“That’s understandable, with what you’ve been through. You’ll be back in shape in no time.” Cathy smiled and patted Sheila’s arm.
Having changed into a clean, dry T-shirt, Mark came over and stood by Cathy and Sheila. “Anyone ready for a beer?”
Jim piped up, “Sounds good! Dinner’s nearly ready, too.”
“Oh, can you hold Aaron for a minute while I get the salad?” Cathy handed the child to Sheila before she had a chance to answer.
Aaron looked at Sheila, then over to where his mother had gone, then back to Sheila. His face started to contort into a pre-tantrum pout. To Sheila’s relief, Cathy set the salad on the picnic table, returned and scooped him up before his mood disintegrated.
Mark set a propane lantern at the center of the picnic table where the salad and settings waited, then put a cold can of beer out for each of them. Jim brought the steaks and corn.
After everyone served themselves, Jim raised his beer. “To good friends, and to Mark’s new job with the infamous OneMarket! When do you start?”
“Monday. Then the fun begins. Looks like it’ll be pretty challenging.”
“I’m sure you’ll do well,” said Cathy. “You always do.”
“They made a big deal in the interview—and the acceptance call—about how demanding the work will be. Guess I’ll know more soon enough.”
Mark’s tone worried Sheila. He’d built an excellent reputation throughout his career. He’d always been confident of his abilities, often even cocky. This time, it didn’t sound like he thought the job would work out, or that he even wanted it to.
To Sheila’s relief, the conversation soon moved on to other topics. They laughed and talked like the old friends they were, then went to sit by the fire in the twilight. After a while, Cathy got up and carried a sleeping Aaron into their trailer.
Sheila leaned over to Mark. “Wanna turn in? I’m kinda tired.”
“Sure. Hey, Jim, we’re gonna call it a night.”
“OK. I’ll put out the fire. I bet Cathy’s fallen asleep in there with Aaron anyway. Good night!”
Sheila slipped her arm around Mark’s waist as they walked to their tent, tucked between their 4Runner and an enormous spruce tree. He unzipped the front flap and they crawled inside, where their sleeping bags and pads were already set up.
Mark switched on a small battery-powered lantern at one corner of the tent and zipped the door shut behind them. He turned to her, half his face lit by the small lamp, the other half in darkness. “It’s good to have you back,” he said softly.
Sheila marveled at the power of the tent’s thin nylon to seal out the worries and distractions of daily life, forming a nexus that held only what was essential. She studied Mark’s face in the half-light, and felt their connection returning. She stretched out her hand, stroking the dark stubble along his jaw. She reached farther, cupping the back of his head, and pulled him toward her. Then she kissed him, lightly at first, savoring the feel of his lips.
In the past months, she’d been so consumed with her father’s illness that the few times they’d made love, it had felt like she’d been under anesthesia. So distant, cold, and trivial. Even now, it felt like Mark was holding back, being tentative with her.
She opened her mouth, ran her tongue along his lips, teasing, until he began to stroke her tongue with his. Her nerve endings awoke, demanding that she consume him, that she be consumed by him.
Sheila grappled for the light, switched it off. She stripped off her clothes a piece at a time, hampered by being unable to stand up in the tent. “C’mon. You, too,” she urged in a low, throaty voice.
As she waited for him to struggle out of his clothes, Sheila sat back on her lower legs. There was no moon, so she could only track his progress by the sound of his rustling. Then it was silent. She waited in the darkness, and then felt his hands at her back, pulling her toward him. She felt his tongue, lingering here, skipping there, pressing, backing off. She held back a groan in case Jim was still out. She reached out a hand, spread her fingers wide apart, and lightly traced down Mark’s chest, to his hard, flat belly. She could feel how taut he was, how ragged his breathing had become, and it urged her on. She reached lower, taunting him with her fingers as he was taunting her with his tongue.
Impatient, Sheila took Mark by the shoulders and pushed him down onto his back in the tangle of sleeping bags. She lowered herself onto him, slowly at first, then without restraint.
