Kitabı oku: «Welcome To My Family», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

THE WEEKEND FLEW BY so fast, Kat wasn’t certain there’d been one when her alarm sounded Monday morning. Groaning, she rolled over, grabbed for it, but knocked the clock to the floor. Poseidon bounded across the room and dragged it, still buzzing, out of her reach. “Now you’ve done it, dog.” Kat crawled slowly out from under the covers. Her body ached from the physical labor of unloading her belongings.

After she’d retrieved and silenced the alarm, she warmed up for the air force exercises she’d done religiously since junior high. Back then she’d had a terrible crush on Ryan Kelley, who’d declared himself academy-bound. As it turned out, he’d become a podiatrist and married a gourmet cook. Last time Kat saw him, Ryan was overweight. Yet she owed him for making exercise and good health her life’s passion.

The routine didn’t take long. Soon she’d showered and dressed for her first day on the new job.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Just Kat, her mother and Poseidon. Pop hadn’t come in from the races until after 2:00 a.m., Kat knew. But because her stomach was in such a turmoil with first-day jitters, she purposely didn’t mention that to her mother.

Leaving an unhappy dog behind, Kat drove the route she’d mapped out. Worried about losing her vehicle in the mammoth parking lot, she checked coordinates, then smoothed her suit skirt before falling in with a throng heading through the main gate. Ordinarily she wouldn’t wear a skirt to work, but yesterday all three sisters-in-law had badgered her. Seeing the women here dressed in what she’d term church dress, Kat was glad she’d taken Shannon, Mary and Erin’s advice.

Outside the personnel office, Kat hauled in a deep breath. A lone occupant in the room glanced up, then away as she entered. Kat figured it was just as well she hadn’t expected the red-carpet treatment. She approached the woman with her best smile. “I’m Kathleen O’Halloran reporting for work as the new recreation specialist.”

The woman’s smoothly penciled eyebrows shot up. “I expected a person with your athletic background to be more…robust.” The cool gaze flicked over Kat again as the woman walked toward her. “I’m Wendolyn Nelson, director of Personnel.”

Kat made her own survey of the statuesque blonde, who wore cascades of gold chains as if they’d been minted for her. The gleaming chains draped an expensive green silk dress that matched the cold eyes. Kat thought the woman resembled a fishpond and she felt disappointed by Ms. Nelson’s cold demeanor. During the phone interview, she’d sounded nice. “Athletics is a matter of muscle tone,” Kat murmured. “I assure you, I’m much stronger than I look.”

“Yes. Well, we may never know the full extent of your prowess. The position may be only temporary.”

“But…your advertisement said the job was permanent.”

The director seemed faintly disconcerted. “Maybe you’d rather not take the job? Our CEO sees no need to mix recreation with work, and frankly, I agree.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll have to change his mind,” Kat said, with a smile she hoped conveyed the message that she didn’t care what this woman thought.

“I sincerely doubt that, Ms. O’Halloran.” The blonde pursed her lips. “Anyhow, at the moment you have paperwork to complete. From then, until he decides the program’s fate, you’ll report directly to our CEO.”

Kat gave a low whistle.

“I know it’s irregular.” Ms. Nelson might have said more, but the door opened then and several women trooped in, chatting and laughing until they glanced up and saw the director eying them in a faintly disapproving fashion. They quickly melted into the seats at various workstations.

“Late again, ladies?” Ms. Nelson made a production of checking her watch. “This gives new employees a bad impression of Flintridge. Lucy…” She singled out a thin brunette. “Start Ms. O’Halloran on these forms.” She tossed out a folder, marched into an inner office and slammed the door.

Although Kat was sure she wasn’t intended to see the look shared by the four secretaries, it was hard to miss. She wondered if anyone had ever quit Flintridge on the first day. Technically, before the first day. The notion surfaced again before Kat had completed the endless forms. She was favorably impressed by the company’s generous insurance benefits and profit-sharing package.

The video she’d been required to see was wasted time. Except that it gave her a rough idea why the workers here needed a recreational program. As in most industrial-line jobs, the work was repetitious and boring. Otherwise, Flintridge appeared to run a tight ship. Watching the company video, she observed little or no camaraderie among the workers as they assembled the big luxury cars.

