He thought of Maya's frayed winter coat. He thought of the plastic triceratops sitting next to the past due electric bill. I expect full autonomy over the regional hubs. Owen said you'll have it. And I leave at 5:00.
I have a daughter to pick up from after school care. I don't live at the office. " Evelyn's gaze softened just a fraction. "Hard stop. " Owen nodded slowly. "Then I accept the position. " Evelyn walked back to her desk. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a neatly folded square of gray fabric.
She placed it on the polished wood and pushed it toward him. It was his flannel shirt. It had been dry cleananed and pressed, smelling faintly of an expensive chemical solvent, but the frayed cuffs were still there. Thank you for the loan, she said quietly. It kept me warm.
Owen picked up the shirt. It looks better with the sleeves rolled up anyway. 6 months later, the air in the city turned thick and humid, signaling the arrival of a brutal July. Owen sat in his corner office on the sixth floor. He wore a crisp white shirt, the collar unbuttoned, and a pair of tailored slacks.
The heavy bags under his eyes were gone. His desk was organized. A framed drawing by Maya, a heavily crayon depiction of a dinosaur eating a truck, sat proudly next to his dual monitors. It was 6:30 p.m. On a Friday.
He was breaking his own rule, but Maya was at a friend's sleepover, and the quarterly freight reports needed final approval before Monday. The door to his office clicked open. Owen didn't look up from his screen. I told you to go home, Marcus. The Seattle numbers are fine.
I certainly hope so, given what we're paying you to fix them. Owen's head snapped up. Evelyn Mercer was leaning against the door frame. She looked different than she had 6 months ago. The severe, tightly wound tension that used to radiate from her like heat off asphalt had cooled.
Her hair was down, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. She wore dark jeans and a simple black silk blouse. She held two greasy brown paper bags. "You're on my floor," Owen noted, leaning back in his ergonomic chair. "I own all the floors, Owen," she replied dryly, walking into the room.
She dropped the bags onto his pristine glass conference table. The smell of fried garlic and soy sauce instantly filled the office. "I brought dinner, Golden Dragon. " Dragon, your assistant mentioned, "It's your usual Friday crutch. " Owen raised an eyebrow, shutting down his monitors. You're eating strip mall Chinese food. I am adapting to the cultural practices of my most efficient department head, she said, pulling out two white cardboard cartons and a pair of chopsticks.
Owen walked over and sat across from her. He opened his carton of Line. To what do I owe the pleasure, Evelyn? They had dropped the titles months ago. It happened during a vicious 3-hour debate over warehouse leasing in Chicago.
They had yelled, argued logistics, and emerged with a bizarre ironclad mutual respect. The board reviewed the Q2 margins this morning, Evelyn said. She didn't look at him, focusing intently on stabbing a piece of broccoli. Logistics is up 12% in efficiency. The bleeding stopped.