The Bachelor and the Babies

Harrison didn’t think his policies were unreasonable. In fact, they were the cornerstone of a successful business.

To him, it made sense that work should be completed during work hours and not at home. Home life should not interfere with, nor be discussed, at work. He felt just as strongly about the reverse—he didn’t want company business interfering with his employees’ family life.

Each employee received a copy of the company philosophy, which essentially maintained that if one worked efficiently and kept interoffice socializing down to a minimum, then all work should be able to be completed during a regular forty-hour week. If, due to unavoidable personal business, work was pending at the end of the week, then the employee could come in on the occasional Saturday. Never on Sunday. However, if the employee found that he or she was working most Saturdays, then that employee was encouraged to reevaluate his or her personal time-management skills.

Personal time-management skills. He’d assumed his employees would know how to translate the practices of the company to their personal lives. That’s what he did. Obviously the moment had come for a book on personal time management. He knew others were out in the market, but they weren’t based on Rothwell’s Rules.

With a sense of mission lightening his mood, Harrison approached the conference room. People everywhere would be happier and more productive once he—

Jon stopped him in the doorway. “Hey, Hare, you got a minute?”

“No.” Only Harrison’s brother was allowed to call him “Hare,” and not because Harrison liked it, either. If he let Jon get the occasional “Hare” out of his system, then he’d refer to Harrison by his full name in public.

“Let me put this another way, take the minute now and save time later, or I’ll bring this up in my report and throw off the whole meeting schedule.”

Harrison laughed. “Since you put it that way, what is it?”

Jon pointed to the seminars chart. “You’ve got me lined up to start the Chicago Manufacturing training next week. I can’t go. You need to send somebody else.”

Harrison’s good mood evaporated. “What do you mean, you can’t go?”

“Remember Stephanie’s retreat?”

“Vaguely.”

“She’s leaving this afternoon, hooking up with some college buddies, then they’re all going to tramp around the wilderness and prove they’re Amazon women, or something.”

Harrison tried to envision his sister-in-law going native and couldn’t. This was a woman who thought “roughing it” was drinking beer out of the can instead of a glass. “I don’t see the connection.”

Jon gave him an impatient look. “The kids? Your nephews? I’ve got to be home to take care of them.”

“That’s what baby-sitters are for!”

“I’m not leaving them with a stranger for a week!”

“And when were you planning to tell me you were taking the entire week off?” The tone in Harrison’s voice hushed the murmuring of the department heads gathered for the meeting.

“I’m not taking the whole week off. I’d planned to work at home. Make phone calls, reports, that sort of stuff. The kids have a play group thing that meets a couple of mornings and I’ll stop by here then. And when I pick up and drop paperwork off, I’ll bring them with me, or hire a sitter. I didn’t see that it would a problem.”

This wasn’t a problem. This was a disaster. Harrison lowered his voice. “Chicago is a huge client. The contract was contingent upon you conducting the initial training.”

Jon shook his head. “Postpone it, then.”

“Impossible. They’ve had to rearrange the schedules of their top management to clear that week.”

“Okay, offer them a discount and send somebody else.”

“This is Chicago Manufacturing, Jon. They don’t want discounts, they want you.”

Jon glanced to his left and Harrison realized that everyone in the room was straining to hear each and every syllable they uttered. Here were the Rothwells, themselves, involved in a schedule conflict. How they handled it would demonstrate Harrison’s methods better than any pamphlet printed with the corporate philosophy.

Trying to communicate all this, he stared into his brother’s eyes. “What about Stephanie’s parents? Can’t they watch the boys?”

“They live in California.”

“What about our parents?” Harrison didn’t like the tinge of desperation in his voice.

Jon’s face turned hard. “They live in Florida. I can take care of my own sons.”

Harrison felt Jon was being deliberately difficult. “I know that. I only thought...well, whatever happened to doting grandparents? Wouldn’t they like to visit their only grandchildren for a week?”

“I’m not asking them. Steph wants me to take care of the kids, and I’m going to. She’s been at home with them ever since Nathan was born and she needs the break.”

“A break from what?” Harrison had been surprised when Stephanie hadn’t returned to work. He was even more surprised that his brother hadn’t objected. “They’re two little kids. What does she do all day?”

Jon raised his eyebrows.

Murmurings from the female members of their audience told Harrison he’d erred.

He held up his hands, palms outward. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You shouldn’t have thought that,” Sharon commented, slipping past them and finding her seat in the room. “But we all know you do.”

Women were neither efficient, nor reasonable when it came to children. Harrison vowed to devote as many chapters to children as necessary in the Rothwell Domestic Primer. Ah, a title. That was a good sign.

Harrison carefully chose his next words. “What I think, Sharon, is that parents are reluctant to encourage efficiency in their children, and in the people who deal with children.”

“Harrison, raising children is not like running a corporation.”

Murmurings of agreement signaled mutiny in the ranks.

He forced a smile and casual body language. “Ah, but you see, running a household, even a household that includes children, is exactly like running a corporation.”

“Uh, Hare?”

But anything his brother had been about to say was drowned out by the eruption of disagreement from the department heads—male and female.

Ah, skeptics. Harrison liked converting skeptics to his way of thinking almost as much as reading their subsequent letters of gratitude.

With a confident smile, he took his place at the conference table.

People quieted—except Sharon.

“You know how to run a corporation, but you don’t know anything about living with children.” Sharon had experienced more than her share of domestic crises lately. That must account for her inclination to challenge him today.

“You are correct,” he said. The room hushed. “You all are also aware that Jon and I have been working out a schedule conflict. What we have here, are two problems with one solution. Backup plans are a key to avoiding delays. Jon, what’s your childcare backup plan, say, for a family emergency?”

“I’m Stephanie’s backup, then either of our folks.”