Page 218 of A Lick and A Promise
I parked under NI&S’s building, made sure I had my ticket so Marjorie could validate it (their parking cost a whack), and headed up to the offices.
The minute I entered the mothership was the first time I felt okay all day, or all day after my chat with Tex, Tito and Byron.
That was because, between the kickass lighting, the bronze statue of a Phoenix in the corner, and the sleek, expensive furniture, the offices of Nightingale Security & Investigation screamed, We have a shedload of money because we earn your money because we get the job done!
They got the job done.
I blew out a breath.
Marjorie, behind the receptionist desks, snapped, “He’s been here all day.”
I walked up to the desk. “Hey.”
She didn’t return my greeting.
“I know you’re here to take him to his follow-up appointment, but I’ll have it on record that means his follow-up hasn’t happened yet, and therefore he’s still not officially cleared for work, and he’s been here six hours.”
“I feel your pain, sister,” I lied.
Her face got pointy.
The door to the bridge of this particular Enterprise (that being the door that led to the inner workings, including Mace’s office, Shirleen’s office, the control room, the shared office the men used that only had two desks because the men hated desk work so avoided it like the plague, a conference room, their workout room, which was the room the men used the most and was the size of three of Mace’s offices—and his office wasn’t small—a locker/shower room, a kitchen/break room, an equipment room, along with several empty rooms that were “room to grow—and yes, the Angels had previously been given a tour).
Out of that door strutted Shirleen.
I was focused on her surprise appearance and the bags she was carrying in our very minimal time together the night before.
I didn’t miss her fabulous winter white sweater dress and bronze pumps this time.
“You rock a sweater dress,” I told her.
“I own seventeen of them,” Shirleen told me. “Guaranteed to get me a little somethin’-somethin’ when Moses sees my ass in a sweater dress.”
I started to smile but stopped when Marjorie declared, “Nightingale Investigations and Security Employee Handbook section three, paragraph two, subheading one, inappropriate topics of office discourse are to be reported directly to the office manager and dealt with in an efficient manner. First instance, a warning. Second, a written warning. Third, possible termination. Also, same section, subheading three, use of foul language in the office is prohibited. No report needed this time. I’m sitting right here.”
Whoa.
She totally did have the handbook memorized.
“You aren’t the boss of me,” Shirleen said.
“I’m the boss of this office,” Marjorie retorted.
“But you aren’t the boss of me,” Shirleen repeated.
“You’re in this office, I manage this office, ergo…” Marjorie let that trail off.
This could go on all day, so I cut in to ask, “Um…Marjorie, you know who you work for, right?”
“I do,” she snipped.
“And who works for them, yes?” I went on.
“There is no ‘boys will be boys’ allowed in this organization,” Marjorie replied.
“I hear you. That’s gross. Do the guys talk about sex a lot?” I tacked on that last one out of sheer curiosity.
“Never. Only Shirleen does,” Marjorie answered.
