Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (novels to improve english .txt) 📗

Janet Lace was so saturnine it could go either way. She reminded Wendy of a cat. You never knew if you were going to get to pet the kitty or if you were going to get your hand bitten.

Pet the kitty, Jesus, Cedar! Wendy thought to herself as she rose, gathering a few of her things and doing a quick spot-check of her appearance. She dusted some crumbs from lunch at her desk away from her slacks, tucked in her blouse again, tightened her belt one notch over complaints from her spine. Her hair was still in the updo she’d put it in that morning, barely, and when she powered down her monitor screen, her reflection’s makeup looked presentable.

She started the long walk to her boss’s office, very much looking forward to seeing Janet, no matter how much it also worried her. Being in Janet’s commanding presence, she consistently felt like some moist, juicy cinnamon roll, fresh out of the oven, all warm and gooey on the inside.

So much for Emily Blunt.

Wendy tried her best to once again banish her gay thoughts as she came to Janet’s door.

Elizabeth had already sat back down at her desk outside, buzzing the intercom to inside: “Ms. Cedar to see you, Jan.”

The intercom clicked. Even through tinny speakers, Janet’s voice was cool and controlling, a firm finger rolling down Wendy’s earlobe… “Send her in.”

Elizabeth gave Wendy a look and, belatedly, Wendy realized she should open the door. And go through.

Janet’s office was chillingly precise. Paintings of nondescript things on the wall, unassuming furniture, a large desk whose surface held only a computer and an inbox and an outbox. The outbox’s stack of papers always outnumbered the inbox’s. And an altimeter wall clock, just to prove she had a personality.

Behind the desk, Janet sat flanked by the view out her floor-to-ceiling windows. Skyscrapers in the background on either side of her, like intimidating goons. Wendy gulped and heard her name in greeting. “Wendy.”

“Ms. Lace,” Wendy said, low-key enough. “How’s tricks?”

Janet got up. She always rose like a cobra coming up from its coils, hands planted firmly on her desk, then tapering away in a supple stroke of her fingertips as she came up to her full height. Wendy didn’t know if it was designed to, but it always had her staring at Janet’s fingers.

“Assuming ‘tricks’ is referring to the well-being of myself and the company that supports my livelihood…”

“Always.”

“Then very good.” Her hands braided together, Janet walked out from behind her desk and over to her liquor cabinet. Her office was much larger than Wendy’s. It had room for a liquor cabinet. It probably had room for a vineyard, if you didn’t care about feng shui. “I’m very pleased to say that, while the gears may turn slowly, they do turn. We retested the new prototype, found a design flaw, and we’re taking it back to the blueprint stage.”

“So.” Wendy paused. “The drawing board?”

“No, we already have drawings of it,” Janet said, perched somewhere between oblivious and simply careless as she browsed for one particular bottle like a general inspecting her troops. Her liquor cabinet curiously resembled an art deco hotel cleaning cart to Wendy’s eyes. “We’re just redesigning it.”

“But isn’t that…bad?” Wendy asked cautiously. “I mean, it’s a huge setback.”

Janet came up with a bottle of brandy. “It would be, but our distinguished competition—” here Janet toasted with the bottle, before endeavoring to open it “—had a test flight of their prototype. It crashed.”

“Oh my God. Is everyone all right?”

“Probably.” Janet shrugged. “I didn’t ask.” She held the bottle out to Wendy, unopened. “Do you mind?”

“Sure,” Wendy said, and worked on the cap. She wondered if Janet couldn’t open it, or just couldn’t open it without looking undignified.

Either way, Wendy could look undignified and open it.

“Thank you.” Janet took the bottle back. “Now, their design flaw was the exact same scissor link problem you identified and that we’ve been taking steps to correct. So you can imagine how pleased the Old Man was to tell Senator Marston all about how our prototype is already well on its way to having that very problem licked.”

“Yeah. Being licked. Cool.”

“And it’s all thanks to you.” Janet poured for both of them into two of those pebbly, crystal glasses that Wendy was sure you weren’t supposed to drink Dr Pepper out of. Of course, she tried not to drink Dr. Pepper out of anything. “You deserve a reward.”

“Oh, well, I…” Licked. Why the hell had Janet had to enunciate it that way? Licked. Like it was the name of a drug or something. Licked. Licked. It’d been three seconds and already that sounded like complete nonsense, like fizzypuff or President Trump. “I was just doing my job.”

“Ms. Cedar, there are two things you should learn from me. One, never let anyone pay you less than you’re worth. Two, always take credit when it’s well-deserved.” Janet handed one of the glasses—tumblers, Wendy thought, then wondered why the hell they were called that—to her. “I know a glass of fine Kentucky bourbon isn’t much, considering you may very well have saved lives by ‘doing your job,’ but it will have to do. Just know that your workmanship does not go unrecognized, or unappreciated. I’m very good at remembering employees as competent and trustworthy as you.”

“Thanks.” Wendy looked at the tumbler. Damn, it was dark. Like amber. “Should I drink this? I am on the clock.”

“Drink,” Janet said.

Wendy obeyed without thinking. It burned. Not as much as the lemonade Wendy had made as a kid without sugar, but more than Wendy thought a throat should, which was none. She coughed and sputtered, and Janet graciously took the tumbler from her.

“It’s an acquired taste,” she said. “Well, that’ll be all. Back to work. Next time I’ll see about getting you a Long Island Iced Tea—”

“Do you have a cold?” Wendy asked suddenly.

Janet froze, coiling inward into a defensive lack of affect in her speech. “Why do you ask?”

Wendy pointed to the wastebasket beside her desk. It was