The Consultant by Bentley Little Page A

morning, but Dylan was already up and in the living room, watching cartoons. Craig put on his bathrobe and slippers before heading down the hall to the front of the house. The carpet in the hallway was getting worn in the center, he noticed. The carpet had come with the house, and Angie had mentioned several months ago that she wanted to get it replaced, but he’d put it off because he was a procrastinator. Now he didn’t want to do it because he didn’t know whether he would still have a job, and until the situation at work was sorted out, he thought it better to act conservatively and save money just in case.  
    “Hey, bud,” he said, walking up behind Dylan and affectionately squeezing the boy’s shoulders. “You want to help me make pancakes?”  
    It was one of their weekend rituals, and Dylan jumped up excitedly. “Yeah!” he said, and the two of them went into the kitchen. Craig dumped some Bisquick into a bowl, cracked two eggs, then let Dylan pour in some milk and stir. When the frying pan was hot enough, he allowed his son to ladle the batter in a roughly circular shape. With his hand over Dylan’s, the two of them used a spatula to flip the pancake. A moment later, they did it again.  
    “Go wake Mommy up,” Craig said. “Tell her it’s seven-thirty.”  
    By the time he’d spread butter and poured syrup over Dylan’s pancake, the boy was back. “She’s up,” he said matter-of-factly. Craig heard the bathroom door close and the shower go on.  
    He made the rest of the pancakes himself, piling them up on a plate, then sat down to eat just as Dylan finished drinking the last of his orange juice and got up to go back into the living room.  
    “Hey, sport?”  
    Dylan looked over at him.  
    “You want to come to work with me this morning?”  
    Dylan’s eyes lit up. “Really?”  
    “Sure. I have some things I have to do, but you can play games on my computer while you’re waiting.”  
    “Can we go on the elevator?”  
    “Of course. And afterward we’ll go out for lunch and maybe see a movie.”  
    “All right!”  
    Angie had walked into the kitchen. “What are you all-righting about?”  
    “Daddy’s taking me to his work!”  
    Angie smiled approvingly.  
    “Even when I’m not here, I’m here,” Craig said, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “If we’re not home when you get back,” he told her, “we’ll be seeing a movie.”  
    “Yeah!” Dylan said.  
    “You boys have a fun day,” Angie said, pouring herself some orange juice. “And if you’re going to the movies, bring some Purell. It’s flu season. Those theaters are disease incubators.”  
    She’d awakened later than they had, but she ate a quick breakfast and was off to the Urgent Care before either of them had finished getting dressed. Craig did pack a small bottle of hand sanitizer, as well as one of They Might Be Giants’ children’s CDs, and he and Dylan sang along to a song about balloons as they drove over to CompWare.  
    “I like your building,” Dylan said as they pulled into the parking lot. “It’s secret .”  
    Craig smiled. The exterior of the building—and the interior, for that matter—did resemble the hideout of some old James Bond villain, and though his son had never seen any of those movies, it was a perceptive observation, and he was proud of the boy for making it.  
    Craig let Dylan swipe his ID badge to open the door, and the two of them rode the elevator to several different floors before stopping finally at the sixth. “This place is so cool,” Dylan said admiringly as they stepped off the elevator.  
    “It is cool,” Craig agreed.  
    “Daddy? Do you still have that refrigerator in your office?”  
    “Yes I do. And I have some bottled water in there. Are you thirsty?”  
    “Yeah.” Dylan smiled happily.  
    Scott Cho was in his office when they walked by, obviously and ostentatiously looking through a printout whose information he could