The Consultant Page 5

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “In my interview? Same as you. I don’t want to let on what I know. Besides, maybe they want me to know. Maybe this is just a tactic to get department heads to rat out employees underneath them.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I am being paranoid.”

  “I think it’s good to be paranoid right now. I think we need to be on our guard.”

  Phil grinned. “He really calls God ‘Ralph’?”

  “Apparently so.”

  They both laughed.

  Lupe had not yet gone to lunch and was still holding down the fort when he returned. There’d been no calls in his short absence, and he told her she could leave if she wanted.

  “So what happened?” she asked.

  He told her the same thing he’d told Phil.

  “That is weird,” she said. “I’ll tell you what happens when I go.”

  “Unless you sign a confidentiality agreement.”

  “At least I’ll tell you that.” She picked up her purse. “I’m going to Panera. Want me to bring you back anything?”

  “No thanks,” he said. “I’m going out myself in a while. If I’m not here when you get back, see if you can set up that meeting with Peter in Development. I still have some things I need to go over with him, and we’ve been playing phone tag for two days now. I think he’s trying to avoid me.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  “Speaking of being your boss, if the consultant asks you—”

  “You’re the best boss in the world, and I never want to work for anyone else.”

  He laughed. “You’ll go far in this business, young lady.”

  She waved at him as she walked away. “I’m counting on it!”

  SIX

  “We need to talk,” Angie said. Those four words were never good. Especially when they were spoken in a serious voice after Dylan had gone to bed. They usually meant that she thought Craig had done something wrong and that he was about to get a lecture.

  Sure enough, Angie put down the magazine she’d been reading, picked up the remote and turned down the volume on the television. “You’re spending way too much time at work. I don’t like it and neither does Dylan.”

  “What are you talking about? I take one day off and go out with Tyler and some of the guys—”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  He was silent.

  “Even when you’re here these days, you’re not here. Where was your head at dinner? Did you even notice that Dylan ate all of the hummus I put on his plate? Dylan! Hummus!”

  “That’s great.”

  “Last night, you were online for nearly three hours. Lately, it seems like you’re on that computer every night. I’m surprised you’re here with me right now. And it wasn’t just the one time you went out with your buddies; each day you’ve been coming home later and later, leaving earlier in the morning—”

  “I told you, while the consultants are here I have to—”

  “I get that. I do. But when Dylan was born, we agreed that we would take up the slack for each other. I make his breakfast, make his lunch, take him to school, pick him up, take care of him in the afternoon, and I cook dinner for all of us. You’re supposed to help me out at night. You can’t spend all your time hiding in your study.”

  “What can I say? Things are…up in the air right now. We had personal interviews today with the consultants. Or, rather, everyone else in the division had interviews; interviews so top secret that they were forced to sign confidentiality agreements promising they wouldn’t talk about what they talked about. Me? I didn’t have to sign anything. They asked me a few generic questions and sent me on my merry way. Phil, too.”

  “What does that mean?” Angie looked worried. “Do you think you’re out?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what it means. But it doesn’t look good.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “But you weren’t going to. You sat here in silence watching TV, and you wouldn’t’ve mentioned a thing if I hadn’t brought all this up.”

  He said nothing. She was right.

  “We need to communicate,” Angie said. “You can’t just keep things to yourself. We’re in this together, and we should be able to talk about it.”

  “You’re right,” he told her. “You’re right. I didn’t want to worry you, but that’s no excuse.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “Should you be sending out résumés? How serious is this?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I was safe. But this weird interview thing threw me for a loop.” He shook his head. “The problem is, it’s a bad time in the industry to be job hunting. That’s why CompWare’s in trouble. It’s not just that our market share is down—the whole market is contracting.”

  “Yeah, but you have great qualifications. And you look good on paper.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t come up,” he told her. “Right now, I’m just going to ride it out and see what happens.” Smiling, he patted her hand. “And I’ll be there more for you guys. I promise”

  “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

  “It’s not,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

  She picked up the remote and turned off the television. “Why don’t we go to bed.”

  “Why? It’s kind of early. Are you tired?”

  She looked into his eyes. “No.”

  Grinning, he stood, pulling her up and off the couch. “Let’s go.”

  ****

  Angie was still asleep when he awoke on Saturday morning, but Dylan was already up and in the living room, watching cartoons. Craig put on his bathrobe and slippers before heading down the hall to the front of the house. The carpet in the hallway was getting worn in the center, he noticed. The carpet had come with the house, and Angie had mentioned several months ago that she wanted to get it replaced, but he’d put it off because he was a procrastinator. Now he didn’t want to do it because he didn’t know whether he would still have a job, and until the situation at work was sorted out, he thought it better to act conservatively and save money just in case.

  “Hey, bud,” he said, walking up behind Dylan and affectionately squeezing the boy’s shoulders. “You want to help me make pancakes?”

