6.25.25: Excerpt from "Return to Work"

Hey all! First taste of what I'm currently working on is below. Enjoy!

(side note-I promise all of my characters don't swear this much, but they DO say there's a correlation between intelligence and four-letter word usage).

Olsen Kawalski slammed the headset down, cheap plastic cracking as it bounced off the receiver and dangled suspended from the desk, coiled cord penduluming wildly back and forth. He made a noise somewhere in between a groan and a scream, muffling it with his hand in the confines of his small cubicle. After a moment to collect himself, he retrieved the headset and placed it back into the charger.

“Fucking figures,” he said. Whatever had broken meant it wasn’t charging anymore. He was going to have to call IT. He estimated a one in twenty chance that anyone would even answer, but if they did and came by, he estimated a twenty in twenty chance that they’d make him pay for it. He decided there was also a twenty in twenty chance that it was going to be a problem for another day.  He was almost sure he’d have enough juice to get through the day, even with the wildly aggressive number of phone calls he was expected to make. He peered over the small divider in front of his screen and saw Alan Trast, Amory Real Estate founder, looking directly at him through the glass wall of his office like a shark in an aquarium. Like he’d just been biding his time. Did the fucking guy never blink? Olsen gave a small awkward wave then lowered himself back into his chair.

Olsen had been at Amory just under six months now, which made him the third-most senior person on the sales team. As a real estate brokerage firm, their job was simple. Theoretically. Find companies looking for office space and match them with buildings and properties that had said office space. The problem that Olsen and his mostly now-unemployed colleagues had been running into was that while startups and growing companies were everywhere, space was sparce. Every agent got a list of small or up and coming companies, and it was their job to reach out to them and convince them that the eight thousand other brokers out there were rank amateurs and Amory Real Estate were nigh impugnable wizards in finding you ficus plants or ping pong tables or whatever the fuck else you wanted in your work space. 

Something chimed on Olsen’s desk. He adjusted his glasses and peered down at the instant message, which had been sent with High Importance.

“Guy with Two Last Names. My office.” From the high bastard himself. Olsen actually felt relieved. He stood, looking at the bright summer sun outside and the revelers who were starting happy hour early on the rooftop bar across the street. Warm weather meant sundresses and he wholeheartedly approved. Today was a good day to get fired. He walked swiftly into the glass office.

“Olsen. I’ll be blunt. Things aren’t looking great for you. How do you feel like it’s going?”

Olsen decided he wasn’t going to half-ass it.

“Mighty fucking abysmal, Alan,” he said. “But I don’t like quitting so I’ll keep at it,” he said. That should give Alan the hint to send him packing. At least he’d get unemployment.

“Straight to it. I love that. While I can’t argue with your assessment, we don’t exactly have a robust sales force right now,” he said.

“Hard to maintain headcount when everyone gets fired,” Alan concurred. He was surprised he hadn’t been asked to leave yet at this point in the conversation.

Alan tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Candid but correct again, Two Names. I’ve also noticed your call numbers are blowing the others out of the water.”

Olsen nodded, unsure where this was going. After a week on the job, he’d waited on a Friday night until his two roommates were good and passed out, then downloaded both of their contact lists without them knowing. They’d all been strangers when they moved in so Olsen figured there would be minimal overlap and he’d get two full unique lists of numbers. Marty had made a comment just last week that he’d talked to three different people recently who’d been getting calls from unknown numbers where there was just excessive heavy breathing on the other end. Olsen had agreed that was passing strange.

“Long story short, I have to keep someone around until we get some new people in here,” said Alan. “If you’re still sucking wind once the new hires are settled, adios.”

Olsen was dumbfounded and must have looked it.

“What are you waiting for? Jesus!” said Alan, gesturing towards the cubicles outside.

He walked out of Alan’s office, unsure of what had happened, growing more upset as he thought about another month at Amory. He’d never been more upset to have missed out on being let go.

That changed when he got back to his desk. A red light was pulsing on his phone, indicating he had an incoming call. He made a couple noises to warm his vocal cords and prime his Bad Asian accent, which was his go-to when one of the stolen contacts actually called back.

“We busy! Hold please! Then I take order!” he said.

“Is this Olsen? With Amory? This is Micah Deram at the 300 Wacker building”.

“Oh.” Shit. This was unexpected.  “Sorry. Someone else picked up my phone.”

“That’s OK. Got a second?”

Olsen scrambled to grab a pen. “Absolutely. Shoot. You said it was Micah, right?”

“Yep. D-E-R-A-M on the last name. I’ve got a buddy from college that works for an up-an-coming biotech company. They’re a kind of seat-of-the-pants organization.” Olsen looked around at the converted warehouse he was currently sitting in and nodded. “Anyway, my guy got put in charge of finding them a new piece of real estate to set up shop and he reached out to me. This isn’t usually my day job over here, but I told him I’d find someone that could take care of it and I know I had a couple of voicemails from you. Something you’d be interested in?”

Olsen was scribbling furiously. He had zero recollection of leaving any messages for this Micah but a guy could hardly be expected to remember every  voicemail or call he made when he was blasting out a hundred dials a day to a pirated call list.

“Absolutely,” he said. He asked some questions about both the property and the company, then promised he’d reach out to the company in question which was apparently called NovaVax. He’d thought it sounded like what you’d call a He set the headset down with a much gentler touch this time and let out a whoosh of air. What were the chances? Did Marty have some old college bud that was climbing the corporate real estate ladder? Olsen decided he didn’t care either way leaned back in his chair, churning out some fist pumps that would’ve made Tiger proud.

He wheeled around in his chair away from his desk and came face to face with Alan who was standing silently a foot behind him.

“Bleagh!” he cried, falling out of his chair. He stood back up and turned to Alan.

“Can I help you?” Being civil seemed like it could be the move now that he had a deal lined up.

“Looked pretty excited there, Two Names. What happened?”

Olsen paused. The Amory sales force hadn’t exactly been going gangbusters, but he’d heard from some people that Alan loved to swoop in if he smelled a deal and take it for himself. That way, they’d said, he could claim they’d brought in no business when he fired them a month later. Olsen had scoffed, but these days it sounded like a pretty Alan thing to do.

“Was on my lunch,” he said. They were allowed to clock out for twenty minutes a day during their ten-to-twelve hour shifts. “Found out my application for a new apartment got approved. Can finally leave the randos I’ve been living with,” he said.

Alan looked at him for a moment. “Hope it’s an affordable apartment,” he said.

Then he walked away without another word.

“So fucking weird,” said Alan to himself. He finished up his notes and dialed the number for the contact at NovaVax.