Afterwards, she pulled Mark close, creating a little cocoon of warmth between them. As they pressed together skin to skin, she whispered in his ear, “It’s good to be back.”
CHAPTER 5
Mark arrived at his orientation a full fifteen minutes early, dressed in his interview suit to insure the best possible first impression. He filed into the designated room and sat in the front row, alone. He smiled to himself. Good, first one here.
He’d spent the weekend struggling to adjust his attitude. Cline’s ominous remarks bothered him less than the thought of working for a man like Harris—though he was unlikely to have to deal with him firsthand. If he could ignore who signed his paychecks and just deposit them…they could repair their finances and move on. Mark resolved to do his best and get out in as few years as possible.
Mark turned and appraised the smallish room. Three rows of five hard plastic chairs apiece. Not intended for comfort, that’s for sure. Orientation would probably be a get-to-the-point and get-to-work deal. The walls were plain, simply painted off-white. At the front was a white screen for projection and an oak podium. At the back was a long dark table bearing about a dozen small stacks of paper, each topped with a business-sized envelope.
As he wondered what was in the envelopes, other new hires drifted in and seated themselves, filling most of the chairs. None appeared to know each other; no one spoke. All appeared apprehensive. Or was he projecting his feelings onto total strangers?
At precisely 8:30 AM, a tall, striking young woman strode in and stationed herself behind the podium. Her bearing portrayed confidence and authority. She wore a trimly tailored gray tweed pantsuit with black stiletto heels. Her pale blonde hair was pulled into a sleek pony tail. She cleared her throat once, paused to insure she had everyone’s attention, then began.
“Welcome to OneMarket Services. I’m Toni Hanson, Manager of New Recruits. I report to Fred Cline, whom you’ve all met by now. I’m responsible for helping you acclimate to OneMarket during your first year. You should feel free to contact me with any questions or concerns you may have—all confidential, of course.”
She looked like she worked for Cline. Same crisp, bloodless appearance. Mark tried to focus on what she had to say, though he had a hard time ignoring the waves of cold he could almost feel radiating from Ms. Hanson.
“We want you to have long and rewarding careers here. But to be honest, though we select only the best, only the very best will succeed. The work is challenging, the demands are extreme. But in return, we reward our employees lavishly.” She continued, describing the compensation and benefits.
Yep, heard that before. Go ahead and drop the other shoe now. What else am I in for?
“You will be issued two state-of-the-art computers: a desktop here, and a laptop with a wireless modem for home. We’ll also arrange installation of high-speed cable or DSL networks, and will cover the subscription costs. That way, if satellite communications are disrupted, you won’t have to rely only on the wireless modem. You will also receive a new iPhone, so you’re never out of communication.”
Mark could feel the electronic collar and leash tightening already.
“You think of everything,” one of the new recruits muttered. Mark couldn’t tell if it was a failed attempt at humor, or an ill-conceived come-on to the chilly Ms. Hanson.
“Yes. We do.” Toni locked eyes with the recruit, but did not smile. Then she continued. “E-mail is a way of life here at OneMarket, far more so than at most companies. We expect you to monitor incoming e-mails during all waking hours.�
�� She paused, looking at each of the new recruits, as if daring them to react to her statement. No one moved or made a sound. “And to respond within an hour. Our success rests on being faster to respond than our competition. Much faster. And continual electronic connection with you is one of the key ways we accomplish this agility.”
Five years at the most. Then out. I can do this for five years. Mark could already tell he’d be repeating this mantra many, many times.
“We also expect you to pursue ongoing technical education—this is a constant effort expected over and above your other responsibilities. Another reason for our success is continuous learning. Our people simply know more than the competition.”
Toni stepped away from the podium, slouched slightly and slid her hands into her pockets, assuming a more casual posture. She could be your pal, your confidante, oh yes. She softened her voice. She’d obviously practiced this part of her speech quite carefully, and took care to make eye contact with each recruit in turn.
