The Consultant (12 page)

Matthews glanced over at Patoff, then cleared his throat. “The Board and I have decided that, in an effort to get to know one another better, all members of middle and upper management will attend a mandatory weekend retreat. This will give us a chance to spend some time together outside of work, quality time, and allow us to get to know one other. Reacquaint ourselves, perhaps.”  

Hands in the audience immediately went up, and rather than continue on, the CEO pointed to someone in the front row. “Yes.”  

“Why are we doing this?” It was Neal Jamison, head of the Finance department. “We’ve never done it before.”  

Patoff answered, stepping forward. “We are only in the preliminary phase of our study, but one thing we’ve noticed so far is a lack of communication among senior staff. In an effort to combat this, we have proposed some bonding exercises, and we suggested to Mr. Matthews and the Board that a weekend retreat would be the fastest and most efficacious way of addressing the situation.”  

“
We
?” Phil whispered.  

Craig raised an eyebrow, taking his point. Patoff was still the only consultant either of them had seen, leaving them to wonder whether BFG even
had
any other employees. Apparently they did, and Craig studied the man standing next to Patoff as the consultant fielded another question about where the retreat was located and what the “bonding exercises” actually entailed. Patoff explained that BFG had access to an off-season student science camp that they often rented just for this purpose, and that there were games and collaborative activities specifically designed by psychologists to bring together people who ordinarily interact only within a corporate setting.  

The bearded man remained unmoving, not looking at either the consultant or the CEO, not looking at the audience, not looking anywhere in particular. He didn’t seem like a consultant, Craig thought, and he definitely didn’t seem like a psychologist. With his black beard, leathery skin and rugged mien, he had the look and affect of a park ranger or lumberjack, someone who worked outdoors, and Craig was about to raise his hand and ask who the man was, when Patoff said, “Maybe I should introduce you to the person who’s been assigned to lead this little expedition.” He nodded toward the other man. “Dash,” he said.  

“Hi,” the man said. “I’m Dash Robards.”  

Craig glanced over at Phil to see his reaction.
Dash
? his friend mouthed silently, and the raised-eyebrow look on his face was so comical, it was all Craig could do not to laugh.  

“A little bit about myself: I’ve been an avid sportsman my entire life. Grew up tracking and hunting in the rugged pine country around Juniper, Arizona. I served as an Army Ranger, and after that spent several years as a wilderness guide, leading Elk hunting expeditions in the Yukon. Five years ago, I went back to school and received training in conflict resolution and therapeutic group dynamics. Upon graduation, I was hired by BFG to conduct wilderness exercises and to facilitate bonding excursions such as the one you will be going on. What we’ll be doing this weekend—”  

“
This
weekend?” Jack Razon exclaimed.  

Robards looked over at Patoff, who nodded. He turned back to face the crowd. “Yeah, this weekend.”  

“I can’t go this weekend!”  

There was sudden cacophony as a chorus of voices protested the timing of the retreat.  

Matthews took charge again. “This isn’t voluntary,” he reminded them. “This is mandatory. You are all going on the retreat. I’m not asking you—I’m
telling
you. Reschedule what you have to reschedule, rearrange your plans as necessary, but make sure you get this weekend off. We’ll be leaving Friday afternoon and returning Sunday evening. I will accept no excuses, not even illnesses. Anyone who does not attend will no longer be working for Comp-Ware. Do I make myself clear?”  

The room was silent.  

“Good.” Patoff was grinning. “Go on, Dash.”  

Craig tuned out the rest of the discussion, already trying to calculate the logistics in his head. Angie would have to take the weekend off, which she wouldn’t be happy about, but she was never voluntarily absent and had almost perfect attendance, so that was probably doable. What concerned him more was Dylan. He wasn’t sure how he was going to break the news to his son. Despite the hours he spent at work, all of the early mornings and late evenings, he had never before taken any sort of business trip, and since Dylan’s birth, they had spent every night under the same roof. The thought of not doing so for the first time filled him with a piercing melancholy, and if breaking their streak bothered
him
, he could imagine how hard Dylan was going to take it. He had to come up with a gentle way to tell the boy the news.
Maybe a bribe
, he thought, and decided that the Saturday after the retreat, they would go to Disneyland. That meant Angie would have to take
another
day off—but this one even she would consider worth it.  

