Back when he still lived in a different part of New York City, Shiro Yoshida used to take the subway to work. The natural commuter that he was (well, which Japanese wasn't?), he was quick to learn the system and the routes and could soon ride the underground trains like it was just second nature to him.
But having moved to Salem Center, his route had changed and to take the subway will be to go farther than he's meant to. He'd weighed the options between that and the bus and they pretty much made him pay twice for more inconvenience. Since then, the taxi has become his best friend in the morning on his way to work and in the afternoon on his way home. It was a little too expensive for his tastes but he did figure that considering he pretty much had a free lodging and didn't shoulder all the expenses of the mansion, it very well worked the same for him.
It was almost a forty minute travel from North Salem to White Plains and usually, he'd ask the driver to drop him in front of a Starbucks Coffee Shop where he'd buy his favorite Yukon Blend and sometimes, his breakfast take-out (though he hadn't done that since having broken his thumb). From there, he'd walk a few more blocks over to his workplace -- a 12-storey building neighbored by several higher structures along the main street.
Only of course, his company didn't own the entire building.
It concerned matters of business associates and whatnot -- something he hadn't wanted to really understand but after years of being with his job, it was inevitable. For his luck, though, and even if he usually used the elevator anyway (unless he was really late, then he'd take to dashing through the stairs all the way to the fifth floor which left his legs much to desire), his company concerned only the lower half.
Inside, there was space for everyone and everything and the walls and floors were always kept white and bright like in a hospital. Some of the employees stayed in cubicles lined neatly somewhere in the middle of the office space and surrounded by windows and doors to individual offices. The roof was around twelve to fifteen feet off the floor with arrays of fluorescent lights shaped like half logs. This design went on for two floors.
Stepping pass the glass doors, Sheila the Receptionist was the first to greet him from her desk and he flashed her his morning smile as he waved at her with his bad hand before sliding the latest TIME Magazine and The New York Daily News off her counter, back pack slung over his shoulder and Starbucks held by his better hand. The same greeting was pretty much given to everyone he'd passed on his way to his office though sometimes mixed with the usual reports that some deliveries have arrived or someone was looking for him and whatnot.
His office didn't look very much like a fantastic or boring office at all. Awards and various certificates were framed by a counter desk behind him under a massive whiteboard with a chart of deliveries and ink in blue and red -- some of the notes were in Japanese, everyone figured these were his personal opinions on work. His desk was decorated with sporadic pictures of him with family or friends, some post-its, the ubiquitous paperwork and a desk calendar with various dates encircled.
He dropped his backpack down the floor as he went around his desk and slid it under with his foot; he sat down his office chair and dragged it towards his mahogany desk. Coffee was set aside and magazine and newspaper on his desktop so that he began to flip through TIME in search for that article he had failed to finish reading back in the mansion, head rested on the palm of his right hand...too distracted to hear the footsteps coming into his office.
Or anticipate that slapping of a letter right in front of him.
The paper came along with a hand with a golden ring and from what he could read, it was a notice of delay.
Delay.
Hand detached itself from his head as Shiro looked at it with cautious alarm, "What is this?"
"What do you think is it?"
"It's a letter, but why am I reading this?" now he looked up to the brunette standing before him. "What won't arrive?"
"You tell me," said the 40-something year old Brooke as she sighed and stepped back, flicking a loose lock off her face which was starting to find its wrinkles. "I thought you said you guys had a very clear discussion? C'mon now, Shiro, how clear is that 'clear', really?"
"As clear as I can make it clear! This is impossible, I specifically told Jake Monday morning."
"Oh but you did forget to state the date, didn't you? For all you know, he could be sending the deflector next Monday morning or the following Monday morning," throwing her hands she added, "Now what am I going to tell Mr. Campbell when he comes later?"
"Hey, don't talk like that, this is both our problem, Brooke."
"Nuh uh, this was your problem to begin with." She frowned at him, "If you'd done your job well, you wouldn't have to deal with a notice of delay or I wouldn't have to think of some cheap alibi to Mr. Campbell!"
