In A Heartbeat Read Free Page B

town, and who knows what else, extended his arm for the obligatory handshake. Renard brought his thoughts back to the present and responded accordingly. He had just a few minutes to catch Owens before his interview with Wilson. A quick glance down the hall toward the conference room brought a smile. Our interview , he amended with heightened anticipation.
     
     
    ANGIE CRAMMED AN hour’s worth of preparation in the fifteen allotted minutes before their “shared” interview. She sat on the edge of a padded office chair in the controller’s office, utilizing a tiny corner of his desk for her notepad. Renard, however, had no qualms about taking up vast quantities of space. He leaned back in a similar chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. His highly polished wingtip nearly brushed her kneecap.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Tom Wilson, a distinguished, gray-haired gentleman with a faint southern accent, appeared at the doorway with a full coffee mug in hand. “My meeting with Purchasing ran a little long.” He exchanged handshakes with Renard, passed completely by Angela and sat behind his desk.
    “Did you catch the game last Saturday?” he asked Renard, referring to the local university football game. Without a professional team to call its own, Columbus sports fans followed the college circuit with a passion.
    Renard shook his head, “Although, now that I’m taking up residence here, I guess I’m going to get reacquainted with the Buckeyes.”
    “You went to Ohio State, didn’t you?” Wilson asked Angela.
    The question surprised her as she was beginning to feel ignored. “Yes, but I—”
    “Heck of a team, those Buckeyes. Now, what exactly are we here to discuss?”
    Angie caught her breath. How rude! Wilson ignored her as if she were invisible. Even her resulting glare went unnoticed as Wilson hadn’t looked at her face.
    Renard cleared his throat. “Basically, we’d like you to walk through the accounting systems and reports so we can get an overall view of the system.”
    So Wilson proceeded. While he acknowledged Angela’s presence with an occasional nod, the meeting was clearly staged for Renard. Angie silently seethed as she took notes. How could Renard regard her as a peer, if she was already reduced to the role of secretary? She had to speak up, be noticed. Wilson finished his exposition on how product was shipped from the vendor to the warehouse with a flurry of statistics gleaned from the stacks of computer printouts on his desk.
    “Excuse me,” Angie interrupted.
    “Yes, ma’m?” Wilson smiled with a patronizing glint to his eye. “Am I going too fast? Would you like me to repeat that last ratio?”
    “I was wondering if everything flowed through the warehouse?”
    Wilson leaned forward and picked up a pen on the desk. “I’m not sure I know what you mean…?”
    “I believe I saw mention in prior year work papers about something called a direct ship.”
    If Renard hadn’t been sitting so close, she might have missed his subtle shift in her direction. As it was, she welcomed his attention. Now she could show the arrogant bastard that she knew her stuff.
    “Oh, direct ships.” Wilson relaxed, a wide grin on his face. “For a moment there, I thought maybe you were suggesting we were diverting merchandise.” He chuckled, glancing over at Renard. “I was going to have to see about getting my fair share.”
    Again, Angela silently fumed over the joke made at her expense.
    Wilson leaned back in his chair. “Honey, direct ships happen when the merchandise goes directly from the vendor to the customer. It’s shipped direct, you see? Hence the name.”
    The tips of her ears burned in embarrassment, but she reminded herself to be professional. She had a job to do and she couldn’t let Wilson’s attitude deter her. “So the answer is yes, some of the merchandise bypasses the warehouse.”
    “I suppose you could put it that way.” Wilson glanced at Renard with a