At my boss’s barbecue, her husband’s intense stares made my skin crawl.
Then he walked up and whispered, “Meet me behind the house in 10 minutes.” I played along and was stunned to discover he thought we were having an affair. But then he showed me proof: months of messages — from “me!”
The smell of grilled meat and sweet barbecue sauce filled the air as I walked through Jill’s front gate.
It was my first company barbecue since starting the job three months ago, and I had to admit, my boss knew how to throw a party.
The late summer sun cast long shadows across her perfectly manicured lawn, where my still-unfamiliar coworkers lounged in camp chairs, paper plates balanced on their knees.
“Liz! You came!” Jill waved from her spot by the grill, spatula in hand.
She wore a bright yellow apron that said “Queen of the Grill” in sparkly letters.
It matched her personality perfectly: bold, warm, and a little extra. In my short time at the company, she’d already proven to be the best boss I’d ever had.
I weaved through the crowd, accepting a beer from Tom in accounting (one of the few names I’d managed to remember) and dodging Karen from HR’s attempts to rope me into a conversation about her latest MLM scheme.
The food looked amazing: burgers sizzling on the grill, potato salad gleaming with fresh dill, and what looked like Sandra’s famous seven-layer dip that I’d heard so much about.
“Perfect timing,” Jill said as I reached her. “The second batch is almost ready.
How are you settling in?”
“Everyone’s been so welcoming,” I replied, grabbing a paper plate. “By the way, those quarterly reports you wanted are almost done.”
Jill laughed. “No work talk!
This is a party.” She flipped a burger with practiced ease. “Oh, my husband Mark just got home.”
I followed her gaze to where a tall man was walking through the gate.
Someone had mentioned he worked as a financial advisor and usually came late to these things, caught up in client meetings.
He looked exactly like what you’d expect of a financial advisor: crisp button-down, neat haircut, responsible-looking watch.
A photographer from the marketing team was snapping candid shots of the party for the company newsletter. Mark walked over to Jill, wrapping her in a warm hug as the camera clicked away.
The story doesn’t end here –
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