Glass Ceilings

by Alicia Hope

  Royce took a deep, fortifying breath and looked at her again. ‘Yes, I’m fairly satisfied with how things are going.’

  Verity glanced at him briefly just as Kerry came into the office to hand each of them a bound document. Verity nodded her thanks and her PA left again, once more pulling the door closed behind her.

  ‘I’ve received some updates you need to be aware of, Royce, which I’ve summarised here.’

  Royce flipped open his copy and perused it, grateful of a distraction for his wayward thoughts.

  After going over the adjusted budget figures, recent executive approvals, and commodities reports, and discussing their implications, Verity looked enquiringly at Royce. ‘Any questions?’

  He shook his head slowly, still considering the document in his hand. It was occurring to him that this heads-up on pending matters gave him time to pre-empt any related issues in his department’s work areas. This was lead time he hadn’t always had in the past. He’d come to rely on his instincts to help him overcome last minute problems or changes. But this CEO was obviously cut from a different cloth to that of her predecessors.

  Royce met her gaze. ‘No, it’s all pretty clear.’ He couldn’t bring himself to thank her for pro‑actively keeping him in the loop.

  She nodded unsmilingly. ‘So, I can assume you’ll take the necessary steps in light of this new information?’

  ‘Of course,’ he was stung to retort.

  Her eyes narrowed a little at his sharp tone and her expression remained serious. ‘Good. I’ll leave it with you then.’ She closed her report with a snap and regarded him levelly. It was the signal for him to take his leave, but he stayed put, as though in defiance, staring nonchalantly at her.

  ‘Is there any assistance I can provide before I leave for the States?’

  Verity eyed him dubiously. The old adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, sprang to mind, and along with it, the memory of how close she and Royce had been for that brief instant the other evening. She resolutely pushed those thoughts aside with a flash of annoyance.

  I love you, Claire, but sometimes I could throttle you.

  She decided to test Royce’s sincerity. Watching for his reaction, she said thoughtfully, ‘Well, I do have the executive committee meeting to prepare for, and although Clyde was a big help with the preliminaries, your expertise could be useful in finalising the all-important presentation to the joint venturers.’

  His face remained inscrutable. ‘Of course. I have time now if that suits? No other meetings this afternoon.’ He sat forward and ran his eyes over the piles of paperwork on her desk.

  ‘Well,’ she said a little hesitantly, ‘I did clear my schedule for the rest of the day, to give me a chance to get through some of this....’

  Royce pulled his chair closer, and while Verity cleared some desk space, he glanced around at the office’s new décor. The room had been overdue for redecoration even in Clyde’s time, and Royce had included its makeover as an item on his now defunct ‘to do when I’m CEO’ list. But now someone else had done it, and although he hated admitting it, she’d accomplished it well, and without breaking the budget.

  A modern, sleek look replaced what had been an overly masculine and outdated colour scheme. The newly latte-coloured walls were adorned with framed prints of native Western Australian wildflowers, and aerial photographs of the refinery and mine site, alongside inspirational posters bearing platitudes like, ‘You’ll never reach the island if you’re too afraid to leave the shore’.

  The worn, old-fashioned carpet had made way for one in a subdued shade of nutmeg, and light-coloured fabric settees had replaced the formal, slightly battered-looking leather arm chairs. The addition of one or two potted plants and a vase of fresh flowers gave the room a soft, light touch. Although the tasteful makeover saluted the room’s new female occupant, it managed to do so without any suggestion of cuteness. Royce noticed the all-important reference books, manuals, and policy folders standing proudly to attention in the bookcases lining the walls. He found himself wondering if this was a demonstration of the ‘soft power’ concept he’d heard about.

  Verity’s voice brought him back to the task at hand. ‘The EC meeting’s getting all too close.’ She gave a tired sigh. ‘As my first as CEO, I have to prepare extra well for it. My performance will no doubt be under the microscope.’

  He studied her for a moment, and then, despite himself, pointed to a print-out that had caught his eye. ‘Is that a hard copy of your presentation on refinery production?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, you know you’ve left yourself open to criticism there, don’t you?’

  Verity looked up, surprised by his sudden candour. ‘Where?’

  Royce swore silently, wondering why he couldn’t leave her to dangle, so to speak, from the fraying rope ladder above the snake pit. After all, she was the one who'd pushed her way into a man’s world; why not let her see for herself how cutthroat it could be?

  But he needed his CEO to trust him—at least for a while.

  Royce could feel the shadow of Ella’s presence on the edge of his consciousness. Another memory came to him, of their first big fight. Ella had come home from work in a flood of angry tears, too furious to speak. After she’d calmed down a bit, she finally told him the sorry tale, of having the kudos for an achievement of hers stolen by the same male colleague who’d previously made her a scapegoat for one of his worst mistakes.

  She was feeling hurt and powerless, and looked to Royce for support and reassurance, but he’d made light of her grievance, saying, ‘Well, all’s fair in love and war, and corporate confrontations.’ He hadn’t meant to be insensitive, just thought she needed to toughen up. His heart clenched as he recalled the look in her tear-stained eyes, Et tu, Brute?

  The memory stung, and prompted him on. ‘Here,’ he said, running a long finger over a table of figures on the paper, ‘where you provide the production statistics. If you show the board members the comparison between expected and current production like that, you’ll have them hyperventilating.’

  ‘But it’s the truth. Are you suggesting I lie to them?’

  ‘Of course not. Look, it might be the truth, but sometimes we need a softly, softly approach when delivering bad news. A bitter pill is more easily swallowed if covered in honey.’ He gazed briefly into Verity’s eyes before looking down again at the papers in front of him.