“You may find all these requirements daunting. We do try to mitigate the demands where we can. For example, once you qualify to take vacation after your first six months, it is time considered off-limits to OneMarket. When you’re on vacation, you have no responsibilities whatsoever, and we will not interrupt your time off.”
“We also provide key services on site for your convenience. We have a clinic right here. Exams and treatments conducted here are one hundred percent covered; no deductible. Medical care conducted elsewhere, except for emergencies or if you need a specialist, is not covered. If you elect dependent coverage, family members need not come here for their care. Specifics for their coverage are explained in your benefits booklet.”
She took her hands from her pockets and held them before her, palms up, to portray deep sincerity and concern for the recruits. “Rest assured that we want and need you to succeed as much as you want to succeed. If you find yourself getting behind, come to me or your manager before it becomes a problem. We will do everything possible to help you. Don’t be embarrassed to ask for help. I’ll also be in touch to schedule a checkpoint session with each of you after your first few months.”
Toni straightened, walked back to the podium, and returned to her prior cool demeanor, as if she’d never shed it. “You’ll each find an envelope on the table in back with your name on it. It contains your workstation location and access cards. So, does anyone have any questions?”
Silence. Each of the recruits sat solemn-faced.
“All right. Well, if you think of something later, e-mail me and I’ll get right back to you. My e-mail addy is included in your packet. Again, welcome aboard and good luck to all of you.”
Mark made his way to the back of the room to collect his envelope. It indicated his workstation was on Level 3, Section 13. He followed the others through the main lobby to the elevator banks.
The reception area’s calm, elegant atmosphere belied the corporate culture. Soft sunlight filtered down through a smoked-glass skylight. Numerous tropical plants and small trees were stationed throughout. A small, gray marble fountain graced the very center of the lobby, its trickling water a soothing backdrop sound. A little oasis.
The elevator came, and the new hires all shuffled in, looking uncertain and nervous. Mark got off at the third floor. A small map was posted outside the elevator bank, so he had no trouble locating Reyes’ glass corner office.
Jeff Reyes sat at his dark walnut desk, engrossed in something on his flat panel computer screen. Though uncluttered, his office held more warmth and life than had Cline’s. A tall, healthy ficus tree stood in the far corner of the room next to a small round conference table and four teal upholstered swivel chairs. To Reyes’ right, against the wall nearest his desk, was a bookshelf laden with nautical paraphernalia: scale models of sailboats, several gold-plated trophies, and pictures of a grinning Reyes accepting the awards. At least it looked like he got out once in a while. Cline looked like he never left his desk.
Mark knocked on the glass door. Reyes smiled and motioned him in, then came around to the front of his desk. His white shirt and dark slacks had the drape and sheen of the finest fabrics, and fit his trim frame as if custom-tailored.
“Great to see you, Mark. Orientation went OK, I trust? We’ve been shorthanded in this area for some time, so we’re thrilled to get someone with your qualifications. Let me show you your cube, then take you around to meet your new coworkers.” He warmly shook Mark’s hand.
As Reyes led him around, Mark noticed a hushed diligence about the employees. They all seemed very intent on their computer screens. Most of them had pictures of families, boyfriends or girlfriends on their desks, but few other non-work-related items. All of the cubes contained the latest in ergonomic chairs, wrist supports and other such devices. The lighting was perfect, just intense enough without glaring.
“And here’s Terry Simmons,” said Reyes as they turned into another aisle that looked just like the rest. “You’ll be working together to support OMTrade. Terry’s been here for a couple of years now, and knows the application quite well. It requires constant monitoring to ensure it meets stringent uptime standards. Also, new capabilities are continually being added as other exchanges join the customer base. Terry can fill you in on what’s happening and where you should start.”
“Good to meet you, Terry.”
Terry, a wiry man in his early 30s, briefly turned from his computer screen to peer at Mark through his wire-rimmed glasses. He extended his hand. “Good to meet you. OMTrade’s been expanding way faster than we originally thought, and there’s more than enough work for both of us. Mighty glad to see you.” He immediately turned back to his screen and closely examined several graphs.
