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He was all business, not a hint of a smile on his face. “Can I speak with you?”
My spine straightened, and I tried not to clench my jaw too hard. Those words were just as bad as “we need to talk” coming from a girlfriend. “Of course. Come in.” I stepped back, letting him walk past me.
Mr. Rusk wasn’t a big man, but he commanded a presence. In fact, my office felt too small to hold him. He took a seat at my desk, his tailored pants raising just enough to show plain black dress socks. “Have a seat,” he said. He’d offered me a seat in my own office. Although, I supposed, technically it was his.
I sat down across from him, waiting for him to speak.
“What happened yesterday?” he asked.
“My girlfriend’s been getting stalked by her abusive father,” I said. “Things sort of came to a head yesterday.”
“In the middle of a client meeting?” His eyes were calculating, curious, but not at all concerned.
I sat up straighter, bristling at his dismissal of Mara and her predicament. “Yes, that’s when she called me. I was worried for her life, Mr. Rusk.”
He cleared his throat. “She called you? Shouldn’t she have called 911 if her life was in danger?”
I blinked, not sure where he was going with this. Was he seriously suggesting my loved onesshouldn’tcall me in the event of an emergency?
“How long have you been at this, Jonas? Eight years?”
He knew damn well how long I’d been working here. “Ten,” I answered anyway.
“I opened this firm thirty years ago, had worked in public accounting for seven years before that. I’ve had employees go on to work in C-suite level positions at the Big Four. I’ve had people move across the country and start firms of their own. And I’ve seen people crash and burn and lose everything they worked for.”
I nodded, still watching him, wondering where this was going. Wondering if he was threatening me.
He spun the thick gold ring on his finger. “The successful people? Some of them were smart as a whip. Others, I had to wonder how they got their shoes tied every day. You know, being an accountant isn’t all that difficult. You just have to show up. Eight to eight on weekdays, maybe fill in a few hours on the weekends, for a few months out of the year.”
I nodded. Anyone who worked in public accounting understood the rigorous schedule. But the benefits were great too—a secure job, good pay, plenty of benefits especially during tax season, and connections with amazing people.
“The ones who failed?” Ernie said. “They had something in common. They quit showing up like they were supposed to.”
I held my breath.
He let out a sigh. “It’s easier to show up to work when you’re single, which you’ve been for as long as I’ve known you. It’s harder when you have a girl. Even harder when you’re married with children.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he stood up and walked toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he said, “I’d hate to see you fail when you’re so close to getting what you say you want.”
Ernie shut the door behind him, but I stared at it, stunned. Was he really threatening my promotion because of one day? I’d been working at this very firm for years! I never called in sick. Never took an early afternoon. Certainly never walked out on a client. Even when my mom was starting dialysis, I worked remotely from my laptop!
I got up and paced my office, trying to work off some of the indignant anger pumping through all of my veins.
Fuck being chained to my desk. If Mara needed me, she needed me, and that was that.
Accounting wasn’t fucking brain surgery. No one’s life depended on me sitting in my office day in and day out.
I’d always done my best to stay out of office politics, and like Mr. Rusk said, people had come and gone over the years, leaving when the job was hard on their family, but I never imagined me being one of those people to leave. Not even close. I knew my mom and sister would help out my future wife with our children if I needed late hours, and I was willing to get up early or stay up late to put in some extra time working from home if need be.
But here I was, feeling like my job was on faltering ground.
My pacing wasn’t helping, so I got out my phone and called Cohen.
“What’s up?” he said, music playing in the background.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”