by Alicia Hope
Glass Ceilings
By Alicia Hope
Glass Ceilings
Published by Alicia Hope
Copyright 2012 Alicia Hope
ABN 59573352521
The situations, organisations and characters in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to any existing or past entity, is entirely coincidental.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
With many thanks to my friend Gail, on whom the faithful Claire is based, who shared the WAPL experience with me and encouraged me to pursue my dreams.
To my husband, who motivated me to persevere with this story,
and to my talented sister, whose brilliant input and loving support keeps me writing—thank you all. xxx
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About the Author
Discover Other Titles
Connect with Alicia
Glass Ceilings
By Alicia Hope
Chapter One
RCL Alumina’s senior staff and partners filled the elaborate ballroom of Bunbury’s Royal Jarrah Hotel. Outside, the cool Western Australian spring night had women pulling soft wraps around exposed shoulders and men glad of their suit coats. Inside, the overhead lights shone down on executives helping the night along at the bar, while others worked the crowd, always on the look-out for opportunities to schmooze with Clyde Galloway, RCL’s chief executive officer.
Although it was generally accepted that the outgoing chief wasn’t worthy of too much attention any more, it was also thought a good word from Clyde might sway the new bloke’s thinking. And it was hard to know just what that bloke was thinking most of the time....
Royce James’ sardonic gaze swept over the crowd of executives and their partners like he was assessing thoroughbreds before the Golden Slipper race. He turned towards the bar, smirking a promise to himself that these senior staff dinners would be more exciting in future, once he was CEO. His left eyebrow arched lazily.
A soft hand on his arm interrupted his thoughts. Kerry Stowe, the CEO’s executive assistant, was standing close beside him. He noted that as usual, Kerry was the most glamorous woman in the room. As he bent his head to speak to her, her tantalising fragrance rose to meet him, and he observed once again how enticing she was.
‘Having fun, Royce?’ Her voice was low and throaty, and beneath the words lurked another, more primal question.
‘I am now.’ His nonchalant smile and deep voice gave nothing away, although close inspection would have revealed faint traces of mockery in his eyes.
But it wasn’t his eyes that most interested her.
She watched as he raised his wine glass and sipped the chilled Margaret River chardonnay. His firm lips rested against the glass’s rim as he savoured the wine’s crisp woodiness. Thick lashes cast small shadows on his tanned cheek and veiled his intense, dark eyes briefly. For a fleeting moment, his face lost its usual stern and often arrogant expression, and then his calculating gaze fell on her again.
With a dazzling smile, she moved her hand from where it had been discreetly caressing his arm to press it against his chest, and felt the strong, regular thud of his heart under her fingers. Her own heart was racing as she leaned closer to him, her thigh brushing his gently. His tall frame, accentuated by the charcoal grey, double-breasted Armani suit, towered over her.
Royce always makes a startling contrast to the usual assortment of podgy executives at these ‘doos’, she thought smugly to herself.
As though knowing it was expected, he allowed his eyes to take in her firm, curvaceous body, in a tight burgundy gown with a plunging neckline she was using to full advantage. On their way back up, his eyes took in the smooth skin of her exposed cleavage, and the points of her ample breasts pushing against the silky fabric barely containing them. His mocking glance flicked to her face. ‘Where’s Jim?’
Kerry squirmed. Was it contempt she saw deep in the deliberately nonchalant darkness of his eyes? ‘You know how to spoil a mood, don’t you Royce?’ Her mouth, tinted the same luscious colour as her gown, grew petulant.
He gave a deep laugh and raised a scornful eyebrow, once again lifting his glass to his lips. This time he took a good mouthful of wine and let it linger on his tongue while he thought about Kerry’s husband. Jim Stowe was one of RCL’s senior executives and a genuinely nice guy in Royce’s estimation. He wondered why their marriage lasted. But as he looked down at Kerry, stunning in her expensive finery and oozing sexuality like a ripe plum longing to be picked, he could hazard a guess. And he was sure she’d be very unwilling to part with the pampered lifestyle her marriage offered.
‘Jim’s feeling anti-social again, or should I say still, so I’m here on my own,’ she said, with an affected sigh.
The throaty purr on the lower registers of her voice seemed to resonate along his spine, and he conceded, cynically, that she had a talent for seduction. ‘And of course you’d never consider staying home and playing the dutiful wife, would you, Kerry?’
‘If Jim wants to shut himself away with his laptop, that’s up to him,’ she mewed. ‘It doesn’t mean I have to be boring too. I can make my own fun.’
Royce felt her press even closer against him. ‘Oh, I’m sure you will. But you’ll have to excuse me, I see a lady I want to talk to.’ With a dismissive bow of his dark head and a smirk in his eyes, Royce drew away from her and strode across the room, leaving Kerry drifting rudderless in the social sea like a piece of abandoned flotsam.
She looked on as Royce took a seat beside Mrs Galloway, the aging CEO’s wife, and as she watched, bitterness rose to fill Kerry’s throat. How she hated herself for wanting him ... and how she hated him for not wanting her.