“OK, Mark, your workstation is right here next to Terry’s. Your desktop computer is all set up, and your laptop and iPhone are waiting for you as well. Make yourself at home. Again, welcome.”
“Thanks, Jeff.” Mark shook his hand again, and wondered just what he had gotten himself into.
He sat down and adjusted the levers on his ergonomic chair. He listened, but heard barely a sound around him. They must have been pumping in white noise to drown out the ambient sounds. Much more conducive to concentration than his last job. A job he’d loved for eight years—until it was outsourced.
What’s done is done, he reminded himself.
His cube had padded, grayish-plum upholstered walls, and lots of cabinet, shelf and drawer space. A small, sealed envelope addressed to him lay on his keyboard. He opened it. Inside were his network and PC passwords. A computer bag containing a laptop and iPhone sat on his desk. He switched on his desktop computer, logged on and launched the e-mail application. He already had mail.
Mark scanned the Inbox list. A welcome letter. An org chart. A list of intranet links for employee benefits and company information. And a non-disclosure form—marked Urgent. He opened it and read it carefully.
It was certainly comprehensive. Best he could tell, he couldn’t say much of anything to anyone about OneMarket’s services, products, practices, nothing—under penalty of termination. And the wording made it clear that termination would loom in his immediate future if he didn’t agree to it. He sighed and mouse-clicked his electronic signature.
“Hey, Mark?” Terry stood at his cube. “You ready to get going?”
“Sure. Where should I start?”
“Come over to my cube. I want to show you some things.”
Terry had no personal photographs on his desk at all, but he did have several electronic gizmos, like a twenty-four-hour desk clock with a digital barometer, and a small framed digital image of a lava lamp that continually morphed shape and color. He was certainly a geek.
His PC had several live graphs running on the flat-panel monitor, which he examined closely for a moment before speaking. Satisfied, he turned to Mark. “OK, I’m sure Reyes told you the basics about OMTrade. Up around the clock, supports equities trading worldwide.” He leaned back in his chair, took
off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “We’re like the global NASDAQ for the equities we handle. A number of countries’ exchanges have subscribed to the service, and more come online each quarter. This system has basically no downtime allowed. She’s up five nines.”
“Is the app pretty bulletproof, or is it fussy?”
“It’s been pretty good. Once in a while there’s a glitch, and you have to jump right on it. It’s been getting more difficult to support with more subscribers pounding on it. And I haven’t had a partner to share the load for a while.” Terry put his glasses back on.
“What happened?”
“Don’t really know. He did seem to have some trouble keeping up toward the end. Then one day he didn’t come in. Reyes said he quit, but I suspect they fired him. Happens around here. You gotta keep up, or you’re out.”
Though he wasn’t surprised, given OneMarket’s reputation, Mark still felt uneasy about replacing someone who’d likely been fired. His face must have betrayed his thoughts.
Terry said, “Hey, I’m sure you’ll do great. Your background is perfect. You just need to stay on top of this stuff, and we’ll be working together. You don’t have to do it all yourself. Here, let me show you the things I watch and why.” He turned back to the screen and zoomed in on one of the charts.
As Terry explained each of the items he monitored, Mark’s confidence returned. There was nothing technical he hadn’t dealt with before, and he had a partner to share the load on the extreme uptime requirements. This wouldn’t be so bad after all. He settled back in his chair and concentrated on Terry’s explanations.
CHAPTER 6
“Sit down, please.” Simon Harris motioned curtly to Jeff Reyes and Fred Cline, then seated himself behind his massive, antique oak desk. His spacious penthouse office was a monument to himself. One entire wall was smoked glass, commanding an expansive view of the OneMarket campus. The other walls were covered with honey-colored wood paneling. Numerous plaques and photos with dignitaries hung on the wall behind him, as if to remind visitors of his achievements and contacts.
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