Conflict of Interest (Employee Relations Book 1) (8 page)

A simple phone call can change your life. I’ve heard that expression over the years but up until a week ago I hadn’t experienced the sentiment myself. Not until Jack called.

I had just kicked ass in the quarterly meeting and was finishing up a conversation with some board members, most of whom are high-profile executives from other Fortune 500 companies. Jack and I had a great conversation about the role and potential for growth in the future. Everything was sunshine and roses until the end.

“Can I have a few days to think it over?” I asked.

“Of course, of course,” he assured me.

“Thanks, Jack. I’ll be in touch.”

“One more thing, Lucas.” It got quiet for a few beats and I wondered if there were issues with the products or the team I was set to inherit. “I want to be clear that managers are expected to refrain from relationships with co-workers. We have a very strict non-fraternization policy and I expect you to uphold it.”

“Jack.” I was taken aback. Sure, he didn’t know me, but come on. “I would never bring my personal business into the office. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Never hurts to clarify expectations.”

When we ended the phone call I was flabbergasted. Had he heard rumors that I’d slept around with my peers? No, I knew that wasn’t it. Sure, I’d been hit on by female co-workers, more often that I’d care to admit. Dating wasn’t high on my list of priorities, nor was the drama that would have ensued afterward. Needless to say, I’ve never had anything other than professional relationships with the women I’ve worked with.

The more I thought about it I was positive the reason the position was available was because the person who suddenly left had slept with someone. Now I’m wondering if Jack had foresight into the attraction I would have for Gabriella. Worse, what if the person who left had slept with
her
.

I down what’s left of my coffee, attempting to rid my mind of the unpleasantness of that possibility. Having known the woman less than a day, I find it odd that it bothers me because…well, it just shouldn’t.

Like any good employee on their first day, I’ve spent the last few hours hunkered down in my office reading and rereading the company handbook, paying particular attention to the section prohibiting romantic relationships in the workplace. Catch phrases amongst the legal jargon jumped off the page.

Unprofessional environment. Favoritism. Sexual harassment. Conflict of interest. Up to and including termination.

I’ve worked at this company for the better part of my career and I can honestly say I’ve never read these policies until now. It’s blatantly clear, in black and white, that office affairs are prohibited. Any way you look at it, Gabriella’s off-limits.

Not that you want her
, I remind myself.

I drag my hands over my face and groan. As my stomach growls I mentally chastise myself for the millionth time since I shut the door in her flawless face, that this shouldn’t be an issue. Daylight’s long gone and I’m fucking starving. Now
that’s
an issue.

Without shutting down my laptop, I shove it in my bag and head home for the night. Thanks to all the email lists Gabriella added me to I’ll be spending all night catching up.

I take the stairs down fifteen flights and step outside to the busy street. The brisk April air refreshes my lungs. It’s technically spring in New England yet the bone-chilling breeze reminds me that it could snow at any moment. Not that I mind. I haven’t gotten used to the idea of driving again after walking or taking the subway for close to a decade no matter what the weather. Plus, I need to decompress.

There isn’t the same energy here as in New York City. Shops and restaurants line the streets, and people bustle by. In New York, you walk in an ocean of people, the excitement and livelihood pours through every crevice. Boston is much smaller in com
parison, creating a notion of familiarity. People stop and talk to each other. It’s comfortable, almost homey.

I’m not sure I like that. I much prefer solitude to solidarity.

I reach the apartment in less than twenty minutes and take the stairs to the third floor. Once inside the four walls of the brownstone that feels anything like home, I drop my bag on the ground next to the kitchen counter, reach in the refrigerator and crack open a beer. I’m relaxed for the first time all day. That is until I hear my roommate and some woman moaning in the next room.