Martin sits at his desk, his phone lying off the hook, breathing in the silence. His head has been pounding for what seems like hours without an end in sight. His mind runs like a film stuck on repeat. All he can see is Kelly’s ring sitting on the side of the sink, all he can feel is the smooth diamond. He remembers buying it, his heart breaks. He thinks of Kelly, his heart breaks.
He hasn’t been home for eight days. His presence in the office in the early morning and late, late evenings is viewed as nothing other than a dire commitment to the company to be rivaled by no one else. Eight days and no phone calls, no emails.
He breathes in the silence, lets it fill his tired, heavy lungs. He eats. He drinks. And he thinks.
Martin is startled awake by a loud knock at his door. As he struggles to adjust his tie and straighten his clothing he is thankful, for the first time, for his window-less office door. The visitor knocks a second time, much more loudly than the first just as Martin is rising from his chair. “Come in,” he chokes.
The door opens to Martin’s fresh faced assistant, arms full of folders and papers. “Good morning Mr.Ryce, you’re in early today.”
Martin manages a weak smile and dismisses the comment. “Morning, Ainsley.”
“I have a couple papers that I need you to sign,” she begins, stepping towards him. “And Mr. Campbell would like to see you in his office in five minutes.”
Martin watches closely as Ainsley bends over to place the papers in front of him. He had hired her straight out of college and while she was more than pleasing to the eye, she was actually a very competent assistant. It had been like this for what seems like every morning for the past two years that Ainsley had been working for him: she came in to his office first thing in the morning with papers to sign, bent over just far enough to give him a quick peek down her blouse and then she would turn and walk away, a slight sexy swagger in her walk. Ainsley liked to pretend that she wasn’t demanding his attention but there was no denying it.
Martin had never once touched her or made any sort of comment that could be taken as the desire to do so, but over the past few days, sitting alone and drunk in his office, he has started to wonder what it might be like.
“Thank you, Ainsley,” he replies casually as if his mind is void of thought and watches her exit his office.
He signs the papers quickly, slides them into a manila folder and tosses it onto the upper left corner of his desk. He lets out a deep and prolonged breath and rises from his desk. He retrieves a clean, pressed shirt from the small closet and changes out of his wrinkled shirt smelling of last night’s Chinese food and whiskey and changes his tie. He runs a lint brush over his pants as he returns to his desk to retrieve his jacket and pulls out a small pocket mirror from his bottom drawer. He stares at the reflection of his bloodshot eyes and winces. “Well, here’s nothing,” he says out loud.
Martin is the picture of poise and confidence as he steps through his office door closing it quietly behind him. He flashes a smile at Ainsley as he walks by her desk and to numerous others on his way to his boss’ office. He knocks lightly on the door and it opens immediately. “Come, sit down.”
Martin takes a seat opposite his boss. They are separated by a large, cherry wood desk covered with knick-knacks and pictures frames showcasing happy beach vacation moments and photo-ops in front of the Christmas tree.
“I have a meeting at 9:30 so I’m going to make this quick.”
Martin shuffles in his seat nervously. “Okay.”
“Martin you’ve been with the company for seven years and you have done a great job. You’re on time, you’re in charge and you’re at the top of your game.”
Martin feels his heart begin to beat faster and focuses all of his energy on avoiding breaking out into a wide smile. A promotion: it’s just what he needs. “Thank you, sir,” he replies graciously.
“With that being said I feel the need to warn you that you’ve been slipping up a lot lately. The caliber of your work has been steadily declining and it has become noticeable to much of the management here that we might have a serious problem on our hands.”
“Mr. Campbell, I—”
Mr. Campbell raises his hands into the air, palms forward. “I don’t need to know what the problem is, Martin, I just need you to fix it. HR has been asked to piece together a formal write up of what is going on and I just wanted to warn you. I think that I can fend them off for now, but you need to get your act together, and fast.”
Martin slumps in his chair, unsure of what to say.
“You may go now, Martin,” Mr. Campbell says without looking up from the stack of papers on his desk. He begins to scribble furiously as Martin stands and leaves the room.
Martin is about to step in to his office when Ainsley appears at the doorway. “Can I get you some coffee? You look like you could use a cup.” Martin turns and looks her in the eye. “That would be great, thank you. And on your way back in could you bring in two copies of next week’s management meeting agenda and we can go over the details, make sure everything is correct?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Ryce.”
He smiles. “Call me Martin.”
Martin is sitting behind his desk booting up his laptop when Ainsley returns with his coffee and documents. “Shut the door behind you if you could.”
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