She's the Boss (4 page)

“To what do I owe the displeasure?” I said with more anger that I’d intended to reveal.

His jaw went rigid. His steely eyes flickered toward me for a brief moment, then he resumed working on his computer in silence as if I weren’t even there.

Just as well. I took the opportunity to survey the dictator’s new office. Aside from the cheesy poster, the room was threadbare. Not a plant in sight, no photo frames of wife and kids, mom and dad, or even a pet dog. Just stacks and stacks of folders arranged with scary precision atop the mahogany desk. With the absence of anything interesting to look at, I studied my cuticles. When I glanced up, Carter was watching me.

I stared at him in tense silence.

He returned my gaze, unflinching, his dark eyes examining me with considerable attention. From the look on his face, I gathered my outfit had passed the test.

Good.

Then he sat back in his chair, made a pyramid of his hands and continued staring at me in silence.

Unblinking, I stared back at him.

He stared back. Extra hard.

I hardened my resolve and stared back,
extra, extra
hard.

He stared back even harder and held my eye firmly until I gave way and blinked. “What’s this?” I smiled disconcertedly. “A staring contest?”

He’s going to fire me, I thought. Bracing myself for the worst, I held my breath. If there had been plants in the room, I’m fairly certain they would’ve been unable to photosynthesize for lack of CO2.

Eventually, Carter began, “Your team’s stats are unacceptable.”

“Oh.” I had to clear my throat twice before I could answer, “I’m working on it.”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me impassively. “According to this report, your team had the highest Auxiliary Time (in common call center parlance, Auxiliary Time, also known as AUX time refers to time the agents are unavailable to take calls) and the lowest Quality scores last month. And the prior month. In case it’s slipped your mind, you’re a supervisor and you need to be supervising your team. In other words,” he added tersely, “supervising is not a passive verb. It’s an active one.”

I debated the proper approach and opted for the most straightforward. “I don’t believe in micromanaging. My agents are adults and I treat them like they’re adults. Besides, micromanaging takes away their sense of independence and when they think they’re being manipulated or controlled, then they won’t be. You of all people should know that the most effective managers impress in unobtrusive ways. And,” I added for good measure, “it is far better to be loved than feared.”

“Feared or loved as what? As a parent? As a law enforcer? As a professional boxer? As a teacher? See?” he remarked with a complacent air. “With each role, you’d get a different answer. And as a supervisor, your agents must fear you. You must empower them to do their jobs. And if they don’t listen to you, then you treat them like kids.”

“I’m not their mom,” I said dryly.

“You’re their supervisor,” he shot back. “Same thing! You’re not here to make friends. And you want to know what the key to failure is? It’s when you try to please everybody.”

“Easy for you to say,” I countered. “To them, you’re just some stranger from corporate headquarters who just happened to waltz into town. This may come as a surprise to you but these people
are
my friends. I’ve worked alongside them for years and years and years and years.”

He regarded me cuttingly. “Are you done now?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” Icicles dripped from my voice. “Look, I
get
your deal with the company dress code but your approach today was all wrong. Your tone and your manner was a total turn off and you know what? That just guarantees that no one will listen.”

For a brief moment, he looked at me with something approaching respect. When he spoke again, his tone was fractionally warmer, but not much. “It’s your job to make your agents listen. A good supervisor relationship requires distance and it requires boundaries. And if you don’t know how to do your job . . .” A hint of warning came into his voice. “I might just have to find someone else who can.”

I took several long, deep breaths and steadied myself, keeping my emotions in check. But Carter wasn’t quite finished yet. “I expect your team’s stats to improve by the end of this month. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

His tone had made it quite clear that it was he who was calling the shots here. And my tone had made it quite clear that I understood. He shifted his gaze back to his computer, making it abundantly evident that it was time for me to leave. I could take a hint.

With leaden legs, I stood up and started for the door.

“One more thing.” Carter’s acerbic voice halted me.

I froze, knowing this wasn’t going to be good. Carter’s tone was so acidic it was giving me heartburn, gastritis and acid reflux all at once.

“When your agents don’t meet their stats, I expect you to write them up and copy me on everything.”

“Will do,” I replied, an edge of rancor slipping into my voice.

“Thank you.” A look of quiet satisfaction crossed his face. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Yes,
I thought.
What is the quickest way out of here?

Belatedly, I realized Carter was looking at me expectantly.

For added confidence, I placed my hands with lazy confidence on my waist. “No,” I said curtly, “I don’t. Will there be anything else?”

“Why?” He raised his eyebrows at me, as if daring me to answer. “Wasn’t this enough?”

I felt a sharp pang of annoyance but I behaved myself and quelled my childish urge to yell, “
Ja wohl, mein Führer!”

“You can go now,” he said in clear dismissal. As an afterthought, he added half-heartedly, “And I look forward to working with you.”

I attempted a smile.

Carter smiled tightly.

I smiled back at him with all the synthetic sweetness of Splenda.

Carter smiled wider in return.

“Oh, I look forward to working with you, too,” I said with radiant insincerity. Without another word, I strode out of the dictator’s bunker.

“Sweet mother of Zeus!” Truong gasped. “You look like you’re about to murder someone. What happened?”

“Carter Lockwood happened,” I said darkly.

Truong snickered. “I suspected as much.”

“You know, I’ve been around men who are completely arrogant, but Carter is another category altogether. Seriously, I have no idea what his problem is.”

Truong gave me his answer to all of the world’s ills. “Maybe he’s on his period.”

