Page 3 of The No Repeat Policy

I straighten my newly ironed white button-up and check my collar in the rearview mirror. First impressions are important, right? I met most of these people months ago at my interview, but still, it’s my first day on the job and my nerves are on edge.

Satisfied I don’t look like I just rolled out of bed, I step out of the car and start toward the office. It isn’t what I expected when I first saw it, and yet, here it is. Instead of an office building piled between more office buildings like I’m used to, an old pale-tan stucco-finished Victorian farmhouse sits nestled under a massive oak tree in the middle of a small clearing. It’s like a scene out of some foreign movie, complete with a nearly half-mile long driveway. It’s even got a repurposed barn half a football field farther down the road, and from what Mr. Ellis said, about ten acres of pastureland—mostly forest now—surrounding it all.

My finger fidgets with my collar again as I take the pathway cutting through the yard and the remaining few steps before walking inside. I take it all in, again, but it still feels brand new.

“Morning, Mr. Wolf,”

Victor Burgos greets me at the front desk. It’s literally the home’s foyer with a wide walnut-stained desk set in the middle and a large hallway extending behind it. He’s a cutie if I’m being honest. He’s got calm, smooth features and freckles dotting his cheeks. His accent and a light tan give away his Latine heritage.

“Morning, Mr. Burgos.”

I nod, proud of myself for remembering his name. His will be easier since his face sort of stuck with me. The others, I’m still not sure I remember half of them.

“It’s just Victor,”

he replies with a polite grin.

“In that case,”

I shrug, “it’s just Kolton.”

I point at myself, and when he laughs I laugh back. He really does have a nice grin, perfect white teeth, and little dimples.

“I’ll let Jon know you’re here,”

he says and picks up the phone.

Jon, as in Mr. Jon Ellis, one of the company’s co-founders. He’s an older white gentleman, thin build, and honestly some amazing-looking gray hair. During my interview he told me that he and his college friend, Gregory Newman, started the publishing company eight years ago as a passion project. He’d been about to retire from…hell, I can’t remember where. The important part is Gregory apparently got a deal on the farmhouse and they were able to start Ellis Newman like they’d always wanted.

While Victor is on the phone, I let my eyes wander, tracing rich wood-framed walls that have seen decades more than me, the new antique-styled chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the built-in bookshelves lining both walls with the company’s biggest titles. Reading isn’t really my scene, which might be odd since I’m working for a publishing company now, but I have heard of a few of these. An Ode to Carolina was a big hit last year. I mean if I know the title, it had to have been big.

“Kolton,”

a scruffy voice calls from the staircase to my right. I look up to find Mr. Ellis gliding down, with his eyes and a calm smile fixed on me.

“Mr. Ellis, it’s great to be here. I—”

But I stop when he holds up his hand and stops at the base of the stairs.

“None of that mister and mistress shit around here, young man.”

Jon, I guess, chuckles and then coughs into his elbow. “Sorry, my allergies have me with a tickle in my throat. How was your drive up? You just arrived yesterday, right?”

“Yes, sir,”

I say. I’m about to continue, but he stops me again and waves for me to follow.

“None of the sir stuff either. I might be old and gray, but I don’t need to be reminded,”

Jon says, leading me past the steps and into what was probably once the home’s living room. I’m definitely getting the vibe he’s not a Southerner by birth. It’s not just the accent, which is subdued, more like what I might have expected of someone from, say, New Jersey or somewhere else up north. Sure, it lacks the twang I purged from my own, but it’s more than that. What Southerner business owner would have said shit in their first sentence welcoming me to the company?

“Okay,”

I try again. “And yes, I just drove up yesterday. I’m waiting for my furniture to arrive.”

“Hope you’re not sleeping on the floor,”

Jon says and then stops. “I know we showed you most of this before, but just to be sure, this is our casual meeting space.”

