Welcome To My Family. Roz Denny Fox
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someone who doesn’t approve of recreating on company time.”
Hazel Carmichael rushed up to meet them just then, so Kat missed the crimson tide that flowed up Kowalski’s neck.
“Take Ms. O’Halloran to room 910 before I get into trouble with the employees for firing her, Hazel. I want her back at three, so please clear my calendar.”
“Very good, sir. Enjoy your lunch with Ms. Bellamy.”
Ms. Bellamy. Kat wondered what she did for a living since she had time to lunch all afternoon. The notion of him dallying with some do-nothing socialite while she twiddled her thumbs, sitting around waiting for his instructions, stuck in Kat’s craw. Then, disgusted to think she cared what he did and with whom, she swept all images of her arrogant boss aside and dutifully followed his secretary. She didn’t envy Mrs. Carmichael having to choreograph Kowalski’s love life. It seemed a demeaning task.
“Here we are, dear.” Mrs. Carmichael unlocked a door. “I didn’t know precisely what supplies a recreation specialist might require, so I ordered the usual pens, pencils, tape and such.”
Kat stepped inside. “At the resort, I had a fourth of this space, a host of kayaks, paddles, five bags of assorted sports balls, a desk and two file cabinets.”
The secretary looked horrified. “No one mentioned sports equipment, Ms. O’Halloran. I’m afraid nothing’s been ordered.”
“Call me Kat. And don’t worry. Kowalski has my equipment list. I would like a roster of personnel, broken out into shifts with lunch and break times, if possible.”
“I’ll call Wendy after lunch and tell her you need it first thing in the morning.” Slater’s secretary jotted herself a note.
“Lovely,” Kat murmured. Just what she needed, another visit with the company fashion plate. Especially since she’d be wearing sweats tomorrow.
Mrs. Carmichael homed in on Kat’s remark. “If Wendy gives you trouble, call me. I’ll collect the list for you.”
Kat smiled. So she hadn’t imagined the friction between those two.
The woman suddenly checked a watch hanging from a slender neck chain. “It’s our lunchtime, too, Ms….er, Kat. If you haven’t got any plans, you’re welcome to join me in the cafeteria.”
“Thank you, I’d love to join you for lunch. Let me stow this packet in the desk and I’ll be set to go. Will I need to wear my badge?”
“No need. Oh, I almost forgot, these are your office and building keys. Slater will show you the warehouse and give you that key, I’m sure.”
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