What the Budget Bought

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

"I had Finance release that money yesterday. What scheme is it this time? How big a surprise are we talking?"

I raised an eyebrow and wrote back.

"Guaranteed memorable."

Aunt Victoria came back with a ten-second voice message, brisk and amused.

"With a promise like that, I'm assuming there'll be lobster and oysters. Maybe all the spoiling I've done wasn't wasted after all.

"Fine. I'll push another dinner and come taste this surprise of yours tomorrow, spend a little time with your team."

Hearing that crisp, capable laugh, my mouth twisted.

Turn thirty thousand dollars into three hundred, and let my chairwoman aunt see with her own eyes how fat one of her parasites had gotten. How was that not a surprise?

I sent her a salute emoji. The second I set the phone down, Derek Pritchard leaned over my desk.

"What are you spacing out for? Did you get all that or not?"

He rapped his knuckles on the desk and held forth, spit flying.

"Making it yourself is cheap. There's got to be chicken and fish, right? Put the braised pork on there, the steamed crab. Everybody's busted their tail all year, so make sure there's plenty."

"Derek, three hundred dollars for twenty people is going to be--"

"Don't stand there dithering."

Derek cut me off, impatient, all big-brother swagger.

"I checked prices. Half-pound blue crabs go for five bucks each. Twenty of them is a little over a hundred. Pork belly's a few dollars a pound. Three hundred's more than enough."

That got a laugh out of me.

It was the dead of winter. What decade sold live, meaty crabs for five dollars apiece? Was he buying dead ones? Empty shells?

Never mind that he wanted bottomless entrees for twenty adults, plus beer and soda. Three hundred barely covered meat.

He was flat out telling me to eat the difference so he could look like a big man.

When I didn't answer, Derek's face darkened and he tacked on one more thing.

"And company hours are for creating value for the company. Do the shopping and the prep on your own time after work. Don't let it cut into the day.

"Whatever's left over, call it compensation for your trouble. I keep track of these things."

Wow.

So I was supposed to cook him a four-course dinner off the clock and thank him for the opportunity?

"No problem, Derek."

I nodded, steady, eyes earnest.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure that three hundred buys the best value out there."

"That's more like it."

Derek gave me a sidelong look and strolled back to his office with his hands behind his back.

Well, then. The manager wanted showstopper dishes. As his employee, I had to deliver.

As for where those dishes came from...

I placed one enormous order on the spot, sticking to local sellers, and loaded up several cases of shelf-stable meal pouches.

Braised pork pouches, a dollar fifty a bag. Spicy crab-flavored blocks, two fifty a bag. Frozen bargain chicken legs, a dollar twenty-five apiece.

The seller swore he'd run the delivery himself the next day, guaranteed, enough to fill every stomach or he'd eat the loss.

Mystery chemicals and industrial shortcuts, arriving right alongside the diarrhea and the stomach cramps.

Once that order went through, I felt fantastic.

So he was my manager. So what? He tried to play me for an idiot and squeeze money out of me. Did I look that spineless?

Still smirking, I ducked into the grocery store after work, planning to treat myself to something good.

Derek's messages followed me like a tick I couldn't get off.

"Dylan, how's the shopping? Everything's got to be fresh. Pick live crabs, don't try to pass off dead ones on people.

"Get pork belly with good layers, and hang on to the receipts. The company isn't reimbursing you, but I still want to see the line items.

"Where are you at with this? Send me a picture, now."