Page 17 of Fierce-Jax

He was going to ignore that comment. Tamara worked in HR and he’d heard one too many complaints about staff behavior and how they presented themselves.

Jax thought the same most times, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it either.

“Put together some seminars,” he said. “Make it mandatory.”

Tamara rolled her eyes and picked up one of the boxes he had on the counter to carry. She was always polite that way.

“Do you know how hard it is to get staff to do mandatory trainings? Adding more will cause a rebellion.” She leaned down and sniffed the box. “But if you bring cookies in, they might do it.”

“Heard,” he said. “So if you can’t fix it, then don’t bitch about it.”

Tamara laughed and set the box down in the break room next to the one he’d been carrying. He opened both boxes, revealing their contents.

“I know, I know. Accept it and move on. Not everyone can just roll with the punches like you do, Jax.”

“If you sweat the small stuff, the big stuff is going to take you down every time.”

“Speaking of big stuff,” Tamara said. “Mega calories here. Are these for us?”

She was eying all the cookies, her hand hovering as if she was just waiting for the starting gun to go off so she could snatch the first one and race to her office before someone stole it out of her hand.

“They are,” he said. “I’m going to send an email out to the staff here and let them know it’s a thank you for all their hard work setting the place up. And keeping the complaining to a minimum.”

Tamara rolled her eyes. “It was less than I thought. Most of it came from people who have a longer commute now.”

Like him, but only by two miles. What was the big deal when the place was so nice and centrally located?

“And some have a smaller one. There is no making everyone happy.”

“Just need to make them understand,” Tamara said. “You say it all the time and it sticks.”

Glad some things he said got through to people.

If only he could understand what the hell happened in the elevator with Dillion this morning.

6

HAVE HER HANDS FULL

“Mommmmmmmm,” Gianna yelled from her room.

Four years of her name being shouted, she was good at deciphering frustration, displeasure, excitement, and injury.

This was a combination of excitement and frustration.

“I’m coming,” she said back loudly. She refused to yell like her daughter but marched up the stairs to Gianna’s room full of purpose to solve her daughter’s problem.

She turned the corner and there was her daughter standing in her heart-covered underwear staring at four pairs of pants on the bed and what looked to be half a dozen shirts tossed haphazardly on the floor.

“I don’t know what to wear,” Gianna whined.

“Gianna Marie,” she said. “It’s a birthday party at the trampoline park. You wear comfortable clothing. No one is going to pay attention to how fashionable you are.”

Her daughter had attended Pre-K two days a week last year. It’d been Dillion’s idea to give her mother a break and let Gianna interact with kids her own age.

This year she was going three days a week, with her mother dropping her off and picking her up.

Gianna’s hands went to her hips. “But in school, everyone says how pretty my clothes are.”

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