Damn that man, she thought bitterly, look how easily he charms old Ma Galloway, even at her age. But what woman could resist that undercurrent of power, and the charisma he can pour on when he chooses to?
Kerry sipped her shiraz and pulled a face.
Bloody wine, why do they insist on serving it at these stupid functions? Isn’t this supposed to be ‘pre-dinner cocktails’? Not that I want a cocktail either. Give me a scotch over all their fancy shmancy drinks any day.
She almost threw the hardly touched glass at a passing waiter and hissed an order for a scotch on the rocks.
‘What sort—’
‘Anything. Just make it fast.’ She was breathing hard.
The waiter hurried back with her drink and she snatched it from his tray, downing it quickly in one gulp. He frowned and was about to move away, intending to avoid her for the rest of the evening despite her obvious attractions, when she signalled to him.
‘Another one.’
It took him longer to return this time, so Kerry went back to covertly watching Royce through narrowed eyes. She pondered on how his arrogant confidence had seen him overtake many of his less successful contemporaries on the climb up the corporate ladder. Turning her back to the room, she allowed herself a derisive scowl. Even
Jim, her husband, seemed happy to stay on his little rung, which exposed him to an imminent squashing beneath ascending boots.
Her face twisted as images from the night before flitted across her mind. She’d tried once more to convince Jim to apply for the CEO position, but without success. He was adamant he would stay where he was, arguing that he was happiest there. This mulish stance put him squarely in her ‘less successful’ category. Well, less ambitious anyway, she conceded.
Most nights now, Kerry found herself imagining Royce in her arms instead of Jim. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief instant. It was too easy to visualise being made love to by Royce, she’d dreamt of it so many times since he’d first joined RCL. But she was certain the real thing would be even more sensual than she imagined. She felt a familiar shiver run through her body as she turned to look across at him again.
It seemed every time she heard his deep voice, that same thrill went through her. Whenever they met, she could feel his powerful presence engulfing her, stirring her emotions to fever pitch. His masculine charm was like a magnet, drawing her inexorably towards him, stripping her of self respect and reducing her to some sort of pathetic, willing slave....
‘Your drink ... madam?’
With a start, Kerry became aware she’d been staring over at Royce as though transfixed. She dropped her gaze and bit her highly glossed bottom lip. Holding her breath, she glanced around quickly from under her lashes to see if anyone had noticed. But no curious faces looked her way. She pursed her lips and blew a small sigh of relief. She was standing a little away from the crowd, who were all too busy with their false smiles, small talk and gratuitous socialising to notice her indiscretion.
She grabbed the glass from the waiter’s tray without looking at him and waved him away with an impatient hand. This time she took longer to finish the drink, lingering over it and making an effort to put the disturbing thoughts of Royce out of her mind. But she couldn’t resist a casual glance at the group surrounding him. She watched him pouring a glass of wine for Mrs Galloway and laughing at some comment she made. His coat sleeve outlined the muscular arm beneath, and the front of his jacket opened a little to expose his shirt. She noted the contrast its brilliant whiteness made against the tan skin of his smooth throat.
Although his sex appeal might be lost on the old matriarch, no woman could be totally unaffected by that wide smile, or his habit of throwing back his head when he laughs, she decided.
Although his manly face was not strictly handsome, he had an engaging smile—when he chose to employ it—and even white teeth. And the intensity of his gaze and the aura of strength and vitality about him drew female attention wherever he went.
How often have I pictured his face on a pillow beside me, and those dark eyes gazing at me as though I’m the gateau and he’s the cake fork? Too damn often, Kerry acknowledged bitterly. No matter what I do, it seems Royce James laughs at my efforts to seduce him, when most men would jump at the chance.
Scowling at the thought and forcing herself to look away, she rested her perfect teeth on the rim of her scotch glass for a second. When she lifted them off, anyone watching would have sworn she was snarling as she breathed the words, ‘Well, you’re running out of chances, Royce. One day you’ll realise I’m not someone to be toyed with....’
* * *
29 September 1995
It had to be HIM, didn’t it diary. The most arrogant colt in RCL’s stable of mostly long-in-the-tooth executives. I hardly know the man—haven’t ever seen him at the bauxite mine—but already I despise him. From what I hear, he’s always traipsing around overseas, doing who-knows-what, under the convenient ‘company business’ umbrella. Which is probably a blessing for the rest of us!
Today he treated me like a piece of office equipment. There I was, blissfully convinced I was an important human element of the company’s success. But now, after only a few words from HIM, I feel like an asset on the company register, like a fax machine or a photocopier. And you know what the worst part was? I just STOOD there, exactly like some dumb machine on stand-by. Oh sure, my mouth was poised to deliver a cutting retort, but did it come? Of course not! The words log-jammed in my numbed brain, and the few that made it through got stuck between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. So instead of putting the insensitive bastard back in his place, I ended up taking his high-handed treatment on the chin.
Ooh, when I think how I must have looked, for all the world like yet another empty-headed, lusting female, swooning at having Royce-bloody-James’ attention for a millisecond. Cringe worthy! But let’s get this straight, my silence was from outrage—outrage I say!—and that’s all.
