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“Sure, why? You sound panicked.”
“It’s exactly five o’clock on a Friday. I was just heading out of the office, which is why it’s weird when you could just walk over in fifteen minutes. Or…?”
“I’m not at home, Peas. I’m down in Sala Bay with Isla. Which is a story for another day. But here’s the thing. Do you think you could teach me to cook?”
There’s a long pause, followed by a truly wicked cackle. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I need to do this. I’ll let you know when you can start torturing me on the regular, but for right now, is there a way to walk me through making some really good muffins? Are there like temporary kitchens for rent?”
For a second there, I think Paisley is crying. And there’s the slightest tremor in her voice when she responds, “Thereprobably are, but those would be more industrial. I’ll bet there’s someone down there that would love to share their kitchen with you for an hour.”
“You can make muffins in an hour?”
“Yes, darling brother. More like half that time, but I’m being generous for a novice. Now hang up and let me make some calls. Hey, can you call Dean and tell him I’ll be late? If I stop to do that first, locating a kitchen will take longer.”
I sigh. “Fine. I guess I owe him some revenge time.”
She hangs up and I gird my loins for my best friend’s ribbing.
Isla
I could tell it took everything Lance had not to precede me into the building, knock a few heads together, and then let me decide what pieces I want to pick up. But he’s right. I need to do this by myself. For myself.
General Vipont looks worn when I tap on his office door. His assistant has already gone home. He looks up and gives me a warm smile. Warm for a retired two-star general, anyway.
“Come in, Isla. Take a seat.” He scrubs his thick hand over his graying eyebrows. “I knew you’d be good for this office, but I had no idea what your arrival would uncover. Seems a few people missed the memo about Sala Bay being part of a bigger company. Some of them are reassessing that this weekend, but a handful have been made to see that their talents would be better used elsewhere.”
I stare at him. I got people fired? Is that what he’s trying to tell me?
“In short, Isla, there are several new openings. I want someone I can trust in there. Someone I already knowunderstands the core values of the company. And can keep me informed if things start to turn against that tide. So…”
He slides a piece of paper across his desk towards me. It’s a salary double what I came here for and the title is Executive Corporate Liaison.
“Um, what exactly would I be doing?”
“I haven’t exactly had time to write up a full job description,” he admits wryly. “But basically tying all the pieces together. Making sure that each office is hiring to the same standards, implementing policies the same way and not making up their own to circumvent them. There will be some travel.”
“Would I have to work with that idiot Dennis?” I’m so shocked my filter came right off and I grimace at my own gaffe.
General Vipont cracks a genuine grin. “I owe you a beer for getting that guy off my back. Dennis has decided we’re a lost cause, and he’s going to take his efforts somewhere they’ll finally be appreciated.”
“And Lance?”
He eyes me speculatively, flipping his pen idly against his fingers. “Lance is a different story. His job has to stay in Destiny Bay. It’s needed there and moving it would be detrimental to the growth of that office. That doesn’t mean he has to remain there. But there is no direct equivalent available down here. It’s split between three different positions, all of which are held by capable people, and none of whom were part of today’s drama.”
He shrugs lightly. The stiff fabric of his suit jacket barely moving. “So what do you say?”
God, I hate this. But with that salary… Even for a year or two, I could save enough to make the event thing a viable option without stretching Lance’s salary for start-up costs. But then Lance… except he did say to do what was right for my career and he would adjust. Do I trust him on that? But if I don’t, then do I trust him at all?
I eye the number on the paper again, thinking furiously. “Who would I report to?” I ask slowly.
“Me,” General Vipont answers with a certain degree of smug satisfaction.
“I’ll take it.”
11
Lance
