holbrook Firm holiday party. All the consultants go and regardless of this whole Tripp thing, Ed wants me there. I owe it to him.”

“Okay, Em. Let’s get you a killer dress for that party.”

*****

Mick rolled his eyes at the sound of Rory’s text alert. He rolled his eyes again and added a scoff when he saw that Rory was actually checking the alert.

“Really, Rory? It’s Saturday night. Surely whoever it is can wait until Monday.”

Rory frowned at the phone. “Shite, it’s my new hire. I hope she’s not pushing back her start date. I’m right fucked if she is. I need to listen to this. It must be important or she wouldn’t be calling on Saturday night.” Rory’s Irish brogue came out more when he was excited or agitated or somewhat drunk. Tonight he was all three, because they were watching a football match on the television at the pub.

Rory listened to the voicemail and pumped his fist in victory when he heard Em’s message.

“Good news, I take it?” Mick asked.

“Excellent news, as a matter of fact. She’s moved her start date to Monday! She can be at a client site full-time, wherever a client site may be.”

“Is this that woman that you met at the networking thing a few months ago?”

“Indeed it is. It turns out that she
was
serious about changing jobs. And better yet, the recruiter that I hired? She was her number one pick for me.” Rory considered his friend. “You’d like her, Mickey.”

“Oh, no, Rory. Don’t even think about it.”

“She’s wicked smart and has a sharp sense of humor.” Mick snorted again. “And she’s got a figure that you’d like.” Rory traced a silhouette of a curvy woman in the air.

Mick groaned.
Oh, good grief.
“Rory, I told you, I’m not ready to date yet. Just...don’t. If you’re that impressed with her, why don’t
you
date her?”

“Remember, I don’t play in the corporate sandbox, Mickey, especially if she’s an employee. It makes things way too complicated.”

“Just for grins, how old is this woman, Rory?”

“She’s in her forties, so totally age-appropriate. No rings.” Rory grinned as he waggled his left ring finger suggestively. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Mick just shook his head. “Not really. I just need to get these studios finished and then we’ll talk about getting my social life in order. Is that a deal?”

Rory grinned at his friend. “That’s a deal.”

Mick stood looking at the obnoxiously chipper note Rory had left on the counter with his mail. The neatly written letter was apparently from his new upstairs neighbor, Em. He knew her full name was Ermengarde, but Lord knew if
his
name was Ermengarde, he’d go by Em as well. He couldn’t imagine anyone under the age of 90 with that name.

He looked at the house he had called home for the past five years. He could see the appeal for an older person. The note apologized in advance and warned him of moving trucks that would arrive bright and early and block the driveway. At least she was thoughtful. He grinned and put the note back down on the counter.

Stepping into the kitchen, he began looking through the mail, steadily avoiding the small porcelain box on the counter. When he had exhausted all the small chores that came with returning home from a business trip, he moved to the couch, the note in his hands.

He looked at the note again. Mick hoped that the new neighbor wasn’t one of those nosy types that couldn’t leave well enough alone; Rory was quite enough of a mother hen for him to handle. His cell phone buzzed and Mick snorted. Speak of the devil.

“Whaddya at, Rory?”

“Oi, boyo. Where are you?”

Mick looked at his watch. “You do realize it’s two in the morning here, right? Like a normal person, I’m in my apartment, getting ready to go to bed. Where are you? You sound like you’re in a nightclub.”

“Nah, I’m in the bar of an airport resto, about to catch the red-eye back from Portland. I’ve never seen so many fleece jumpers and sport sandals in my life. I’ll be glad to get back to civilization where women appreciate a good pair of stilettos and a Brazilian. “

“And a man whose spa budget rivals her own, I’ll bet,” Mick laughed. “Thanks for picking up my mail and keeping an eye on things, Rory. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, boyo. Next time I’m out of town for an extended time, you’ll be the first person I call,” Rory said. “Hey, have you met your new neighbor? Is she that flashy blonde?”

“No, I haven’t met her yet, but no, the blonde isn’t the neighbor. That’s the real estate agent. She’s right up your alley: big mouth and bigger attitude. Typical loud mouthed sales chippie. I know the neighbor’s name is Ermengarde, but that’s about it.”

“Ermengarde? Huh,” Rory mused.
Surely there weren’t two Ermengardes in town, both moving on Friday?

“I know, right?”

Rory seemed to be considering something. “Maybe she’ll be a hot cougar that’ll need to borrow a lot of sugar to make you pies.”

Mick could imagine Rory’s eyebrows waggling over the phone. “Leave it to you to make baking sound filthy,” he laughed.

“Seriously, Mick,” Rory said quietly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re not wearing your ring at all these days. This is good. She would want you to be happy.”

“I
am
happy.”

“No, you’re not. You aren’t sad, but you’re not happy.”

They sat quietly for a few moments before Rory whooped. “Okay, boyo, you’re going to karaoke tomorrow night. No fussing. You’ll be my wingman, and maybe you’ll get a snog out of the deal.”

Mick groaned. He hated karaoke, but he knew that Rory wouldn’t let up until Mick’s ass was on a barstool at the pub, watching him belt out classic country songs.

