Margaret Robyn Tanner was always the kind of woman who wore herself well, which, Mordecai figured, was one of the short list of reasons for her great success. She was intimidating, cunning, beautiful, and never took 'no' for an answer. If business was war, Margaret was a walking arsenal. Perhaps the only thing sharper than her attire was her impeccable talent at being one of the most shrewd businesspeople in the city, perhaps in the state.
Maybe that was why Mordecai's palms were always sweating whenever he went to meet with her.
He stood in the elevator, watching the numbers count higher and higher as he felt his stomach sunk lower and lower. He was nervous, as he had every right to be. Even for a guy as straight laced as he was, there's not a person alive who meets with Margaret Tanner and doesn't feel at least a twinge of anxiety.
A bell chimed, signaling his arrival, and he cleared his throat as the bronze elevator doors slid open. Black, well-shined shoes strode against plush carpet as Mordecai approached the receptionist's desk. The young woman glanced up at him from over her spectacles, then smiled sweetly when she recognized him.
"Hello, Mordecai," said Eileen.
"Hey, Eileen. I'm here to meet with Marg-I mean, Ms. Tanner," replied Mordecai, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and producing a card. "I have an appointment. 4:30."
"She'll be just a moment; her 4 o'clock is running a bit long," said the mole, subtly motioning her head to the closed double doors. "But you're more than welcome to have a seat, if you'd like. It should only be a few minutes." "Sure thing."
More waiting. Great. As if the blue jay wasn't nervous enough.
He sank into one of the two black Herman-Miller armchairs, next to the matching couch, folding his hands in his lap.
"Would you like something to drink?" Eileen asked from the desk. "Coffee? Some water? Maybe something a little stronger?" She winked at him, and Mordecai chuckled reluctantly.
"Uh... no, thank you," he said, then refocused his attention on trying not to look completely terrified. Even after spending four years in business college together, he still had trouble masking his apprehension around Margaret. He wondered why he even still bothered trying to.
The minutes dragged on for an eternity. Five minutes... fifteen minutes... twenty minutes. When Mordecai pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to glance at his watch for what he felt to be the millionth time, the tall, oak double doors suddenly swung open, revealing the slender dark frame of Margaret between them. She wore a black form-fitting skirt that was cut above the knee and a matching blazer set off by a white, high collared shirt. She looked stunning, as usual.
"Mordecai," she said, her strong voice echoing through the waiting room, "Sorry for keeping you waiting for so long." The blue jay stood, adjusting his silk tie, and she strode over to him, shoulders back and arm outstretched.
"Heh, no worries," he stammered, his mouth dry, as Margaret took his hand and gave it a firm shake.
"Well, I'll make it brief. I'm sure you've places to be, as do I," she said, turning and walking back toward her office doors. Mordecai quickly followed behind her. As he entered her office, Margaret turned to close the double doors behind them. "Oh, Eileen?"
"Yes, Ms. Tanner?" The mole looked up at her boss, awaiting instruction.
"Please call and let Mr. Angel know that we're still on for dinner at 8:30," she said.
"Right away, Ms. Tanner," replied Eileen, picking up the phone receiver on her desk and beginning to dial as Margaret shut the office doors. The robin turned to face Mordecai, who was standing around awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.
"So... who's Mr. Angel?"
"It's not important. Please, have a seat," she said, motioning a hand to the two black armchairs situated in front of the desk. Mordecai sat, trying his best to look comfortable as Margaret strode over to a tall, wooden cabinet at the far end of the room. "What do you drink?"
"Well, I really don't" Mordecai began, glancing over just as the cabinet doors were pulled open, revealing shelves stocked with fine amber liquors and aged wines. She was looking at him expectantly, and he knew that he wasn't going to be leaving that office without having a drink. "Uh, I'll... have whatever you're having."
"Very well," she replied, a vague smirk tracing her beak. She turned away again, and Mordecai let out a mental sigh of relief at the bullet he seemingly dodged. He gazed over the desk and out the window, where the city extended far into the horizon.
"Hell of a view," he said to the tune of ice clinking against glass. "You can practically see the whole city from here."
"I don't really notice," Margaret replied flatly, pouring amber liquid into two matching crystal tumblers.
"Oh... well, I guess, you would get pretty used to it after a while," the blue bird said, clearing his throat, only to find a short glass full of liquor and ice suddenly drop into his field of vision. He straightened himself up and took his drink. "Thanks."
"Whiskey on the rocks," she said, more to herself than to him, taking a sip from her own glass. She leaned against the front edge of her desk, facing Mordecai. "Father spoiled me on it. I guess I'm just as old fashioned as he was."
Mordecai took a drink of whiskey, swallowing it awkwardly. "Your father."
Sharp eyes glanced down at him, and Mordecai could feel himself shrink in his chair.
