Company - Max Barry [69]
The guard blinks once, slowly.
“‘First they came for the Communists. And I didn't speak out, because I wasn't a Communist.' You know how that ends?”
The guard turns to look at her. Gretel takes a step backward, because the guard's eyes are hollow.
“Please, ma'am. I'm just doing my job.”
“Sorry.” It comes out as a whimper. She hurries back to her desk, feeling the guard's empty stare on the back of her neck. She takes her seat and hugs her arms across her chest.
A few minutes later, Roger knocks on the Staff Services meeting-room door. There's no response. He glances at the others. “Well, here goes.” He turns the handle.
Inside, five managers including Sydney are arranged around a circular table. There's a piece of paper in the center of the table, and when she sees Roger, Elizabeth, and Holly, Sydney reaches out and flips it over. “Excuse me. We're busy.”
Roger frowns at her. Elizabeth has to credit him; he's very convincing. “Sydney, wait outside, please.”
Sydney blinks. “What did you say?”
“Out.” He jerks his head toward the door. “We'll discuss this later.”
Sydney looks lost for words. One of the other managers, a woman with thin, natty glasses, says, “This meeting is for department heads only.”
“Right,” Roger says. “I'm manager of Training Sales.”
Sydney says, “Pardon me?”
“Sydney is . . . ah . . . ambitious.” Roger winks at the woman. “You'll have to forgive her.”
“I'm the head of Training Sales,” Sydney says.
“No, I am,” Roger says. “Have been for months.”
The other managers look at Elizabeth and Holly. They point at Roger.
Sydney's cheeks flush a deep, angry red. “It's on file. Check the files!”
“Well, the network is down, so you know we can't do that.” Roger doesn't even glance at her. He smiles engagingly at the other managers. “I'm sorry for this. But you can't blame Syd for trying, I suppose.”
The managers look at each other. Two have no idea whether Roger or Sydney is head of Training Sales: There are a lot of departments and a lot of turnover and who can keep track? It does seem plausible that the manager is the tall man with good hair rather than the five-foot-one woman. One of the other managers knows very well that Sydney is the Training Sales manager, because she once sent an e-mail, copied to Senior Management, that accused him of incompetence, laziness, and, memorably, alcoholism. He reacts first. “I'm sorry—Roger, is it? We didn't realize.”
“Not a problem.” Roger smiles. Then he looks down at Sydney. “What are you hanging around for?”
Sydney opens her mouth, then shuts it. She looks from one face to another and finds no sympathy on any of them. She stands and walks out.
Elizabeth and Holly step back to let her pass. Elizabeth looks back at the managers. “We'll leave you to it,” she says and gently closes the door.
At first they hang around, in case a bloodied hand paws against the glass, or a body is slammed against the blinds. But when it becomes apparent that this battle will go the distance, Elizabeth heads off to call on some customers and the sales assistants go to lunch. Or, rather, they attempt to go to lunch, because the mass of angry ex-employees in front of the building has gotten everyone nervous, and Security won't let them out of the building. By one o'clock, hunger is increasing the possibility of a riot inside the building, too, so Human Resources makes some calls and manages to get a truckload of sandwiches delivered to a back entrance. These are cold and rubbery and make everyone feel guilty, because as they pick them up from the reception desk, the unemployed stare at them through the tinted glass.
“Ahhh,” Freddy says. Jones follows his gaze to see Eve stepping out of the elevator with a man in a gray suit from Alpha. Neither looks happy. Jones's heart starts thumping.
Holly smirks. “Thought she'd been canned?”
“She wasn't at the desk this morning, I thought maybe she had been.” Freddy sucks in a breath. “I'm so high on adrenaline, I could ask her out right now. You know how