Page 4 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
Jessa: This was ANDY’S lead, Pippi. Not yours. HE is the project manager. You’re only his coordinator.
My hands shook as I pecked out a quick,Ouch. Harsh.
Jessa’s lip quirked when she zipped another message to me.
Jessa: You know what I mean. HE was the one who okayed the date. HE was the one who tried to rush it through production. Our quality control department sucks, sure, but HE rushed.
DING!
Andy: Tell Mr. Hollingdale we will do everything we can to move that lead time in.
Jessa: If Andy wants to keep shoving these jobs through and making these promises, he needs to own it when things get fucked. Stop letting him push it off on you. You’re gonna end up with an ulcer, Pips. You’re as white as a sheet.
“Pippa? What is our lead-time?”
Oh shoot.
Mr. Hollingdale was mad now.
And my stomach did kind of hurt, as knotted as it was with nerves and guilt.
DING!
Jessa: Ulcers are a bitch, Pips.
I don’t have an ulcer,I typed back.And I told Andy I’d take care of this.
Jessa: I’d tell Andy lots of things. None of them nice.
I sighed. Pinched the bridge of my nose. Winced when my sweaty hands smeared my foundation. And said, in the sweetest, calmest voice I could muster, “Boards weredamagedduring the production process. Unfortunately, they’re irreparable, so we’ll need to go back in with new builds. Again, you’ll incur no additional costs for this. But…well…some of the parts are backordered with lead times of fourteen weeks. But, Mr. Hollingdale, we will?—”
“WHAT?”
The yell rattled my ear, making me jump dang near out of my chair.
Kai and Jessa both looked up.
“FOURTEEN WEEKS?! This is unacceptable.Utterlyunacceptable. No. Absolutely not. Those boards can’t go out past the end of thismonth,Pippa.Fourteen weeks?Where is Andrew? Where is your manager? I won’t accept this. Absolutely not.”
I blew out a long breath. One that burned as it left my mouth because I’d held it in so long, it’d festered inside of me.
“Mr. Hollingdale,” I tried, tentatively.
He ignored me and kept right on yelling for a full ten minutes, until he got fed up with my attempts to placate him and snarled, “This is un-fucking-believable.” Then he hung up, probably to go haunt Andy.
Sorry, Andy.I cringed as I set my cell on the desk.I tried.
“And where thefuck was Andy, huh?” Jessa fumed an hour later as she shoved her laptop into her creamy leather bag.“Nowhere.”She waved her arm at the glass wall on our right—the PM offices. The big, lofty square rooms concealed behind old, discolored and half bent venetian blinds, which all the PMs kept drawn—they didn’t want us low lifes peeping at them.
Andy’s door was open, though, and the room was dark. Had been all day.
“It was a stressful day for him too, Jessa,” I pointed out.
And, stars, I’d never been so grateful to see that clock hit 5:00 p.m.
My hands were still shaking.
Big ole tacky patches of sweat still clung to my blouse, mainly around my armpits and the small of my back, where the stress pool usually rolled to. Thankfully the blouse was navy blue cotton with big billowy sleeves that hid the worst of the moisture.
