Asher ✓

54 | notice

JUNE 25, 2019 / DELROV TECHNOLOGIES HEADQUARTERS

"What a stale old man," Kelvin remarked as the latest interviewee departed.

Kelvin, Annalise, Ryanel and Asher — the original four — were sat on one length of a table in the board room of Delrov Technologies' New York headquarters.

"Agreed," Asher quipped. "Great qualifications, but fat use that'll do him if he sucks the life out of all my employees each time they talk to him. This company cares about more than profits."

"Oh? And I suppose 'more than profit' means 'abandoning one's job to risk one's neck in a motocross arena' to you?" Ryanel scoffed. He'd seethed for the past two weeks, and barely restrained his rage during the interviews.

Kelvin and Annalise exchanged a knowing, uncomfortable glance before the latter quickly coughed. "I'm going to get some coffee before the next candidate arrives."

"I was just thinking the same," Kelvin said. The pair were out of the room faster than either Ryanel or Asher could ask for a beverage themselves.

Which was a pity, Asher thought, because he would have rather liked a hot drink on which he could concentrate as Ryanel's fury descended upon him.

"You don't have any input on the candidates for my previous position. If you're going to reject everyone because they're stale, or under-qualified, or over-qualified, or just not quite right—" Ryanel all but spat at Asher, "—you can get the fuck out of my building."

Asher nodded, the corners of his eyes stinging for some mysterious reason.

Ryanel was correct, of course, in everything he said. Even if he didn't have to deliver it so harshly.

Asher had submitted a resignation letter in favour of returning to competitive motocross, so he didn't really have any input in hiring the new Chief Operations Officer. Ryanel, who had reluctantly become CEO after weeks of pleading, obviously had the most expertise about who would do the job he had done for nearly three years now.

Ryanel was also correct in calling out the subjective and borderline unprofessional standards Asher was holding the potential candidates to. But he couldn't refrain himself. When he imagined the person who would sit in Ryanel's burgundy leather seat and re-decorate the small, draughty office that his best friend had diligently painted when they first moved into the building, it wasn't stale old Robert.

Or whiny Mindy.

Or high-strung, impersonal Peter.

It hadn't been any of the twenty-odd other candidates that they'd screened either.

In Asher's head, no-one could ever be as capable, energetic, and intuitive as Ryanel was. No-one's eyes would light up the same way at their press releases, no-one would crack jokes as dry or timely during stifling budget reports and no-one would make his day as bearable.

In some mundane, omnipresent way, Ryanel was like the heartbeat that had driven Asher on through the years. And that was the reason he trusted Ryanel so completely with his company.

"I'm sorry. It was unfair asking this much of you," Asher murmured. Through the glass wall that connected the boardroom to the rest of the floor, he could see Annalise and Kelvin bickering over who could use the milk first. "But I know I'm leaving the company in good hands, even if I'm not acting like it. I'll stop sticking my nose in."