Page 9 of All's Well that Friends Well

“Anyway, now he’s talked to your employees,” Rod goes on, “and they had some pretty bad stuff to say about you.”

I throw myself down in the chair across from Rod. “I’m shocked,” I mutter. And it’s actually partly true. The Lucky office has been falling behind in their quarterly sales targets, but it’s more than that; they’re slow on reports and efficiency, too, to the extent that Rodney sent me here to figureout the problem.

And I found it: the workers aretoo friendly.The businesslike culture creeping into Explore? It hasn’t hit the Lucky branch yet. Normally I would approve of that, but the pendulum is swinging too far in the opposite direction here. The Lucky workers are too chummy, unprofessional, too close to effectively keep a business running. The sales department is too laid back, and I suspect they’re not hitting the community’s real needs, either. But managers don’t tell people what to do, and when they do, no one listens, because they’re all friends who laugh about it later.

It’s not even a clique thing, or an exclusivity problem. They’re all just…friends.

Though not fans of me, apparently, no matter how friendly they might be.

“You’re not shocked,” Rodney says, a wheezing bark. “No one is. But it won’t fly. You need to bepersonable,Luca. You can’t keep making everyone mad all the time. No one else has the faith in you that I do.” His beady eyes narrow on me. “And no one in the Lucky branch likes you, either. They’re all scared of you. Regardless of how long we keep you as the manager, you’ve still decided to move here. These people will be your neighbors.”

I shift uncomfortably, though I try not to let Rodney see. He’s right; when he first asked me to come and take over this branch, I had already been considering a move further north. I was splitting my time between different branches and the headquarters in Denver, and I was tired of all the running around. I needed someplace closer to Boulder. So after looking into Lucky—and, more specifically, into their rental and real estate prices—I decided to make the switch.

“So get your act together,” he goes on. “It’s a tough argument for me to make that a jerk like you should keep thisassignment when people are throwing around words liketoxic environmentandtyrannical dictator.” He pauses again, and a wave of granite determination passes over his features—like he’s steeling himself.“You’re going to be making some changes. Changes you’re going to hate,” he adds, two grunted sentences that send a shiver of foreboding down my spine.

“What changes?” I say, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I mean,” he replies. “You can’t stay here if you don’t clean up your act. I don’t want to hear about it,” he adds severely when I open my mouth to protest, because I know he’s right; whatever he’s about to say, I’m not going to like it.

So I sigh and then prepare myself. That headache in my temples is definitely growing. “Just tell me,” I say. I can already hear the defeat in my voice. “What do I have to do?”

“First,” he says, and I swear just that one word has me holding my breath. “You will be hosting an office breakfast next weekend.”

I stare at him, my mind suddenly blank.

His wiry brows twitch. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps when I’m still unable to speak. “You’ll be in charge of nothing. All you have to do is show up. Not that it wouldn’t be good for you, mind,” he grunts, “but I’d rather you spend your time on the branch’s problems. Susan will handle everything. Understood?”

“No,” I say as I try to remember who Susan is; a stern older woman flashes into my mind, one Rod relies on for a smattering of loose ends. “I don’t understand. What’s a breakfast got to do with?—”

“You’re creating a sense of community,” he says. “Several months too late, frankly.” Then he points out the window tothe backyard. “It will be out there. So you’ll just turn up, be personable, so on and so forth. Something to show you’re willing to mend fences.”

I’m not sure Iamwilling to mend fences, if it means hosting breakfast at my house.

“Second,” Rod goes on, his voice more severe now, probably because he can tell I’m going to protest. “Pending the hiring of a suitable candidate, you will be required to work with a PR assistant,” he says.

“A PR…”

“Assistant.” He nods. “Someone who will follow you around and preview every email, every memo—someone who will help you smooth over all the feathers you’ve ruffled.” He pauses, possibly to watch the dawning horror on my face. “You don’t have to be loved or even liked by everyone. But you can’t piss everyone off, either. This is a tiny town. If your subordinates don’t feel like you’re one of them, they’re not going to work well for you, and they might not respect whoever you choose to take over when things are back on track, either. Take it or leave it, kid.”

Kid.That’s the word that does it for me—the word that tells me how serious he is, how badly I’ve apparently screwed up without even realizing it. I’m nineteen again, a freshman in college, careening toward self-destruction after the death of my parents, and Rodney is once again swooping in to give me a good kick in the pants and get me back on track.

I could argue. I could fight back. And I want to; my irritation is running high, coursing through my veins, and there are words on the tip of my tongue that could do some damage. But I know they won’t do any good. I can see it inthe set of Rod’s face, the stubborn line of his mouth and the shrewd look in his eyes. This condition is nonnegotiable.

For better or for worse—almost certainly for worse, in fact—I will be receiving an assistant. Someone spineless who will kowtow and simper and suck up to everyone in the Lucky office so that they’re willing to put up with me.

“You know these things make me want to dive off a cliff,” I say flatly as my stomach sours. “Breakfast? Anassistant?”

“I know,” Rodney grunts. “And I don’t care. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t need to. But you’re coming close to burning bridges, and I expect better from you.”

“And how long do I have to keep this—thisassistant?” The word is poison in my mouth.

I work better alone; I always have. I keep to myself. I don’t feel the need to explain myself or justify my actions. Having someone constantly nearby is going to be torture.

“Undecided,” Rodney says. “But don’t plan on anything less than a month. Not unless I see some big changes. I’ll be personally monitoring you.” He pauses and then softens, so slightly I might be imagining it. “This is a big one, Luca. This one is important.”

“Why?” I say wearily. “Why can’t I just…promise to do better?”

But he doesn’t answer.

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