"Brooke, just calm down," Shiro said slowly and sighed, brushing his locks up and off his face. "We'll think of something, okay?" he heard her growl and could imagine her resting all her weight on a leg and holding her hips by her hands -- she always did that whenever she was frustrated, irritated, impatient or, well, angry. For a long time, he just stared at the notice he received and read it over and over again as though it was going to help him decide.
Really, this was not his idea of a Monday morning.
"When is Mr. Campbell coming over?"
"Eleven o'clock AM."
The way he tossed a wide gaze at her easily told Brooke his shock and she eventually just threw her hands up and turned to leave, "I'm just going to think of another alibi and hope we don't lose him, okay?"
"What? No, Brooke, wait!" even if he'd called her, though, she wouldn't turn and give him her ear, again. Shiro hissed something foul through his teeth and scrambled out of his desk in an attempt to chase her. He called her again, right hand snatching his phone from its holster on his belt as he began to scout for Jake's number on his list.
Lo and behold, he was actually the last person he'd called.
"Brooke!" he caught her just before she was about to step inside her office, pressing the phone on his ear as though to show her that he was actually doing something about it. "Brooke, listen, you don't have to do that. We still have three hours before Mr. Campbell arrives and--"
"Hello?"
"Jake" everyone practically threw a glance to Shiro when he exclaimed that name and he winced as he gestured for Brooke to stay where she was, watching her cross her arms over her chest and begin tapping her foot on their tiled floor. "Jake, hi! It's Shiro."
"Shiro, hey!" and Jake seemed a little happy he called. Shiro almost groaned at this, "What's up?"
"Oh you know, the deflector we were supposed to have today? We talked about it just last Thursday, didn't we?"
"Oh yeah! But I sent in a fax, did you get that? I said--"
"Yes, I got it and no, I am not buying your reason that you suddenly lacked stocks and the next delivery comes two days from now," by the time he was shooting these words over the phone, he was already on his way back to his office where he decided everyone won't be watching him argue with a supplier. Well truth be told, he wasn't much for this kind of 'rough negotiations' and preferred things to be simple and easy even when bargaining for prices.
But sadly some people -- actually most of his suppliers -- didn't see things the way he does.
"Jake, you can't do this to me, you can't keep doing this to me," he pasted his bad hand on his face, cutting the man on the other line off as he leaned against his shut office door. "Our agreement was Monday morning and you told me you still have enough stock left for us. Now what, are we supposed to tell our client our supplier failed to meet our deal again?"
"C'mon, Shiro, relax! It's just one client, isn't it?"
His bad hand promptly dropped as he stared at the sky scraper standing a few meters off his window. "Just one client," he repeated in slight disbelief. "Well, that's true it's just one heavy client. And see, you have to remember that we're one of your biggest clients and if we lose this client, you're going to have to look for a new buyer."
"...what?"
"Yes, Jake, I'm being serious," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. And boy, was Shiro glad he was talking to him over the phone and not in personal. He didn't have to put on an angry face, he never thought he was good at doing that. "Listen, you don't want this to happen as much as I don't. So let's meet in between, right? We're just asking for one deflector, after all..." when no response came, he said, "Jake, tell me, why did you lie about the stocks?"
"I didn't lie about the stocks, man! I swear, when I told you we could still accomodate your order, I was sure of it! Then when I got back to the office, they told me we didn't have any more deflectors and the next delivery comes in two days."
"And you didn't call me."
"...well..."
There was an audible thud that came from where Shiro connected his head to the wall. He muttered, "I can't believe this is happening to me..."
When his door opened and he started jogging past the cubicles, everyone seemed to have stood up to watch him call Brooke, again, and knock on her door with his good fist. It almost seemed like a noontime drama show where the protagonist was about to discover something insanely shocking or at least, insanely shocking to the script.
A disgruntled Brooke opened the door.
"Um," clearing his throat, he said, "Listen, I've figured out a way to save our asses but I need you to call Mr. Campbell and tell him to delay his arrival until...maybe three PM!" when that didn't seem to be a satisfactory suggestion, he watched Brooke slam the door before him and he pressed his lips together tight.
Things are, of course, not going as well as he'd hoped they would. Suddenly, he started wondering why he was still in this job.