“I’m finished, Lucy,” Kat said when the brunette poked her head back into the room. Checking her watch, Kat was surprised to see the orientation had taken more than three hours.

Lucy led the way to the director’s office, where she tapped on the door. “Ms. O’Halloran is finished,” she said. “Shall I escort her upstairs?”

“Certainly not.” Ms. Nelson hurried to the door and snatched the folder right out of Lucy’s hand. “Mr. Kowalski is expecting me to deliver Ms. O’Halloran. That will be all.” She dismissed the young woman with a wave.

Kat shook her head. Had the director said Kowalski? Perhaps it was a common Polish name, like Murphy in her community. Kat might have asked, except she barely managed to keep with Ms. Nelson’s brisk stride up nine flights of stairs. Eschewing the elevator was obviously how Ms. Nelson got her exercise. No wonder she didn’t feel the company needed a recreation program! By the time the director stopped, Kat found herself standing ankle-deep in mauve carpet before a desk labeled Executive Secretary to the President.

“Mrs. Carmichael, I’d like a word with Mr. Kowalski before you send this employee in.” Ms. Nelson’s tone bordered on brusque.

Kat watched a smile fade from the face of the attractive silver-haired woman who turned from her computer. “Is that necessary, Wendy? He’s very busy, and not in the best of moods.”

Getting the feeling her presence would add to the boss’s bad mood, Kat drifted out of earshot to where she could study a large painting gracing the far wall. Suddenly the door beside her, one marked Private, flew open and a man in a dark suit almost bowled her over. “Hazel, get me the stats—” The man stopped and refocused. “You!” he exclaimed, staring at Kat.

Any air stored in her lungs lodged there as Kathleen faced the driver from the stranded car. “Mr. Sl-Slater,” she stammered. Kat quickly thrust out a hand, then withdrew it when he made no move to take it. A niggling suspicion began to emerge. Today her test jockey looked top-drawer in a navy blue pinstriped suit, white shirt with button-down collar and a striped tie with just a dash of burgundy. A matching handkerchief peeked from his breast pocket, along with a familiar gold pen.

Kat decided she’d underestimated the cost of his haircut the other day. Those precision layers, graduating from tarnished gold to sun-bleached white, were more like fifty bucks a whack.

A person who often laughed when she was nervous, Kat couldn’t prevent a giggle from surfacing now. She imagined how he’d glower if he knew how she’d labeled him the other day. Salesman…or test driver. She giggled again.

Stung by her laughter, Slater felt his blood begin to heat. “Slater’s my first name,” he said tersely. “You never asked for a last, but it’s Kowalski.” He enunciated each syllable as he stalked toward his secretary’s desk.

Kat’s jocularity died and she practically swallowed her tongue.

“You two have met?” exclaimed his personnel director and executive secretary in unison. The former recovered first. “But…you said you didn’t know anyone with a degree in kinesiology,” Ms. Nelson accused her boss. “This is the new recreation specialist I hired.”

“What?” Slater whirled, raking Kat from head to toe with a horrified look. “She’s our what?” he repeated.

“Honestly, Slater,” his secretary chided. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with a bad heart like your father. Wendy asked do you or don’t you know Ms. O’Halloran?”

“Yes,” he bit out, then as quickly denied it, “I mean, no…I don’t.” Brandishing the clipboard, Slater advanced on Kat. “When we met, it was raining cats and dogs. One of whom left muddy paw prints all down a new linen shirt. Where is Brutus?” he asked, deliberately peering behind Kat.

His audience looked baffled, except for Kat. “Linen,” she murmured. “It figures. Poseidon’s at home. But I thought you said he only licked you. I did offer to pay the cleaning bill.” Smiling sweetly, she added, “Are you thinking of throwing that clipboard in another one of your tantrums? If so, maybe I’ll quit now.”

“I think not.” Slater flung his free arm toward his personnel director. “Ms. O’Halloran’s folder, please.” His stormy gaze never left Kat’s.

Wendolyn Nelson hugged the manila folder to her breast. “My second choice for the job was a nice young man from Purdue. He’ll have his master’s degree in three months. Of course, he wanted more money, and he can’t start until July.”

“Just give me the damn folder. If I don’t have a recreation specialist on the premises today, we can expect an employee riot.”

