Manager on Duty Chapter Four: Glass

← Previous Chapter | ToC | Next Chapter →

Gareth saw Victoria watching him at 10:42.

He knew the time because his scanner had frozen mid-batch, the tiny clock blinking in the corner while the error bar sat there like a personal insult. Above Receiving, behind the office glass, Victoria Kavanagh stood still. Watching him.

Gareth looked down immediately, which was stupid because looking down admitted there had been something to look away from.

“Come on,” he muttered, tapping the scanner.

It beeped once, unimpressed.

Bobby appeared beside him with his cursed clipboard and a wounded expression. “Bad news. Vending machine ate my loonie.”

“You still carry loonies?”

“I’m a traditionalist.”

“You bought chips yesterday with your phone.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Gareth restarted the scanner and looked up despite himself. Victoria was gone from the glass. Relief came first. Then disappointment. He hated that.

“She was watching you,” Bobby said.

“She watches the floor.”

“She was watching your floor.”

“There isn’t a specific kind of watching.”

“There absolutely is. Angie does it when I forget the garbage bins. Different eyebrows, same danger.”

Gareth scanned the next label. “Do you need something?”

“Shipping wants the variance sheet.”

“I sent it.”

“To who?”

Bobby smiled. “Chaos keeps the heart young.”

Gareth handed him the sheet from his workstation. Bobby clipped it to the board. It immediately slid sideways.

Gareth took the clipboard, removed three unrelated pages, straightened the stack, clipped the variance sheet properly, and handed it back.

Bobby stared. “Sometimes I think you’re wasted down here.”

Gareth glanced up again.

The office glass gave nothing back but light.

By 11:30, a shipment of seasonal display units had become a receiving issue officially, which meant it had grown legs, found a desk, and prepared to ruin everyone’s afternoon.

The labels matched. The product did not. The system insisted everything was correct because systems enjoyed lying with confidence.

Gareth photographed the box beside a tape measure, checked the purchase order, and added notes.

Morgan came around the aisle. “What’s wrong with the Christmas crap?”

“It’s June.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Wrong display dimensions.”

“Photos?”

“Uploaded.”

“Measurement?”

“In the note.”

“Did you flag Kavanagh?”

“Not yet.”

Morgan’s head turned slowly. “Send it now.”

“I was finishing the documentation.”

“You need a witness.”

Gareth looked at her.

Morgan’s expression tightened. “Documentation protects people.”

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

Before he could answer, the PA system crackled overhead.

Not words.

Static.

Across the warehouse, Sage stood near the grey maintenance door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, a ring of keys hanging from one finger.

Morgan went still.

“What department are they even in?” Gareth asked.

“That,” Morgan said, “is the question.”

The maintenance door opened behind Sage.

No key. No handle turning.

It simply opened.

Morgan took one step forward. “Hey.”

Sage slipped through.

The door closed.

The PA crackled once more.

Morgan swore under her breath.

Gareth looked at her. “You saw that.”

“I saw someone go through a door.”

“That door was locked.”

“Doors open.”

“Usually after something opens them.”

Morgan shot him a look. “You writing a ghost story now?”

“No.”

“Good. Write the email.”

Victoria replied seven minutes later.

Come upstairs.

Two words, just an instruction. Gareth put the scanner down.

Front pockets. Back pockets. Front pockets again.

Keys. Wallet. Phone. Pen.

Everything accounted for.

Almost.

Victoria’s office door was half open. He knocked anyway.

“Come in.”

She stood near the window, tablet in hand, black blazer sharp over her work shirt. One loose strand of hair had escaped near her cheek, the only untidy thing about her.

“Close the door.”

He did.

The latch sounded too loud.

Victoria turned the tablet toward him. “Seasonal display units.”

“Yes.”

“You documented the variance. Photos. Measurement. Vendor label. Purchase order reference.”

“Yes.”

“And waited to flag me until Morgan told you to.”

There it was. Small correction. Clean blade.

“I was finishing the note.”

“That is not what I said.”

“No.”

Victoria set the tablet down. “Look at me.”

His eyes moved to hers.

“Properly.”

The word changed the room.

Gareth held her gaze. It should have been ordinary. Managers corrected people. Workers listened. Eye contact was not intimacy. Except, as before, his body did not understand the memo.

