“We are working out our differences.” I have no trace of lie in my voice.
“I’ll talk to Bexley at our four o’clock battle royale. What are your ideas?”
“I’ve found a corporate retreat that’s only fifteen minutes off the highway. It’s one of those places with whiteboards all over the walls.”
“Sounds expensive.” Helene makes a face, which I had already anticipated.
“I’ve run the numbers. We were under the training budget for this financial year.”
“So what will we do at this corporate love-in?”
“I’ve already come up with several team-building activities. We’ll do them in a round-robin style, rotating each group so teams get regularly mixed up. I’d like to be the facilitator for the day. I want to end this war between the Bexleys and Gamins.”
“People absolutely hate team activities,” Helene points out.
I can’t argue. It’s a corporate truth universally acknowledged that workers would rather eat rat skeletons than participate in group activities. I know I would. But until business team-building models make a significant advance, it’s all I’ve got.
“There’s a prize at the end for the participant who’s made the biggest effort and contributes the most.” I pause for effect. “A paid day off.”
“I like it,” she cackles.
“Joshua is planning something though,” I warn. She nods.
She enters the Colosseum at precisely four. As usual, I can hear them shouting at each other.
At five, Helene comes out of Mr. Bexley’s office and arrives at my desk in an irritated state. “Josh,” she tosses over her shoulder, her voice colored with dislike.
“Ms. Pascal, how are you?” A halo floats above his head.
She ignores him. “Darling, I’m sorry. I lost the coin toss. We’ve gone with Josh’s idea for team building. What is the thing called? Paintballs?”
Sweet baby Jesus, no. “That wasn’t the recommendation. I should know; I wrote it.”
Joshua nearly smiles. It shimmers like a holograph over his face. It vibrates out of him in waves. “I took the liberty of providing an alternative to Mr. Bexley. Paintballing. It’s been shown to be an effective team-building activity. Fresh air, physical activity . . .”
“Injuries and insurance claims,” Helene counters. “Cost.”
“People will pay twenty dollars of their own money to shoot their colleagues with paintballs,” he assures her, staring at me. “It won’t cost the company a cent. They’ll sign waivers. We’ll split into teams.”
“Darling, how does it help team building to separate people and give them paint guns?”
While they argue in fake-polite voices, I seethe. He’s hijacked my corporate initiative and taken it down to a juvenile, base level. Such a Bexley thing to do.
“Perhaps we’ll see some unlikely alliances form,” he tells Helene.
“In that case, I want to see you two paired together,” Helene says archly and I could hug her. He can’t paintball his own teammate.
“Like I said, unlikely alliances. Anyway, let’s not fluster Lucinda before her hot date.”
“Oh, really, Lucy?” Helene taps my desk. “A date. I expect a full report in the morning, darling. And come in late if you wish. You work too much. Live a little.”
Chapter 6
At six thirty P.M. my knee begins jiggling.
“Will you be late?”
“None of your business.” Goddamn it, will Joshua ever leave? He’s worked an eleven-hour day and still looks as fresh as a daisy. I want to lie facedown on my bed.