She's the Boss (24 page)

I stood up, stretching my arms wide to ease my aching back.

I’d spent the last month in a frantic whirl, training the staff, developing schedules, tracking the schedules, controlling quality, creating a budget, sticking to the budget, setting up business liaisons with the software and hardware vendors, estimating all the costs involved with the project, estimating the time involved to complete the project, managing my team, creating processes for my team to follow, ensuring that everyone was working at their full potential. . . . all this and more, amongst other things.

The only constant was change. I learned to be flexible and I learned to delegate tasks and accomplish objectives through Truong and Inge—my A Team.

Really. I don’t know what I would have done without them. The whole dynamic of this project percolated with enthusiasm because of Truong and Inge.

And Carter.

He was my SME (Subject Matter Expert) and whenever I’d needed his guidance, expertise and know-how, he was there for me. Whenever things went wrong, he was also there for me. And whenever something went right, I felt a compulsion to share my news with him.

Speaking of Carter, Truong and Inge . . . where were they?

I glanced furtively around. I hadn’t seen them since this morning’s staff meeting, which was rather peculiar.

Then I heard voices. Singing voices.

“Happy Birthday to you, CHA-CHA-CHA! Happy Birthday to you, CHA-CHA-CHA! Happy Birthday dear Karsynn, CHA-CHA-CHA! Happy Birthday to youuuu.”

Before I could utter a big, “Thank you,” I was ceremoniously cut off by a final, “CHA-CHA-CHA!”

“Aww guys,” I gushed. “I can’t believe you got me a cake.”

“He did,” Truong rushed excitedly, shoving Carter forward. “It was Carter’s idea!”

I glanced at Carter in surprise, slightly caught off guard. Usually, (actually,
always
), I was the person in charge of coordinating birthday “fun.” But when my birthday rolled around, no one ever did anything. Somehow it never occurred to anyone that someone had to actually make the birthday happen. Last year, my birthday was a complete letdown. Everyone just stared at each other like confused armadillos, wondering where the cake and card had come from every other time there’d been a birthday at the office.

Carter was staring intently at me, looking a little sheepish.

With dancing eyes, I mouthed, “Thank you.”

His face broke into a disarming grin. “My pleasure.”

From then on, it became a huge bowl of awkward sauce.

Over fifty corporate drones crowded around me, holding on to their paper plates and plastic forks, all looking at me expectantly.

“Um . . .” I smiled inanely. “I guess I’ll cut the cake now.”

I had barely cut the first slice when someone shouted, “WHOA! That’s
way
too big!”

“Yeah!” Another person yelled, “I only want HALF that amount.”

Sheesh. It’s my birthday. Why are they criticizing me for cutting my own birthday cake? Besides, I shouldn’t have to cut the cake. Who the heck came up with that idea? The Cake Boss?

Hullo! The birthday girl shouldn’t be expected to do the grunt work.

Then I overheard someone say, “Who is she? The birthday girl?”

And the response was, “I don’t know. I’m just here to eat cake.”

Truong craned forward and whispered, “Why is a birthday cake the only food you can blow on and spit on and everybody still rushes to get a piece?”

I really had no idea.

I whispered back, “I’ve never seen some of these people in my life. Where did they all come from?”

“Hell if I know.” Truong snickered.

Then it became even more uncomfortable when people I didn’t know started coming up to me to wish me happy birthday and engage me in the smallest of small talk.

“Hi! Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” I said politely.

Uncomfortable pause.

“Delicious cake, by the way.”

I smiled at this, not quite knowing what to say in response.

The look on his face was unbearable as he struggled to pretend he was grateful.

Another uncomfortable pause.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Kars, but don’t worry about it. I don’t believe I’ve ever gave it to you.”

And on and on it went. My eyes strayed restlessly around the room until they found Carter. He was standing at the far end of the room, watching me. As our eyes locked, we shared a small, private grin.

Silently, I willed him to rescue me.

He must have read my mind because he cut purposefully across the floor and in several long strides, covered the distance between us.

“Hi again,” he said, standing before me.

“Hi.”

“Want to go get some fresh air?”

“Yes. I’d love that.”

As we threaded our way out of the maze of cubicles, we passed by several agents face down in their keyboards.

We exchanged knowing glances and exclaimed, “Cake coma!”

“It’s such a nice day,” I remarked casually as we started down a well-worn path that curved into a lush garden. We found ourselves surrounded by hibiscus in bloom, hanging orchids and beds of bougainvilleas. The air was heavy with humidity and the heady scent of jasmine.

