The Sweetest Hours

But the scent of the beeswax—the honey—was her favorite, and it was most concentrated in the inventory storeroom she chose to make her phone call from. Lingering amid the racks and bottles to take deep, cleansing breaks was her secret escape during regular workdays.

Positioning herself near a small square window, high above her, she took out her phone and texted Dirk, her supervisor.

Immediately he rang her back. When she answered his call, she could hear the “Chicken Dance” playing in the background. Dirk was at one of his Saturday wedding-DJ jobs he loved so much. Who was she to stomp on someone’s dreams?

“Yo, Kristin, I was just gonna call you. Did you hear that Andrew’s wife went into labor?”

“I did.” Kristin had forgotten about that in all the excitement with George Smith in her office. “Do you have any news?”

“No.”

“What did Andrew say?” she prodded. “How is Robin doing?”

“Ah...he just said that there’s a management consultant in the plant, and that you’re in charge of him for the day.”

“I’m in charge? Well, it was great of him to let me know about it.” Too bad Andrew couldn’t deign to talk to her himself instead of going through “channels.” Mentally, she rolled her eyes. “What does he want me to do? The consultant asked to be let into the computer system, and he requested a tour of the factory, too.”

“Hey, you know I would help you out, but I’m at work today,” Dirk said.

Kristin gritted her teeth and took a breath from the smell of the honey around her, reminding herself to stay calm. “So am I, Dirk.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Look, I’ll see you Monday. You’ll do fine, okay?”

“Wait!” She jumped down from the shelf she’d been sitting on. “Don’t hang up on me yet.” Her boss seemed only too happy to distance himself from the consultant’s visit, and she wasn’t getting a good feeling about this. “Do I have your permission to show him our operations?”

“Andrew said you’re in charge. This is your decision.”

“Well, what does that mean exactly?”

“Honestly? If anything goes wrong today, it’s on you.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You’re the one who’s there.” Dirk made a laughing inflection of the word. “I can’t cover you from here. If Andrew gets mad at you, then he gets mad at you. Shit happens, and it is what it is.”

She hugged herself, pacing the small storeroom. More than anything, she needed to keep this job. Suddenly, there were more stakes involved than just being “distracted” from her work. Yes, she’d thought George Smith was interesting; she’d enjoyed questioning him. When he’d smiled, she’d been intrigued. His eyes were nice. Kind. Not threatening at all. And, of course, there was that accent...

She sighed, opening one of the lotion bottles and inhaling for fortitude. Dirk was, in effect, reminding her to be on her guard. Reminding her of her shaky standing at Aura of late. Ever since Laura had died, there’d been no one to protect her from Andrew.

“Kristin, I need to go. It’s time to announce the cake-cutting.”

There was nothing more to be done. Discussing the decision with Dirk wouldn’t solve a thing. She needed to trust her gut.

“I’m just keeping you informed,” she said. “Have a good wedding.”

* * *

MALCOLM HAD WORKED with a lot of successful women in his professional life—CEOs, saleswomen, accountants—and what they all had in common were determination and strength of will. None of them were pushovers.

Kristin wasn’t a pushover, either. She was just...surprising. She had a different style of operating, he supposed, that of a natural free spirit. When she smiled at him and tilted her head, he could see where he would have to be extra careful not to let himself be lulled off guard. Because at the end of the day, as the cliché went, everybody had their own interests at heart. As he well knew.

“Is everything all right?” he asked Kristin as she stood again in the doorway to the office—to her office.

She nodded grimly and set down two steaming mugs on his—her—desk. “It looks like I’ll be taking care of you today,” she said. “George.”

He made sure not to flinch at the false name. His poker face in action, he nodded.

“Great. Er...I’m going to need some help with navigating this computer system. It’s not an accounting program I’m familiar with.”

“That’s because we bought the rights to the source code, and it’s evolved from an older software package.” She slid one of the mugs toward him. “Here. I brought you some coffee. If you don’t like coffee, there’s tea and cocoa in the break room.”

“This is...great. Thank you.” He curled one hand around the warm brew. Black, the way he liked it. “Could you, ah, show me the report screen?”

“Do you want financial reports or manufacturing reports?” she asked coolly.

“Ah...the shop floor reports with costs, projections and capacities would be most helpful for now.” Damn, he was distracted. Good thing he already had everything else he needed, directly from Jay Astley himself.

Personally, he thought the man had made a mistake. Astley should have been here today. Instead Kristin Hart was bearing the brunt of it, though she was very good at what she did, judging from watching her as she leaned over him and tapped at her keyboard.

He closed his eyes. Malcolm got a whiff of that honey body lotion they sold, that the factory smelled of, actually. It was nice. It was driving him a little crazy, because it wasn’t just the cream he was inhaling, but the scent of Kristin, mingled with the cream.

“This is the main screen. The printer is right there.” She indicated a portable laser printer on a table behind them. “I need to go check on my crew now, but you can stay here and print whatever production reports you need. If you get lost in the system, just type ‘MI10’ here.” She showed him a tab on the screen. “That’s a back door to the main reports menu. You can go directly there instead of clicking through the hierarchy of screens.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he said, impressed at the speed with which she paged through the system.

“I should. I installed a lot of it.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. Not filled with the pride she should be taking in her work. “What else do you need today?” she asked, very cool and professional.

It threw him for a bit of a loop. There were dynamics in play here that he wasn’t aware of. Nothing had gone right about this day so far.

He forced himself to think for a minute, collect himself. “Why don’t I print the reports later? As long as you’re heading to the floor, I’ll tag along with you now.”

She nodded again, showing no emotion. “Fine.” She glanced at her watch and winced slightly. “I’ve been gone too long, and I left Mindy in charge.”

He followed Kristin as she strode down the hallway to a section of the old plant with ancient floorboards that creaked when he walked on them. A remainder from the original, nineteenth-century cotton mill it had once been, beside the great flowing river that cut through the classic, small New England factory town. He felt calmer. These were facilities he knew well, both from his university years and his work experience.

They rounded a corner and bumped into a woman who was headed in their direction, evidently searching for Kristin.

“I brought you your hot chocolate,” Kristin said to the woman.

This was Mindy. And Malcolm knew, because she wore a “Hello, my name is Mindy” sticker affixed to her blue-flowered blouse.

Mindy was shorter than Kristin, and squatter, and when she suddenly sighed and wrapped both chubby arms around Kristin’s waist, her head only reached the top of Kristin’s breasts. For a moment, Malcolm froze. Such shows of affection in the workplace were so out of place, inappropriate...and yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from them.

“I am sooo tired of snow and cold,” Mindy moaned, her voice muffled between Kristin’s breasts.

Malcolm swallowed, his heart feeling as if it had stopped. But Kristin wasn’t fazed by the woman.

“I know, honey.” Kristin hugged Mindy with one arm and patted her on the head while she juggled the mug of hot chocolate in her other hand. “It seems like it’s been snowing for months and months, doesn’t it? But it’s only January.”