Adulation (16 page)

Tears slid down my cheeks. “I guess I’ve grown fond of my cage,” I said quietly.

“Door’s unlocked, Sunny. You can walk out any time you want.”

Whoa. Somehow knowing that was even scarier than the cage itself.

After lunch and outside the pub, Theo and I hugged each other before we walked back to ourrespective workplaces in opposite directions. Thank goodness I had work to keep me busy. October 15through November 15 was the stock manager’s shitstorm, when double the number of pallets came in, allin preparation for Christmas. The goal wasn’t so much trying to get everything out onto the floor as it wastrying to figure out where to put it in the stockroom before it was scheduled to go out. Over the years I haddeveloped a “sort-and-store” method, in which  I strategically rearranged the metal stacks in order toplace the specialty shipment within easy reach.

I was already knee-deep in the process when I reentered the store and headed back to thestockroom. I passed the conference room and saw Georgie with two men: one of them was Phil Taylor,our former store manager, now in charge of the district. The other man looked unfamiliar. Georgie’s facedisplayed a wounded, worrisome expression.

I returned to the front of the store and went behind the cash wrap, where Angela was sortingthrough customer holds. “What’s going on in the conference room?” I asked in almost a whisper, despitethere being no customers or sales associates within the vicinity.

“Georgie’s under review again,” she replied in the same hushed tone. “Syosset is outselling himalmost by twice as much. Hell, I think even Bridgehampton is doing better than he is.”

In addition to organizing and planning events in the store, Georgie’s job also consisted ofcommunity outreach. That included selling books to school districts, organizing community book fairs andreading programs, and planning and organizing events that benefited not only the local community but alsothe Whitford’s bottom line (not their passion—my ass!). Georgie hated this part of his job and did itpoorly; thus, at the end of every sales quarter his head went on the chopping block, only to be spared untilthe next time. I had my theories about why he was never fired. For one thing, he was great when it came tobooking events at the store. He managed to get A-list authors, best sellers and celebrities alike. Someevents were so successful we had lines out the door and around the corner. And that  was the part of hisjob he really loved. Georgie was great when it came to events planning—I’d often told him that he shouldbe in public relations. And although he could schmooze with the best of them, he wasn’t a salesman. Atleast not when it came to direct selling. If the customer came to him, he could get them to buy half thestore and some of the fixtures too. But he hated going out into the community and finding schools andgroups to work with him. He called that part of the job “whoring himself out” and found it to be theunfortunate trade-off to getting to meet a reality star or a celebrity chef, not to mention the health insurancethat came with his salary.

“Who’s the guy with Phil?” I asked.

“That’s Joshua Hamilton, the new regional manager,” said Angela.

“What happened to Cory?”

“She got promoted to VP of Something in corporate. It was in the newsletter.”

I was surprised to have either missed or forgotten that detail, given that I devoutly read thecompany newsletter each month. Georgie always made fun of me, insisting I was the only one who read itat all. “I think they’re keeping it going just for you,” he had teased.

“Anyway, this new guy was some big shot from Borders, and now he’s the interim regionalmanager,” said Angela. “Although I guess that’s not saying much considering Borders is in trouble.”

“You think it’s his fault?” I joked, looking toward the back of the store, as if I could see theconference room from where I was standing. Angela laughed. “What’s he like?” I asked. “Nice? Mean? Wishy-washy?”

“Cute, actually,” said Angela.

“Cute as in Robbie Marsh cute?”

“Older. Salt-and-pepper hair. And a slightly receding hairline. But still cute.”

“Hmm,” I said, and headed back toward the stockroom, checking my sweatshirt for barbecue saucestains and finding none, when the conference room door opened and I smacked right into the new guy. Anoise came out of me sounding like “Oomph!” as I looked up at him, startled. He held my arms to steady

me.

“You OK?” he asked, his voice sounding full and robust, like someone who did voiceovers for a

living.

I looked up at him. Definitely not Robbie Marsh cute. His hair was indeed receding, formingalmost a widow’s peak. His skin was very light, his face round, his eyes blue and framed by crow’s feetwhen he smiled. He wore wire-framed glasses and was dressed in gray flannel slacks and a black dressshirt. Nice-looking, but not impossibly gorgeous. Definitely forty-something.

“Uh-huh,” I said, nodding my head, trying to make myself say something more intelligent andfeeling self-conscious in my usual work attire. My hair fell lifelessly around my makeup-free face. So

much for the makeover.

The new guy looked at me as if I’d been dressed to the nines, however. He extended his hand. “I’m

Josh,” he said. “You must be Sunny, the stock manager I’ve heard such good things about.”

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” His handshake was firm yet friendly. Not at all like—no, no,

no
, I was not going there...

“Hey, Sunny,” said Phil. “How are things?”

“Things are good,” I replied. “How ’bout with you?”

“All good. I heard you just had a birthday. The big four-oh.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Happy birthday,” said Josh, who, I noticed from the corner of my eye, had not stopped smiling. Throughout my tenure at Whitford’s, I’d met all types of managers, ranging from dictators to cheerleaders. Within seconds I pegged Joshua Hamilton to be a cheerleader.

“Josh is our new regional,” said Phil. “I’m giving him a tour of the stores. I’d like to take him back to the stockroom, if that’s OK with you—show him how Whitford’s best stock manager does things.”

My stomach started twisting into knots. “Oh, sure. C’mon back.” I led the way, trying to get Georgie’s attention as I passed by the offices adjoining the conference room, but he was already on the phone. Poor thing. He looked like he’d just been yelled at by his sixth-grade teacher for not doing his homework.

