My irritation turns into rage. I stride over to her workstation and check for the damned contract Kim said she sent. Melanie’s desk is a cluttered mess. Fuck! How do you find anything?
As I go through it, I discover four dog-eared glossy magazines on travel and fashion, a pile of clippings on Ryder Reed and other A-list Hollywood stars—all of them male—a stack of junk mail with the coupons ripped out, a Harlequin romance novel with a broken spine and a huge Walmart barcode sticker. There are also four random Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrappers.
I finally dig out a manila envelope with Kim’s name on it from under all the crap. Kim stamped the envelope CONFIDENTIAL and URGENT in bright red capital letters. I guess Melanie didn’t see that. Or didn’t care.
Kim’s criticism of Melanie’s work comes back to me, making me grind my teeth. My temper turns even fouler. Even though deep inside I knew Kim was right, I refused to agree with her. Now I feel like an idiot, a sensation I absolutely hate.
I turn around, march back to my office and call HR. I’ve had enough of this.
“This is Nancy Beringer,” comes an eminently professional voice.
“Hi Nancy. Wyatt Westland. When is my permanent assistant starting?”
“We’re still looking. We’re hoping for next month.”
Jesus. Next month? “I see,” I say, trying to sound calm. It isn’t Nancy’s fault that Melanie sucks.
“Is there a problem?”
“Are there any other temps available?”
Nancy pauses. “To replace the one you have?”
“Yes.”
“That would take”—a keyboard clacks a few times in the background—“at least a week.”
But if I have a permanent assistant starting within a month… “Okay. Never mind. Have a good weekend.” I hang up, praying I can put up with Melanie without killing her for incompetence and negligence.
That done, I rip the envelope open and glance at the paper. Kim’s contract is not even half a page long and straightforward, in plain English. It just says Kim is supposed to find me a date to Geneva’s wedding, and I’m to sell the housewarming gift I get from Dane at fair market value within a week of the ceremony.
I scowl, my earlier confusion returning. What is Kim’s obsession with Dane’s gift? It isn’t anything to be this…weird about. I can just get it for her off Amazon.
And why isn’t she doing that herself, instead of going through all this hassle? I feel like there must be some kind of trap, so I read the contract again, slowly.
Still not seeing any gotchas. So despite being slightly dubious, I sign it, then snap a picture.
–Me: Here. Signed it.
–Kim: Excellent. I have a date for you tonight.
Geez. That’s quick.
–Me: Can’t. I can’t get a sitter this late.
Lori’s undoubtedly busy. She’s very popular as a sitter.
–Kim: I already took care of that.
I know that this shouldn’t bug me, that Kim is doing what she thinks best, but it bothers me anyway. Not because I think Kim is negligent or anything, but Vi’s my kid. I’m trying to be as hands-on as possible to show her she’s important. And passing off the screening and hiring of a sitter to Kim feels like I’m saying Vi isn’t important enough to warrant that personal effort from me.
–Me: I prefer you don’t do that.
–Kim: Don’t do what?
I feel my mouth go tight as I exhale.
–Me: Hire a sitter I don’t know.