“Yeah?” Maddie studied her for a moment. “Then why do you always look so miserable?”
There was a soft snicker of laughter from the glass office behind Felicity, and both women froze. Panic filled Felicity’s eyes, as she silently implored Maddie to tell her whether Bartell had overheard their conversation. Maddie’s eyes lifted and locked on directly with Bartell’s. Oh shit. She’d heard all right.
Maddie lowered her gaze back to Felicity’s and gave the faintest nod. The woman lost all colour from her cheeks. Maddie wanted to give her a shake. She took her job way too seriously. Of course, at least Felicity had a job. And she had a great career path and future prospects, all working for someone she worshipped. Because make no bones about it, the woman was head over heels for her boss. Or at least madly in love with the idea of her.
Sucks to be her, Maddie thought sympathetically, and reached back for Mrs Swenson’s file. Oh great. Mount Kilimanjaro by the time she was thirty.
Nope, Maddie had no right to be judging Felicity Simmons. Or anyone else.
* * *
A flood of tears greeted Maddie when she arrived at work the next day. She discovered the woman from Finance, Josie something, being patted on her back by colleagues.
“What’s your boss done now?” Maddie dumped her bag on her desk and turned to Felicity, who had an expression of pure irritation on her face.
The chief of staff shot Maddie a frosty glare. “Of course you’d blame her. Actually, that Josie woman’s child got sent home from school with some disease involving large quantities of vomit. The father’s home with the boy, but I gather your news boss is insisting Josie stay and file her copy on the New York City executive budget, not go home to her son. I dread to think what sort of copy she’ll file anyway. But, frankly, this is all on her. She should have thought of all this before she had kids.”
Maddie choked on the absurdity of the statement. She wondered if Felicity’s ballet-dancer bun was too tight. “Uh, what? Josie should have worked out before she had kids that one day her son would get sick and that would conflict with a big news story? Does that make sense in your head?”
“Please. Parents play the parent card far too often. They get all the holidays off, are always going home early or to the school for some play or concert or whatever. You don’t see me wailing because someone in my family has a sniffle. If you’re serious about your career, it’s simple: don’t procreate.”
“Felicity.” Bartell’s voice was even chillier than her glare, as she leaned out of her office. “Where are the London contracts? And why is my latest temp missing? I need her. Now.”
Felicity flew off her chair as though it was scalding. “Elen… I-I’ll just go and track her down. I think she was trying to work out the photocopier.” She scampered off.
“What is that noise?” Bartell frowned. She took a few steps out of her office, and her gaze drifted to the inconsolable woman, who was now attempting two-fingered typing between wiping streams of tears away.
“The finance writer,” Maddie said. “Josie. Doing the budget story.”
“Must be a terrible budget.”
Maddie bit back a snort of laughter, unsure whether she was serious.
“She’s making a scene. Unacceptable.” Bartell stalked towards the distraught woman.
All eyes in the office swung to watch, as Bartell Corp’s imposing boss rapped on the hard drive tower on Josie’s desk to get her attention. “What is this?” Bartell said, voice tight. “You are at work and have a diseased child?”
“W-what?” Josie sniffed.
“I will not have a human incubator putting this office at risk of contamination.”
“But it’s not…not catching. I mean…you can’t catch gastroesophageal reflux, it’s—”
“Go home,” Bartell said, drawing herself up to full height. “At once. I don’t want to see you back here until you are at nil risk of spreading any vile germs to the rest of the staff, and especially me.”
“B-but the budget…”
“Home,” she said. “Now.”
“Ms Bartell, can I speak to you please?” Dave Douglas, the news chief, had a pinched look as he inserted himself into the scene, his gaze flicking to his finance reporter and back.
“No! I do not have a minute. I am supposed to be doing a conference call with Hong Kong. Instead, I’m wasting my time within disease-catching distance of this loud, infected…person.” Bartell glanced back at Josie, who was frozen in her seat. “What did I say? Leave! And do not come back until you are safe to be around.”
Bartell turned on her heel and strode back to her office.
A flicker of anger crossed Dave’s face, and he clamped down on his jaw. He pointed to a man sitting not far from the finance reporter. “Take over, Robert. Deadline’s an hour. I think most of it’s done. Right?” He glanced at Josie for confirmation.
Josie nodded between sniffles. She pushed a folder Robert’s way, mumbling a few instructions.
As Bartell passed Maddie’s desk, the media mogul paused at her open curiosity. “You have an opinion?”
“Nope,” Maddie said. “But Josie’s not a disease risk any more than you are.” She lowered her voice and took a gamble. “And I think…maybe you know it too.”
Bartell’s eyes flashed a warning. “I’m sure there are more Kilimanjaro-climbing teachers who need eulogising far more than I need your medical opinion.”
Surprise flooded Maddie. “You read my obit?”
“Someone had to,” Bartell said. “I doubt our readers did, given where it was run. Now, why aren’t you working? We’re done.”
Maddie turned to face her computer and watched as Josie virtually sprinted from the building, a look of profound relief on her face. Maddie wondered if anyone else understood the favour Bartell Corp’s president had done for her. She could see the incredulous faces of the rest of the staff, exchanging furtive looks. They’d probably be tweeting about their draconian, germaphobic overlord in two minutes under smart-ass aliases.
But Maddie knew the truth. What germaphobe did yoga on a mat on some run-down office floor?
How…unexpected.
BlogSpot: Aliens of New York
By Maddie as Hell
