Taking Stock by C J West

speech was first-day posturing and that he’d lighten up when he got to know her, but deep down she felt a bit rattled. She opened the binder and read to crowd the worry from her thoughts. The crisp pages described an investigation of human resources and accounts payable practices in excruciatingly mundane detail.
    A chirping sound from the hall broke her trance on the book. A head of thick dark hair extended inward horizontally from the door casing, followed by bushy eyebrows, a generous nose, and a puckered face that continued to chirp as he scanned her expression from several feet away. She couldn’t imagine why the office crazy had chosen her doorway for his roost.
    He stepped inside, short, stocky, smiling now that his chirping was done. He introduced himself as Stan Nye, her partner, the only other person who worked for Herman. The contrast from Herman to Stan was astounding. If he could survive here, certainly she could, too.
    “Boy, not much going on here. Let’s take a spin. I’ll show you who’s who and what’s what.” This was the welcome she expected from Herman.
    On the ride to the twenty-third floor, Stan summed up working for Herman simply. “Do what he tells you, keep quiet, and life is grand.”
    If his meandering pace and his advice were any indication, Herman’s requirements for Stan weren’t terribly stringent.
    Technically there weren’t any places they couldn’t go, but Stan lowered his voice as they passed the boardroom where Sarah had started her workday. He marched down the mahogany hall past rows of sharp, efficient-looking assistants and pointed out Herman’s closed door. His crisp steps said what he did not. Stan was intimidated up here among the executives so much so that he forced himself to walk professionally, a vast improvement over his earlier bird impression.
    The wide rectangular hallway paralleled the perimeter of the building. He pointed out Marty Finch, the company CEO, and indicated a large area of offices for the money managers. Their offices were less ornate than Marty Finch’s, but even their assistants had better views than Sarah.
    At the corner, Stan unceremoniously slipped into the stairwell and descended to the floor below.
    Stepping out onto the twenty-second floor, Stan relaxed. He let himself into the computer room and showed her around the rows of glass paneled cabinets. He couldn’t tell her what the machines behind the glass did exactly, but he was proud that he could slide his card in the reader and walk inside whenever he wanted to. The cramped room next door was full of wires and one single computer. Stan bragged that only four people had keys to get in. Sarah would be the fifth when she earned Herman’s trust.
    Back in the hall, she wondered how reliable Stan could possibly be.
    Stan pointed out Brad Foster, who was glad to stop and chat about the accomplishments in IT. She pegged him for a decent guy, but when they were out of earshot Stan told her that everyone hated Brad with the possible exception of Marty, his CEO brother-in-law. Next they visited Eric a Fletcher, who seemed tense and high-strung. She gave a genuine smile, but was either too busy or too arrogant to take a minute and say hello. Stan couldn’t have been more positive about Eric a as they headed for the elevator. Sarah wondered if his admiration and her arrogant attitude both stemmed from the elegant lines of her face and her perfect smile.
    The next three floors blended together. The noise level grew subtly with each floor they descended until they stood on the nineteenth floor in the middle of a long strip of gray cubicles that made up client services. People talked everywhere you looked. It was one constant blabbering, yammering of voices, each one clear if you stood nearby, but trailing off into a jumble of noise as you moved away.
    Sarah had made a solemn promise to herself the night before not to get involved with another man at work. Dating coworkers at her last job had been