Welcome To My Family. Roz Denny Fox

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      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?”

      “Goodness,” Mrs. Carmichael exclaimed, “she is Slater’s great-aunt. She’s eighty. I call her the dowager CEO. If she had her way, she’d still be chairman of the board. Her father started Flintridge Motors. Bless Slater’s heart, the boy lunches with her faithfully once a month. L.J. avoids her at all costs.”

      Kat pretended interest in her food. She didn’t want to hear anything redeeming about the current president of Flintridge Motors.

      “Is something wrong?” her lunch partner inquired. “I shouldn’t be talking out of turn like this. I don’t, usually. You needn’t worry that Slater will chase you around the desk. He’s a gentleman.”

      “I’m not interested in his personal traits. I grew up in a family of men obsessed with automobiles. They work for Motorhill.” Kat shrugged. “If and when I marry, you’d better believe the man will have hobbies. And he’ll have time for me.”

      “Motorhill?” Kat’s companion looked confused. “I heard you’d come to us all the way from the West Coast.”

      Kat wrinkled her nose. “I did. From Washington State, where I went to escape being pushed down the aisle with a Motorhill accountant. As it turns out, his financing was a little too creative and he now resides in a…shall we say, state-owned facility. After that disaster, my family wisely decided to let me find my own husband.” Kat didn’t see any reason to mention that she’d been called home because of Louie Kowalski. It would only muddy the waters.

      “O’Halloran. You’re of Irish extraction? That explains your beautiful creamy skin.”

      Kat blushed. “Carmichael. Is it possible you’re from the Hill?”

      “No.” The secretary’s eyes filled with tears. “My husband was a fuel scientist at Motorhill. He was killed in a laboratory explosion long ago—before our second anniversary. His parents weren’t fond of me. So after he died, I applied for a job here and moved back to this side of the river. I’ve never returned to the Hill. Too many bad memories.”

      “I’m sorry,” Kat said sincerely. Rivalry between the car companies often extended into private families. “Do you have children?”

      The woman shook her head, blew her nose and began to gather her things.

      Kat realized lunch was over, as was her informal chat with Slater’s secretary. She felt there was more sadness in Hazel Carmichael’s life than had been explored, but very likely the woman would keep it locked inside forever.

      “Thanks for taking me under your wing,” Kat said on the walk back to the administration building. “The first day is the hardest. I believe I’ll go familiarize myself with the policy and procedures manual. See you at three.”

      “It’s been my pleasure,” Hazel said. “You’re a refreshing young woman, Kathleen—if I may call you that. In my estimation, Kat doesn’t fit you.”

      Kat blushed again. Another curse of her fair complexion. “Pop called me kitten. My brothers switched to Kat because of the way I fought them when I was a kid. See you at three,” she murmured, hopping out of the lumbering elevator on the ninth floor. As the door closed and Hazel rode on up, Kat recalled that the president at Motorhill had a private lift. His secretary had her own electronic card to operate it. The no-frills policy extended here across the board.

      The company’s three-inch manual was fairly standard. Kat leafed through it, read certain chapters. When she grew tired of that, she prowled her office and inspected the view from her two windows. Her corner office sat directly below Slater’s, so she had a similar view. But her other window faced the river. Kat hadn’t realized the river flowed through this industrial park. Her mind flashed to her kayaks. What a good inexpensive way to add to her program.

      She made a mental note to look up depth, grade and regulations СКАЧАТЬ