Your Eyelids Are Growing Heavy Read Free Page B

incriminating printout tucked under one arm. If the president was in conference, she would insist that he be interrupted.
    He wasn’t in conference. Megan could see him at his desk in the inner office. She walked up to the secretary and said in an urgent voice meant to carry, “I must see Mr. Ziegler. It’s an emergency.”
    â€œSomething wrong, Ms Phillips?” Mr. Ziegler called. “Come on in.”
    Megan did not close the door behind her, inviting the secretary to eavesdrop. She explained to the president of Glickman Pharmaceuticals that a shipment of perishable vaccine was about to be sent out on an unrefrigerated truck. She explained that Bogert had changed her shipping arrangements without consulting her, and showed him the printout. She explained that this was a recurring problem she had earlier taken to the vice president in charge of marketing and distribution, who had done nothing. She explained that since Bogert would override any instruction she could send through to Bethel Park, only he—Mr. Ziegler—could now stop the unrefrigerated shipment.
    Mr. Ziegler heard her out, asked a few questions, then reached for the phone. He called Bethel Park and straightened out the mess with a minimum of talk. He also left word Bogert was to get in touch with him the minute he got there. Then he thanked Megan for catching the error and assured her Bogert would no longer be allowed to interfere; he himself would pass the word on to the vice president when he returned from Boston. Megan barely managed to refrain from grinning.
    Back in her office Megan stirred the papers on top of her desk and decided there was nothing that couldn’t wait. So she leaned back in her chair and indulged in a mini-orgy of gloating. She’d made two enemies today—well, no: Bogert had always been an enemy. It was just more out in the open now. But balanced against that was the fact that she’d scored points with the big boss, and that was worth something, she guessed. But none of that mattered nearly so much as getting Bogert off her back. And the vice president would have to listen the next time she went to him with a problem. All Megan wanted was to be allowed to do the work she was being paid to do.
    You liar , Megan told herself, and laughed. What she wanted was the vice president’s job. She’d wanted it ever since she first realized she was ten times as efficient as he was. But today was the first time she’d ever taken an active step toward dislodging him. She was amazed at how easy it had been.
    Megan had come in like a wilted daisy that morning, but now she had her confidence back. Enough so that she was able to turn her attention dispassionately to that other problem that was bugging her. The missing thirty-eight hours.
    I need an outside opinion , Megan thought. Her two closest friends were both out of town, one in New York and the other in England. Calling Rich was out of the question; Megan no longer trusted his judgment. Somebody in her apartment building then. Andrea on the second floor was a woman Megan had become friendly with, but Andrea was a bit of a prima donna and might not take to the role of confidante too well. The Fraziers were nice people, but they were both too eager to be liked; they’d probably say whatever they thought she wanted to hear. The others in the building Megan knew only to say hello to, with the possible exception of Gus Whatshisname in the basement.
    Megan smiled to herself as she thought of their brief encounter in the lobby Sunday morning. His concern had cheered her up a little; somehow she couldn’t think of ulterior motives in connection with Gus. He looked about twenty, but he had to be older than that. Such an unfortunate appearance—hook nose, bulging eyes, frizzy hair. But it was the shape of his head that was so unusual: it was mostly front-to-back, very little side-to-side. As if someone had pressed his head in a large book. That