The Value of Vulnerability (11 page)

“So that happy medium leaves me where?”

“Your own analysis that you confessed awhile back. Emotional economy while bumping the career. Ever since Anthony. The bastard.”

“Work filled some holes.”

“Girl, that’s just awkward.”

They both laughed hysterically, breaking the tension.

“You’re right,” Erin agreed at last. “I
’ve made it habit. Using work to get out of get-togethers.”

“I think you were embarrassed when it all happened and didn’t want to talk to the monstrously insensitive. You know. Our best friends and beloved family.”

Chuckling, she curled up in the chair, tucking the receiver into her shoulder. “It really was humiliating. But I’m over it. Honestly.”

“You were over it in about a week. The hard part of it, I mean. I tried to get everybody to ease up on you—”

“The parents were great!” she insisted. “They’re always great. And you and Gina—topnotch sisters all the way. Friends—awesome. It was the extendo-Russells.”

“They probably meant to be sympathetic.”

“Oh, that would have been welcome!” She laughed. “It was the more intimate questions that disturbed me. You know how Uncle Aaron can ask outrageous things without thinking about it. ‘So, Erin,
how
many used condoms were in the trash? You and Anthony ever use that many in a night? Or was this girl really something?’”

“He didn’t!”

“Oh, yes, he did.”

“Yoikes.”

“And that was my response.”

“I’m just worried about you,”
Liana said. “I thought you were getting better. But on review of the last six months: you’ve been brutal.”

“Hey, I still made the Black Friday trip!”

“And spent more time working than shopping. And rushed back, ditching us for Comicon, of all things! If you’re not careful, all this avoidance is going to make you a complete bitch. You
need
us. All of us. Even Awkward Aaron. And, as much as I hate to admit it, we need you, too. Little ray of sunshine!”

She groaned, hearing that nickname.
Thanks again, Uncle Aaron.
But when was the last time she had felt
sunny
?

Quite by accident
—for she hadn’t ever intended more than temporary escapism—work had become the most important thing in her life, an all-consuming distraction that swallowed up time she had always believed best spent with loved ones. All social activity had been work related—at least, in the last few months. Even accepting Stephanie’s invitation to the Hanukkah party felt like an extension of work, in a way. And those occasional pint-or-two evenings with Joe and sometimes Cathy were seriously about work, as all they did was talk about Xcess.

Yeah, not so healthy
.

“How long have you been waiting to yell at me for all this?”
Erin asked.

“Little less than
a year.”

“Oh, the patience of a saint. What time is it?”

“Still after three.”

“Right.” Uncurling her legs, she started packing up. “I’ll be home within the hour. Want to pick me up? Or d’you want me to drive?”

“Really? Awesome. I’ll drive. See you around four-thirty-ish. And charge your phone!”

“I will. Thanks, miss. Oh, and hey. Let’s do dinner with the girl-gang this week, okay? A pre-Christmas thing.”

“Deal.”

The line went dead and she replaced the receiver.

Ford’s face flashed through her mind for the umpteenth time, but this time, her focus was the Machiavellian part, not the dimples.

And even he had said
a year was a long time.

No, she didn’t want to end up like that. Carrying around old hurts and keeping herself separate. No one ever died wishing they had spent more time at the office!

On inspiration, she signed into Facebook, updating it for the first time in—holy smokes! September! Well, she’d never been very dedicated to it in any case. But she scrolled through a few posts before adding a quick holiday greeting for the world at large, and then a special invite for the girl-gang group:

Tuesday

She wrinkled her nose, looked at her schedule, and corrected:

Thursday
, Zuzu’s, 6pm. Eggnog, or at least the rum part! Will follow up by phone. U guys read this stuff, ever?

But before she signed off, there was a reply from Brooke:

No, I don’t. This is just a coincidence. (Good to hear from you finally, you silly wench!) I’m in for Thursday!

So a traditional Sunday dinner with Liana and the Parents Russell reawakened her sunny disposition, leaving her wondering who the hell she had been pretending to be most of these last months. At home again, dropped off by a slightly verklempt Liana, she slept far more peacefully in her still-cold bed than she had in some time, relieved of a weight she didn’t realise she carried until meeting Ford. He was the trigger that made her listen to Liana that afternoon.

***

The buyout announcement was made in a general meeting to the staff—that which remained, at any rate. A new president was installed, and a new executive VP. All senior management was gone, and most of the middle. As for the staff, several were conspicuously absent, leaving work groups shredded. The meeting was held in the main conference room, separated from the chaos of those terminated cleaning out desks under the watchful eye of security.

“I guess we’re safe,” Joe muttered with relief.

But not so. There would be further assessment of the staff in the ensuing weeks. There were management positions to fill—everyone had a shot at moving up, shifting over, or being put out.

Despite this tough-love approach,
Erin found the message mostly positive, and agreed with many of the decisions, for the company had become bloated and top heavy. Was it enough to make her stay on? There were other issues, serious ones, and moving on still seemed the best plan.

S
he idly concerned herself with the time, needing to get to work.

The new president looked at her. “Problem?” he
asked. “You’re fidgeting.”

She did not smother her
guilty laugh very well. “I didn’t mean to be, Mr. Ward.”

“Spencer,” he invited.

“Spencer. I promised a client an answer this morning, so I’m a bit distracted.”

“More worried about clients than your own skin?”