Convinced he had enough good news to balance out the bad, Craig felt better, and he listened to descriptions of role-playing games and crafts projects and what was apparently going to be the main activity of the weekend: a “wilderness expedition.” They all sounded stupid and pointless, but he nodded along with everyone else to show he understood the plan, and on the way out of the meeting shared a silent look with Phil that told him his friend felt exactly the same way.  

It was too risky to talk here, too many ears, so they split off in the corridor with the unspoken understanding they they’d discuss it all at lunch.  

Lupe was at her desk when he returned, filling out some paperwork for HR regarding Tyler’s position, and he asked her to join him in his office, shutting the door behind her. Offering her a chair, he described the meeting, told her about the weekend retreat, then said that he was worried about the direction BFG seemed to be steering the company and the impact it could have on employees.  

“So what have
you
heard?” he asked her.  

“Why?” He could hear the worry in her voice. “What have
you
heard?”  

“Nothing really. That’s why I’m asking you.” He smiled. “Everyone knows secretaries have the best gossip.”  

There was a pause, a hesitation. Was that a flicker of suspicion in her eyes? Did she think he was asking in order to test her loyalty to the company? Or because he was trying to ferret out a leak? Or because he’d been asked to spy on her?  

He quickly disabused her of any such notion, and she claimed that nothing like that had even occurred to her, but he knew that it had, and the fact that BFG had managed to drive even a small wedge between them, and do it so quickly, left him feeling vulnerable.  

“Look,” he said, “I’ll be honest with you. They’re not telling the division heads anything. And with the way my ‘interview’ went, I’m pretty sure I’m on the outs with the consultants.”  

“I thought you said we’re safe.” The worry was back again.  

“I don’t think my job’s on the line. Or yours. I was honest about that. I’m not even worried about funding for our division, really. It’s just…I don’t know. I don’t like the way things are going, and I’m trying to get a handle on it.”  

“You’re a good boss, Boss.”  

Maybe she
hadn’t
been suspicious of his motives, maybe she’d always believed him. But if that was the case,
he
was the one who’d been suspicious of
her
. Either way, Patoff had come between them, and the ease with which that had been accomplished worried him.  

“I wasn’t joking about secretaries’ gossip. I hear things you don’t, but they’re mostly the party line. You hear things I don’t, and I think they’re probably a lot more accurate. If we pool our information and act as each other’s eyes and ears, I think we’ll be ahead of the game.”  

“Okay,” she said, and stood. “So you want me to go out and do a little recon?”  

He laughed. “That’s my Lupe.”  

“I have an idea. It’s about those passwords and everything. But I may be gone for a little while. Do you want me to let calls go to voicemail or…?”  

“Just transfer everything from your phone to mine. I’ll take care of whatever comes up.”  

Nothing did come up, and she popped back a half-hour later, closing the door behind her. “I just talked to Pauline—Pauline Praeger? In Legal?—and she said that as soon as they got the memo, the attorneys immediately started looking to see if they could be required to comply.”  

“So what’s the verdict?”  

“It’s legal. I guess the Supreme Court issued some sort of ruling about privacy in the workplace, and…well, there really isn’t any. Employers hold all the cards and employees pretty much have to do as they say.”  

“We all better be careful,” he told her. “And make sure your IDs and passwords on personal devices, even at home, are totally different than the ones here at work. I don’t trust those guys, and I wouldn’t put anything past them.”  

Lupe didn’t question that assumption—which told him a lot.  

“Pauline asked about that ‘work management study’ they’re supposed to be doing. Are they still going to do it? Did they already start? What’s going on with that?”  

“I don’t know,” Craig admitted. “But I don’t think that’s underway yet. From what I understand, they’re going to assign people to observe us at our jobs. I’m not sure how that’s going to work, exactly, but there’ll probably be someone sitting in a chair in my office and by your desk, watching us and taking notes.”  

