The soft knock on my office door has me looking up from the email I was sending to the VP of Merchandising, Molly Tabanera. She’s been with Cannon’s for nineteen years, runs Merchandising with an iron fist, and butts heads with me almost every single day. Sucks, too, because she knows her shit and I learn from her, but she’s also close-minded and unwilling to listen to new ideas. Randall thinks it’s hilarious and only says, “I’ve been battling with her for years too. Suck it up, my boy.”
Lila stands just inside my door. Today, we were treated to a crisp, fall morning in Atlanta, and Lila seems to have dressed appropriately. She’s wearing a fitted blue turtleneck, which makes it obvious just how big her breasts are, a wide, black belt, and a slender, black skirt that comes to her knees. But because it’s just crisp and not cold, her long legs are bare and the muscles elongated because of black heels that have to be five-inches high. Her hair and makeup are flawless. Definitely a sexy look, still confounding to me as to her change in styling habits, and yet, I spare it just a cursory glance. Moira in a terry robe, wild, red hair all mussed and falling in her face… still hotter than that any day.
“What’s up?” I ask as I turn back to my email.
Molly,
While I appreciate your points about the increase to profit margins, I still believe we need to conduct some market research to quantify—
“…schedule some time today with you to discuss the analytics profile you requested to be compiled on—”
My brain disengages immediately from my email.
Schedule some time?
“I’m sorry. What?” I ask as my gaze snaps up to Lila.
“I want to know if I can actually schedule some time on your calendar to discuss with you that analytics profile—”
“Shit,” I mutter as I push back from my desk, the wheels of my office chair sliding across the plastic mat beneath.
Schedule some fucking time!
“I’m sorry?” Lila says in confusion mixed with wariness over my tone of self-loathing.
I give her an apologetic look, hopefully masking the massive guilt swimming through me right now that she just helped to conjure by her innocent words. “It’s not you,” I assure her. “You just reminded me I have to do something.”
“Oh, okay,” she says and looks at me expectantly, because she’s always ready to help.
“I need to make a call,” I tell her dismissively, but I tack on an encouraging smile. “But go ahead… block us out some time on my schedule this week, and I’ll go over the profile with you.”
“Okay, will do,” she says with a relieved smile. “Can I get you anything for this call you have to make?”
“Nope,” I tell her as I grab my cell phone sitting on the desk. “Just close the door on your way out.”
Lila nods and backs out, closing the door behind her. I take a deep breath and try to figure out the best apology I can come up with to cut through Moira’s potential ire.
I mean… she may be mad, but maybe not. So hard to tell these days.
Yesterday started into motion a series of folly’s that has me guilt ridden and anxious about calling my wife. That fuckwad Charlie Lascola resigned as Cannon’s chief financial officer, giving us absolutely no notice. A mad scramble was on to plug the void he’d temporarily leave until we could find a replacement, and I had to cancel spaghetti night with Moira, the kids, and Randall.
Which fucking sucked. I love watching Jaime get spaghetti all over her face. And up her nose. And once inside her ear. And more than once at least half a plate down the front of her diaper.
Surprisingly, Moira was understanding and waited for me in bed when I got home. Wearily, I updated her on what was going on. She had tentatively asked, “Do you mind if we talk about us for a moment?” I didn’t miss the look of rejection on her face when I asked if we could do it over breakfast in the morning because I was so exhausted. I wanted a fresh head and the ability to devote time to my wife, who wanted to have a serious talk. She immediately put on a brave face though, tucking into my body where I fell into an exhausted sleep while holding her.
Unfortunately, this morning, I woke up to several texts that started coming in around five AM that three vice presidents in the finance department were also leaving with Charlie, and all hell started breaking loose. I don’t know that I ever felt as small as I have in our marriage when I rolled over and touched her shoulder.
Her eyes opened, filled with sleep, but also immediate love for me. My heart throbbed for her, and then also quaked when I said, “Honey… I’ve got to get into the office. Appears there’s a mass exodus leaving Cannon’s. Can you handle the kids this morning?”
More guilt as I watched annoyance, sadness, and then resolve flicker through her gaze.
“Sure,” she said softly. I pulled her into me for a brief hug. She returned it strongly, her fingers digging into my back for a moment, but then I let her go and rolled out of bed.
Her voice held a hint of condescension though when she called out, “Maybe I can call Lila later today and schedule some time for us to talk?”