“Sorry for not giving you the heads-up,” whispered Phil as we lagged behind. “Josh likes snap inspections.” Maybe he was a dictator after all, I thought. I rapid-fire entered the four-digit code into the keypad and held the door to the stockroom open for them to enter. I’d swept and straightened up before I left last night, but given that I was still in the midst of the sort-and-store, no one could tell.

“Well, here’s home,” I said.

“That’s great,” said Josh to Phil, as if I wasn’t standing in front of them. “She treats this place like it’s home. That’s the kind of attitude I like.”

Total cheerleader.

“Oh, I’m a Whitford’s gal all the way,” I said. “I think I’m the oldest employee here. I mean, I’ve been working at this particular store the longest.” My face started to get hot.

“Fantastic,” said Josh. He looked around the stockroom, seemingly impressed. “How are you handling the craziness?”

“OK. Setting up the Trinket center was a hell I’ve never experienced before, but we’ve got a great team here.”

He laughed. “I can’t even imagine. What do you think of the Trinket?”

I nervously looked at Phil, who seemed to be waiting for the shoe to drop. “I think it’s great. Put it on my Christmas list.”

“You own a Kindle, don’t you,” said Josh. My face flushed again, and I was sure this time it turned the same shade as my peeling nail polish. He smiled in amusement, the way my brother Tim used to look when he teased me relentlessly. “That’s OK. Me too. I own every e-reader on the market. The Trinket’s good; you should get one.”

“I would’ve bought it had it come out first.”

“I believe you,” he said. “So how’s your staff?”

“My team? They’re terrific. I trained them all myself.”

“Sunny is just as great at employee training,” interjected Phil. “Human Resources would love her.”

“Do you have enough help?” asked Josh.

“I think so. A store of this size, I only need one associate during the regular year, two right now,

but of course you already know that. I’d love to have two year-round, but I know the deal.” Personnel and

payroll were contingent  upon hours. Hours were contingent upon volume. V olume was contingent upon

business. Business was down.

“Excellent. Is there anything you need?”

I definitely had the feeling I was being tested. “You know what we could use? Some more hand trucks to bring in the shipment. Ours keep mysteriously disappearing,” I said. “And those Dumpsters in the alleyways need to be better lit at night. We don’t do too many nighttime garbage runs, but a lot of our neighboring stores do, and many of them are college-age girls. Although I guess that’s more of a town issue.”

Funny how I could speak up so easily when it came to work. I’d become an important person at Whitford’s—an indispensable, go-to manager. Why had I not applied that initiative to the rest of my life,especially following my divorce? Theo was right—I was squandering my life away.

“I’ll look into it.” He paused for a beat. “Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time, Sunny. Keepup the good work. Pleasure to meet you,” Josh said as he extended his hand again. I shook it, and almostlaughed when he winked at me. Please. Both men turned and headed back to the floor, and I turned back tomy workstation, exhaling forcefully, as if I’d been holding my breath the whole time. Suddenly I heard myname and whisked around to find Josh standing in front of me again.

“You free for dinner tonight?” he asked. “I live in New Jersey and am staying on the islandovernight.”

He was asking me out on a date? I was standing there in jeans with dirt stains on them, anoversized sweatshirt with a faded New York Jets logo on it, and no makeup, and he was asking me out ona date?

“I guess so,” I said shyly, my stomach fluttering. “I hope you’ll let me go home and change first.”

“Of course. How about we meet in front of the store around seven o’clock?”

“OK.”

“Great. See you then.” He turned and headed for the floor again.

Holy crap. My stomach started fluttering as I tried to concentrate on my work, to no avail. I kept seeing that smile and those crow’s feet behind the wire-rim glasses.
 
Joshua Hamilton
. I silently repeated the name. Holy shit, my new
 
boss
 
asked me out on a date! Sans makeup, sans Stella McCartney sweater, sans sexy lingerie underneath. He saw me in my natural habitat and liked me anyway.

This thing with Danny Masters—whatever it was—had to end. I was forty, for chrissakes—way too old to act like a teenage girl with pinups on her wall and pictures in her wallet and hearts doodled all over her notebook. I was too old for idols and infatuations. I needed a life. I needed a man. A
 
real
 
man,

and not the dream of one. Joshua Hamilton fit the bill.

No no no—he was my
 
boss
!

Fifteen minutes later Georgie appeared at my workstation looking tense.

“So, did you pass inspection?” he asked.

“The new guy just asked me out on a date.”

He stood frozen in place. “
What
?”

“The new guy. Josh. He just asked me out to dinner.”

“And you said
yes
?”

“Of course I said yes. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Never shit where you eat, Sunny. No, wait—that’s not the right expression, is it? Never fuckwhere you work. No, that’s not it either...”

“Are you telling me not to date our boss’s boss’s boss?”

“
Yes.
 
”

I frowned. “It’s not like he works directly in the store.”

“Doesn’t this company have a policy against employees dating each other?”

“I thought that was just within the same store.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen or heard him act so seriously. “This can only end up bad for you.”

“My God, Georgie, it’s one dinner! And maybe it’s not a date. I mean, look at me—do I look datable?”

“Please. Honey. It’s a date.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“You’d better not. In fact, don’t get all dolled up. You can wear makeup, but no date skirt. In fact, no skirt at all. Dress corporate. And definitely no heels.”

“Geez, why don’t I wear a burka while I’m at it?”

“That would work too.”

“What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be thrilled that I was going out with someone that didn’t involve submitting an online profile and a photo of me holding a cat. Besides, it’s on the Forty for Forty list.”

“I’m thrilled with your getting back into the dating world, but not with your choice,” said Georgie.