Atlas
I mean the kids are gone...but I still can't fuck my wife all day and night long.
All because I have fucking work to do.
The representative of my HR is currently holding a presentation, talking about the new relationship concept between co-workers. With that I mean, what is allowed and what isn't.
I know I've said I worked on crossing the no-relationship-rule four years ago, but I've never gotten any further in four years. It had multiple reasons, but we're here now. Not because I finally found time for it, but because my wife is forcing me to get it done.
"So if two parties are consenting to start a relationship in any way, HR will have to get informed immediately, before anything starts. Workers will have to sign a contract to make it official," Ms. Lexington says. "However, there are lines we simply cannot cross yet. Relationship in the same department."
It may sound stupid, but I really don't like to entertain the thought of two of my employees no longer working their jobs as they should, simply because things between them didn't work out and now they're on bad terms. This is one of the many reasons why I never even wanted to allow relationships at all.
People tend to get sloppy with their ex around. Or too competitive. Either of these options show on their work. Being competitive is okay, but not in the sense of being better than an ex-partner. Not when it comes to business.
There'll be fights like who gets more papers done in less time, or who can solve a problem more quickly. These competitions turn into bad work. Bad outcomes. And I will not let this happen.
So as long as the relationships aren't in one department, they'll be fine on that note.
"Any more questions on that topic?" Ms. Lexington asks, presenting herself as more confident than I know she is. Ms. Lexington is one of the quiet ones. She's shy and jumps at sudden confrontations. But she's really good at her job, and that's all that really matters. "Jeremy."
It doesn't surprise me that Jeremy Crawford has a question. He's been silently drooling over someone for years, everyone with a working sight could see that. "Are there any ways to get around the non-same-department-relationship rules?"
Ms. Lexington looks through the computer right at me. We haven't discussed this topic properly yet, but broadly enough for her to give an answer. So when I nod, she turns back to Crawford. "We're working on a contract for that too. There will most definitely be one party that will have to...let's say face a punishment in case of a breakup."
I wouldn't have said punishment, but it sort of fits. It's more of a precaution to protect my company. Like I said, I don't want in-department fights.
"That would be?" Crawford asks carefully.
"One of the parties will have to sign an extra contract, stating they're alright with immediate dismissal the second the relationship ends."
"This is about possible fights at work, isn't it? So what if someone from PR dated one of the IT's and now the IT-person won't give the PR one all the necessary information when something happens?"
That's a good question, I admit. But I don't listen to what Ms. Lexington answers because just when she opens her mouth, I hear a loud thud, from downstairs. Correction, a lot of these noises sounding like stuff falling down.
Without thinking, I jump up and sprint out of my office to find out what the hell happened. Okay, let's be honest, I'm less concerned about what happened and more concerned about if Sierra got hurt.
As soon as I reach the kitchen, I find Sierra sitting on the kitchen counter, apologising over and over again. At first I'm a little confused, but then I remember our cook should be around. And when he says, "Sierra, it's fine," I suddenly no longer wonder who my wife is apologising to, but more how the hell she got on top of the counter by herself.
Sierra is like seven months pregnant, she can barely sit down or get back up without struggling. I strongly doubt she could mange to seat herself on a countertop.
"Aren't you in a meeting?" Sierra asks as her eyes find me. She's sniffling, then wipes the back of her hand underneath her eyes.
"I'm supposed to be, yeah." Rounding the kitchen island, I find Taco licking some kind of batter off the floor while Kennedy tries to clean it up. I snap my fingers once, instantly getting my dog's attention. I point towards the living room and he runs off. "What happened?"
Another sniffle leaves Sierra. I stand between her legs, taking her face in my hands before wiping away her tears.
"I was playing with Taco," she hiccups. "But he ran into the kitchen and—"
And he probably got too wild while playing, accidentally ran into Kennedy, caused him to drop a bowl and that's the end of the story. No need for any further explanation.
"Why are you crying, sweetheart?" I almost have to laugh, but I know if I do, she'll switch to being mad and that's the last thing I need her to be right now.
"Because I feel bad. And Mitch won't let me clean up and now all the batter went to waste and it's just overall a shitty day." I don't remind her that she just woke up an hour ago from her nap and has done absolutely nothing yet.
We left the hotel pretty early, which is why as soon as we got home, Sierra went to take a four-hour nap. Not sure since when four hours count as a nap time, but she's pregnant, so I'll let it slide.
Who am I kidding? Even if she weren't pregnant I'd let it slide.
"Why's the day shitty?"
"Cause I woke up and we don't have any pretzels anymore." Valid reason, to be honest. Maybe I could relate a little better if I actually liked pretzels, but we're ignoring that.