  It was one of their weekend rituals, and Dylan jumped up excitedly. “Yeah!” he said, and the two of them went into the kitchen. Craig dumped some Bisquick into a bowl, cracked two eggs, then let Dylan pour in some milk and stir. When the frying pan was hot enough, he allowed his son to ladle the batter in a roughly circular shape. With his hand over Dylan’s, the two of them used a spatula to flip the pancake. A moment later, they did it again.

  “Go wake Mommy up,” Craig said. “Tell her it’s seven-thirty.”

  By the time he’d spread butter and poured syrup over Dylan’s pancake, the boy was back. “She’s up,” he said matter-of-factly. Craig heard the bathroom door close and the shower go on.

  He made the rest of the pancakes himself, piling them up on a plate, then sat down to eat just as Dylan finished drinking the last of his orange juice and got up to go back into the living room.

  “Hey, sport?”

  Dylan looked over at him.

  “You want to come to work with me this morning?”

  Dylan’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Sure. I have some things I have to do, but you can play games on my computer while you’re waiting.”

  “Can we go on the elevator?”

  “Of course. And afterward we’ll go out for lunch and maybe see a movie.”

  “All right!”

  Angie had walked into the kitchen. “What are you all-righting about?”

  “Daddy’s taking me to his work!”

  Angie smiled approvingly.

  “Even when I’m not here, I’m here,” Craig said, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “If we’re not home when you get back,” he told her, “we’ll be seeing a movi
e.”

  “Yeah!” Dylan said.

  “You boys have a fun day,” Angie said, pouring herself some orange juice. “And if you’re going to the movies, bring some Purell. It’s flu season. Those theaters are disease incubators.”

  She’d awakened later than they had, but she ate a quick breakfast and was off to the Urgent Care before either of them had finished getting dressed. Craig did pack a small bottle of hand sanitizer, as well as one of They Might Be Giants’ children’s CDs, and he and Dylan sang along to a song about balloons as they drove over to CompWare.

  “I like your building,” Dylan said as they pulled into the parking lot. “It’s secret.”

  Craig smiled. The exterior of the building—and the interior, for that matter—did resemble the hideout of some old James Bond villain, and though his son had never seen any of those movies, it was a perceptive observation, and he was proud of the boy for making it.

  Craig let Dylan swipe his ID badge to open the door, and the two of them rode the elevator to several different floors before stopping finally at the sixth. “This place is so cool,” Dylan said admiringly as they stepped off the elevator.

  “It is cool,” Craig agreed.

  “Daddy? Do you still have that refrigerator in your office?”

  “Yes I do. And I have some bottled water in there. Are you thirsty?”

  “Yeah.” Dylan smiled happily.

  Scott Cho was in his office when they walked by, obviously and ostentatiously looking through a printout whose information he could have no doubt easily perused online. Craig waved and said hello, smiling to himself, reminded of a scene in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying where Robert Morse came into work on a weekend, spread some empty coffee cups over the top of his desk, dumped a bunch of cigarette ashes in an ashtray, unrolled reams of adding machine paper and then pretended to be sleeping at his desk as though he’d been there all night—just in time for the boss to walk in and see him. Scott was pulling the same sort of kiss-ass ruse, and Craig realized that bringing Dylan in this morning might accidentally give him a similar sort of cachet, making people think he was so dedicated that he was coming in to work even though he had to take care of his child. While that was probably a good career move, part of him regretted it, because he did not want to be playing this game at all.

  “There’s your office!” Dylan said, running over.

  “Yep. There it is.” They walked past Lupe’s work station and through the open doorway into Craig’s office—

  Where Regus Patoff was seated at his desk, waiting for him.

  And smiling.

  “Good morning, Mr. Horne. I’m glad you decided to join us today. I was just looking through your papers here and thinking that you have an awful lot of work still outstanding. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to complete it all during your normal hours, so I’m very impressed that you’ve taken the initiative to come in today.”

  “I didn’t give you permission to do that.” He was trying to control his anger.

  “What? Look through your desk? I know it may seem a little intrusive, but I assure you, it’s all part of the process. How can we be expected to render an objective judgment and make viable recommendations if we don’t have access to all the information we require?”

  Craig was trying to remember whether he had any personal items on his desk. “I’m talking to Mr. Matthews about this.”

  The consultant stood. “I understand your trepidation. And go right ahead. But, as I said, it’s standard procedure, and BFG Associates does require access to work product.” He walked around the desk. “And who’s this?” He nodded toward Dylan. “Your daughter?”

  “My son,” Craig said coldly.

  The consultant mussed Dylan’s hair. “Cute girl.”

  “I’m a boy!” Dylan insisted, pulling away.

  Patoff smiled tolerantly. “Of course you are.”

  Craig stepped protectively between the two of them. “Leave my office,” he said.

  “Certainly, certainly.” The consultant walked past them. “I’m glad you came in today, Mr. Horne. Your dedication will not go unnoticed.”

  And then he was gone.

  Craig did not realize he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled.

  “Why did that man think I was a girl?” Dylan asked.

  “He didn’t really.”

  “Then why did he say he did?”

