I open the sent folder in my email and scroll down. Perhaps it had just not delivered? No, it had…
The letter hasn't been delivered to Toby, because I hadn't forwarded it. No, I'd accidentally hit reply. On the recipient line is an email address that hurts to look at.
t. conway@exciteur. com
Tristan
The bastard that invented email should be hung and quartered, I decide, staring at the shiny icons on my screen. I have a secretary who sorts through my mailbox, marking the important emails as unread for me to take a look at. She's good at what she does.
But there's still one hundred and sixty three waiting for me?
At this rate, I'll need another espresso before it's nine o'clock. I'd only had half of my first, at any rate. Joshua had knocked it out of my hand as he reached across me for another croissant.
Yes, my kid eats croissants now. I don't know when he became so fancy, but he woke up one day and asked if we could switch from New York bagels to croissants, pronounced damn near perfectly. It took me two days to learn about a new girl in his class, recently moved here with her family from Paris. Her name is Danielle and my son had overheard her asking if the school cafeteria had croissants one day.
So now I'm stuck eating the flaky things every morning with my kid before I'm attacked en masse by tiny, electronic messages. For a consulting firm, most people at Exciteur Global aren't particularly good at consulting their own judgement before emailing.
So I work my way through the list, replying as I go. No. Yes. Schedule the meeting. I'll call you tomorrow.
I'm frowning as I open one from f. bilson@exciteur. com. It's not an address I recognize.
RE: A Thank You to the Troops
Sincerely,
Freddie Bilson,
Junior Professionals Trainee,
Strategy Department
My eyes re-read the letter once. Twice. Serve a side of humility?
Despite the insolence of the words, the turn of phrase makes me snort. This fucker thinks he knows better than me, does he? My hand hovers over the forward button, ready to let HR know what type of person we've hired as part of the yearly trainee program. Mr. Bilson would be let go on the spot.
But if I do, I'd be fulfilling the very reputation I'm trying to work against. The first months at this company, I'd had to slash things that weren't working and return to the core of what Exciteur does best. The previous leadership had lost its footing, and I'd had to course correct. But I'm well aware that a lot of people at the company don't see it that way.
I can't fire this young man for being insolent. Not even for being so incompetent as to not know the difference between the forward and reply button. Doesn't mean I can't teach him a lesson, though.
Hitting reply, I type a sarcastic response that should send him shaking in his newly bought Oxford shoes.
Freddie,
What a pleasure to hear directly from one of the most inexperienced members of our company. A person with as spirited opinions as yours is naturally inclined to share them, so please tell me what, besides humility, you'd like served with your mash?
Tristan Conway
CEO of Exciteur Global
Then I hit send and lean back in my chair, imagining the terror that just crept up my newest employee's spine as he saw my name in his inbox, realizing his mistake. He hadn't sent the commentary to a friend in the company.
I doubt I'll get a response. No, somewhere further down in the building, a brain is firing on all cylinders. Will I be fired? Will I be reprimanded?
And he'll never make the same mistake again. Shaking my head, I dive back into the pile of emails. They need to be finished before my daily meetings start.
But he responds-an hour later, the email is there, winking at me from the top of my email inbox.
Mr. Conway,
Thank you for your quick reply. While I may be a person of spirited opinions, I recognize that I don't have the experience you do, just as you pointed out. As such, I think I've given all the unsolicited advice I should, at least for the time being.
I stare at the email for a few seconds. He actually replied, and it wasn't in apology or abject fear. Despite myself, I have a begrudging respect for the arrogant trainee. I'd expected him to go silent and not toe-to-toe with me like this. Very few at this company consider telling me what they genuinely think, at least not to my face.
I don't have time to indulge in this, and Freddie is probably like all the other young guys Exciteur hires. They're a dime a dozen, the newly minted MBAs who think they've made it big for scoring a trainee position here, when in reality they know absolutely nothing and are on the bottom rung of the ladder.
My instinct is to dig down deeper into this one, though. Much as it pains me to admit, perhaps he'd been on to something with his first email.
A wise course of action, if I wasn't specifically asking you for your advice now. You seem to be under the impression that my employees are anything but excited about the Thanksgiving lunch. Tell me why you believe that's the case.
I hit send and wonder if I'm being a heartless bastard, forcing it out of him. A nicer person would make it clear that he won't face any repercussions for speaking his mind. But I don't have the time to coddle employees, and he's the one who emailed me, mistake or not.
I forget all about Freddie Bilson for the coming hours. There are too many fires to put out and not enough time.
Never enough time.
My mind drifts back to the past weekend, finding the contours of that Saturday night effortlessly. A Gilded Room party had never been this difficult to move on from before. The image of her dark hair unbound around narrow shoulders, the tight black dress and beckoning curves beneath, feels seared into my brain.
I close my eyes and see her naked in front of me, stretched out on the hotel bed. All the curves I'd touched, the crook of her neck, the ample breasts. The way she'd moaned without artifice or pretense.
Not to mention the way she'd looked while we'd talked. The confidence in her eyes, so at odds with the sudden bursts of nerves or shyness. Guests to the Gilded Room change often, and rare are the times I've slept with the same guest twice. But she better be at the next party.
And she better be looking for me, too.
Leaving her after only a few hours together had been a hard call. But I never stayed long at those parties, not when Joshua was at home with the sitter. I know he adores her and doesn't miss me at all… but I can't justify being away from home longer than necessary.
But it had been a close call with her.
Running a hand over my face in frustration, I re-open my email server. In the hours since I've last dealt with it, don't you know, it's grown again?
I swear, they breed in my inbox.
And wouldn't you know, there's one from Freddie Bilson waiting there for me.
I am a new hire at your company, but I'll give my best assessment of the situation, just as you asked. Your employees appear to be either intimidated or outright afraid of you. Whether this is due to your managerial style or your track record, I can't say.
Management's plan for a Thanksgiving lunch in the break room as a thank-you doesn't seem to resonate with the staff, although I'll admit I've only interacted with a limited sample. Perhaps they'd prefer a day off or a bonus, if the aim is truly to reward them for a year of hard work and anxiety?
That's my solicited advice, Mr. Conway, based on less than twenty-four hours' work experience at your company. I look forward to deepening my understanding of Exciteur and being of further use to the company. You won't hear unsolicited advice from me again.