“It’s his design. Shouldn’t he—”
She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “He can stay lead if necessary, but at this point, I’d like to put him on some new ideas I’ve got. I’ve assigned each engineer a physicist and would like you to streamline development along those lines . . . Is there a problem?” Her tone held a corrosive note.
“We’ve never worked that way.”
“WATT is too large now to work any other way. We need to eliminate inefficiencies and cross dialogue.”
I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, then closed it. I suspected I wouldn’t understand the answer. “I’ll talk to Benson today.”
“Good. Put all your designs for Golightly—is that what you called it?—on the shared server and let it be. We’re done with it. Not a penny more, but if someone can glean insights from the time and resources you’ve spent, all the better. I hate to call it a complete loss.”
“It’s not a loss at all. Already ideas have come from the work. And Golightly has incredible potential.”
“Not enough, Mary. We’re entering the fourth quarter and we’ve got some quick improvements and advances to get out the door. Margins are solid on the battery line, and we can push a couple new iterations. I’m encouraging you to use your days and company resources wisely.”
“I understand.”
“You brought this on yourself, you must see that. You robbed everyone, robbed WATT by holding your ideas so tight. And now? We simply can’t throw more resources at it. You must remember there is no I in team, but it’s emphasized a great deal in pride. I doubt that’s the reputation you want circulated, that you put yourself above the team and are the only one capable. It not only stifles synergy, creativity, and group cohesion, it causes irrefutable harm.”
“That sounds serious.”
She gave me a flat smile, unsure if I was agreeing or, as my dad would say, being sassy. I wasn’t sure either.
She then crunched her way out of the gravel. I glanced back to my car, wondering how my reputation would suffer if I hopped in and sped home.
I tapped the treadmill from eight-to seven-minute miles, then returned my gaze across the paths and park to WATT’s building. The sun hit one spot on the blue-black glass and it glowed like a magnifying glass on a sidewalk.
Almost four years ago we moved WATT out of Craig’s garage and into our present office space. We went from random casse-roles a friend or parent dropped off to espresso for breakfast, sushi for lunch, and two state-of-the-art gyms packed with the latest equipment and floor-to-ceiling windows, so that while running, cycling, rowing, or stepping, we could look out onto these paths and ponds and feel tranquil.
I did not feel tranquil—and hadn’t for some time.
A hand appeared before me. I pulled up and then stumbled. The treadmill raced on as I stretched for the emergency cut-off button. The hand hit it for me.
“Whoa.” It gripped my arm. “Hey . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I hopped off. The ground moved beneath me; I wobbled straight. “You didn’t.”
Nathan slid his hand to my shoulder and held me firm. “I said your name three times. Where were you?”
“Pondering my future with Karen.”
Nathan stepped back and looked around. I did the same. There were only three others in the gym. Two guys from Trillium and one woman from Stellnet.
“I heard about your morning talk. Was it that bad?”
“She was right. Nothing is private in this place. Who told?” I grabbed the towel off the side rail and attempted to press away the red and sweat from my cheeks.
“A couple people saw you talking as they arrived.”
Nathan’s hair needed a trim. Over the past month he’d cut his days at WATT from five a week to two. Other than our walk and talk on Friday, I hadn’t really looked at him in a few weeks.
Standing here now, I realized how much I would miss his smile and the odd sense of excitement-meets-comfort I found in his presence. And his ear—I would miss the way Nathan listened.
“I’m to help Benson on his hearing device. We met this morning and discussed some changes. It’s an amazing achievement really—the size of a few grains of rice. But that’s not what’s so bad . . . I keep replaying what Karen didn’t say. It’s more than one product, it’s where we’re headed that’s at stake.”
“That’s a hefty conclusion to draw from things not said.”
“But you don’t disagree.”
Nathan didn’t answer.
“And . . . she declared an all-hands-on-deck to prepare for fourth quarter, but stopped by my desk just now to make sure I knew it didn’t include me. She actually wished me well on my two-week vacation.”
Nathan smiled and addressed my insecurity rather than my statement. “She wants to systematize processes so they aren’t reliant on an individual. It’s not personal, and it’s the way corporations have run for years. In many ways, it makes sense. If all goes well while you’re gone, it proves her point.” He crossed his arms and stepped back again, bumping into the treadmill next to mine.
“But it’s not the way we work.”
“True, but she’s the one who has Craig’s ear right now, and that’s right, she should. He hired her.” He raised his hand to stall my counterattack. “She’s got a long record of success, and he paid a lot to bring her on board.”
I pressed my lips shut.
He smiled again. “No comment?” He tilted his head toward the check-in counter. “I thought you might need cheering up, and I knew this would be the last day I’d see you before you go.”
I followed the gesture to the counter. There sat my favorite kind of cupcake, from my favorite shop. Hey Cupcake’s Red Velvet.
“Call it a commiseration-congratulations cupcake.”
“How did you know?” I dashed toward it.
“You lit up like a kid at Christmas when I brought cupcakes to celebrate Craig’s birthday. I figured I’d hit upon something special.”
“You did. Cupcakes surpass Christmas.” I picked it up and held it toward him. “Share?”
At his nod, I headed to the outer doors. “Come on. We’ll even go outside, just for you.”
“How can cupcakes surpass Christmas? That’s not normal.”
I yanked several hand wipes from the dispenser and hip-checked the door open to lead him across the dried grass, the mulch walk, and the tinkling stream to the pond, one of the few with surface-nipping koi.
“It’s normal when Christmas gets mixed up with life and . . . Let’s just say it’s not my top holiday anymore.”
“It was nice and cool in there.” He pointed back to the building.
I sat on the bench. “But you love the heat. It ‘warms your bones.’ Wouldn’t you rather be out here?”
“You remembered that?” Nathan dropped onto the bench beside me. “I was cold for three straight years in Boston. I don’t think I’ve gotten over it.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never left Texas. Not even for a vacation.” I peeled back the wrapper and pulled the cupcake in two. I held both pieces out.