  Craig didn’t know, but it was a red flag if he ever saw one, and he wondered if it was enough to get Patoff dismissed. Where exactly was Patoff in BFG’s hierarchy? He was clearly in charge of this project, but was he the president of the firm or merely a consultant? Could he be fired from BFG for inappropriate behavior? If not, could CompWare sever ties with the consulting firm because of the pedophilic overtones of his conversation with Craig and Dylan?

  He was going to look into all of it.

  But right now, he needed to take care of Dylan, and he changed the subject. “Are you still thirsty?” He pointed to the other side of the office. “You can check out the fridge if you want.”

  Dylan immediately ran over and opened the small refrigerator door. “You have Propel!” he said. “Can I have a grape one?”

  “Sure,” Craig said. He smiled as the boy took out a plastic bottle, unscrewed the cap, took a drink and, as he always did, let out a dramatic, “Ahhhh!”

  He’d been planning to set Dylan up with a game on Lupe’s computer while he worked on his own computer in the office. But after the encounter with Patoff, he didn’t want his son out in the open where the consultant could see him, so he decided to switch, and he let Dylan play on his office computer while he stood guard outside at Lupe’s desk and did his work from there. Time passed quickly, and when he looked down at the corner of his screen and saw that it was almost noon, he saved what he’d done and shut everything down. He’d only been planning to work for an hour or so, and he felt guilty that he’d made his son sit there for nearly three.

  But Dylan didn’t seem to mind. The boy was happily engrossed in whatever game he was playing, and when Craig told him to close up shop, it was time to go, Dylan did not even look up from the screen. “Wait ’til I die,” he said. “Or I make it through this level.”

  Wait ’til I die.

  It was something he said whenever he was playing games and one of his parents asked him to quit, but listening to those words here, at this moment, made Craig focus on their literal meaning, and in a voice that was perhaps too harsh, he said, “Dylan. Turn off the computer now.”

  Startled, Dylan exited his game and turned off the machine, looking up at his dad anxiously. Craig immediately felt guilty, and he went around to the other side of the desk, picking up his son and holding him tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m tired and hungry and I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “That’s okay, Daddy.” Dylan patted his shoulder, and the combination of words and gesture was so adult that it made Craig laugh.

  “Come on,” he said, putting the boy down. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Holding his son’s hand, Craig led the way down the corridor to the elevators. Scott Cho looked up as they passed by his office, and Craig waved at the department head, who nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to what looked like the same set of printouts he’d been examining earlier.

  The nearest elevator arrived just as Dylan was about to push the call button, and Tyler Lang stepped out. Dylan pushed the button anyway. Several times.

  “Tyler. What are you doing here?” Craig lowered his voice. “Did Scott wrangle you into this, too?”

  “No. I wanted to catch up on something. I had an idea about one of the updates and wanted to try it out.”

  “Hi, Mr. Lang,” Dylan said.

  Tyler smiled. “Hey, Dylan. How are you?”

  “We’re going out to lunch and then we’re going to a movie!”

  “What are you going to see?”

  Dylan frowned. “What are we going to see
, Daddy?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  There were several children’s movies out in theaters, and Dylan seemed to know all of them. He quickly described the basic premises of each, then proceeded to debate out loud with himself over which one he wanted to see the most.

  Tyler motioned Craig closer. “What do you think of these consultants they’ve hired?” There was worry in his voice…and something else. Nervousness? Guilt? Fear? Craig wasn’t sure, but it seemed completely out of character for his friend, and he wondered what had prompted the query.

  “First impressions?” said Craig. “Not good. That Patoff seems creepy to me, and my interview with him was just plain weird. He prayed to some god named Ralph, ticked off a list of extremely personal information about me, asked a couple of generic questions and that was it. I did not have to sign any confidentiality agreement. Neither did Phil. Why? What do you think of the consultants?”

  Tyler was definitely nervous. He looked around as though afraid of being overheard. “I gotta go,” he said.

  “Wait—” Craig began.

  “Goodbye Mr. Lang!” Dylan called out, and Tyler was gone.

  Craig watched him hurry down the hall toward…toward where? The programmers’ offices and work area was on the fifth floor, not the sixth.

  Was he going to see Patoff?

  That made sense. And it would explain the programmer’s worries about the consultant.

  “Come on, Daddy!” Dylan’s constant pushing of the call button had kept the elevator door open, and Craig took one last look down the hall as the two of them stepped inside.

  “Can we eat at McDonald’s?” Dylan asked. “They have good toys this time.”

  “Sure,” Craig said, smiling down at his son.

  Dylan was chatting happily about movies and McDonald’s as they walked out to the nearly empty parking lot and their car, but Craig could not help looking back up at the building. Although his own office window was facing the opposite direction and not visible from here, he wondered if Patoff was behind his desk once again, snooping through his stuff. Was there anything personal on his computer or on his desk that he wouldn’t want anyone else to see? Craig wasn’t sure, but he was going to check everything thoroughly on Monday and make sure there was nothing in his office that could be used against him. He didn’t trust the consultant, and he didn’t like the new rules he was being forced to play by, and until all of this blew over, he was going to make sure he was very, very careful.