"So what brings you here, Mordecai?" The calmness in her voice wasn't doing much to help his anxiety. She set her glass down on her desk and looked him over, arms folded.
"Well, ah," he began, shifting about in the chair and putting on his best business voice. "My employer was hoping to, uh, get in contact with you... about, um..."
"Let me guess," she cut him off, looking almost amused. "Maellard thought he could send you down here to sweet-talk me into accepting that... 'acquisition' of his. Cute, but it's not going to work." She stood, circling around the end of her desk and sitting in the large armchair on the other side. Mordecai looked confused.
"A... Acquisition? I'm not following."
"Well, it's no secret that Maellard & Maellard has been trying to get a hold of my father's company for ages."
"Yeah, but... I don't think that he'd send ME to-"
"Don't insult my intelligence, Mordecai," Margaret answered, her eyes suddenly steely. "You've only been working under Maellard's banner for the last two years-I've been a part of Tanner Enterprises for over two decades."
Mordecai suddenly became very aware of how much he was starting to sweat.
"My father may be gone, but he worked hard to make this company what it is. I'll be damned if I'm going to let a decrepit old fart like Maellard take all that away."
The blue jay stared into his drink. "I understand," he said. "Your father, he... he was a good man. And a better businessman." He paused, taking a swig of his whisky to soothe his now-parched mouth and hoped it would come across as dramatic. "After his passing, I knew Maellard would stop at nothing to try and acquire the company from you."
"Is that so?" Margaret asked, reaching for her own glass and raising a thin eyebrow in intrigue.
Mordecai pulled a face. "He thinks that you're an easy target, because-"
"Because I'm a woman." She was now dangerously close to smiling.
"Right," Mordecai said, feeling the second-hand shame welling in his chest. "I didn't want to do it, but the old man insisted that I be the one to go... erm, sweet-talk you, as it were. I finally agreed to it just to get his ass to shut up, but I knew it wouldn't work."
"What makes you say that?" Margaret was now grinning into her whiskey glass.
"Maellard doesn't know you like I do."
"Mm, that's true," the robin mused, "but that still doesn't explain why you're here. Why you made an appointment with my secretary. Why you decided to see me, even though you already knew you'd be returning to Maellard empty-handed."
"Heh, well..." Mordecai face flushed slightly. "You know I hate being late for an appointment."
Margaret shook her head, still smiling. "You always were a terrible lair, Mordecai."
"I know..." he said. She had a horrible talent for turning him from hard-nosed businessman to bumbling idiot within seconds. He both hated and loved it. "I just haven't seen you since your father's funeral six months ago."
"Seven."
"What?" Mordecai looked up. She was no longer smiling.
"It was seven months ago. Seven months from... last week, I believe."
"Oh," he said solemnly, his gaze dropping back to the floor. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," said Margaret. "But you're right-it has been too long since we last saw one another." She polished off her drink and set it back down onto her desk. "In fact, what are your plans tomorrow evening? We could get together and catch up over dinner."
Mordecai felt his breath catch. "Uh, y-yeah, sure. Tomorrow evening sounds great. Definitely."
"Good." In one swift motion she presented a touchscreen tablet computer and, after a few taps and swipes of her thin feathered fingers, she put it away again. "I'll meet you at the Golden Idol Bistro at 8. I hope you like Asian fusion."
"Of course," Mordecai replied, as he fumbled with his own smart-phone, realizing that he had no idea what the phrase "Asian fusion" even meant. "Eight it is, then."
"I look forward to it," she said, rising from the table. She extended a hand again. "While I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our meeting short, it was good to see you again, Mordecai." He stood as well, meeting her hand with his.
"You too... Margaret," he replied, giving her hand a polite shake. He smoothed his tie and jacket with his free hand. "Thank you for the drink."
She smiled. "Thank you for the company. I'll see you tomorrow night." He smiled back then turned to leave. She watched him, arms folded, as he opened the door, and then spoke up again. "Oh, and Mordecai?"
He looked at her.
"Tell that old fucker Maellard that if he expects me to hand over my father's company, he's got another thing coming." Mordecai laughed, somewhat uncomfortably.
"I'll tell him. Maybe in not so many words, but I'll tell him." He waved, then exited, closing the door behind him.
Margaret exhaled. "Another thing coming, indeed."
She circled around to the other side of her desk, pressing a button on the small, black intercom. She paused, looking down and pulling a face. "Miss Eileen?"
"Yes, Miss Tanner?" replied the secretary through the speaker.
"I need to order a new Persian rug. I seem to have made a mess of my 4 o'clock," Margaret said, gazing at the bloodied and partially mutilated body of a businessman at her feet. His eyes were wide and mouth agape, frozen in an expression of terror. She sighed. "Damn shame. I really liked this rug..."