“Fine, I’ll go. But the moment that Garth Brooks song comes on, I’m leaving.”

Rory barked a laugh and signed off.

Mick got up from the couch and went back to the bar. He picked up the small box and stroked it thoughtfully, then opened it and gently touched the three rings inside. Mick took out the wedding set, touched his lips to the rings, and gently put them back; then he took out the larger ring and placed on his finger. He looked at his hand, imagining her delicate hand in his. With a sigh, he put his ring back in the box, closed it, and put it back in its place on the counter.

*****

Em checked her watch again, willing the train to go faster. Of all the flights she had taken in the last six months,
this
one was delayed. She knew she had tempted fate, scheduling movers on a Friday at the tail end of a project.

“Today’s the big day, no?” Rory said with a grin. Em grinned back at him.

Rory had never seen Em so excited. Sure, she was a friendly, pleasant work companion, but she kept her private life exactly that: private. He had just learned a few days ago that she had been living out of suitcases and hotels for the seven months that she had been at Tara Security Systems, staying with a friend the few days a month that she wasn’t traveling. Rory didn’t know how she stood it.

“You don’t need any help?” he asked. “I can lift shite.” Rory flexed his muscles, the sleeves of his custom shirt straining around his bulging biceps.

Em laughed. If Ashley saw those big arms, she would die. Her friend was forever trying to set Em up; maybe after she got settled, Em would give Ashley a taste of her own medicine.

“I actually acted like a grown up and paid people to move me in, Rory, but thanks for offering. I’ve got some really, really big pieces of antique furniture and since my apartment is on the second floor, those movers are going to earn every cent.”

“Well, you’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Rory scolded. He knew Em could handle almost anything the world threw at her, but it didn’t mean that she
had
to go at it alone.

“I will. Oh, we’re here! I’ll see you at the St. Louis site on Monday, right?” she said as they made their way to the escalators.

“Monday in St. Louis it is. Good luck, Em!” Rory called as Em raced up the stairs, pulling her suitcase behind her and grinning.

Em flew through the airport lobby and into the parking deck, her excitement building the closer she got to her car. She threw her bags in the trunk, left the parking deck with a cheerful “See you soon” to the attendant, and sped to her Brand New Home. It was perfect, and it was all hers and hers alone. No roommates, no boyfriend, just her and Beauregard.

Okay, it might be a little sad that she was so excited to share a converted Victorian mansion with a 15-pound cat, but it was all hers—the top floor, anyway—and it was the final piece to her brand new life.

Since she had taken the red eye back from Portland, she just had time to stop for breakfast before the movers arrived. She made her way to her favorite breakfast café, practically vibrating with excitement. She settled in at the small bistro table, and ignoring the early hour, called her soon-to-be former roommate and best friend in the world.

“Ha! Bet you thought I wouldn’t be up!” Ashley said smugly, answering on the first ring.

“I’m actually shocked as shit, Ash! What the hell are you doing up? You’re never up this early unless you haven’t been to sleep. Wait,
have
you been to sleep?”

“I’m actually supervising the loading of all your shit, I mean, treasures from your storage unit. Girl, did you know you have 23 boxes labeled ‘Kitchen’ and 47 boxes of books? Do I want to know how many boxes of glassware and Christmas crap you have?”

Em laughed. “And how many shoes do you have, Miss Ashley?”

“Okay, fair enough. So were there any hot men on your flight, Em?”

With that deflection, Em cackled outright and Ashley sheepishly joined in.

“No, there weren’t, and you’d think there would be at least one tattooed, bearded, manly piece of eye candy on a flight from Portland if there was going to be one anywhere, but no, there wasn’t. The flight just had the typical harried middle managers.”

“Damn. But now that you’re going to be in your Brand New Home, the next item on your list to a Brand New Em is to get you a man friend. Or at least laid. Maybe your new neighbor will be an option.”

“I thought you said he was a widower of 20 years?”

“Well, you
do
like older guys,” Ashley said.

Em snorted at her friend.

“Anyway, the guy has something to do with the music industry, and I know how you love your music. Maybe he’s all covered in tattoos. You like that, right?”

“So an older, tattooed musician? Yeah, I’d like that, but an older musician that’s been a widower for 20 years? Maybe not so much. Just because I don’t date 25-year-olds doesn’t mean that I want to date someone that’s old enough to be my father, Ashley.”

“You know I don’t
date
25-year-olds, Em; I just sleep with them,” Ashley said in an exasperated tone. “Would you stop being an analyst for once and maybe have a little fun?”

“Would you just let me get moved in and settled before you start playing cupid?” Em shot back.

“Okay, but because I’ve helped you so much, you owe me a night of karaoke.”

Em groaned. She detested karaoke, but she did owe Ashley. Not only had she given Em a place to sleep in after she moved out of Assclown Tripp’s townhome, she had given her a heads-up on her new place and handled all the real estate crap. Ashley was a gem—a brassy, big-mouthed gem, but a treasure nevertheless. Em would have never made it through the previous months without her.

“Fine. But as soon as some idiot starts singing ‘I’ve Got Friends in Low Places,’ I am so out of there.”