He looks around the old living room approvingly, nodding at the wood-encased fireplace, a brown L-shaped leather sofa that could easily fit five, and a pair of slightly worn leather recliners opposite the sofa, next to a matching set of end tables. It’s the most inviting business “meeting”

room I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen many.

I follow after Jon when he starts off, trying not to look like a lost dog attached to the most familiar face I see. The wooden walls give way to elegant tan wallpaper. A series of three thick walnut tables sit parallel to each other, where years ago one large banquet table might have been. Jon talks, filling me in on each place we visit. The break room, then the fully equipped kitchen and pantry. You could still live here if you wanted.

We make a right and end up in a large hall. Down the way, I see Victor at his desk, which helps me calibrate my bearings a little better. Jon points down the hall in Victor’s direction.

“The bathrooms are down here on the right,”

he says, and I nod. “The supply room and our server room, if we can call it that yet, are on the left. I take it you’ll be getting familiar with that area.”

“Ah, good.”

I nod. Jon and Gregory showed me the server room when I interviewed. It’s basically a big open room that houses the building’s cable modem and network router, along with old computer parts. There was a pile of old tube monitors, which I didn’t think anyone had anymore, and stacks of computer paper. “That I will. We’ve got to beef up your security a little.”

And by “beef up”

I mean build it from the ground up. There is none. Beyond a password on the WiFi—which I’m horrified to find out what that even is—there is literally nothing. My information security classes and internships are about to truly pay off.

“Yes. That’s what we’ve got you for, and our website of course.”

Yeah, and that. As much as I’d love to dive in to putting together a kick-ass website to replace their old, super basic site an eight-year-old could have built, security comes first. The website isn’t going to matter much if they keep getting their shit hacked.

I nod and he takes off again.

“I’m going to drop you off with Heather. She’ll get you settled in,”

he says, leading me across the hall into an open space filled with four vaguely cordoned workspaces.

There are no cubicles, just L-shaped desks and filing cabinets. It forms a rectangle with the wall, creating its own self-contained space. It appears to have been an old lounge or smoking room, converted into the main office space. The first person my eyes catch is, I swear, a Jimmy Fallon look-alike. I think his name was Chris? Maybe Chad? Not to be mean, but he's unremarkable to the eye in about every way, but the ring on his finger says he managed anyway.

“Everyone!”

Jon announces, and all eyes turn to me. A door swings open a second later on the opposite wall, and a slender blonde woman walks out. Heather, who, if memory serves right, is Jon’s daughter. “Let’s welcome our new director of IT, Kolton Wolf.”

A chorus of awkward welcomes chimes haplessly about the room. I scan faces as Heather comes my way.

There’s a girl dressed in an orange, green, and white patterned blouse at the first desk. Her skin is dark and flawless, hair curly and abundant, parted on the side so it sweeps over elegantly, framing warm lively dark-green eyes. She’s smiling when she turns back to her computer, and for the life of me I cannot remember her name. I just remember she seemed kind during my interview when she’d interrupted to speak with the editor.

Opposite her is a bear of a man, half-rimmed glasses set atop a pale spindly nose and a big smile. He’s got a very kempt beard and mustache. Sitting at his desk, his purple button-up struggles around the belly but endures.

Behind him, in the corner, is Logan. The only name of the four that I remember, and that’s because he’s the one and only graphic designer—at least until now—in the building. His Middle Eastern lineage shows through the tint of his skin and sharp jawline. And it’s hard to forget his pale brown eyes and messy-curly black hair that bobs about when he talks. He seems to be the real excitable type. Hopefully we’ll hit it off since he’s around my age, and technically now I’m his boss.

“Welcome to the team, Kolton.”

Heather gains my attention, hand out, waiting to shake. I take it and give her a firm shake.

“Thank you, Heather.”

I nod back, saying her name more as practice and confirmation than anything. I hold my back straight, keeping my chin elevated, trying to remember the shit my dad used to say about being a real man, how to stand tall and “masculine,”

that junk. Maybe it’ll at least pay off here.

