Melissa Good - Tropical Storm

She was about average height and had a slender build, with lightly tanned skin that contrasted with her blonde hair and green eyes. Her face held a stamp of youthful innocence that belied a certain intensity in her eyes, and she often surprised people both with her insightful knowledge of the business and her skill at handling conflict.

Right now she carefully got up onto the printer table at the end of the huge room and held up a hand. Since everyone there was looking at her anyway, it achieved its intended effect, and calls went on hold immediately.

“Okay, folks, listen up.” She had a clear voice, but she was shaking a little, and they could all see it.

Silence fell, she paused as one of the programmers loped up to her and handed her a small microphone. “Does this w—oh, I guess it does.” Kerry cleared her throat, her voice suddenly magnified. Heads of other curious employees popped out of the offices surrounding the large central area.

“Okay, I’m sure you all know by now that as of last night, we were officially bought out.” She paused and took a breath. “Some of the people who belong to the company that bought us are going to be around here starting this afternoon, and I think we all know that we’re going to see some changes.”

A low murmur rose, and Kerry put a hand up to still it. “I don’t know what kind of changes, or what they’re going to do, or what this really means for any of us; we’ll just have to wait and see. What I’m going to ask you to do is just go on and do your jobs; take care of our customers. Let’s not overreact until we know what’s really going on.”

“Get your résumé ready,” a voice uttered in a disgusted tone.

“Bet they find some way not to give us benefits for six months,” came another. “If they bother to keep anyone.”

“All right, come on, people, let’s just wait to see what happens,” Kerry stated again. “That’s all I have. If someone from them comes in here, be nice, answer what they ask, and just keep it cool.” She handed the microphone to the programmer and gingerly got off the table, smiling at Ray, who held her elbow to prevent her from falling off. “Thanks.”

She moved on towards the end of the big room, passing through the small labyrinth of offices until she reached her own, buried in the back corner. Most of the managers trailed her there, obviously wanting a private word with her, but she put up a hand as she entered her sanctum. “Give me a few minutes, guys, okay? Go get some coffee, or check your e-mail or something.”

“Call my headhunter.” Susan snorted, shaking her silvered chestnut head. The short, stocky programmer stalked over to her tiny office, piled to the ceiling with printouts.

Kerry watched them disperse before she entered her own office and circled the desk, sitting down in her chair and putting her head in her hands.

“Jesus.” What a mess. And it had all been going so good, too. With a sigh, she leaned back, letting her hands fall on her denim-covered thighs, the fabric reminding her of yet one more change they’d have to face—dress codes, as 12 Melissa Good Robert Mayabera had warned her when he’d met with her that morning.

“I didn’t think we’d done that badly,” she’d said in shock when Robert told her the news. “I thought it was just rumors.”

The company founder, a short, pugnacious Cuban immigrant, had laid his immaculate hands on his desk. “Chica, you did nothing wrong, okay?” His brown eyes had been a little sad. “It came down to money, that’s all. They made me an offer, like you say in the movies, I cannot refuse it.” He’d lifted a hand. “I’ve got six kids, all getting to the age where I have to now do quinces, and cars, and college. I love the company, but the buyout, my friend, the buyout makes me able to do right by my family.”

“No, Robert, I don’t…” Kerry had sighed. “I don’t blame you. I just…we were like a family ourselves, here.”

“Chica, I know.” Robert had gotten up and crossed around his desk, hitching up his trousers to perch on the arm of her chair, and put a hand on her shoulder. “I tell them how great you are, every chance. You did a fantastic job with everything, really turned it around here the last year, all that. I give them an opportunity to see that.”

“I don’t care about me,” the young director had stated quietly. “Robert, these people work really hard. I don’t think those guys are going to care about that. I think they’re just going to come in here and tear us apart.”

“Hey, come on now, let’s wait for the boat to sink before we start thinking of drowning, okay?” He patted her cheek. “Let me see that tough Michigan State warrior thing. What is it, a Trojan?”

Kerry smiled a little at that. “A Spartan.”

“What kind of a mascot is that for a college? It’s ridiculous.” He was trying to cheer her up with an old argument.

“Better than an alligator,” she replied dutifully, his alma mater having been University of Florida, in Gainesville. Then she sighed and stood. “Okay. I’d better go tell the staff. I’m sure they heard already, though.”

And, they had, Kerry thought, as she played with a cup on her desk, glancing around her little office. It wasn’t much—a few file cabinets, one plant in each corner which she took obsessive care over, a picture of Michigan in winter on one wall, and her wraparound desk with its recessed computer well.It was hers, though, earned by dogged determination and her own skills, not bought by her father or given to her as a favor. She was proud of that, and proud of being in charge of this diverse group of people, even if they were sometimes infuriating, and the programmers could never meet their deadlines, and she had to keep nagging the supervisors to keep their answer times down.

She’d felt like she was accomplishing something, especially when they’d won the new contract and the reps from Publix had told Robert it was mostly because they felt so comfortable dealing with her.

Wow. That had felt great. She’d gone out with a few friends that night and celebrated, for the first time in a few months, at Dave and Busters, and had ended up winning enough tickets to get herself a huge stuffed panda bear.

Now, she was just one of the hundred thousand employees in the new Tropical Storm 13

company. Nothing special. In fact, they’d probably laugh at her credentials, or find something in her performance they didn’t like and take her out of her position. And then what? Daddy was only letting her stay down here because she could show him her growing career, pointing to her steadily increasing responsibilities. A slip in that, and he’d call her home.

She took a breath and rubbed her eyes. “Come on now, think positive,”

she reminded herself. “Isn’t that what you just told everyone out there?”

The phone rang, and she pushed the speakerphone button. “Kerry here.”

“Ker, it’s Alex.” That was Alejandro Cruz, their MIS chief. “I’ve got some puta on the phone demanding I give access.”

Kerry closed her eyes. “Don’t tell me what that meant, okay?” she pleaded. “If it’s someone from them, just give them access; they probably can get it anyway. We don’t want to start off being obstructionists.”

“ Jefa , okay, I give them mail server transfer, and got a postbox dial ingoing, and I set up an admin account for them. What else?”

“That should keep them busy for a while.” Kerry sighed. “I’ll try to get some ground rules set when whoever it is that’s coming here after lunch arrives. Maybe they’ll be reasonable.”