  Verity drew back abruptly. Was she seeing things, or had a conspiratorial smile flickered across Royce’s face?

  Is this bloke, sitting here helping me, the same guy who stormed out of this room, hating me with a passion, not all that long ago?

  She couldn’t help staring wonderingly at the top of his bent head, before joining him in examining the offending document again.

  It was late before they surfaced from their intense endeavours. Verity put down her pen and had a well-deserved stretch. Settling back, she became aware of Royce’s scrutiny and realised she’d relaxed in his company.

  Careful! Remember who you are, and more importantly, who he is.

  His intense regard brought heat to her cheeks and she felt ill at ease with him again.

  ‘Hungry?’ It was only a word, but spoken softly in his deep voice, it felt like a caress.

  Her pulse quickened. She took care to keep her reply crisp and business-like. ‘Yes, famished. I missed lunch.’

  ‘Perhaps we could have a meal somewhere? I have no other plans for tonight.’

  She caught her breath. Royce James was asking her out for dinner.

  Oh, this is ridiculous, you’re reacting like all the other air-heads. For crying out loud, he’s only asked you to have a meal with him! Are you going to become all girlish every time a business associate invites you somewhere? You’re not ‘just’ a woman, you’re the CEO of an international corporation now, remember?

  ‘Well?’

  Verity eyed him. He obviously wasn’t used to waiting for women to accept his invitat
ions, and she was tempted to refuse simply on those grounds. But she knew it was in her best interest to encourage their tenuous working relationship. ‘Sounds like a good idea,’ she said, adding casually, ‘where do you suggest?’

  ‘I often call at The Conservatory on my way home. They stay open until late. The food’s good too, and the view over the Indian Ocean is soothing after a hard day.’

  ‘I haven’t eaten there before, so it will be good to try somewhere new. Right, then,’ and Verity got busy arranging the remaining papers into neat piles on her desk.

  ‘I’ll meet you downstairs, in the car park?’ At her nod, Royce went on to say, ‘We may as well both go in my car, no point taking two. And you can drive mine here in the morning. I’m getting the shuttle to the airport. If that’s OK with you, of course?’ he added quickly.

  ‘Makes sense.’ She gave another brisk nod.

  Conversation was minimal as they drove into town. Royce leaned forward and loaded a CD, enquiring offhandedly, ‘Care for some music?’

  Verity hardly had time to answer before a mellow blues number filled the car. She leaned back, enjoying the smooth sounds of Clapton’s guitar, and took in the BMW’s luxurious appointments. Yes, its interior luxury, walnut dash and impressive display of electronic gadgetry were all very nice, but she didn’t regret choosing a more workmanlike four wheel drive as her company vehicle. Not only was it more functional and modest, but it gave her detractors less reason to criticise. She knew they would be watching her every move, hoping she’d go overboard with her newly-won status, and slip up.

  She wondered idly how they would view her going to dinner with Royce.

  Well I’m not about to concern myself with that, she told herself emphatically. If he’s willing to bury the hatchet so we can share a reasonable working relationship, then I’m prepared to do my bit. After all, we’re business colleagues and need to be able to work effectively together.

  She made herself relax into the smooth comfort of the leather seat, and did her best not to let Royce catch her admiring his strong and skilful hands on the steering wheel.

  On their arrival at the restaurant, the Maitre d’ acknowledged Royce like an old friend, and showed them into the Watermark room. From their table under a window, Royce and Verity had an enviable view of the illuminated beach a few metres below. The strategically positioned floodlights cast a soft blue-white gleam on the waves as they tumbled and frothed to shore, only metres past the building’s foundations.

  When the Maitre d’ came with the wine list, Verity couldn’t resist complimenting him on his restaurant’s location, before enquiring why he had chosen the name ‘Watermark’ for the private dining room.

  ‘Well, madam, there’s a story behind it, two in fact. You see, some years ago, this building was the beach kiosk, hence its proximity to the beautiful Bunbury foreshore.’ He swept a hand towards the beach. ‘I realised it had potential, and decided to extend the building by adding another wing.’ He smiled proudly.

  Verity glanced appreciatively around the main dining area, taking in the polished timber on the floor, walls and ceiling. The atmospheric lighting, glass tables on carved metal legs teamed with chic but comfortable wicker chairs, and the picture windows running the full length of the seaward wall, all gave the room a comfortable, rather than imposing, elegance.

  ‘Now, as to naming the Watermark room,’ he went on, ‘while the building extensions were underway we had an unusually high tide during a wild storm. I was so afraid for my restaurant, I came here during the night to watch over it. I knew I couldn’t stop the ocean if it decided to donate my building to Davy Jones’ locker, but I spent hours huddled inside, praying my pride and joy would survive all that the elements were throwing at her. I kept going to the window and checking how far the waves had extended onto the beach, watching them come closer and closer all the time.’

  It was a tale that was clearly close to his heart. Engrossed, Verity rested her chin on her hands and listened intently, and Royce, who’d heard the story before, found himself admiring the charming light of curiosity and enjoyment on her face and in her eyes.

  The Maitre d’ threw himself into the story with gusto. ‘Finally, waves were lapping at the building’s foundations. They crept higher and higher until they were just below the floor boards. But when I realised I was in danger of being trapped, the storm eased all of a sudden and the waves retreated. My restaurant had survived its first test.’

  He paused to take a breath.

  ‘The next day, I was curious to see the watermark that was left by the tide on the building’s foundations. And there it was,’ the Maitre d’ gestured, ