by Luke Steel
Ray seems to sense it because his head does the full turn again. I wave at him, and jut my chin at Demi. “Well, glad to meet a new neighbor, always.” I look at Ray. “As for you, green eyed kitties should be more careful when they hiss and bite. You never know—someone might decide to bite you back.”
Demi laughs and bounces Ray on her shoulder, oblivious to my double meaning. “Sorry again about the damage. Please drop an invoice at my door. Like I said, should be no problem getting your sofa squared away soon. Remember 16C.”
“I’ll remember. See you soon.” Very soon.
I shut the door and survey the damage to the sofa.
Yeah, kitties everywhere are about to be put on notice.
2
Demi
They have got to be kidding. This is my office?
Even from this vantage point, I’m staring out at a breathtaking view, the Minneapolis skyline spread out beneath what they tell me is my new office window. I’m trying to play this off like it’s no big, but inside I’m doing cartwheels.
Regina, my HR manager, walked into the office ahead of me, her heels sinking into the thick navy-blue carpet as she points and gestures. “Your desk. Phone, laptop, dock and tablet have all been configured already—they open with your fingerprint.”
I’m still lurking in the doorway. I’m almost afraid to follow her in.
“We can arrange a standing desk for you, too, if you like. Anything to make your setup ergonomic, of course, just let us know. You’ll be spending long hours in here, I imagine, so we want to keep it comfortable. Look all right to you?”
“Well,” I say, “I think you forgot the hot tub and, maybe, eight holes of putt-putt golf. Are you sure this whole thing is for me?”
I meant the joke to be funny, but Regina just blinks at me.
I admonish myself, silently, to stop being so self-deprecating. Modesty plays as weakness in high pressure offices like these. “This is fine. More than. I’m very happy, thank you.”
“Excellent,” she breathes out, her cheerfulness a little scripted. “We don’t expect you to know just yet, but if you think of anything you need, you’ll dial my extension there. Welcome to Mangovan. I’ll leave you to settle in.”
“Thank you!” I say and try to sound gracious rather than grateful. This office is larger and more luxe than I expected a mid-level manager’s would be. The furniture is nondescript and clean lines, but the sleek glass atmosphere has me all kinds of impressed. I can’t believe this is my new life.
Regina is checking her tablet as she walks to the door when she pauses. “Oh, interesting,” she says, the android cheerfulness replaced by a lower, surprised tone.
“Sorry?” I ask.
She looks up at me, then back down at her tablet, verifying. “Well, it seems that our CEO, Mr. Mangovan, has put five minutes with him on your orientation schedule.”
The whirl of the morning grinds to an abrupt halt. “The Mr. Mangovan?” Technically I now work for the man—we all do—but I didn’t dream I would actually meet the guy face to face. This job is the highest rank and pay I’ve ever had, but I know I’m still too far down the totem pole for that.
Regina gives me a quick side-eye. “Well, there is only one Mr. Mangovan.” She goes back to scrolling through her tablet and her forehead creases. She seems truly puzzled. “Ok, well, let’s hustle you upstairs!”
“So…” Regina begins as she leads me across the wide office floor, “Are you connected somehow…?” she lets the sentence trail off as she flutters her hand upward, indicating the top floor.
I know the innocent tone is false and Regina is looking for some scuttlebutt.
“No, not that I know of.” That’s true at least. I smile at Regina. “You know how it goes. Friend of a friend made a work connection and voila, I’m here. But I don’t know anyone up there.” That seems to satisfy Regina, though she still seems puzzled about this meeting. I get the impression that five minutes with the company President isn’t exactly de rigueur for a new hire’s first day. Mangovan Companies has hundreds of employees, so I’d be very surprised to learn that the owner of the company meets with every single person who starts work for him.
I’m a little leery of repeating the name of my connection to Mangovan; after the article she wrote, Sheryl is likely persona non-grata to the people here.
