Free Pink Slips and Glass Slippers by J.P. Hansen Page A

questions. You may want to bring a progress report on Integrated Client Services.”
    Brooke wanted to slap Chase’s surly guard. “Thanks for your help,” Brooke said with saccharine coating, “I’ll be there at two-fifteen.” Right after hanging up, Brooke said, “Beee-atch.” She ducked her head into slumped shoulders and hoped nobody heard.
    Peering out her fifteenth floor window, Brooke’s pulse pounded. Adrenaline surged for him as hackles rose from Ruth. Her petty insolence reminded her of the bitches and backstabbers in high school. And, it all stemmed from jealousy. She wondered why Ruth felt threatened. Is it because I’m younger? Or because I’m a vice president? Or, is it something else?
    GenSense never had a real pecking order. Everyone felt important. It extended far beyond the company-wide profit sharing—people just followed the golden rule and worked with a sense of purpose. Pharmical was too big and profit hungry. Perhaps, not sharing equitably in the wealth created a monster. Whatever the case, she sensed Ruth couldn’t be trusted.
    A tendril of panic formed in Brooke’s stomach—how am I ever going to prepare a progress report for a division that had made little or no progress since I joined?
    ***
     
    “Excuse me…Chase.” He dropped his hands from the back of his head and gripped the sides as he spun around on his ergonomic leather chair.
    “Hi Ruth.” He smiled that warm smile that made her melt.
    “Brooke Hart is scheduled for 2:15 today.”
    “Great, thank you.”
    “Oh, and she was all worried about the purpose of the meeting.” Ruth raised her eyes.
    “She shouldn’t be. What did you tell her?” Chase hoped Ruth didn’t press him. The fact of the matter was he couldn’t shake Brooke from his mind. He used the ankle injury as an excuse to see her.
    “I said you just wanted to have an informal discussion.”
    “Perfect, thanks. Can you shut my door on your way out?”
    Chase waited until Ruth settled her petite torso at her cubicle. With the door closed, she would hold his calls. He thought, I’m lucky to have Ruth. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
    He lifted the telephone off the receiver—the actual landline. This call couldn’t be made from his unprotected cell or office speakerphone. He had used speakerphone on so many conference calls lately that the real phone felt strange. It matched his insides.
    He answered on the second ring. Chase lowered his head almost between his legs, and said, “Can you hear me, Max?” The call lasted less than a minute—nothing new to report, as Chase had feared. Listening to the gruff private eye, Chase questioned Max’s competency. This was different than chasing around a philandering spouse with a high-powered zoom lens. If exposed, Chase Allman stood to lose it all.
    Chase had been dreading the next call. But, he didn’t dare ignore him. Nobody blew off The Butcher.
    ***
     
    Brooke scrambled to pull up and print reams of reports. She had a tough time asking Cheryl, her shared assistant, for help—Brooke still didn’t understand the inner workings at Pharmical; plus, it wasn’t in Brooke’s nature. Back at GenSense, she had served as her own assistant—answering her own calls, drafting her own letters, even getting herself her own iced tea. She wondered if Chase treated Ruth as his coffee gopher. As much as she loathed Ruth, Brooke hoped he wasn’t that guy —the one who thought his time was more important than someone else’s. CEO or no CEO, he was no different than another human being.
    Though hunger pangs growled, Brooke had no time for even a drive thru. And she couldn’t imagine asking Cheryl to fetch her a Chef Salad, without croutons, and no-fat dressing on the side.
    At 2:06, panic extended well beyond tendrils. She drew a deep breath and said, I don’t know what I’m doing…and I don’t even care. How much could he expect me to know? Is he following up on my injury? What was he really interested