Shatterproof (9 page)

Thinking outside the box: 
To offer a fresh perspective on an issue.

I
head downstairs to Starbucks and order one of their fancy drinks topped with a swirl of whipped cream that a guy like Dylan should find irresistible. Then I check the map at the door before entering the maze of cubicles and heading for the heart of the hive.

Dylan starts when he sees me, his drawn face indicating that his headache is worse than mine. Holding a finger to my lips, I beckon, walking ahead of him to the closest meeting room. When he joins me, I close the door and gesture to a chair. He drops into it, and asks, “Am I in trouble?”

“That depends.” I remain standing, staring down at him. The kid still has color. It will fade as the years pass, never to return until he makes partner and takes up golf. The tattoo will need to be lasered off first, of course, and he’ll have to let his wonderful voice go to ruin. There’s no room for such things at NTA.

Under the fluorescent lights, Dylan looks small and meek. What was I thinking, allowing him in 10 yard radius? I should never have taken off my suit jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I know it was inappropriate.”

“It was,” I say. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Just Mike and Andrew,” he says. “My friends.”

If my stomach had further to sink, it would. They’ll tell their friends and pretty soon it’ll infect the entire hive.

But it’s early, yet. I may be able to contain the toxin.

“All right, Dylan. You seem to realize how unprofessional it was, and I don’t want to call EC. So let’s
keep it between us, okay?”  He nods and I slide the spiked caramel macchiato across the table to him. “Here. Take my drink. It looks like you could use something sweet. Bottoms up.”    

Dylan’s eyes become more glazed with each sip. Finally, he says, “Sorry, ma’am. I don’t have my notes for this meeting. Could you give me a few minutes?”

“No worries,” I say. “Let’s reschedule.”

Sherri is peering around with a frantic expression. “Come here,” she whispers.

I bend to stare at an e-mail in her inbox. It’s from the generic company-wide mass mail account, and the subject line reads, “
EC 911
.”  Attached is a file that Sherri clicks to open. It’s a grainy cell phone photo of Dylan kissing me. My hands are on his chest, but it doesn’t look like I’m resisting at all.

Leaning on Sherri’s desk, I gasp for breath.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I don’t... I don’t know.”  It can’t be good that my middle-aged heart is pounding this hard.

“It had to be Backstabber,” says Sherri, the only other person who knows the nickname.

I manage a nod. “He saw me shoving the guy away. Sherri, I wasn’t on the distribution list. Can you recall the e-mail?”

“I did,” she assures me. “I caught it by 8, but some people had probably already opened it. It was sent at five in the morning.”

No wonder Baxter looked so tired.

“Okay,” I say, pushing myself upright. “Give me a second to think.”

Heading into my office, I pull a card out of my pocket and pick up the phone.

Vera’s voice is soothing at the other end of the line. “Honey, relax. Calm down and tell me what happened.”

I babble for a few minutes about the crap-storm swirling through NTA. “I might as well clear out my desk now.”

“I’m so glad I gave you the large vial,” Vera says. “Sounds like you’ll need it. Now, I want you to figure out who sent the e-mail and squeeze a drop onto the keyboard. Easy, right?”

“This stuff works on technology?”

“Of course, hon. With so many young fools sending around nude photos of themselves, I’ve had to tailor the recipe. It works on nearly anything. But hurry. You’ve got to get ahead of the cracks.”

Sherri agrees to decoy Baxter and his admin assistant down the hall, and I dash in to drop Wonder Glass onto Baxter’s laptop. Suspecting he implicated the admin assistant, I douse her desktop on the way out.

When I get back to Sherri’s computer, I see that the e-mail has disappeared.  She rejoins me, and checks Reuben’s account, too. “It’s gone,” she says, astonished. “How’d you do that?”

“You don’t survive this long at MTA without learning a few tricks,” I say. Then I ask the critical question. “Did Reuben see it?”

She sighs. “I’m not sure, El. I was panicking and I didn’t notice if it he’d opened it or I did. But he probably would have called you, right?”

I think about his casual conversation with Baxter, earlier. If Reuben knew a picture of me making out with a junior was circulating, it’s quite likely I’d have heard from him by now.

But I’m not counting on anything today.

Walking to reception, I hear a different sort of hum. It is coming from everywhere and nowhere. At first it seems tuneless, but finally I make it out: 
Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.
I stop moving and the music stops too. Maybe it was a product of my fevered imagination; I’ve had so little sleep I’m becoming paranoid.

But when I start walking, the humming starts again, too, and it’s louder this time.

Insurrection: 
a rising up against established authority; rebellion.

Clearly, some of my little bees have spirit. It will need to be crushed, and quickly.

Exterminate:
 
To get rid of completely, usually by killing off.

On the other hand, maybe it makes more sense to try to attract bees with nectar?

I meet the Starbucks staff at reception and follow them as they roll their carts into the main boardroom. They unload trays of muffins and urns of coffee onto the vast oak table. Once they’re gone, I close the door, pull out my vial and add several drops of Wonder Glass to each urn. Then I carefully apply a drop to each treat on the tray. Thank god Vera supersized my bottle. I had no idea I’d need so much of the stuff.

As I work, I try to shake off the vision of myself on stage last night,
one arm slung around young Dylan, the other hoisting a shooter to my lips. Making love to the mike in my white blouse and black skirt, like a nun on a day pass. Could I be any lamer? The worst of it is that my staff have seen and exploited my inner geek. In the past, recruits may have wondered if she was there, but I soon put those notions to rest, earning their respect with my capabilities. I have successfully relied on an aloof manner and occasional displays of dazzling intellect to corral my little bees.

It took years to master the art of leading staff and in one night, I threw it all away.

Career Limiting Move
:  a foolhardy action performed before colleagues under the influence of layered liqueurs.

Thanks to Wonder Glass, it may not be too late to recover from this fiasco. I’ll dose the whole crew and get on with it.

From the boardroom, I send an email to the postal service project distribution list, subject line, “Launch Recovery Party:  Free coffee and Treats.”

As I expected, the juniors stampede for the boardroom. I step quickly out of the way, and as the bees devour the nectar, quickly make my rounds to the water coolers on three floors, carrying a box-cutter.

Nine punctures later, I head back to my office with the remains of the Wonder Glass.

The hive is oddly quiet as I pass through the halls. It seems as if I’ve been able to seal the major cracks and can actually sit down and start my day.

I’ve been less exhausted at the end of a yearlong project.