Conflict of Interest (Employee Relations Book 1) (29 page)

The doors swoosh open. Darkness and an overwhelming quiet permeate the floor that’s typically bustling; so quiet that doubt seeps in. Interfering with her personal life crossed the line, yet when I saw the guy she was meeting for dinner I couldn’t stop myself. Sure, I was ballistic over what she pulled with Jack, but that’s not why I did it. Nothing about her date said he was good enough for her.

She can be pissed all she wants but we both know I did her a favor.

I push through the glass doors of the executive area where I’m welcomed by the faint sound of Taylor Swift crooning down the hall. Thank fuck she’s here. But if she thinks I’m listening to this shit while working, she’s lost her mind.

I follow the sound to the executive conference room around the corner, half expecting to find Gabriella swaying her hips to the beat and humming as she absentmindedly reviews our agenda for the day.
Wishful thinking.
Instead, her purse, keys and laptop are haphazardly laid out across the oversized conference table, and she’s nowhere in sight.

I grab my coffee and set breakfast on a side table before taking a seat at the oversized slab of mahogany. I allow myself a few seconds to enjoy the calm before the
storm I’m certain is coming, and then notice the music is playing on her phone right in front of me. I grab it and flip through her playlist that ranges from Jock Jams and Grunge to Classical and Hip Hop. Somehow I knew she’d be full of surprises.

“Drop it,” Gabriella’s voice commands. I glance around the room as I release her phone onto the table with a thud.

Completely fucking alone.

Something whacks my lower leg.

“Jesus Christ,” I exclaim, gripping the arms of the chair and pushing it back into the wall, creating just enough room to see Gabriella’s head under the table.

The view before me is too beautiful to be interrupted by words or thoughts for that matter. It’s a vision I’ve fantasized about as recently as this morning—Gabriella kneeling before me. Aware that I’m getting a hard on, I clear my throat and attempt to regain my composure.

“Generous offer but not exactly what I had planned for today.”

Well, fuck.

Gabriella’s brows pinch together. The minute she realizes what I’ve implied her cheeks flush the color of most of her wardrobe.

“You are such an arrogant…grrr! You know what. I shouldn’t have come.”

Scowling, she attempts to crawl past me so I roll in her direction and block her in under the table. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees so that we’re more level and hold my hands up in surrender. “I shouldn’t have said that. Can we start over?”

“Too late.”

“Just…wait.” I place my hands on her shoulders as she pushes up on one knee. “You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t believe you owed it to me. We’ve both said and done things we had no business doing. Agreed?” She rolls her eyes. “You’re already here and I brought a peace offering.”

Her grimace softens when she traces my gaze and glimpses the box of pastries and the two coffees on the side table.

“Can we please call a truce?”

Irritated, she runs her fingers through her hair and shrugs me off. “Fine.”

I let my hands fall and sit back, thankful I haven’t completely fucked up, and that I proactively jerked off three times this morning. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing under there?”

“The network cable wasn’t working so I grabbed one from another office. This one was stuck in the jack,” she explains holding up a cable. “Do me a favor. Take this one and hand me the other one on the table.”

From where I sit her outstretched arm appears to be reaching for
my
cable that’s seconds away from becoming an antenna.
Fucking hell.
I quickly hand her the cord and adjust myself when she’s focused on putting the cord inside the jack, because right about now that’s exactly what I want to do to her.

Why did I think this was a good idea? I should have figured this out on my own.

Gabriella edges out from under the desk and pushes down on my leg for leverage as she stands. I make no move to help because if I do, I can’t promise myself to keep it clean.

“Thanks for the hand,” she says sarcastically.

“Why are we in here?”

“More room. After I explain the in’s and out’s of the process we’ll go through a mock session to get you more comfortable. It’s better to spread out.”

More room might be best for whatever she has planned, yet all I can think about at the moment is spreading
her
out.

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye as she crosses the room to inspect what I brought. Then she eyes the coffees.

“Uh, thanks.” She digs through the empty bag. “Did you happen to grab cream and sugar?”

“Already in there.”

Gabriella glares at me suspiciously. “You made my coffee?”

“Just try it.”

“You didn’t lace it with anything did you?”

“Only the mood enhancing substance you overdose on daily.”

The cup reaches her lips and she freezes. “How’d you know ho—”

“Kind of hard not to notice someone dumping six sugars in their coffee and make a face like it’s not sweet enough.”

She harrumphs but without annoyance. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

“Brilliant.”

Gabriella stifles a laugh and tilts her head after taking another sip. “You’re wearing a suit?”

I glance down at my clothes. “If that’s a real question I think I’ll be better off without your input today.”

“Why?” she fires back, completely ignoring my comment and sizing me up.

It’s only then that I fully appreciate her attire. A pale yellow scoop neck t-shirt hugs her chest. Jean shorts have her perfectly sculpted legs on display. The only thing missing is a killer pair of wedge heels, but that doesn’t appear to be her weekend style. Somehow her being barefoot is better. I’m certain if I looked around the floor I’d find a worn in pair of flip-flops.

“I take it you don’t approve,” I state dryly.

“You’re one of those ‘
dress for the job you want, not the one you have’
kind of guys, aren’t you?”

“We’re at work.”

“Not by choice,” she mutters. “Don’t you ever loosen up? It’s the weekend.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t aware I needed a pair of jeans to do that.”

“Trust me. A wardrobe change alone wouldn’t be enough.”

“How can you be pissy when I’ve bought your last two meals?”

“Let’s not even go there,” she warns, pressing a manicured finger into my chest. “Harriet and Martha were great company but I’m still pissed at you for ruining my date.”

I set the tray of pastries, bagels and fruit in front of her. “Eat before you go into another hyperglycemic rage.”

She begrudgingly takes a chocolate chip muffin and pulls up a document on her laptop that she projects onto the wall. “It was really nice what you did for John and his girls.”

“It was the least I could do. I feel like shit for missing the service. A few meals won’t make it right, but you should know I’m not the asshole you believe me to be.”

“I hope not.” She’s quiet for an entire minute. “Ready?”

I nod.

“Okay. Basically the purpose of the New Leader Assimilation is to break down barriers and establish trust between a leader and their new team by giving them the opportunity to identify preconceived notions about you as a leader, and then have you address them.”

As she gets me up to speed on the process, I find I’m actually interested. Enthusiasm floods her every word and it’s apparent that I’ve definitely been too hard on her.

Gabriella unrolls a stack of oversized paper that she sticks on the wall one at a time, explaining her roll as facilitator of the session as she moves around the room. “Alright. These are the standard questions we use in our process, though some companies do upwards of twenty. Come take a look.”

I stop in front of the first question. “As a facilitator my job is to create an environment where the team feels comfortable enough to be candid in their responses. You’ll also do this when you kick off the session.”

“Before you kick me out?”

“Exactly,” she beams, satisfied that I’ve been paying attention. “Anyway, they’ll reveal what they think they know about you, what they want to know, concerns they have about you being their leader—”

“How would you answer?”

She looks at me thoughtfully. “That you don’t have enough experience to lead a team this large, and you need to broaden your global experience. Quickly if you’re going to get to SVP in a few more months.”

“Don’t hold back.”

“Would you rather I lie to you?”

I respond immediately. “No.”

“Then you should think about how you’ll answer each question. Especially the challenging ones.” She turns back to the wall. “Now this—”

“Your concerns are legitimate,” I say, cutting her off.

“What?”

“If you answered the question that way I’d admit you had valid concerns, that I understand where you’re coming from. But then I’d reassure you that I’m here for a reason and am committed to this team.”

She smiles at me and I wish I knew what she was thinking. “Alright, moving on.”

In a matter of hours, we’ve done a walk through and a full dry run on the assimilation. The wall is covered in large easel paper, each one with sticky notes containing reminders or feedback from Gabriella. Realizing I should have engaged her before is frustrating. On the one hand, I’m relieved the day hasn’t been a waste, but on the other I don’t make a habit of being wrong.

We order takeout from Gabriella’s favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch. She gets sweet and sour chicken and insists that I get beef and broccoli. Her motive becomes apparent five bites into the meal as she helps herself to mine.

“Mind if we take a ten-minute break?” I ask when we’re done.

“Not at all. I could use a few minutes to catch up.”

I head back to my office and follow up on a few items I didn’t get to while in New York, plus make arrangements to speak with a few customers on Tuesday. Before I know it a half hour has passed.

“You ready?” Gabriella waltzes into my office eating an apple.

“Sorry, lost track of time. Give me a minute.”

Instead of leaving, she walks over to the window, quietly watching people below. Turning around, she catches me watching her. She smiles, keeping my gaze for longer than should be acceptable, but isn’t awkward either.

“You need some pictures or something in here,” she says looking around my office. “Give it a personal touch.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I ask lifting my chin toward the framed black and white print that’s hanging on the far wall.

“It’s nice, but there’s no color in your entire office. It’s…sterile. Bring in a family photo or hang a calendar on the wall.”

“I don’t have any,” I reply.

“You don’t have a single picture you could spare from your apartment?”

“Not one.” She turns back toward the framed poster but I don’t miss her frown.

On cue my phone rings. It’s my father.

“You never answer your phone, do you?” she asks.

“Not unless it’s someone I want to speak with.”

I send the call to voicemail and gather my things to return to the conference room, wanting to get away from her line of questioning. The last thing I want to do right now, or ever, is discuss my family dynamics. Thankfully she doesn’t push and we spend the next five hours dissecting my organization and piecing it back together.

We started by identifying what I need to accomplish and the structure that would support it. That took a lot longer than I anticipated, mostly because I kept trying to plug people into the structure before it was ready. By the time dusk rolls around we’ve placed 75% of employees in a way that will allow the business to run in a more agile way and better capitalize on our talent.

Once again I’m blown away. The depth at which she can speak to the skills and accomplishments of the majority of employees in a large organization is impressive. She’s passionate about what she does.

Gabriella’s phone rings, bringing an end to our time together.

“Hey, Summer. No, why? What time is it?” her eyes wander around the room till they find the clock. She curses under her breath. “No, go without me. I’d much rather stay in tonight.” She’s quiet for several seconds. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She ends the call and stretches her arms above hear head, revealing a glimpse of her toned stomach. I practically drool. She lifts herself onto the table, her bare feet dangling, and sighs. As if I’ve entered a magnetic field, I walk toward her and sit next to her on the table.

“Why do you seem disappointed all of a sudden?”

“We’re not even close to being done and it’s already 8PM.”

“It’s alright. I’ll finish tomorrow.”

“Mind if I help?”

“Only if you let me buy you dinner.”

Dropping her head to the side, she considers my invitation. “I get to pick the place.”

“Deal.”

“What do you want?” A woman, at least I think it’s a woman, dressed in all black, with purples streaks in her raven colored hair, barks at me.