The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(128)

Absolutely.

We were launching a brand-new product in six months. He should have plenty of other things to do rather than walk across an office floor to give me shit about one under-performing rep.

“Frankie?” Tandy called, and I realized I was looking at her but not focused on her.

I was focused on the weirdness.

Weirdness that wasn’t just about a jacked up co-worker who made people’s lives a misery. Every office had at least one of those.

No, the weirdness I was focused on included a jacked up co-worker who was “tripping out” about a new product, assistants going to VPs for transfers (and getting them), and scientists being shot in the head for no apparent reason.

“You okay after he was such a dick?” she asked.

“Takes a lot more than a guy like Randy Bierman to get to me, honey,” I answered.

She grinned, popped out of her seat, and said, “Yeah.” She tipped her head to the side, still grinning. “Anyway, my turn to go down to the coffee cart for lattes. I’ll be right back.”

Without another word, she took off to get us lattes, our daily lattes another reason Tandy was the shit.

But I couldn’t get any of that out of my head. Not after Tandy left. Not all day.

The thing was, I didn’t know what was in my head.

It wasn’t like I’d never worked with a dick. Hell, my first boss was a total jerk and every single one of his salesmen made Randy Bierman look like an amateur.

Then again, no one at the car dealership had ended up dead.

Not able to get it out of my head, instead of going home, getting ready, and getting on the road, I went to Wyler Production. I used my employee ID to gain access. Then I went to the observation deck to stare down at the mammoth space, with its sterile machinery and people wondering around doing stuff wearing white jackets, white hairnets, white gloves, and goggles. I did my staring gig like the space could talk to me.

What I wanted it to say or what I’d do with the information, I had no clue.

What I had was a wild hair, and I should have learned long ago when I got one of those, to pluck it, throw it in the toilet, and flush.

Instead, I was there, the last place I should be, and this became even more apparent when I heard, “Frankie?”

I turned and started when I saw Travis Berger walking my way.

Shit.

“Hey, Travis,” I called fake casually.

He looked to me, the production floor, then back to me before he stopped a few feet away.

“There a reason you’re here?” he asked.

No there was not.

I thought fast but spoke slow.

“Brainstorming.”

His brows drew together. “Sorry?”

I thought faster and immediately commenced bullshitting.

“I have…well, I’m concerned about the performance of a member of my team. Lloyd and I’ve discussed it, and I’ve had a variety of conversations with him but nothing’s working. His numbers were better before I was managing him so I know he has it in him. I’m just…well”—I threw a hand out to the production floor—“thinking maybe he’s too far away from home. Not his home, of course, he lives elsewhere,” I babbled. “The home of Wyler. Maybe if I brought him down here, gave him another tour, reminded him of what we do and how cool it is.” I tipped my head toward the floor and finished lamely, “I don’t know.”

Berger studied me and I tried not to squirm.

Finally, he said, “Chicago.”

Very on the pulse, Travis Berger, to know that kind of detail.

Then again, that was why he made the big bucks.

“Chicago,” I confirmed

“You’re being very patient,” he noted.

I shrugged. “Our business is drugs but those drugs are made to help people. Our employees are also people. So I think, as a company who’s in the business of helping people, we should exhaust every option before decisions need to become more extreme in a way that will negatively affect lives.”

“Yes,” he said, turning toward the windows. “I agree, however irritating these endeavors can be.”

I was glad he wasn’t looking at me because I felt my eyes get wide, seeing as I had a feeling he was referring to the person whose antics had me standing right there.

“Well!” I said too loudly, and he turned immediately to me. “I have a rehearsal dinner to get to. I better get going.”

He nodded, not cracking a smile or even a grin when he said, “Enjoy it, Frankie.”

“Thanks, Travis, I will. Uh…later.”

He nodded again and looked back at the production floor.

I got my ass out of there.

I did it thinking that whatever was happening was none of my business.

I sold pharmaceuticals. I was not in human resources and I was not investigating a murder.

So, Randy Bierman took ass**le to extremes and someone on his team got whacked.

It had nothing to do with me.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the thought that, even if it didn’t, it still did.

* * * * *

Dusk was forming by the time I hit the lakeside resort where Vi and Cal were holding their wedding.

During one of the many times I went over to Cal and Violet’s place to drink wine, shoot the shit, and be a casual observer while Vi, Kate, and Keira discussed wedding plans, Vi had shown me brochures. But as I got out of my Z, left my bag to grab later, tucked my clutch under my arm, and made my way toward the stately-but-welcoming, flower-festooned, red brick building with its white columns in the front, I saw that this was a case of pictures not doing it justice.