Victoria watched him obey.

“When something affects vendor accountability, floor planning, or receiving accuracy,” she said, “I expect to know before the file is perfect.”

“Yes.”

“I do not need perfect from you before I need informed.”

“Understood.”

“I am not questioning your competence.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“Yes, you did.”

Gareth kept his hands still and clasped in front of him. Every instinct wanted movement. Every disciplined part of him refused. Victoria came around the desk, close enough to alter the air.

“You assume correction means failure,” she said.

“I assume correction means something needs correcting.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No.”

“Do you know the difference?”

He took a breath. “Failure says I wasn’t good enough. Correction says I can do better.”

Something shifted in her face. Recognition.

“And which one was this?”

“Correction.”

“Good.”

The word went through him like lightning. He hated how much he wanted it repeated.

Victoria turned toward the glass. “Come here.”

He did. Below them, Receiving moved under fluorescent light: forklifts, pallets, painted floor lines, people who had no idea what the air inside the office had become.

“Show me where the display units are staged.”

“There,” Gareth said, pointing. “Beside seasonal returns.”

“Too visible.”

“It’s temporary.”

“It looks like clutter.”

“It is clutter.”

“Then move it. After we finish.”

Their reflections stood beside each other in the glass. Their bodies did not touch. Their reflections almost did.

Victoria saw him notice. “Hold eye contact when I correct you,” she said.

His breath stopped. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He turned from the glass and looked at her directly. There was no smile. No flirtation. No softness to make it harmless.

“I’m holding it,” he said.

“Yes,” Victoria said. “You are.”

A forklift horn sounded below. Neither of them moved.

“When I correct your work, Gareth, I am not diminishing you.”

“I know.”

“No. You are trying to know.”

His jaw tightened.

“You are very good at being useful,” she said.

He looked away.

“Eyes.”

Small command. Immediate obedience. Victoria inhaled once, as if his obedience had cost her something. There it was. She stepped back first. The space returned, but not enough.

“Move the display units to the east rack,” she said. “Send me the vendor packet after lunch. Include Morgan.”

“Yes.”

He should have left. Instead, he asked, “Do you correct everyone this way?”

Victoria went still. For one second, he saw the answer before she buried it.

“No.”

A very long pause, then Gareth nodded and turned for the door.

“Gareth.”

He stopped.

Victoria stood behind her desk, one hand near the underside where he knew the switch was hidden.

“You did well with the documentation.”

Professional sentence. Dangerous delivery.

“Thank you.”

Her fingers moved. The glass darkened. Below, the warehouse vanished behind reflection. From inside, Gareth could still see everything. From outside, no one could see in. Victoria looked at him through the changed room.

“Close the door properly on your way out.”

He glanced back. “It’s already closed.”

“I know.”

He understood enough. Gareth opened the door, stepped into the hall, then pulled it closed until the latch clicked cleanly into place.

A small correction. A ritual, maybe, before either of them could call it one.

Downstairs, Bobby was kneeling beside his clipboard, collecting fallen papers.

“Don’t ask,” Bobby said.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“It exploded.”

“It’s a clipboard.”

“Come on, you know… It has emotional regulation issues.”

Gareth handed him one sheet.

Bobby squinted. “You look weird again.”

“I do not.”

“You look like someone gave you homework and you’re happy about it.”

Gareth moved past him. “East rack needs clearing.”

“See? Homework.”

Near the maintenance corridor, Morgan stood staring at the grey door Sage had gone through earlier.

Gareth slowed. “Find them?”

“No.”

“Door locked?”

“Yes.”

“Camera?”

“Blind spot.”

Of course. Morgan looked at him. “What did Kavanagh want?”

“Display units.”

“That all?”

The lie should have been easy because it was technically true. Gareth looked toward the mezzanine. The office glass was dark.

“She corrected me,” he said.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”

“I am.”

“No,” Morgan said. “You’re controlled. That’s not always the same thing.”

Then she walked away. The PA crackled overhead. This time, there was almost a word inside it. Almost. Gareth looked toward the maintenance door. Nothing.

Then he looked up. Behind the darkened glass, Victoria was only a shape. But he knew she was there.

And worse, he knew she knew he had looked.