Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“And the last time I checked, Mr. Webb,” a sharp voice cuts in, “you’re neither Lulu’s supervisor nor a member of HR, so I’m not sure what your interest is here.”
I turn to see Blair—the human splinter stabbing deep into the tender flesh of my otherwise copacetic new life—coming in fast from my right, inspiring in me the irrational urge to grab Lulu by the hand and make a break for it.
But this kind of trouble isn’t something either of us can run from, so I roll my shoulders back and stand my ground.
“No, I’m not part of HR,” I admit coolly. “But the Federal Family and Medical Leave Act entitles employees to up to twelve weeks of leave to take care of sick relatives without losing their jobs. Lulu’s son has food sensitivity issues that require Occupational Therapy, but due to the demands of her job, she hasn’t been able to get him to his appointments.”
I glance at Lulu, who nods eagerly, seemingly emboldened by my presence. She’s not alone in this, and I refuse to let her or anyone else be bullied and intimidated.
“Yes, Eric’s right,” Lulu says. “Like I said, Mr. Pool, he’s not deathly ill, but Matteo absolutely has a medical condition that needs treatment. That’s why I spoke to you a few months ago about working from home on Thursdays. If we could make that happen, I wouldn’t need to take leave at all. I could get Matteo to an extra therapy session every week, still get my work done while I’m home with him, and hopefully the problem would be resolved in a few months. I can already see improvement in Matteo’s eating, even with just the Saturday morning visit.”
Mr. Pool lets out an unimpressed breath as his flat brown eyes shift Blair’s way. “Ms. Keneally, you’re the expert on federal policies, but when I was coming up, employees were expected to balance work and family without costing the company money and inconveniencing their superiors.”
“When you were coming up, women stayed home with the children so men could focus on their careers. Is that what you mean?” I ask, my voice every bit as sharp as Blair’s. “Because if it is, then I regret to inform you that the world has changed, and it is the responsibility of employers to—”
“You’re out of line, Eric,” Blair cuts in, her pale face marked with blotches of red near her cheekbones. “Mr. Pool and I have discussed Lulu’s situation in great detail.”
I bet you have. I think back to that call I overheard last week—Blair and Will talking about some kind of deal they’d made. It must’ve been about Lulu.
My gut twists as I try to connect the dots.
Blair continues. “Lulu’s repeated absences for alleged family issues is—”
“What’s alleged about it?” I ask with a huff. “The school calls her to come collect Matteo because he’s been sick. That’s a verifiable fact.”
“As I was trying to say,” Blair continues, surveying me with a smug disdain that’s even more infuriating than open hostility, “there are factors at play aside from Ms. Rivera’s absences. Factors her supervisor and I discussed at length before deciding on a strategy for handling this situation. Lulu’s termination is not up for discussion—particularly with you, Mr. Webb.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Lulu lifts her arms, palms to the ceiling with fingers spread wide. “What factors? I’ve never had a bad performance review and—”
“We can discuss this in my office, Lulu,” Blair says. “I, for one, don’t believe in airing dirty laundry in public.”
Then I really hope you’re not a Barrington Beat reader, because laundry day is coming, sweetheart…
Blair steps back, motioning for Lulu to precede her.
With one last mournful, but grateful, glance my way, Lulu hurries around the corner and down the hall. Mr. Pool grunts, staring down his nose at me as he thanks Blair for her professionalism—his tone clearly inferring that I am the foil to her competency and class—and then I’m alone with the ambassador for female-enforced misogyny.
More than anything, I want to call Blair on her sins, name every law she’s bent or broken with her discriminatory hiring practices, point out all the legitimate employee concerns and complaints she’s dismissed or buried, and wipe that self-righteous expression from her face.
Instead, I bite the insides of my cheeks and keep my mouth closed. I can’t tip my hand or give her the chance to cover her tracks, not until I’ve got all the evidence I need and am ready to run with this story.
“Listen up, Eric, because I’m only going to say this once.” Blair steps closer, until only a few inches separate her pointy red pumps from my leather dress shoes. “Keep your focus where it belongs—on your work and your work only—and we won’t have any problems. Pull over into my lane again, however, and I won’t hesitate to run you off the road.”