“Happy clients help me keep it,” she retorted, the job offers she had on the table still adding an extra edge to her confidence.

“It’s Erin Russell, right?” At her nod, he said, “Go talk to your client.
We’re done here, anyway.” To the room at large, “You’ll all be notified when reviews are up.”

Erin dash
ed to her station, ignoring with an effort the emptied stations of coworkers who had been let go. She had liked most of them, worked well with them, and it was a hell of a time of year to lose one’s job.

Dialling her client, she forced a smile—smiles could be heard, and hers was loud.

The call went well, and she had just h
ung up when Spencer summoned her to his office. He was not much older than she, and she knew him by his stellar reputation. As she sat opposite him, she was a little intimidated.

More so when he opened with,
“What are your plans? Are you staying on?” At her raised eyebrows, he smirked. “You’ve had offers.”

“Have I?” Her hackles rose slightly.

He didn’t elaborate or explain how he knew. Probably just guessing, in any case. “You’re in client care. What do you want to do?”

She spread her hands, reflecting her mental state that she had nothing to lose.
It wasn’t just the rumours of Xcess being sold that had her job hunting, but the impossibility of fixing fixable problems. “Look. I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, and I’m not running anyone down. But we have a serious problem with our systems analysts. I mean, really great people—” she added politely but not very sincerely, thinking of past arguments with them.

“Let’s not worry about whether they’re saints or sinners. Just cut to it. Off the record.”

“Okay. Nexxon—that’s a new and huge account. Just the pharma division, but we have a shot at the rest if we do it stellar, right? We promised in the SLA a nuke from orbit. But I reviewed our report yesterday, and what does it advise? Yet another bootstrap on a system that’s already Frankensteined to death.” And on she rambled.

They talked for a long time, Spencer reviewing that report with her, and others she drew his attention to. Together, they unravelled the problems she had glimpsed, revealing that Xcess was in crisis from more than the now-removed bloated executive.

At last, he rocked back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment. Thrusting fingers through his hair, he sat forward with a thump. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He collected himself. “Thank you for being so open about your concerns, Erin.”

“Oh, you’re quite welcome, Spencer.”

Their eyes met, and they both laughed at this stilted formality. She was regretting the idea of moving on. She liked him. He’d be a great boss.

“Why aren’t
you
a systems analyst?” he wanted to know.

“Because I’m a hands-on technician who knows how to talk to clients.”

“Rare.”

“Apparently. I’d like to move up to being an analyst—I have the skill set—but I like being there for the clients when things go awry.
Which they do a lot around here. Speaking of which, I have a billion things on my plate. Are we done?”

“Mm
.” He clicked his keyboard. “You have a stellar record with clients. Your file is full of thank-you notes from them.”

She flushed, pleased. “They call me directly all the time. Don’t follow procedure.”

“Do you tell them not to? Tell them to go through their account manager?”

“No. Why bother? I’m the one who’ll do the work and why waste time with the middleman?”
She shrugged. “I know that sounds incredibly bitchy, but it isn’t, for two reasons. First, whatever is best and more efficient for the client is the best thing for the company. Secondly, the account managers—and obviously the analysts—aren’t listening to either clients or me. Me, they can ignore, technically. Clients? Not so much.”

“Would you be interested in
doing some system assessments? Seeing if you like it? Onsite, talking to in-house IT teams.”

“Hells, yeah! That would be fun.”

He laughed. “Okay, get back to work. We’ll talk again soon.”

“Thanks, Spence
r.”

A page summoned her to reception
almost the moment she left Spencer’s office, and she went to find Stephanie chatting with a black-and-green-uniformed courier who waited with a package for her—“Person-to-person, confidential,” the man told her as she signed the electronic pad, handing her a bulky padded envelope.

“Thanks.” She had never heard of such a thing.
As he exited, “Steph, you’re in for Thursday night, right?”

“You betcha
. Hey, I found out who the babe was. You know, from Friday’s meeting. Look.” She shoved a copy of
The Daily
under Erin’s nose, opened to Page Six. “Ford Howard! I mean, this morning when I heard about the takeover, I kind of put two-and-two together. But to see him actually
here
! Wow.”

Erin stared hard at the picture of
handsome Ford in a tux, hair in place, a lovely deb on his arm. The caption read:
Ford Howard and date at Saturday’s charity gala—

She stopped reading. Ego deflated.

“What morons,” Stephanie said. “That’s an old picture. Months ago. What a trash paper.”

Ego inflated. “You still read it every day,” Erin teased.

“Good weather reports,” was the responding blithe fib.

Returning to her desk, she opened the
couriered envelope and removed a narrow garment box, held closed with a wide red grosgrain ribbon. Tugging at the ends, frowning slightly, she removed the ribbon and lifted the lid, pushing back the layers of delicate white tissue to reveal the contents.

Inside was a pair of the most beautiful gloves she had ever seen
, in black kid. A small white envelope, her name written on it in a bold hand, lay on top. The corners of her mouth lifted and a heated blush crept up her throat in remembered arousal. Glancing around surreptitiously, shifting restlessly in her chair, she eased open the envelope flap and removed the card.

Don’t lose them. Ford.

Setting aside the card, she slid her hands into the snug black gloves and held them to her face, inhaling the earthy sweetness of the leather.

The phone rang and she picked it up. “Erin Russell.”