2. Carlton

This can't be happening.

I'd been preparing this presentation for weeks. Me and my team had spent weekends and late nights perfecting it, doing dummy runs and checking the time, the slides, what worked and what didn't. We'd brought other employees in to criticize anything and everything, from my delivery, to the content, to the quality of the slides.

We'd planned for disasters such as the power going off or someone drilling next door, as well as a fire alarm. Not much we could do about the latter except continue my presentation at a fast food joint down the street. All the cables were taped down because I didn't want to trip or land head first on the carpet, and we'd even prepared for the wifi wobbling.

I'd memorized what I was going to say, though in a presentation it wasn't necessary, and often, sounding as though you were giving a prepared speech turned off the recipients. I had to be flexible, and if people started side-eying one another or checking their phones, I had to change tack and drag their attention back to what I was saying.

My team had flung every possible question they could think of so I wouldn't be caught out umming and ahhing, though as one of my mentors used to say, "You don't have to have all the answers. It's not possible."

The purpose of the presentation was a new project we were hoping to get. We were pitching to win a contract to construct a new museum, a project that would take years to complete. It would lift our firm into the stratosphere in terms of profit.

Everyone filed in, and they were welcomed with coffee, tea, and bakery treats, and despite my nervousness and sweaty palms, my voice was clear. I didn't cough or have to clear my throat—gross—and I had everyone's attention.

But as I got close to the end, a rattle almost interrupted my train of thought. I kept it together and didn't miss a beat as I used a laser pointer on the screen. It was my phone, and I'd left it beside the computer, thinking I'd turned it off, but I must have put it on vibrate.

Damn, all that hard work and not one of us had considered me being a fool. I slipped it in my pocket, hoping with the lights turned down, no one would pick up on my mistake. And while it was no longer jiggling on a hard wooden surface, it was vibrating against my side.

It was a little ticklish, but I ended my talk and adjusted the lighting, while hoping whoever was sending me messages would give up. At least until my audience had finished with their questions.

Predictably, with a budget of millions of dollars, they didn't go easy on me, pummeling me with questions, wanting to drill down on our time frame and budget. I'd done many presentations since taking this job of project manager, and I was prepped for chaos, but the vibrations in my pocket came close to making me giggle. I tried to catch the eye of my assistant, hoping he'd take the device outside, but he couldn't decipher my expression. I didn't blame him.

Come and get this damned phonewasn't easy to communicate with just my gaze.

The questions didn't let up, and I stood in front of the people who could make or break my career trajectory for over an hour, and when they were done, they huddled together outside the conference room.

We wouldn't get an answer today and maybe not this week, as there were other companies vying for the job. I didn't want to grab my phone because the universe would choose that moment for the people we'd pitched to charge back into the room and toss more questions at me.

But I slid my hand into my pocket and turned the phone off. Peace reigned, at least in my clothing, though my bear was bored with being inside and asked if we could go out.

I need fresh air.

Later.

The guy in charge of the project poked his head back in the room, thanked me and the team, and said, "We were very impressed. You'll be hearing from us."

My boss escorted the group to the elevator, and when the doors closed, me and the team high-fived one another. We might not get the job, but we'd done a great job.

"Well done, everyone. Lunch is on me."

Everyone clapped at my boss's generous offer, and they filed out of the room as I turned on the phone, anxious to discover who was so eager to get hold of me.

"That includes you, Carlton." My boss held the conference room door open and jerked his head toward the elevator where my team was whooping and hugging one another. It was a little early for a celebration, but we had worked so hard, drank too much coffee, and eaten a lot of pizza and donuts that my stomach would welcome a nutritious meal.

All I got was a peek at the number on my phone. Not my parents and not my brother. My folks would have called. They hated texting, and my brother never messaged either, often phoning in the middle of work. Just because he worked from home, he assumed I could put up my feet, have a coffee, and chat to him when he was on a break.

Throughout the meal, I was itching to check the messages, but in between us demolishing the platters of food, there were speeches and cheers, especially when the boss gave us the rest of the day off.

"I know you were at the office all weekend and late last night. You deserve to go home early."

I caught the eye of my assistant, Doug. There had been many weekends and all-nighters, but we weren't about to point that out to the boss.

Outside the restaurant, some of the team called rideshares, others walked to the subway, and a handful headed to their cars or to school to pick up their kids. I'd left my laptop at the office, and the boss chose to walk back with me. With him at my side, I couldn't check my messages. Was the universe conspiring against me? Maybe I'd won the lotto and only had a short time to confirm I'd received the message.

The phone weighed heavy in my pocket as we took the elevator to our office on one of the highest floors. It was crowded and it stopped so frequently, I cursed the little dinging sound. I studied the floor selection buttons on the control panel and counted each floor as we zoomed upward.

As it was only my team who'd been given the afternoon off, the boss was met with employees asking questions and waving letters for him to sign. I excused myself and shut the door to my office. Sinking onto the chair, I tapped the last message, expecting to be greeted with a wall of text.

Instead, it was a picture of kittens. Four of them in a box.

Cats, my bear sniffed. He wasn't fond of felines, neither the domesticated variety nor the big wild kind.

The kittens were very young, barely old enough to leave their mom, if that. They were adorable, despite my bear saying he didn't trust anything that said, "Meow."

I scrolled back to more kittens and yet more. When I finally reached the initial message, I skimmed the text. Whoever had sent it had gotten my number from a messaging service thinking it was an animal rescue.

I rubbed my brow, wishing I'd been able to respond earlier. If it'd been an ordinary day in the office, I could have called the guy, told him his mistake, and given him the number of a rescue where my friend volunteered.

"Carlton!"

My boss's secretary burst in without knocking. "The boss needs to see you." He gripped the door handle, his eyes dancing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "The boss has heard from the company you pitched to and they've got more questions."

It was lousy timing, but I couldn't ignore it saying I had kittens to save. With my laptop tucked under my arm, I sent a quick text saying I'd be in touch after work.

Putting the phone in my pocket where it had spent a large part of the day, I stalked toward the boss's office, wishing my team were here and I had five freaking minutes to call the panicked guy who was wrangling a bunch of stray kittens.

"It's promising that they have more questions." My boss waved his hand, indicating I should close the door. "But it was fate that you had to come back to the office, otherwise, I'd have had to haul you in from home."

I sighed because I doubted I was getting out of here before five. But he was right about one thing.

It was fate that I'd been the one to get the messages about the kittens.