I came to accept donuts, and ice cream cause my wife and daughters force me to eat that during movie night, but pretzels? No, thank you.
"I was just trying to bake some, sir," Kennedy says, probably thinking I was going to be mad if he didn't try to defend himself. He's buying most of our groceries after all. And ever since Sierra's pregnant, I've asked him to make sure we have pretzels at home at all times because Sierra tends to crave them daily.
Sierra starts to sob, leaning forwards to press her forehead against my shoulder. "I ruined it!"
She didn't, but I guess her pregnancy hormones think differently today. "Sweetheart, do you want to come upstairs with me?"
"When does your meeting start?"
"I'm in the middle of it. I really have to get back there to at least hang up."
Sierra looks at me, eyebrows fallen together in a concerned frown while her bottom lip slightly sticks out. "Don't end your meeting because of me."
I would end lives for this woman, not just a silly meeting.
"Okay, you're coming with me anyway." It's a question, she knows it isn't. At least she's not complaining about it, so that's good.
I help Sierra off the counter, more or less helping as I do all the work by picking her up and setting her down onto her feet.
"I could've at least cleaned that up myself," says Sierra as she looks at Mitch. He's still wiping every every bit of batter from the floor.
"Not a chance, Sierra," he says, not even bothering to look at her. He wouldn't have dared not to look while speaking to me. Not looking at the person you're talking to is simply disrespectful, unless it's currently not possible in any way.
Anyway, I doubt Sierra finds it disrespectful. Her relationship to Kennedy has been going stronger than ever. I swear, sometimes he only comes over to spend time with her. Not sure what to think of it.
But he's better than Beau Cromwell.
Mitch Kennedy wouldn't dare making a move on my wife, he knows very well how that'll end for him.
Sierra and I go upstairs, and because she doesn't have any other choice, she follows me right into my office. My computer is suspiciously quiet, which either tells me they kicked me out of the meeting, it ended, or they're just all keeping their mouths shut. They better didn't kick me out. If they did, consequences are about to come in for them worse than dating a co-worker without signing a contract.
Before I take a seat at my desk, I help my wife sit down on the sofa in my office. One she told me to get in cases our children ever wanted to stay here while I'm working.
The thing is, I don't mind them being here while I work. Unless it's some important meeting I'm in, but even then I don't care too much. However, the sofa is useless because both of my daughters prefer to sit on my lap and press some buttons on my keyboard instead of sitting on the sofa.
"Mr. Storm, I hope you don't mind me asking, but is everything okay?" Ms. Lexington asks the second I'm seated.
I do mind her asking because I don't like people asking about my private life. Especially my employees are forbidden to ask me questions in that sense. Everyone knows it, hence the gasps coming from other employees.
The tone of my voice when I say "Everything is just great" could've made the toughest guys flinch.
But she just smiles brightly and says, "You sure? That sounded like something bad happened. Are your kids alright?"
"Yes." They must definitely are. Cody wouldn't let anything happen to them.
Looking up from my screen, I see Sierra looking at me with raised eyebrows. It's like she's telling me to be nice. Actually, I know that's what she's trying to tell me.
"Are we done here?" I ask, trying my hardest not to snap.
"I didn't continue the meeting when you were gone."
"Why the hell not?" I get reports of this. I receive summaries of the most important things daily. There's no need for me to be here other than questions and answers. To others.
And perhaps to find out if my employees are competent enough to work for me.
"It sounded like something really bad happened at your house, Mr. Storm. I was just worried for you. And I figured you might want to hear what I have to say."
The rest of my employees in the meeting room are awfully quiet, but I can't blame them. "Ms. Lexington, whatever happens in my private life isn't your concern."
"I am aware of that, sir. But god forbid someone caring," she snaps.
Sierra looks up, her eyebrows drawing together. "Does she knows you're married?" she mouths, holding up her hand with her ring to make me understand her a little better.
"I think so," I answer, then turn back to look at my screen. "I don't need my employees to care about me. You're working for me. Earn money for good work. That's it."
"But do you have someone that cares about you? Cause the way you act, sir, that seems like a lack of love in your life."
Maybe she doesn't know I'm married after all. "Alya, Mr. Storm is married. To one of our co-workers," Cromwell let's her know. "They have two kids together and she's currently pregnant. I suppose he's got enough love in his life. He doesn't need an employee to care."
"To a co-worker?!"
"Yes. And she's most definitely in the same room with him right now. If you don't want two enemies for life, you should probably keep your mouth shut and act like an employee and not some caring wife," he says. "We're here for business, not to get close to our boss."
And perhaps Cromwell isn't too bad after all.