“If you remember, Heather is our chief marketing officer and publicist,”

Jon starts up again. “For now you’ll report directly to her. I’ll let her show you the ropes from here.”

“I’ve got this, Daddy,”

she says, shaking her head at me.

“All right, well, I’ll be off. Again, Kolton, it’s great to have you on board.”

“The pleasure is mine, s—”

I almost say sir, but stop myself. Jon notices and a smile slides across his lips as he walks back the way we’d come. This might be an old-school environment, not the big corporate office I’d dreamt of in college, but maybe a family business isn’t such a bad thing. I return my attention to Heather as she says something to Jon about seeing him at lunch.

“Let’s get you settled.”

She nods toward the others in the room. “I think you’ve met the team, but just in case, ’cause I know how it can be remembering names.”

I thank her silently.

“This is Madison Barnes.”

She motions at the girl in the pretty patterned blouse.

Madison looks my way and flashes some brilliant teeth. “Good to have you, Kolton.”

“Thank you,”

I say. Intros are so awkward.

“She’s our copy editor. This is Mason Hartley,”

Heather continues as she moves to the bearded man. He swivels in his chair and simply tilts his head. I think he’s grinning. Sort of. “Our assistant editor. Chad Stafford, our Sales Rep,”

she keeps going.

“Hiya,”

Chad, or Jimmy as I’m probably going to remember him, says and I nod.

“And Logan Nassiri, who’s finally not the only IT person in the company.”

“Hey! Nice to have some company after all this time,”

Logan quips.

“We talk to you!”

Madison twists around and throws a pen at him playfully.

Logan dodges, but the pen still slaps his shoulder. He clasps his hand on his shoulder, uber dramatically. Madison rolls her eyes, but the two are laughing.

“As you can see, we have fun here. It’s not a stuffy miserable place. I promise.”

Heather shakes her head and motions the other direction. “How about we see your office?”

“Sounds great.”

I start to follow but turn to Logan. “And I guess we’ll be talking pretty soon. We’ve got to get this place up to code.”

No one laughs. Not even Logan. I think he’s actually embarrassed by my attempted IT joke. Damn that was lame, even for an IT nerd. Fuck.

Finally, he nods. “Let me know.”

I act as if my fail didn’t register at all before following Heather to the other side of the room and through an open door.

“Oh wow,”

I gasp. They hadn’t shown me where I’d be stationed during my interview, only that they’d make sure to get the equipment I needed. And they did.

The space is large. The same elegant walnut molding frames around the ceiling and floor, the walls are decorated with mass-printed art I could probably find at a Michael’s, but the desk is impressive. It looks expensive, a large L like those in the open space, just bigger and sturdier with cabinets overhead. As I’d asked, a PC sits below with two monitors and the necessary equipment set neatly in the center, waiting for me to set it up.

“We think we got everything you said you’d need,”

Heather says, but she doesn’t sound sure. “If you need anything else, let us know and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Of course, this looks great.”

I step around the desk and admire my new office. This is such a weird feeling. I’d hoped one day I’d have something like this, but not on my first real job in the field. Regardless, I doubt any of those jobs would have a view like this one. I step behind my desk and peer out the window. It overlooks a well-kept lawn, the old barn that looks like something out of Better Homes & Gardens, and a thick forest beyond it. And all the birds flying around, trying their chance at one of the many bird feeders. “Everything seems to be here. Thank you!”

“Awesome. I’ll let you get settled.”

She turns to leave but stops. “Oh, one more thing. We’d like to treat you to lunch this afternoon as a welcome-to-the-company type of thing. If that’s okay with you?”

“Uh…yeah. Sure,”

I agree. That’s unexpected. At my other jobs things were less personal. I’d been stuck in communal working environments, or it was some retail space or restaurant and no one gave a shit about the employees.

“Barbecue okay?”

Heather pinches her cheeks up. It makes her squint.

“Okay? Yeah.”

I smile. I’ve never turned down some good barbecue. If nothing else it means hushpuppies, and damn, do I love hushpuppies.