Carmichael Industries had seen its fair share of unusual meetings since we opened the doors: city contracts, classified analysts, even the odd frantic CIA courier. But nothing — nothing — prepared me for this.
I sat at the head of the sleek glass conference table, trying to look professional. Across from me sat Jeff Barnes and Lester Patel, both squeezed into second-hand suits that smelled faintly of mothballs and despair. Lester had popped his collar like he thought he was auditioning for a bad 80s cop show. Jeff looked half-asleep, sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose.
And between them, smiling like a proud father, was Morgan.
"Gentlemen," I began carefully. "Thank you for… coming in today."
Lester leaned forward dramatically. "No, thank you, Charles. At last, a man of vision willing to give Jeffster a real chance to shine."
Jeff bobbed his head slowly. "We are the future."
I closed my eyes for a moment. Why do I let Morgan talk me into these things?
"Alright," I said, forcing a smile. "Let's start simple. Why do you want to work at Carmichael Industries?"
Lester clasped his hands like a preacher. "Because destiny demands it. You need boldness, brilliance, creativity—two untamed spirits who refuse to be shackled by the mundane. Jeffster."
Jeff added, "And free coffee."
"Right." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "And what skills do you two bring to the table?"
Jeff raised a hand. "Endurance. I once stayed awake for four days on NyQuil and expired Red Bull."
Lester's eyes glinted. "Leadership. Vision. The ability to inspire fear and awe in equal measure. Also, karaoke."
Morgan leaned in. "They're actually kind of amazing under pressure, Chuck. Like when the frozen-food truck at the Buy More caught fire? Jeff put it out with beer, and Lester organized a bucket line. They saved the store."
Jeff shrugged. "Also ruined taco night."
I sighed. "Okay. Let's… fast-forward. What jobs are you applying for?"
Lester smirked. "Executive management. Creative director, perhaps."
Jeff slouched deeper into his chair. "Vice president. Of naps."
I stared at them. "Uh-huh. Here's the thing: you don't get to choose. If you want a job here, you'll take what's open. And there's only one position available."
Jeff perked up. "Food tasters?"
Lester tilted his chin. "Head of strategy?"
"No." I leaned forward. "Parking attendants."
The silence was deafening.
"Parking attendant?" Lester repeated, scandalized. "Charles, we are visionaries. This is beneath us."
"Then walk out right now," I said firmly. "Because this is the deal. Take it or leave it."
Jeff scratched his chin. "Do we get food?"
"Yes," I said. "Everyone here gets a lunch meal. There's a cafeteria. You swipe your employee card, pick from the menu, and it comes out of your credits. One meal per day. No exceptions."
Jeff leaned back, relieved. "What kind of food?"
"Whatever's on the board. Don't push it."
Lester raised a finger. "And if I desire… more than one entrée?"
"Then you use your paycheck," I snapped. "Now listen carefully. You are not allowed inside the building. The only time you step foot past the lobby is for your lunch break. That's it."
Lester scoffed. "This is oppression."
I ignored him. "You mess up, you get a strike. Three strikes, you're out. No appeals, no second chances. Got it?"
Jeff yawned. "What about naps?"
I locked eyes with him. "No naps, Jeff. This isn't the Buy More. You nap on duty, you're gone."
Jeff frowned. "Brutal."
"Fair," Lester muttered.
Morgan looked back and forth between us, eyes wide. "So… does that mean they're hired?"
I let out a long breath. "Yes. God help us all, yes. Welcome to Carmichael Industries. You're on parking duty, starting tomorrow."
Jeff pumped a fist weakly. "Free lunch."
Lester adjusted his tie, dignity mostly imaginary. "Fine. We accept your terms. But one day, Charles, history will see this as the beginning of the Jeffster era."
I muttered under my breath. "More like the beginning of my ulcer…"