“I think he hates me. And he’s not even subtle about it.” My voice turned wistful and I felt a sudden stab of longing for my old boss. “I miss Dick Jones. In contrast to that tyrant over there.” I gestured my head in the general direction of Carter’s office. “Dick Jones was Aung San Suu Kyi!”

“Dick Jones!” Truong exclaimed with deep contempt. “DING DONG THE DOUCHE IS GONE! C’mon, Dick was as shallow as piss on concrete. I could
not
report to that box of rocks and let’s be real, he was the worst director in the history of directors.”

Hmm. Truong had a point.

He carried on ranting, “I still resent him for sending me home last month. All because I wore short shorts but at the same time, he was totally OK with girls prancing around half-naked. Seriously, Dick kept his brains between his legs and I don’t miss his double standards one bit.”

“All right,” I admitted, “Dick was a little biased.”

And the more I thought about it, he really was. I had to work extra hard, putting on an elaborate dog and pony show to clinch my promotion. Whereas Amy E. Areola, Wendy D. Whoppers, Pamela Pornero and Jewel De’Nyle (yes, those
are
their actual names, or so they claim) played the ‘low-cut blouse’ game and just breezed on up to the top.

Truong’s voice jolted me out of my reverie. “Now say it with me: DING DONG THE DOUCHE IS GONE.”

“DING DONG THE DOUCHE IS GONE.”

“See!” Truong said winsomely. “Carter is a step up from Dick. Were you expecting another Dick Jones?”

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but I sure wasn’t expecting Carter Lockwood.”

“C’mon! Admit it, Kars.” He nudged me in the ribs. “Doesn’t Carter just make you go weak in the knees?”

“More like weak in the stomach. His management style is so . . . so Pavlovian.”

Truong’s eyes shrank. “For real?”

“Afraid so. Carter Lockwood means business. Have you even read his Company Dress Code Manifesto?”

“Not yet.” One of his quick smiles lit his face. “Is that why you’re wearing that dress?”

“Oh this?” I curtsied prettily. “You like my frock?”

Truong crossed his arms and made a great play of studying me. “Erm . . .” His words petered out.

“What?” I asked. “What?”

“You look like shit.”

“Why thank you, Truong! You’re a real boost to a girl’s ego.”

“No, seriously. Why are you dressed like a deranged Amish woman? It’s tragic!”

“The real tragedy,” I said with a strained smile, “is
your
whole outfit.”

“Hey!” he said a touch defensively. “I’m on your side, Kars. If I were a supervisor, I’d dress as though I meant business.”

I lifted a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then how come you’re dressed like Mrs. Roper meets the Chiquita Banana Lady?”

Truong sighed in a way men do when faced with unreasonable women. “First of all, it takes a village to look this good, thank you very much,” he said with offended dignity. “And secondly, I’m not a supervisor; I’m just a lowly minion here. I’m not trying to claw my way to the top. But
you
, my friend,
are
. And Coco Chanel once said that if a woman is poorly dressed you notice her dress and if she is impeccably dressed you notice the woman. Right now honey, all I notice is your dress.”

“Point taken,” I conceded. “Just make sure you read Carter’s dossier and comply with it or else I’ll be forced to write you up.”

Truong pulled a face. “Someone’s throwing her weight around.”

“It’s not me. It’s
him
. You heard what Carter said; he seems to think he’s God, so really, his word is Gospel. And since you’re on my team, you’re going to have to buck up. Your sales are stellar so keep up the good work on that front, but you seriously need to improve your Auxiliary Time.”

“I’ll work on it,” Truong said amiably.

“Thank you. I have a feeling we’re all going to see some changes around here, whether we like it or not.”

“You better
like
it, Kars.” Truong coughed lightly. “Don’t let Carter get under your skin. It’s only his first day here and the two of you are already butting heads. Trust me, you don’t want to
go
there.”

“I can’t help it.” As far as I was concerned, Carter Lockwood was a douchebag and I took great pleasure in rattling his cage. After how he’d humiliated me, he’d forfeited any rights to be treated nicely.

“Kars, don’t go head-to-head with him. Even if you win the battle, you’re gonna lose the war.”

“What if I’m right?” I said indignantly.

“Then keep your mouth shut. The more right you are, the more damage it will do you in the long run.”

I sighed deeply.

“So you’ll try?” Truong persisted. “You’ll try to get along with Carter?”

“I guess,” I said noncommittally. The idea of getting along with Carter seemed as impossible as scaling Everest in a bikini.

I was threading my way through the maze of cubicles when I caught Jennifer Carley idly browsing the internet.

“Jenn, why are you logged out? You’re supposed to be on the phones right now.”

“I’ll hop on the phone in five minutes.” Her voice was laced with irritation.

“But you’re supposed to be on the phone
now.
”

“Well I’m busy,” she hissed.

“Busy doing what?”

“Checking out job-posting sites so I can get the fuck out of here.”

I was momentarily flummoxed and rendered speechless, slightly taken aback by her abrasiveness. Before I had the chance to be mortally offended, Jenn caught herself and quickly apologized. “Sorry Kars, it’s not you. It’s this job. I need a change and I need to be making more money. Working for a paltry twelve bucks an hour just isn’t cutting it for me.”

I twisted my lips. “Why don’t you stop by my desk in twenty minutes? I’ll have Scheduling Ops take you off the phones.”

“For what?”

“We need to have a talk,” I said in all-seriousness. “In the mean time, you need to log in and start taking calls.”

Jenn gave me a silent salute. “Yes ma’am.”

Exactly twenty minutes later, Jenn wandered over and hovered by my cubicle in an agitated manner.

“Jenn! Have a seat.” I set aside my paperwork and turned to face her. “So tell me,” I said earnestly, “are you really unhappy working here?”