My friend, Sheryl, is a columnist for The Sun. She is also the one who wrote the profile on my new boss in the paper. Sheryl and I go way back. We volunteered at the local animal shelter together when we were kids. She even owns the apartment I’m subletting—let me stay for a very reduced rent, otherwise there’s no way I could afford to live in such a place. I read her piece and now I have to go meet the man himself. I wonder what I’m in for. If she’d written the article before I was hired, I wonder if she would have worked so hard to get me in touch with HR here. The fact is that Gabriel Mangovan, the shady and notorious CEO and President of Mangovan companies, sounds formidable, maybe even a little cruel.
But now that I’m here, scary boss or not, this setup is everything I’ve wanted and worked for. As we leave my new office and go back through the small maze of open work spaces toward a massive bank of elevators, I’m struck by how surreal all this is. Country girl makes good is exactly the trajectory I’ve been working for since starting my MBA and graduating, but everything is new.
I feel good. Great. Amazing. This morning, standing on the heated bathroom floor in my new d-r-e-a-m apartment, getting ready for my very first day at my new job, I felt like I was getting suited up to jump out of an airplane. High up in the clouds over Minneapolis and a couple hundred miles from the nowhere town where I was stuck for so long and finally escaped, everything’s looking up, up and away!
Speaking of up, the steady rain of good fortune is falling from the general direction of the most delicious man I have ever met. I’ve dubbed him “Mister Upstairs.”
The doorman in my new building treats me like I’m the wayward house pet instead of Ray, and he smirked at me when I asked him why the elevator in the building doesn’t go higher than my floor when I know there are two more stories above mine. “Private residence” is what I got out of him, and then he told me there’s a separate elevator bank for those floors in a discrete side entrance. Very swank. Meaning, of course, that shirtless dreamboat upstairs is not only Superman handsome, but he’s also filthy rich and lord of the building. His chest! I didn’t even know I was a sucker for flat plate pecs straight out of Sparta—I’d never even seen them anywhere but in movies. I had to hold tight to Ray to keep myself from latching on to Mr. Upstairs like one of those car window suction cup decals. Even now my fingertips are buzzing a little at the memory.
And yet he seemed nice enough, considering we invaded his very private space. And he was nice to Ray even after hell-no-kitty tore up the place. But that’s probably why I sensed a bit of a frostbite towards the end of our visit. Even the friendliest cats can only take so much petting.
And pet you, I would, I think to myself. Damn the man is fine.
Thinking about cats big and small is making me feel guilty about the damage. My new neighbor was tight at the end, come to think of it, and I can’t really blame him. I make a promise to myself that I will pay him back, no matter what the cost. Maybe toss in some extra fancy throw pillows, I don’t know. I’m kind of ashamed to think it, but I’m almost looking forward to getting an invoice from the guy—it’s an excuse to see him again.
Though what are you really hoping for, Demi? He looks like the sleek, slick type that only dates fashion models as beautiful as he is.
Truthfully, I admonish myself, I have no idea what beautiful men like this guy go for. Probably something polished with an exotic accent. Not for me. Guys with six-pack abs aren’t the type to care for belly rubs—not that I have much experience. I wonder if they’re even ticklish.
Reel it in, girl.
I’m on my way to meet another man upstairs, and something tells me he won’t be a
s nice as the one I’m daydreaming about.
Regina used a key card to access the building floor, but I notice she doesn’t get off the elevator with me to lead me to the office. Instead she smiles like a flight attendant and holds it open, lets me walk forward alone. I admit, I’m taken aback. The elevator opens to a long windowless corridor, to a set of engraved double-doors at the end. The walls are lined with art I vaguely recognize and that I suspect are ridiculously expensive, but I’m too nervous to stop at any of them to see the artists’ names. In fact, I feel like Dorothy, making my way down the hall to meet the Wizard. Just what in the world have I gotten myself into?
The doors are massive, engraved metal, and there’s no receptionist desk. One is ajar, however, and moves silently on its hinges when I push it open.
