Welcome To My Family

“Every day.” He glanced up. “I’d go crazy if I didn’t. I don’t, however, exercise during work hours. I belong to a twenty-four-hour gym.”

“Which costs you two thousand bucks a year. Right?”

He shrugged. “More or less.”

“More would be my guess. However, the men and women who work here probably didn’t hatch from a long line of CEOs. Surveys show blue collar workers eat too much bread and too few fruits and vegetables. Heading in this morning I passed a score of people who were overweight. Exercise lengthens life. That, Kowalski, is fact. Exercise also sharpens mental acuity.”

“I’m not disputing the merits of exercise. I just have more important things to worry about. Like if we don’t produce cars around here, those same people won’t even have bread on the table.”

“Then Flintridge is in a financial bind.”

“Who told you that?” He catapulted from his chair, smacking both hands flat on the desk.

Kat shrank back into the oversize chair. “I heard there’s a rumor to that effect floating around Motorhill.”

“Dammit,” he swore, slamming her folder closed. “Squelch it,” he ordered.

“Me?” She leaned toward him. “I’ll admit I have family working at Motorhill. But they didn’t start the rumor. And I sure didn’t.”

He eyed her coldly in what became a fierce glaring match that lasted until his intercom buzzed. Shifting his attention to a console on his desk, Slater flipped a switch. “Yes, Hazel, what is it?”

“Have you forgotten you were meeting…someone for lunch?”

He spared a glance at a wafer-thin watch. “Yes. Is she on the phone?”

The response was affirmative.

“Extend my apologies and tell her to order our salads. I’ll have a chicken Caesar.” He severed the connection with the confidence of a man assured that whatever he commanded would be done.

Kat stood. It would be a cold day in hell before she ordered any man a salad via secretarial request. Or if she did, he’d be wearing it when he did manage to show up. “Does this conclude our discussion?” she asked. “Or shall I return after lunch?” She led the way to the door.

“Let’s resume at three. Meanwhile, I’ll have Hazel show you the office I’ve assigned you. It’s directly below on level nine.” He opened the door and beckoned his secretary.

“If you ask me,” Kat muttered, “you take darn long lunch hours for someone who doesn’t approve of recreating on company time.”

Hazel Carmichael rushed up to meet them just then, so Kat missed the crimson tide that flowed up Kowalski’s neck.

“Take Ms. O’Halloran to room 910 before I get into trouble with the employees for firing her, Hazel. I want her back at three, so please clear my calendar.”

“Very good, sir. Enjoy your lunch with Ms. Bellamy.”

Ms. Bellamy. Kat wondered what she did for a living since she had time to lunch all afternoon. The notion of him dallying with some do-nothing socialite while she twiddled her thumbs, sitting around waiting for his instructions, stuck in Kat’s craw. Then, disgusted to think she cared what he did and with whom, she swept all images of her arrogant boss aside and dutifully followed his secretary. She didn’t envy Mrs. Carmichael having to choreograph Kowalski’s love life. It seemed a demeaning task.

“Here we are, dear.” Mrs. Carmichael unlocked a door. “I didn’t know precisely what supplies a recreation specialist might require, so I ordered the usual pens, pencils, tape and such.”

Kat stepped inside. “At the resort, I had a fourth of this space, a host of kayaks, paddles, five bags of assorted sports balls, a desk and two file cabinets.”

The secretary looked horrified. “No one mentioned sports equipment, Ms. O’Halloran. I’m afraid nothing’s been ordered.”

“Call me Kat. And don’t worry. Kowalski has my equipment list. I would like a roster of personnel, broken out into shifts with lunch and break times, if possible.”

“I’ll call Wendy after lunch and tell her you need it first thing in the morning.” Slater’s secretary jotted herself a note.

“Lovely,” Kat murmured. Just what she needed, another visit with the company fashion plate. Especially since she’d be wearing sweats tomorrow.

Mrs. Carmichael homed in on Kat’s remark. “If Wendy gives you trouble, call me. I’ll collect the list for you.”

Kat smiled. So she hadn’t imagined the friction between those two.

The woman suddenly checked a watch hanging from a slender neck chain. “It’s our lunchtime, too, Ms….er, Kat. If you haven’t got any plans, you’re welcome to join me in the cafeteria.”

“Thank you, I’d love to join you for lunch. Let me stow this packet in the desk and I’ll be set to go. Will I need to wear my badge?”

“No need. Oh, I almost forgot, these are your office and building keys. Slater will show you the warehouse and give you that key, I’m sure.”

Kat tucked the key ring in her purse, and tossed the badge into a drawer. The badge that Ms. Nelson considered simply a waste—as she’d announced in a snide voice loud enough for all in her office to hear—because it was only temporary.

“By the way,” Kat asked as they left the room. “If it’s not telling tales out of school…how stable do you think my position is?”

Mrs. Carmichael cast a glance up and down the hall. When it appeared they were alone, she said, “Tool-and-die workers have asked for it every year since Motorhill developed their program. They offered to take it in lieu of a raise. But maybe you aren’t aware that Flintridge is family-owned except for a small amount of common stock. Benefits and wages are board decisions. L.J. was scrupulous about keeping up with union salaries, as was his father. But neither was big on frills. I don’t know why everyone assumed Slater would be less conservative.”

“He’s not?”

Kat’s companion rang for the elevator. “Product-wise, no.” The elevator arrived, but it was full. Giving a shake of her head, Hazel fell silent and headed for the stairs.

Kat didn’t want to pressure her, but she was sharp enough to recognize when a plum had been dropped into her lap. She might never lunch with the president’s secretary again and there were things she wanted to know.

As they left the building by the back door and started down a tree-lined walkway, Kat murmured, “The landscaping here is beautiful. One of the Kowalskis must have had an appreciation for gardening.”

“All of them,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “At least, the three I’ve worked for.”

“You worked for Slater’s grandfather? You don’t look that old.”

The woman blushed. “Not as executive secretary. I came here in my twenties. The company was smaller then. That Slater was a people person. He got down in the trenches with his employees. He retired soon after I began.”

“Ah. So your boss is named for his grandfather, but isn’t like him?”

“Excuse me…but I had the impression you knew Slater already.”

Kat glanced up and caught the curiosity in the secretary’s gaze. Mrs. Carmichael was doing some digging, too. Kat grinned. “Don’t tell him I ratted.” She explained how they met, finishing the tale before they reached the cafeteria line. Talk shifted as they selected lunch salads and found seats away from the crowd.

Mrs. Carmichael smiled. “Cars,” she said abruptly. “The car vision is something all the Kowalski men are born with. Slater’s grandfather was obsessed by the Ridgemont. L.J. poured heart and soul into the Ridgecrest. And now Slater slaves day and night on his dream car. Makes for a poor life, if you ask me. Although no one does.”

“Those first two cars were wildly successful,” Kat allowed. “But when you say obsessed, where does that leave family? Wives, for instance?”

Mrs. Carmichael didn’t say anything for a moment. At last she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “Slater isn’t married. Every unattached female employed here envisions herself the next Mrs. Kowalski. The most persistent is Wendy Nelson.”

Suddenly Kat saw things more clearly. “Well, you now have one employee who doesn’t see herself married to the boss,” Kat announced. “But what’s wrong with your rumor mill? Don’t these ladies know he takes three-hour lunches with Ms. Bellamy?”