“But sir…Perhaps we should go through the list of possibilities again.” Ms. Nelson still clung to Kat’s folder.

This time Kat deemed it prudent not to smile.

“That’s not necessary, Wendy,” Slater snapped. “I’ll take over from here.” He pried the folder out of the woman’s hand and motioned Kat into his office with it.

“What stats did you want?” his secretary called seconds before Slater stalked inside after his unwelcome guest.

He stopped, his eyes clearly puzzled.

Kat enjoyed seeing his blank expression. It proved him human.

“I’ll, uh, get back with you on that, Hazel. At the moment, will you send out a staff memo letting everyone know Ms. O’Halloran is on board?”

Kat took the opportunity to give his office a thorough once-over. Three upholstered wing chairs faced a massive mahogany desk. She didn’t know whether or not she should sit or remain standing. After finishing with his secretary, he paced back and forth in front of the desk, flipping through her file. This room was okay, Kat decided, but it wasn’t him. There was none of Kowalski’s restless energy in the muted plaids of the furniture, the hunter-green walls or the pale gray carpets. He needed vibrant colors. Reds, purples, yellows.

But, she thought, pulling herself up short, his office decor wasn’t her business. Instead, she drifted over to look out the bank of windows. My, but he had a beautiful view. Gazing at the complex, Kat realized it was a veritable park. Low, angular buildings nestled discreetly among tall trees. Broad walkways would be perfect for jogging. Maybe he did jog. Perhaps that was what kept him fit. She sneaked a peek at his lithe, narrow-hipped profile. Nice. Yummy. Feeling her blood sing in her veins, Kat spun away to explore yet another wall—this one filled with awards.

“So,” he suddenly challenged from behind her. “Your father is Timothy O’Halloran. Damn. I just knew it.”

Kat whipped around. “What does my pop have to do with this job?”

“Nothing. You’ve listed him as next of kin.” Slater sat in the swivel chair and picked up a pencil. Gripping both ends at once, he stared at her; she felt like a bug being studied. “You did phone Dempsey the other night. That’s commendable. Frankly, I can’t help wondering which of your father’s bad traits you’ve inherited.”

Kat’s initial sizzle of interest gave way to anger that burned a path to her cheeks. “Now, wait a darn minute! If you’re in any way related to Louie Kowalski, you have some nerve bringing up bad traits. My pop was a respected electrical engineer at Motorhill up until he met Louie.”

“Louie?” Slater’s face matched hers shade for shade. “My father is called Lou at the country club, L.J. in board of directors meetings and ‘Sir’ when he strolls around this complex. Never Louie. Or not until he ran afoul of Tim O’Halloran, that is.”

This information set Kat back on her heels. Somehow, it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. Now she didn’t wait for an invitation but plopped down in one of Slater’s wing chairs. “Your father’s on the board here?” she whispered.

“He stepped down from the presidency last January.” Slater shrugged impatiently. “He’s board chairman, just like his father was before him. What isn’t like my grandfather is the irresponsible way L.J.’s behaved since he met Tim O’Halloran and his hoodlum pals. Instead of good works, he spends his spare time on poker or at the track.”

“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” Kat said, shaking her head. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not normal behavior for my pop, either.”

Slater drummed his fingers on her manila file. “Regarding the job. I take it you’re aware of how I feel about instituting this position in my company?”

“One would have to be the village idiot not to pick up on that.” Kat looked away and caught her lip between her teeth. “So…” She worked to get a grip on her cartwheeling emotions. “Did you ever figure out what was wrong with your car?”

Slater straightened. Once again she’d thrown him off balance. Damn, but he couldn’t stop looking at her lips…. The CEO in him beat a hasty retreat. As he stared at her, he saw that concern darkened her huge eyes, tugging on his sympathy. Plus, Slater noticed an appealing smatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “This is not a social chat we’re having, Ms. O’Halloran,” he said, attempting to regain control. “Nothing about that car concerns you. Got it?”

Kat scooted forward in her chair but felt her skirt catch. It was a curse of being short; her feet never quite touched the floor when she sat in big, roomy chairs. “Got it,” she repeated, her reply sounding a trifle breathless, which might have been partly because his eyes followed the tug of her hands on a ridiculously short skirt. “I work here, but I don’t ask questions about the product.” She returned his frown. “Makes no sense to me.”