The hall behind me is churchlike and shadowed, whereas behind the doors, the office is pure light. All but one wall is metal and glass, and the skyline beyond the windows is one hundred eighty degrees of a breathtaking view all the way to the mountains. And leaning over the desk in the exact same pose as from the paper the other day, is a very tall, broad shouldered man in a sleek tailored steel grey suit. I can’t see his face, but this is Gabriel Mangovan. No question.
“H-hello?” I’m annoyed with myself for stuttering even a little bit, but this is weird and I’m completely off-kilter. The man straightens fully before he turns around.
“You,” I breathe.
“Me.” The voice I recognize. Low, deep. But not nice. Not warm. And he doesn’t so much smile as he squint his eyes at me and bares his teeth.
I’m face to face with Mr. Upstairs.
No more facial scruff and sleepy blue eyes. Clean shaven, and his hair is slicked back like the killer shark business executive he is, but even dressed I recognize my upstairs neighbor immediately. I’m flustered but I can’t stop my eyes from dropping down to the chest I’ve been daydreaming about since I found him in his robe and boxers at home. It’s behind there somewhere, but his impeccable bare chest is encased in a snowy white shirt, and two more layers of vest and killer cut suit jacket.
My head is spinning, but I’m not completely in the dark. My upstairs neighbor and my new boss are the same man. And while this fact might normally be a strange, amusing coincidence, I remember very clearly what I said to my new neighbor about the boss I’d never seen before.
And my instinct tells me that given the way the man’s eyes are burning like blue lasers straight through me, he remembers, too. I’m in trouble.
“Green eyed kitties should be more careful when they hiss and bite. You never know—someone might decide to bite you back.”
Those are the exact words he said to the cat, and now I know they were always meant for me. Oh boy.
I don’t know what to say, so that’s what I say. “I don’t know how I can possibly make up for my big, fat, stupid mouth Mr. Mangovan. I’m mortified.”
He smirks and leans back against his desk, crossing his arms in mock commiseration. “Yeah, I would be too, if I were you. Shame.”
If there was even a sliver of hope that he might see any humor whatsoever in the situation, or perhaps not take it personally, that thought is completely extinguished.
“Am I fired?” I blurt the words out.
“Now that really would make me an asshole, wouldn’t it, Demi?” The sarcasm and heat in his voice is thick as he mocks me. “The whole city seems to be under the impression I’m a monster, and I’d hate to feed the beast, if you get my meaning.”
The words bring dread rather than relief. His smirk doesn’t help.
“No, Demi, I have so much more planned for you. I won’t have to fire you.”
The malevolence finally jars me to try and interject. “Please sir, wait, this is a misundersta— “
“Oh, and before I forget,” he cuts me off, and twists to pluck a cream envelope from off the giant executive desk. “The invoice. For the damage in my home.”
He holds out the envelope. For a second, all I can do is stare at it. It’s so hard to believe that the friendly, handsome new neighbor from yesterday is the domineering titan looming over me now. I’m even shaking, the tremors making me wobble on my heels as I step forward finally and reach for the envelope.
And, of course, I knock it right out of his hand. This is a nightmare.
Dropping down quickly to reach for it, I realize too late that I’ve in effect put myself at the man’s feet. It’s like I’m under water when I look up and realize he’s standing right over me.
“Nice,” he says from directly above me.
I look up and then down at myself and realize that the modest silk shell I wore today is gaping open and showing the lacy cups of my bra from this angle. Looking back up at him, I can feel myself blush a deep red. His eyes narrow.
“Are you that confident you think flashing me a look down the front of your blouse is going to change my mind about you?”
I straighten and stand so fast I almost stagger. “Jesus, no! Look, I understand why you’re upset, but where do you get off with this? I’m not responsible for what they wrote about you in the newspaper.”
