On Monday morning, I moved to the cubicle in front of Mal’s office, which meant my back would be directly in his line of sight if the door was open. Before he left for a meeting, Mal called me into his office and handed me a thick file.
“I need you to examine it and find a way to cut costs by the end of the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Tobie?”
“Sir?” Mal looked at me for a minute, searching my face for what, I didn’t know.
“Forget it. I’ll see you later.” I went back to my desk and heard him leave a few minutes afterward. I wonder what that was about?
The file was damn near fifty pages long, so I got down to work.
John cornered me at lunch. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be Jones’s personal assistant?” he complained as he sat beside me at the table, a bottle of Gatorade in his