DAMN that man for making me feel so pitiful. Oh, I’m SO angry, and not just at him. How TRULY pathetic am I? Despite what I said about being outraged (and I stand by that, BTW), while he was belittling me, I couldn’t help staring at those intense brown eyes of his, and noticing how his dark hair curled onto his white shirt collar. Worse still, I caught myself wondering what it would feel like to be held in his strong arms. Can you believe it?
Of course that little transgression is just between you and me diary, and I’ll deny to the death I ever even THOUGHT it! And it’s the furnace for you if you ever spill the beans!
I wonder what news I’ll be sharing with you next, my stationary stationery :-). I very much doubt I’ll be reporting that Royce James is afraid Verity Parker might be a serious rival for the CEO job. But give me half a chance, pal, and I might give you a run for your money!
Oh diary, I know applying for the CEO job is optimistic, even considering my qualifications and experience, but I have to believe in my abilities and myself, especially if no one else does.
Well, tomorrow is another day and who knows what it will bring, apart from a few hangovers for the senior execs attending tonight’s dinner party–yet another little soirée I wasn’t invited to....
Chapter Two
Verity was a little later than usual getting in to work. The friendly greeting in the staff room from her best friend and co-worker, Claire Vincent, was tinged with concern.
‘Hey, what happened to you? “Always-early-Verity” is only just on time for a change!’
A little out of breath, Verity threw her belongings into a corner before hurrying to the coffee vending machine, and punching in a double-shot flat white. As the machine whirred, bubbled, and sent delicious aromas into the air, she could feel the tension in her neck and shoulders easing. She yawned, and Claire could just make out the words ‘I overslept’.
The machine finished brewing and beeped. Verity collected the cardboard cup with its precious caffeinated contents, and explained between generous sips, ‘I stayed up late last night ... working on my application.’
Claire took in her friend’s damp hair and freshly scrubbed, makeup-free face, and wondered if Verity ever looked plain or ordinary. Like I would if I’d had a late night, she thought enviously.
With no rouge or eyeliner to accentuate her fine bone structure and dark eyes, Verity looked, if anything, more youthful and vibrant than ever. The smooth skin of her face had a translucent peaches-and-cream quality, and her naturally sweeping brows made a perfect foil for her brown eyes; eyes that held great warmth and laughter, but which could also be disarmingly direct and unnervingly shrewd. Her choice of fitted linen suit emphasised her slim waist and trim figure, and a pair of classic patent leather courts fine-tuned the outfit.
Claire took a quick peek down and frowned at her own slightly lumpy proportions, clothed in practical but unspectacular corporate wear. She glanced back at her friend and acknowledged that Verity certainly did look like executive material.
I’d bet my bottom dollar some of the ‘powers that be’ have noticed it, too, she thought. But still, isn’t it presumptuous for her to try for the company’s top management position, ‘la grande fromage’? Everyone knows Royce James has dibs on that title.
Verity took another grateful gulp of coffee before bending to collect he
r belongings. Claire waited for her by the door so they could walk to their offices together.
‘So, you’re actually going ahead and applying for the CEO position?’
Verity felt a rush of irritation at the incredulous tone in Claire’s voice. She was about to snap a response but realised her annoyance was more to do with her own insecurities than with Claire’s doubts, which were only reasonable in the circumstances. The question irked her because it touched a sore point, her own misgivings about applying for a position everyone regarded as already filled.
Her voice was sharper than she intended when she answered, ‘Yes I am, and they’d better take me seriously. I’m sick of being an “executive-in-waiting”. I’m as capable as any one of them. After all, I’ve worked my way up through the industry ranks—’
‘I know. From refinery line manager to production manager at Nimbus Alumina, then to bauxite mine associate manager for RCL—’
‘That’s right,’ Verity barked, ‘and I have the qualifications to back up my industry experience. I bet that’s more than other members of RCL’s so-called executive team can say.’
Claire narrowed her eyes and stared at Verity. ‘Hang on, is all this angst just ’cos I asked about your application? Or are you still cheesed off about what Royce James did the other day?’
The spots of colour in Verity’s cheeks deepened a little. ‘That was the proverbial straw, Claire. When he thrust that report at me with orders to “see this is faxed today and copied to ...”—who was it again? Oh yes—“... Joe Goodfornaught, Bert Backstabber, and Larry Loser, blah blah”,’ at which Claire couldn’t help a snigger, ‘and without a “could you” or a “thank you”, he made me feel like a junior office clerk, or worse still, an inanimate piece of machinery.’
‘Hey,’ Claire soothed, putting a hand on Verity’s arm for a moment to calm her friend, who looked about to pop, ‘I was there, remember? And I thought he was just in a hurry and preoccupied when he got you to help him. It didn’t come across as a deliberate put-down to me. He’s probably typical of most male execs and doesn’t know one end of a fax machine from the other. I reckon he just grabbed the nearest available person to help. I was talking on my mobile at the time, making you the obvious choice.’
