The CEO’s Correction

It was odd that Paul wanted a one-on-one with me. When I was first hired he and I would meet weekly. Sales are always tenuous with a new company. Incoming cash flow is never where it needs to be, so he watched my performance like a hawk. You can’t expect much less when you’re a sales force of one. As the team grew, he respected that my numbers stayed where they needed to be and grew steadily. As I settled into the job, he spent more time directly managing the rest of the sales team. This pissed off the other members of the team and gave me something of a lone wolf status, but it was the arrangement I certainly preferred. So when he sent me an email saying:

E, can we meet Tuesday 3PM?

I was surprised but not taken aback. Maybe he wanted to hire some more people. Maybe he wanted feedback on a new offering, who knows?

I wasn’t happy with his choice of timing. Tuesday afternoons were usually one of the time slots I had shared with Sam. It sucked having to cancel on her, but at least there was notice. She was unfailingly cool about my scheduling issues.

That morning a text from Paul:

How about Sullivan’s this afternoon?

This signaled someone was going to get fired. I thought it might be Marcus, mostly because I couldn’t stand Marcus, and wishful thinking has its way of winning me over sometimes. Sullivan’s was where Paul liked to go when he wanted privacy as our office offered none.

The bar was quiet, the happy hour crew hadn’t arrived yet. The bar itself welcomed a few construction guys huddled on stools. It was oddly dark for 3PM. The guys carried on in the way construction guys do, their faces illuminated but the blue haze of the screens of the bar. I scanned the rest of the restaurant and found Paul in a corner booth, gently scrolling his phone as if smoothing a woman’s hair.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I said as I plopped my bag on the bench across the booth. Hanging up my coat on the booth’s hook, Paul looked up from his screen.

“Hey, I’m glad you could make it,” Paul replied dispassionately, immune to my stale joke.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“That’s what I’ve always enjoyed about our working relationship, always right to the point.”

“You know me, Paul. I don’t like bullshit.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Sam Adams.”

The waitress arrived on cue.

“Sam Adams, please.” I ordered.

“Another for me too, thanks.”

“Thank you.” I added.

“How are your wife and the kids?” Paul asked. I heard a warmth in his voice I didn’t know he was capable of, it gave me pause.

“They’re great. The big one is almost five. He’s smarter than I am for sure. The little one is nearly two. She’s all her mother. They drive me crazy, but they’re the best.”

“That’s good. Do you have enough time with them?”

“I mean do any of us have enough time with our kids? I wish I had more, but I like to think things well-balanced.”

I didn’t know where he was going with any of this.

“Look, I asked you to talk today, because I’ve noticed some weird things lately.” Paul began as the beers hit the table.

“Really?” I leaned back on the bench and scanned his face, looking for clues.

“Yeah, it’s nothing major, don’t worry. It’s just you’ve been less engaged at the office. Things have felt disjointed. You don’t even give enough of a shit to get pissed off at Marcus.”

“Mmmhmmm,” I nodded and sipped my beer.

“You’ve been disappearing into your phone. You’re usually the most diligent worker in the office. When you’re not on a sales call, you’re hunched over your screen, building the next slide deck. Lately, I find you typing into your phone a lot more.”

Pause.

“Okay,” I responded to fill the void. Paul’s eyes scanned the table. He was delaying. He finally glanced up at me.

“The more I saw it, the more concerned I got, because I don’t want to lose you. So I kind of figured it was one of three things. First, you’re having family issues. Second, you’re getting courted by another firm. Third, you’re fucking someone.”

Long pause. We glanced at each other, at the table, at each other. Poker without the cards. I looked into the bottom of my glass as I considered how to play this. As I lowered the glass, I smiled.

“So two of those three are very personal, and if I may say so, none of your business, so I’ll answer the middle one. No one is recruiting me. I like my job and I like what we’ve built. I have no intention of leaving.”

“That’s good. So who are you fucking?”

I felt my spine stiffen. In the most banal of social situations sipping my drink is my mechanism for dealing with nervousness it hides your facial expression and regulates the timing of your speech. I wanted another sip, my glass was empty.

“What the fuck Paul?” I asked.

“Well, when I asked about your family, you didn’t even mention Julie. You talked about your kids.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean…”

“Of course not, but the erratic scheduling, the constant phone checking, the way you’re checked out. Either it was family trouble or you’re fucking someone, your answer told me what I need to know.”
He had me, and we both knew it. I didn’t have to say the words. I shifted my weight on the bench, I was shocked that I’d been caught, but still wondering what the fuck was the point of this little interrogation.
Paul continued, “You know our bookkeeper?”
I nodded, “I’ve known about you two for months. But I figured it wasn’t any of my business who you wanted to fuck.”

“She’s my wife.”

Pause.

“About a year ago Lisa and I had major issues. The company was all I was thinking about. I didn’t give her any time or attention. I’d come home after sixteen hours, we’d watch a rerun on Netflix and I’d pass out. We never had sex. When I wanted it she would dodge. Sometimes she’d pre-dodge just to get out of it. We were avoiding each other.”

He continued, “One night I was at a cocktail party with the Stonewall people. Thinking no way in hell would there be anyone , you know, of interest, in that crowd. Well, of course the press secretary is a this amazingly hot blonde. I don’t even usually like blondes, but she was fucking hot. Anyway, we had a few drinks. Nothing happened, but she gave me her number and told me to give her a call. So the next day I did. We ended up meeting for drinks, right here. Of course we fucking hit it off. We’re laughing and joking. Her hand is on my thigh. My hand is on her thigh. Eventually we kissed. The second that kiss happened everything snapped shut. I was like ‘what the hell am I doing?’ I told her I was married. She said she didn’t care. I told her I did — and that was it.”
Two more beers arrived. I sipped and listened.

“Of course, that wasn’t it. We were at a dead end. I told her I didn’t want kids before we got married and she had accepted that. But my life was wrapped up in this company and hers was wrapped up in waiting. Waiting for me to be the husband she expected, waiting for me to be the partner she wanted. We were at an impasse.”

“It was weird. I was at the office, this was like a year ago, and she texted me. It read, ‘are we ever going to fuck again?’ Like a dumbass I took it as an insult. Like not only were we fighting but I couldn’t even get it up to fuck her.”

“I waited awhile to reply. I wrote back something flirty. I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say that night is when we started to make things better.”

“We got an apartment closer to the office. We made plans. We flirt over text all the time. Randomly rent hotel rooms for no reason.”

I felt his story winding down.

I interjected, “It’s easier when kids aren’t involved. You work, the rest of your schedule is yours. You two can do whatever the fuck you want. Try sexting your wife when there are two kids clacking at her. It’s not the same.”

“I know. I know. It’s not easy.”

“No. You don’t know.”

“Alright, look I don’t know what it is to have kids and a commute. All I’m saying is that I came close to fucking things up really badly. I just got lucky. Whatever you’re doing now. Just know, you can turn it around.”
He got up from the booth, “Look, I have the tab. I’ll see you Monday, OK?”

“Yeah.”

I sat for a long time. I was numb, my mind both racing and perfectly still. I pulled my phone out. I texted Sam.

Still Free?