“Speaking of your job. Is that your normal work attire?” Almost before the remark was out of Slater’s mouth, he cursed himself for saying a word.

Kat laughed. She couldn’t help it. The family had coerced her into wearing a suit and he didn’t like their choice. “At the resort, I generally wore sweats. Weather permitting, shorts.”

“No shorts,” Slater sputtered. “This whole notion of play at work is ridiculous. I don’t know what possessed the other automakers. It only lengthens the overall workday when you give longer lunches and extra breaks to accommodate recreation. Don’t workers want to get home to see their wives and kids anymore?”

“Have you talked to staff at Motorhill? Or plant managers in Detroit? Absence goes down and productivity up where they have recreation programs. I interned at a facility where they started a new program. I can personally vouch that it did make a difference.”

Slater declined comment. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his lips. “What equipment would you need to get something minimal going?”

Kat was extremely glad she’d climbed out of bed last night to draw up a list. She extracted it from her purse and pushed it across his desk.

As Slater perused it, his straight brows almost met over his nose.

Kat chewed her lower lip again and waited for him to throw the list in his wastebasket.

But when he spoke, Slater sounded calm enough. “Space isn’t an issue. I’ve got an empty warehouse and plenty of ground to grade for a ball field. Equipment is something else. I think it’s only fair to tell you, Ms. O’Halloran, I have an attorney checking for loopholes in the proposal our workers presented to the board. The minute he finds one, your program is history. Surely you understand my reluctance to invest in equipment.”

Kat steepled her fingers in a gesture exactly like his. “Do you work out?” she asked bluntly, knowing he had to in order to remain so lean and trim.

“Every day.” He glanced up. “I’d go crazy if I didn’t. I don’t, however, exercise during work hours. I belong to a twenty-four-hour gym.”

“Which costs you two thousand bucks a year. Right?”

He shrugged. “More or less.”

“More would be my guess. However, the men and women who work here probably didn’t hatch from a long line of CEOs. Surveys show blue collar workers eat too much bread and too few fruits and vegetables. Heading in this morning I passed a score of people who were overweight. Exercise lengthens life. That, Kowalski, is fact. Exercise also sharpens mental acuity.”

“I’m not disputing the merits of exercise. I just have more important things to worry about. Like if we don’t produce cars around here, those same people won’t even have bread on the table.”

“Then Flintridge is in a financial bind.”

“Who told you that?” He catapulted from his chair, smacking both hands flat on the desk.

Kat shrank back into the oversize chair. “I heard there’s a rumor to that effect floating around Motorhill.”

“Dammit,” he swore, slamming her folder closed. “Squelch it,” he ordered.

“Me?” She leaned toward him. “I’ll admit I have family working at Motorhill. But they didn’t start the rumor. And I sure didn’t.”

He eyed her coldly in what became a fierce glaring match that lasted until his intercom buzzed. Shifting his attention to a console on his desk, Slater flipped a switch. “Yes, Hazel, what is it?”

“Have you forgotten you were meeting…someone for lunch?”

He spared a glance at a wafer-thin watch. “Yes. Is she on the phone?”

The response was affirmative.

“Extend my apologies and tell her to order our salads. I’ll have a chicken Caesar.” He severed the connection with the confidence of a man assured that whatever he commanded would be done.

Kat stood. It would be a cold day in hell before she ordered any man a salad via secretarial request. Or if she did, he’d be wearing it when he did manage to show up. “Does this conclude our discussion?” she asked. “Or shall I return after lunch?” She led the way to the door.

“Let’s resume at three. Meanwhile, I’ll have Hazel show you the office I’ve assigned you. It’s directly below on level nine.” He opened the door and beckoned his secretary.

“If you ask me,” Kat muttered, “you take darn long lunch hours for someone who doesn’t approve of recreating on company time.”

Hazel Carmichael rushed up to meet them just then, so Kat missed the crimson tide that flowed up Kowalski’s neck.

“Take Ms. O’Halloran to room 910 before I get into trouble with the employees for firing her, Hazel. I want her back at three, so please clear my calendar.”

“Very good, sir. Enjoy your lunch with Ms. Bellamy.”