“That’s going to be uncomfortable.”  

He sighed. “Yeah.”  

“So we should probably try to look busy, even during down times.”  

Craig allowed himself a small smile. “I’m sure Scott will be sending us a memo to that effect in the very near future.”  

“At least we found out that Mr. Patoff’s not the only consultant they have. I was beginning to think he was.”  

“Me, too,” Craig said.  

“Did Mr. Matthews tell you guys how long this is going to go on, how long they’re going to be here?”  

“No. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking it’s a six-month contract, but I don’t know where I got that from. For all I know, the consultants are here indefinitely.”  

“So we’d better just get used to living under the occupation.”  

“For now,” he said.  

He was hoping to discuss things with Phil, but his friend called just before Craig was about to head out to lunch to let him know that he was unable to get away. “Garrett just asked me to put together a sales report in time for a meeting this afternoon.”  

He was being circumspect on the phone—just in case—so Craig was, too. “All right,” he said casually. “Later.”  

But as he left alone to grab a burger at In-N-Out, he could not help wondering if someone had noticed that the two of them usually went out to lunch together—and if Phil’s assignment had been specifically timed to put a stop to that.  

****  

“
You’re
breaking it to him,” Angie said after Craig told her about the weekend retreat. “I’m not doing it.”  

He nodded and glanced into the living room, where Dylan was writing treasure hunt clues on Post-It notes. He understood why she was annoyed, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t
choose
to go on this retreat. Emotion trumped logic every time, however, and even though he had emphasized that this was a requirement, she still blamed him. Dylan would, too, he knew, and he tried to think of the best way to explain it to his son.  

Looking up from his writing, Dylan waved at him with a go-away motion. “Stay in the kitchen!” Dylan yelled. “Don’t come out ’til I tell you!”  

“Okay. Sorry.” Craig backed away, moving over to the sink, where he picked up a glass and got a drink of water out of the faucet.  

“You’re not here all week,” Angie said, keeping her voice low. “The least you can do is be there for him on the weekend.”  

“You think I want to do this?”  

“You could call in sick, you could—”  

“I can’t,” he said. “I have to go.” Although he wondered what would happen if he really
was
sick. Could he get out of it that way? No. Matthews had specifically said that anyone who didn’t go on the retreat would no longer work for CompWare.  

They heard Dylan moving from the living room to the hallway, hiding his treasure clues.  

“Besides,” Craig said, “this is the first time this has ever happened and, hopefully, the last. I’m
always
there for him. And even though I work during the week, I’m home every night to tuck him into bed.”  

He knew how defensive he sounded, but he felt surprisingly emotional about this issue. Angie must have been able to tell, because she sighed. “I know,” she said. “I just don’t like the fact that I have to call in sick to cover for you.”  

“This is a one-time thing.”  

“Can you guarantee that?”  

He couldn’t, and she knew it. Luckily, Dylan ran excitedly into the kitchen at just that moment, saving the discussion from deteriorating back into an argument. “Time for your treasure hunt, Daddy!” He handed over a Post-It, and though Craig had intended to talk to his son about the weekend, he decided to do the treasure hunt first. He looked down at the note in his hand. “Go to the bookcase.” He did so, and saw a yellow Post-It stuck to the third shelf that said, “Go to the bathtub.” He did, and found another yellow square telling him to check under “Mommy’s pillow.” Ten notes later, he was crouched down on the floor, looking under Dylan’s bed, where a final note attached to a single square of Starburst candy leftover from Christmas announced: “Here is your prize!”  

He unwrapped the Starburst, popped it into his mouth and gave the boy a hug. “Thanks, little buddy.”  

Dylan grinned. “I knew you’d like it. Can we read now? I wanna finish the book before Friday.”  

Craig smiled. “So you can beat Karen?”  

“I beat her three weeks in a row! Now she says she’s gonna beat me. But if we finish the
Droon
book and then speed through the next
Bailey School Kids
, there’s no way she’ll win.”