Page 32 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

Some truths are better left unposted.

For now.

10

HOW NOT TO KISS YOUR BOSS

ALEX

If I were taking a course in “How to be a CEO,” I would definitely flunk the hell out of it right now.

After Mac stormed out of my office this morning, I spent three hours pretending to read quarterly reports while actually analyzing every interaction we've had since she started. Each heated debate about corporate culture. Each time she predicted a problem before it happened. Each post from our anonymous blogger that matched her observations with suspicious accuracy.

The evidence is compelling. The timing too perfect.

But here's the real problem: I'm not as angry about it as I should be.

"You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes," Emma observes, dropping another stack of crisis reports on my desk. "Should I update your calendar to include 'brooding time' between meetings?"

"I don't brood."

"Of course not, sir. You engage in strategic contemplation. With frowning."

I give up on pretending to read. "Has Ms. Gallo submitted her feedback analysis?"

"No, but she has created quite a stir in the break room. Apparently, her anonymous feedback program inspired Keith from DevOps to start what he's calling a 'revolutionary suggestion wall.'"

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. But you should know that he's using the meditation room as his 'headquarters of corporate consciousness-raising.'" She makes air quotes with devastating accuracy. "HR is concerned."

"HR is always concerned." I check my watch: 7:45 PM. Most normal people would be headed home. Then again, most normal people don't run companies while suspecting their corporate culture consultant might be their biggest critic. "Anything else?"

"Just Mr. Grayson Dixon’s hourly text asking if you've 'compromised the bachelor pact' yet." She hands me my phone with its dozen missed messages. "Should I start a spreadsheet to track his anxiety?"

"That won't be necessary."

She's halfway to the door when Mac bursts in, curls escaping their professional updo, jacket slightly askew, looking like she's either discovered gold or another corporate crisis.

"You need to see this." She's slightly out of breath, which shouldn't be attractive but somehow is. "Now."

After our confrontation this morning about the blogger's identity – about her identity – I should suggest a meeting tomorrow. Should maintain professional distance. Should definitely not notice how her cheeks are flushed or how her eyes spark with that same passion that keeps making me forget she might be plotting my company's downfall.

"What exactly do I need to see?"

"Keith's feedback wall has evolved into something...unprecedented." She runs a hand through her curls, dislodging more of them. "You have to see it yourself. The meditation room looks like a conspiracy theorist's evidence board, but with Post-it notes about coffee privileges and ergonomic chair inequity."

I should say no. Should remember that twenty minutes ago I was cataloging evidence of her possible double identity. Should definitely not be intrigued by how she manages to make corporate rebellion sound fascinating.

"Lead the way, Ms. Gallo."

Emma's eyebrows hit her hairline, but she just makes another note on her tablet. Probably updating that risk assessment matrix she thinks I don't know about.

The walk to the meditation room is silent, charged with the morning's unfinished confrontation. Mac keeps shooting me looks when she thinks I'm not watching, and I keep pretending not to notice.

"This is what I wanted to show you." She pushes open the meditation room door, gesturing at the wall of Post-it notes covering one side. In the fading evening light, the colors make a chaotic rainbow of employee grievances. "Three hours ago, Keith started what he calls a 'grassroots feedback initiative.' Apparently, the anonymous surveys weren't radical enough for him."

I step closer to read one of the notes: "The coffee machine's 'basic' setting is classist. French press liberation now!"

---