As Emma Marks walked, she spoke in a brisk, informative voice. “Coffee delivery is no small matter,” she said, as they left through the office door and click-clacked down the long corridor to God only knew where.
Emma continued talking. “Mister Sharpe is very particular about how, when and where his coffee is brought to him—as well as who is given permission of handling his food. Of course, he’s particular about everything—but his food and drink are given the utmost attention. Those who are trusted to handle his meals have access to him that people would kill for—even those in higher management positions don’t get very much face time with Mister Sharpe.”
“I don’t understand why he wanted me to do it,” Ivy squeaked as she tried to keep up with her long-legged superior.
Emma shrugged almost imperceptibly. “He works in mysterious ways,” she said.
Ivy frowned. “I thought that’s what people say about God.”
“As far as you’re concerned, there’s no difference between the two.”
They took a left turn, and then came to a locked door. Emma took the laminated badge that hung from an extendable cord on her waist and held the badge to a sensor next to the door.
The red light on the sensor turned green and there was an audible click. “We’ll need to up your security clearance if Mister Sharpe decides you’re to be on a permanent coffee detail. But that remains to be seen,” she added mysteriously.
And then they were walking into what could only be a tiny pantry. It was a far cry from the secret room that Ivy had been expecting.
What’s with this place? She wondered. Everything that they seemed to worry about was so petty.
A high security pantry was just about the dumbest thing she’d ever seen in her life.
“Watch me very closely, Ivy,” the blond woman told her, as she began brewing the coffee in a large stainless steal machine that looked particularly intimidating.
“I’ve never used a coffee maker like that one,” Ivy said.
“That’s why I’m instructing you to watch what I do closely,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes. She’d pulled a container of coffee grounds from an overhead cabinet and was scooping the grounds into a compartment at the top of the intimidating machine. “I don’t intend to explain this process to you again, so please do pay attention.”
Ivy stepped closer, wishing she’d brought a notepad and pen.
But it was useless. Emma’s hands flew at light speed from one task to the next, like she’d done everything thousands of times before.
Ivy was too scared to tell her supervisor that she was completely lost.
Soon, brewing noises were bubbling and percolating from the machine, and Emma was now bending down and opening other drawers and cabinets. Out came a small, silver serving tray, and then two spoons of slightly differing sizes. Then a cloth napkin. Next, Emma moved to the small refrigerator, and pulled out milk and poured the white liquid into a small metal container.
“Mister Sharpe likes his coffee black at times, but other days he prefers a splash of milk or cream. For a short while, we would try to add the milk or cream ourselves if he indicated that he wanted some. But we were never able to gauge the proportions correctly. He grew annoyed and removed that task from our duties.”
Just from her ominous tone, Ivy could tell that even this small failure was still a point of angst for Emma Marks.
“It seems like a lot of trouble over coffee,” Ivy said, and immediately regretted the comment.
Emma spun on her, and the taller woman’s eyes flashed with rage. “With an attitude like that, I’ve no doubt that your time at Biometrix will be mercifully short. So you won’t need to be troubled over coffee ever again.” She turned back to her work.
“I’m—I’m sorry—“
“Please, I don’t want to hear it.”
Soon, the coffee was ready, and Emma placed an ornate white mug beneath the machine, pressed a button and it filled the cup automatically. Then, Emma placed the cup back on the tray.
She gestured to the tray. Everything had been set perfectly, including one packet of sugar, one packet of Stevia, one packet of Splenda.
“Does he take sweetener with his coffee sometimes?” Ivy asked.
“Not yet. But he’s indicated that he’d like the possibility to remain open, so we bring him these sweeteners just in case. I’m sure that seems ridiculous to one so worldly as yourself.”
“No, of course I don’t think that—“
Emma pointed at her. “I can tell exactly what you think. It’s written all over your smug face. But let me explain something to you,” she continued, her cheeks aflame. “We’re a multi-billion dollar company. Our new drug is saving lives, and we’ve other drugs in the pipeline that will save even more lives. The kind of unique brilliance that went into creating these scientific breakthroughs and innovations requires absolute attention to the smallest detail. That’s the kind of mind that Cullen has,” she said.
I must’ve hit a nerve.