“It is,” said Carter.

Weeks had passed, and Carter and I had somehow relaxed in each other’s company. I was beginning to think that perhaps for once everything was going right. We were getting along. The job was working out great. I no longer measured the time I spent at work. I enjoyed sinking my teeth into this project, performing tasks that produced tangible results. The entire center was pulsing with potential and running efficiently, due in part because of me.

And Carter, Truong and Inge of course.

“You’ve changed,” I said at last.

Carter looked at me with interest. “How so?”

“You’re more relaxed,” I said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Not so uptight, not scowling as much.”

Our eyes met and I felt a frisson of awareness.

Weird. This peculiar self-consciousness that I felt with Carter, it threw me off my stride. I was accustomed to being in charge of my emotions. But with him . . .

“I think it’s this island,” he said by way of explanation. “And maybe it’s you.”

“Me?” I felt the color rising to my cheeks.

“You. You’ve made my job really easy.”

“Oh.” My heart plummeted.

“I like the work you’ve done with the team. With this center. With the entire project. Really Kars, you’ve got this whole place running like a well-oiled machine.”

“Thanks,” I replied, grateful for the recognition. I can’t explain it, but I felt sensitive to his opinion of me.

By now the sun was setting and our shadows were lengthening. Carter stopped mid-stride and gave me a look that did strange things to my equilibrium. “You’ve changed too, Kars.”

“Oh yeah?” I said carefully.

“You seem more,” he paused, seemingly to search for the word, “happy.”

“I am,” I said, lifting my head to the salty breeze. When I turned back to face Carter, he was smiling at me.

“What?” I found myself laughing. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You look gorgeous today.”

Me? Gorgeous?

Carter had called me gorgeous?

I eyed him severely for signs of insincerity. I found none.

“Thanks,” I said, shoving him playfully in the arm. “I thought I was relegated to that corner of the universe occupied by hermaphrodites and black lunged cows.”

“Oh . . . that.” One of his quick smiles lit his face. “Well I’m sorry I ever called you that. I was only trying to rile you up.”

“Why?”

He gave me a long and lingering look. “I think you’re very attractive when you’re angry.”

My heart did an ungainly flip-flop. “Um . . . apology accepted, then.”

We fell into a convivial silence as we paraded decorously around the gravel path. I found myself studying a yellow butterfly that was flitting about me. It met up with another and they became a team, flying in tandem.

Sort of like me and Carter, I thought.

“So, any plans this weekend?”

“Work,” he replied vaguely. “I’m always working.”

Apparently. He was at the office all the hours God gave him.

“And what about you?” he asked.

“Anything
but
work.”

He looked at me in some surprise. “I thought you enjoy what you do.”

“I do. Work may be my world but it’s not my life. And by the way, when was the last time you went out with friends?”

His mouth curled slightly. “When I was eighteen.”

“Carter!” I chided. “What’s wrong with you?”

“All right, I can change that.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Starting right now.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.” His eyes were fixed on my face, seemingly awaiting reaction. Butterflies started up in my stomach and I nodded to show that I understood. “Karsynn?” he said at last.

“Carter?” I grinned, sensing his awkwardness. And mine.

“I was wondering,” he said hesitantly, “would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“Erm . . .” I could actually feel my cheeks growing hot. “OK.”

“How about tonight?”

“Sure,” I said in a voice that didn’t quite sound as though it came from me.

“Dinner at my place? I make some mean Mexican food.”

How did he know? I’ve missed Mexican food so much that I’d fall into paroxysms of delight at the mere sight of a taco stand.

“Sounds good.”

“Stop by my room at seven?”

“Seven’s perfect.”

Later, after Carter had left to attend another meeting, I stood there for a moment, scattering my thoughts to the four winds of heaven, wondering if this dinner invitation meant more to the both of us than was superficially apparent.

Chapter Seventeen

“You do make a mean tortilla soup.”

“Thank you.” Carter turned slowly to me and smiled. We were sitting a fraction apart on the wicker sofa. “I’ve honed it to perfection.”

I laughed. “Never one for false modesty.”

All in all, dinner with Carter had gone rather well. We immediately fell into conversation, chatting idly about nothing in particular and laughing about silly things. Now, after a satisfying meal, we had retired to the living room and the conversation was still flowing like wine.

“I’ve been dying for some Mexican food. Back home, I eat some form of Mexican food at least once a week.”

Carter leaned back on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head. “For me, it’s at least three times a week.”