Ms. Bellamy. Kat wondered what she did for a living since she had time to lunch all afternoon. The notion of him dallying with some do-nothing socialite while she twiddled her thumbs, sitting around waiting for his instructions, stuck in Kat’s craw. Then, disgusted to think she cared what he did and with whom, she swept all images of her arrogant boss aside and dutifully followed his secretary. She didn’t envy Mrs. Carmichael having to choreograph Kowalski’s love life. It seemed a demeaning task.

“Here we are, dear.” Mrs. Carmichael unlocked a door. “I didn’t know precisely what supplies a recreation specialist might require, so I ordered the usual pens, pencils, tape and such.”

Kat stepped inside. “At the resort, I had a fourth of this space, a host of kayaks, paddles, five bags of assorted sports balls, a desk and two file cabinets.”

The secretary looked horrified. “No one mentioned sports equipment, Ms. O’Halloran. I’m afraid nothing’s been ordered.”

“Call me Kat. And don’t worry. Kowalski has my equipment list. I would like a roster of personnel, broken out into shifts with lunch and break times, if possible.”

“I’ll call Wendy after lunch and tell her you need it first thing in the morning.” Slater’s secretary jotted herself a note.

“Lovely,” Kat murmured. Just what she needed, another visit with the company fashion plate. Especially since she’d be wearing sweats tomorrow.

Mrs. Carmichael homed in on Kat’s remark. “If Wendy gives you trouble, call me. I’ll collect the list for you.”

Kat smiled. So she hadn’t imagined the friction between those two.

The woman suddenly checked a watch hanging from a slender neck chain. “It’s our lunchtime, too, Ms….er, Kat. If you haven’t got any plans, you’re welcome to join me in the cafeteria.”

“Thank you, I’d love to join you for lunch. Let me stow this packet in the desk and I’ll be set to go. Will I need to wear my badge?”

“No need. Oh, I almost forgot, these are your office and building keys. Slater will show you the warehouse and give you that key, I’m sure.”

Kat tucked the key ring in her purse, and tossed the badge into a drawer. The badge that Ms. Nelson considered simply a waste—as she’d announced in a snide voice loud enough for all in her office to hear—because it was only temporary.

“By the way,” Kat asked as they left the room. “If it’s not telling tales out of school…how stable do you think my position is?”

Mrs. Carmichael cast a glance up and down the hall. When it appeared they were alone, she said, “Tool-and-die workers have asked for it every year since Motorhill developed their program. They offered to take it in lieu of a raise. But maybe you aren’t aware that Flintridge is family-owned except for a small amount of common stock. Benefits and wages are board decisions. L.J. was scrupulous about keeping up with union salaries, as was his father. But neither was big on frills. I don’t know why everyone assumed Slater would be less conservative.”

“He’s not?”

Kat’s companion rang for the elevator. “Product-wise, no.” The elevator arrived, but it was full. Giving a shake of her head, Hazel fell silent and headed for the stairs.

Kat didn’t want to pressure her, but she was sharp enough to recognize when a plum had been dropped into her lap. She might never lunch with the president’s secretary again and there were things she wanted to know.

As they left the building by the back door and started down a tree-lined walkway, Kat murmured, “The landscaping here is beautiful. One of the Kowalskis must have had an appreciation for gardening.”

“All of them,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “At least, the three I’ve worked for.”

“You worked for Slater’s grandfather? You don’t look that old.”

The woman blushed. “Not as executive secretary. I came here in my twenties. The company was smaller then. That Slater was a people person. He got down in the trenches with his employees. He retired soon after I began.”

“Ah. So your boss is named for his grandfather, but isn’t like him?”

“Excuse me…but I had the impression you knew Slater already.”

Kat glanced up and caught the curiosity in the secretary’s gaze. Mrs. Carmichael was doing some digging, too. Kat grinned. “Don’t tell him I ratted.” She explained how they met, finishing the tale before they reached the cafeteria line. Talk shifted as they selected lunch salads and found seats away from the crowd.

Mrs. Carmichael smiled. “Cars,” she said abruptly. “The car vision is something all the Kowalski men are born with. Slater’s grandfather was obsessed by the Ridgemont. L.J. poured heart and soul into the Ridgecrest. And now Slater slaves day and night on his dream car. Makes for a poor life, if you ask me. Although no one does.”