The name seemed familiar, although she couldn’t quite place it.
“Ah, the new guy,” she said at last, reasonably sure he was the distribution center’s new manager, a position for which she had applied and never received even the courtesy of an interview.
Rumor had it that this guy was some shirttail relation to the personnel director, although Kelli didn’t think he looked much like the short and bald Mr. Elliott. No, he was tall, at least six-two, with a full head of black hair and blue eyes that glared out from beneath a slash of dark brow.
He must be pretty full of himself, she decided, taking note of the nicely tailored suit he wore. Khaki pants and a button-down shirt would have been acceptable management attire in the warehouse. The suit was overkill and now it bore the unmistakable imprint of a child’s runny nose just above the impeccably folded silk handkerchief that peeked from the breast pocket.
Serves him right, she thought none too charitably.
“New guy.” He scowled. And then said dryly, “Yes, I guess I am the new guy.”
Manager or no manager, handsome or not, he didn’t need to upset her children.
“Well, Mr. Maxwell, did you really need to shout?” She tilted her head toward Chloe, who was still whimpering.
Dark eyebrows shot up over icy blue eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being reprimanded, especially from someone who obviously ranked low in the company’s pecking order. Still, he lowered his voice when he said, “I asked a question. What are those children doing here?”
So, he was going to be one of those managers—the overbearing, inflexible kind who believed in following rules to the exclusion of all else. Employees weren’t people with families and problems to this type of boss. No. They were automatons that needed to get the job done without asking questions or voicing complaints.
Unbidden and utterly inappropriate came the thought that it was a pity his good looks didn’t extend to his personality. She brushed it aside, denying the attraction she had felt from that first glance across the room a week earlier. Her girls came first. They always came first.
“They’re my kids. My sitter had a doctor’s appointment this morning. She’ll be here soon to pick them up.”
“Soon? This is a business, not a day care.”
She sighed in exasperation. As if that had escaped her notice. Kelli didn’t know why she had expected him to understand or to care that even on good days being a single mother could be a trial. On days like this one, it was all she could do not to sit down and cry alongside her cranky toddler.
Chloe had kept her up most of the night. She was getting molars and wanted to ensure her misery had company. Of course, it hadn’t helped that Chicago was in the grip of a major heat wave, making Kelli’s fourth-floor apartment stiflingly hot. Two electric fans merely moved hot air around the small rooms, doing nothing to cool them. The coup de grâce had come that morning when the sitter had called. Kelli was ready to sell her soul for one hour of peaceful slumber in an air-conditioned room. Instead, she had eight hours of drudgery to look forward to and then an hour at home before heading to her night class. She’d be lucky to fall into bed before midnight and only then if she ignored the sink full of dirty dishes and mountain of laundry growing out of her closet.
“I’m aware that this isn’t a day care,” she replied, trying to keep her tone civil. “But I couldn’t get anyone else. My backup sitter is out of town for a few days.”
“Your personal problems are just that, personal. But they could become Danbury’s problems if one of your children were to get hurt.” He motioned with one hand toward the stacked pallets of inventory. “This is no place for children to be roaming around free.”
“Roaming?” She sucked in a deep breath, swallowing an oath in the process. And to think she’d smiled at him on that first day. It only went to show how sorely lacking her judgment remained when it came to men.
Voice tight, she replied, “I promise to keep them on their leashes.”
“And how can you do that and perform your job?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “You can’t. Punch out and go home.”
“Punch out and…Am I being fired?”
“No, but this will go in your personnel file. Now it’s my turn to ask, who are you?”
So, the hotshot was determined to hone his reputation at her expense. Between gritted teeth she said, “Kelli Walters. That’s Kelli with an i. Walters is the standard spelling. My middle initial is A.”
“Well, Kelli Walters, you can consider this a warning. Bring your kids to work with you again and you will be punching out for good.”
She was still gaping after him when someone said, “I see you made friends with Mr. Maxwell.”
Kelli turned to find her co-worker, Arlene Hughes, standing behind her. Arlene was two decades older than Kelli’s twenty-eight, with Lucille Ball red hair and the dramatically bowed lips to match. Despite the difference in their ages, the two women had been fast friends since Kelli hired in just after Chloe’s birth.
“Mr. Understanding? Oh, yeah, he’s going to be a load of fun to work for. He makes the last manager seem warm and fuzzy by comparison.”
“He’s not the new warehouse manager.”
For the second time, Kelli found herself asking, “Who is he?”
“Samuel Maxwell. I believe there’s a Third after his name. You know, the new vice president of Danbury Department Stores.”
Kelli felt her mouth drop open, even as her eyes slid shut. Way to make friends and influence people. If she ever hoped to climb the corporate ladder at Danbury’s once she earned her master’s in business administration—assuming that happened at some point before she needed support hose and a walker—this was not the way to start out.
“Is he important, Mom?” Katie asked.
“Oh, yeah, Katie-did. He’s really important.”
“Well, I didn’t like him,” her daughter announced. “He yells. And he made Chloe cry.”
“I think I might cry,” Kelli mumbled.
She blew out a breath that caused her overly long bangs to stir. She needed a haircut and maybe some highlights to pep up the color of her mousy blond hair, but she had neither the time nor the money for such frivolous things. And that seemed to be the story of her life lately. No matter how hard she worked, she never seemed to get ahead. She felt like a hamster on a treadmill, only a hamster got to sleep all day. Kelli just had more running to do.
Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface. People like Samuel Maxwell the Third, who’d probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, would never understand what it was like to sacrifice and scrimp and do without and still wind up dodging creditors.
“I bet that man drinks bottled water, buys designer underwear and has his nails professionally buffed once a week. His kind wouldn’t last an hour doing what we do day in and day out. He might get his hands dirty. Or his clothes.”
She
