Page 86 of Tasty Cherry

I had forgotten about that. Havannah had been particularly interested in this combination of skills, since her ballroom decor was one of her most treasured elements of her parties.

There’s a rap at my door.

“Come in.”

Jessie from HR appears, her white-blonde hair more freshly dyed than yesterday. She smells of a salon.

“Hey.” She sits in the chair opposite my desk.

I have a feeling I know what this is about.

“I like the hair.”

She touches it. “You always notice.” She twists her wedding ring, and I figure her husband probably doesn’t.

“What’s up?”

“What are we going to do about Maverick? I’ve got a written report from Anna, which states she already spoke to you and got no action. Raya is ready to throw him off the interstate, I think. I have two reports of him yelling in the back halls earlier today. And one girl from laundry left an email citing an ‘unbearable work environment’ as the reason she didn’t come in over the weekend.” She sits back in her chair. “We have to intervene.”

I’m glad I talked to Uncle Roger. “I have a lead on someone who can rein him in.”

Jessie looks skeptical. “You think that’ll help? He’s wreaking havoc.”

“I’d like to try it before we chuck him. It’s only been a week.”

She lets out a sharp laugh. “I’m not sure we’ve had anyone cause this much friction in only a week. And he lives on site! Raya is on the warpath.”

“Give me one more week. If we don’t get him in line, I’ll let him know he’s out.”

“Okay, boss.” She stands up. “Please don’t add a legal mess to the already problematic personnel one. He’s not going to do something irrevocable, right? Havannah doesn’t need this.”

“I’m on it.”

“Okay.”

When she’s gone, I lean back. This is a lot.

I reach for the phone. Normally on a really bad day, I’d text my sister.

But today, I pull up Mila’s thread and add a message.

This has been a doozy of a day.

She’s in HR, so she might not be able to text back for a while. I set my phone on the desk and turn to my computer. Havannah has sent the fifteenth draft of who should handle her various tasks when she goes on maternity leave.

But then my phone buzzes.

Mila: I’m heading to lunch. Know somewhere safe to meet?

My body instantly stirs.

Me: I do.

Mila: Tell me where and we’ll turn this day around.

I shouldn’t.

But my fingers don’t get the message. They text out what they want.