Page 16 of An Irresistible Force (Vancouver Vice)

“Uhhhh, well, do you want to sell it?”

She was so close now that I could again smell the soapy scent of her hair. It triggered a memory of pulling a clean t-shirt over my head when I was a kid. Her voice was teasing. “I asked you first.”

I started to sweat. What if I brought home this deal on my very first day here? Not only would that be a huge accomplishment, but then I wouldn’t have to come back and work in this coffin-sized room.

“Yeah, we do,” I blurted.

She stepped back and patted me on the arm. “Good job, Lucky. You said you weren’t going to bullshit me, and you didn’t. I think wecanwork together.” She turned towards the door. “I’ll get the player contracts together, and you can have a look at them.”

“Wait. How did you know we wanted to buy you guys? And do you want to sell the team?”

“Uncle Thomas told us that this would happen. And no—we have no intention of selling the team. To you or anyone else.”

She turned and walked out. Shit. So much for the element of surprise. Amanda seemed like an easy out, but she was already ten steps ahead of me.

Amanda

I hated waste,so as long as I had to put up with Chris Luczak, I was going to get full value from him. I made my way to Brenda Wilson’s cubicle and knocked on the half-wall. Bizarrely, Brenda insisted that her “office” was private, so if I began talking to her, she ignored me until I knocked.

“Come in,” she said. I pretended that moving one step into her cubicle was a big deal.

“Good morning, Brenda. I’d like to get all the player contracts.”

She squinted at me. Brenda was a brunette who wore red lipstick and outfits to match. “Why do you want them?”

I swallowed my irritation. Most people who worked here were hardworking and pleasant, but from day one, Brenda had a chip on her shoulder. She rolled her eyes at every suggestion I made and threw up roadblocks when I asked for help, even though she reported directly to me.

“I’m trying to familiarize myself with all aspects of the business,” I explained without adding, “Not that it’s any of your business, lady.”

She widened her eyes. “Seems like you’re just causing yourself a lot of work. Thomas will be back soon, and your job is to manage the team until then. Why kill yourself?”

“I think doing a thorough job is important. Is getting the contracts a problem?”

“It’s just that they’re confidential,” she explained.

The steam-meter on my personal thermometer was rising. “Look—”

“Oh, there you are, Amanda.” Chris’s large body filled the invisible doorway to the imaginary office. “Did you get those contracts you wanted me to look over?”

Brenda’s face broke into a sunshiny smile. “Oh! You wanted them for Chris. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?Heobviously knows his way around a contract.” She sashayed over to a filing cabinet, reached into the deep crevice between her breasts and pulled out a key on a long chain. I watched Chris’s reaction to this stunningly inappropriate move, and he seemed to find it funny. In fact, he almost laughed, but then noticed my expression and stifled himself.

Within ninety seconds he had a file full of contracts in his hands.

“Thank you,” he said with a slick smile. Flirting came as naturally to him as scoring goals—in his prime anyway. “We haven’t met yet.”

Brenda batted her long eyelashes at him. “I’m Brenda, and I’m in charge of human resources and administration. Feel free to come to my office anytime you need anything. Personnel matters or just a general orientation. My door is always open.”

Needless to say, I had never heard this little welcome speech. And there was no door, for crying out loud. How could her door be closed?

“Again, thank you.” He nodded and leafed through the file.

“Oh Chris, I haven’t seen your personnel forms yet. Did Amanda forget to send you to see me?”

I interrupted this love-in. “Chris is not an employee of the Vice, he is a consultant on loan from the Millionaires.”

She didn’t even turn to acknowledge me. “I guess I missed that memo. Still, you’re going to need a security code and card—in case you want to work late. But I’m sure someone like you won’t be spending his evenings at the office.” That was a shot at me, a person who did spend her evenings working here. She produced a business card and wrote on it with a rainbow pen. “Here are my work and cell numbers—I’m available day or night.”

A regular 7-Eleven. If Chris wasn’t blocking the way, I would have left long ago. Finally he turned to go back to his office, and I could escape. Clearly, there needed to be better examples of appropriate office behaviour.

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