Boss of Me

No one is smiling.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Patton gestures to me. “Raquel Morgan here is our new Director of International Affairs. She’ll be our translator.”

He touches my shoulder, sparking a zing of electricity that I shoot down. I’m not entertaining those thoughts when I’m pissed at him.

The men on the screen don’t respond. It’s almost like they can’t hear us.

A few seconds tick past, and Patton gives me another nudge. Oh, shit! I jump to life and quickly repeat what he said to them in French.

All of the men smile, and one nods. “Sali. K’aiza.”

Patton glances at me, and my teeth clench. He knows I almost missed it, but he’s letting it go. I’m not. I remember Renée’s advice: Impress him.

The man’s greeting was not in French, but my work yesterday paid off. It’s a common Malagasy greeting.

“They say, ‘Hello, how’s it going?’”

Patton’s eyebrows flicker up, but after that crack about knowing my place, I’m ready to roll up my sleeves.

The conversation continues with Patton speaking in English and me translating it into French, and vice versa with the men. The rental is on one of the top floors in a high rise in Knoxville. They’ve seen photos, and Patton assures them the space has been newly renovated and is able to accommodate all the latest tech for a team of up to fifty.

They discuss the college town briefly and traffic patterns. It is pretty boring, and I’d probably h

ave zoned out if I didn’t have to translate all of it. It’s doubly annoying because ten minutes in, it was clear these guys do indeed speak English, and Patton’s right—the meeting would go a lot faster if we could drop this pretense.

We’re finally at the end, ready to sign off on all the contracts when the door opens, and a guy I’ve never met swaggers into the room. He’s tall with neat brown hair and wearing an expensive gray suit. His blue eyes strike me as world-weary, but he gives me a big grin in spite of it. I’m ready to like him, when I glance over and see the tension in Patton’s face.

“What’s going on in here?” The guy pulls out a chair across from us and drops into it.

“You know what.” Patton’s voice is even. I’ve only been here one day, but I can tell by that tone he’s pissed. “We’re meeting with Madagascar.”

“Mada-gascar!” He says it in a mocking way, and my stomach clenches. I realize this guy is a loose cannon… He shouts at the screen, waving, “Are these our friends in Africa? Jumbo!”

My lips press together, and I’m not sure if I should translate or not. I think he might be high. The men on the screen seem confused, and Patton takes the lead.

“Taylor, Justin, Rickey, I’d like to introduce you to Martin Randall. He handles our marketing.” His tone is all business. “Martin’s had some late nights recently.”

I translate this quickly, knowing these guys understand everything Patton said. Martin’s eyes are on me, but it’s not predatory like Jerry. He’s studying me, watching me for clues.

“Was that French?” Martin’s voice is still loud, and he turns from me to the screen. “I thought Madagascarians spoke Mulligatawney.” He holds up a hand Native American style and quips, “Moto-Moto!”

Patton is on his feet at once and rounding the table as Martin falls back laughing. “Get it? I like to move it, move it…”

He’s still going when Patton catches him by the arm, lifting him out of the chair. “Let’s go.”

“I heard they smoke a lot of pot in Madagascar… It’s not legal in Tennessee. It’s so confusing these days where you can get high and where you can’t.”

“I’ll clear it up for you.” Patton’s voice is quiet anger. I hear it, but I’m not sure if our friends on the screen hear it.

I turn to them, speaking in French. “I’m so sorry about the interruption. Martin has been dealing with some personal issues. He’s not himself today… probably needs a day or two off.”

I am seriously flailing. I’ve never met this guy, and I don’t know what Patton would want me to say.

The men on the screen frown at each other. Taylor says Moto-Moto in a questioning way, and then they speak to each other in a dialect I don’t understand. I can only guess it’s Malagasy. This can’t be good.

When they turn to me again, Rickey, the first man who spoke, addresses me in English. “We’re going to need a little more time to discuss the agreement.”

Oh, no. They’re stepping back from the deal. My chest clenches, and I know I’ve got to do something to save it. I don’t know the investors Patton mentioned, but losing this account so late in the game would not look good to anybody.