I flush when I say the words, because even though the words are true, I know deep down that’s not the whole story. I had nothing to do with the article, true, but I am friends (and roommates!) with the woman who wrote it. But if he doesn’t know that little bit, I’m not about to volunteer it. Shery’s apartment is probably under her parents’ name anyway. Her money is their money.
Mangovan crosses his arms and looks bored. “Expand your reading list, Demi. Not everything you read is true. But it doesn’t matter. I know enough about you. You’re a poor decision maker, impetuous and unreliable. You nose around and end up places you don’t belong, like my apartment. And this company.”
“You don’t know that about me. You just met me.”
“Yes,” he says, “exactly my point. I met you before I opened my mouth about you. And because of that, here’s what I know about you already. I know you spread rumors and talk out of school. I know you’re arrogant, entitled, and a little too eager to tell everyone how excited you are to be in the big bad city, which makes you nothing more than a pretty rube. But even your excitement doesn’t stop you from opening your mouth about people before you even meet them.”
My face is on fire. I feel everything from anger to utter and complete shame. And not a little guilt because it’s just an ugly version of the truth. As though Gabriel Mangovan saw through me and singled out every fear and insecurity I have about being here, and then split me open and aimed a laser at all the vulnerable places.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen, Demi. I’m going to let you stay.” The breath hitches in my throat, but the relief is short-lived when he keeps going. “And I’m going to wait for you to quit.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going to settle in as you try to dig yourself out of a very big mess, see how you acquit yourself now that you’re on notice.” He walks to his deep wingback office chair and throws himself back into it, looking every much the bad guy in a Bond movie behind that giant desk. All that’s missing is the cat. “And I’m going to enjoy watching you fail.”
The f-word is what gets my back up a little, and just in time. I don’t fail. The cuts from his thousand knives are bleeding all over me, but the cocky way he predicts that I’m going to be the one to quit is infuriating. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
He smirks for the second time, and it makes his handsome face look mean. “Let’s see how long it takes before the rest of the office opens the pool for how long they think you’ll last. My money is on a month.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Mangovan, but your team is excellent here. They wouldn’t have hired me if they thought my work wasn’t up to par. I know I can turn this around. I really am very sorry. I will work hard to improve your opinion of me.” The words irk me to say them, but I guess I owe him this much. He’s overreacting to what I said, even though I know I was in the wr
ong.
He grins with his teeth again, and there’s nothing nice in it at all. “Oh, I know you’ll work hard. I’ll make sure of it. Yes, my team hired you because you were up to their standards. I’ve informed HR that you’ll be under my direct supervision, and I’ll tell you right now that you’re nowhere near up to mine.”
The dueling is high stakes and I know I’m in a lot of trouble, but I can feel my temper threaten to get the better of me. Still, now that he’s declared his strategy to get me to resign, the only thing I can do is meet him with the same aggression. If he’s not going to fire me until I break, then I just won’t break. Simple.
I muster the nerve to take a few steps closer to the desk and lean over it, staring him down. Angry, cruel and heartless are the only ways to describe his eyes now. None of the warm glow of yesterday morning. It’s a shame. He’s handsome when he’s not a miserable prick.
“I don’t back down. Ever. You’ll see. I don’t quit.”
I turn on my heel and head for the door, proud of my little declaration of war. Scratch that. He declared the war. I just accepted his terms.
I don’t make it ten steps before he calls out, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I spin around, hands on my hips. The envelope. He gestures to it in the center of his desk. When I take the first few faltering steps back, Gabriel just turns in his chair, tablet in hand, and starts reading, immediately engrossed. Ignoring me completely.
I snatch it up, piqued, and head for the hallway. I don’t give him the satisfaction of slamming it after me when I leave. I’m a professional. He’s going to see that.
About halfway down the long hallway, I have to stop and lean against the wall, I’m shaking so badly. Blindsided. I feel completely blindsided by this ugly mess I’m in. Everything that seemed so good and promising this morning just came crashing down on my head, and I’m going to have to do some serious bracing and legwork to keep it from collapsing entirely.
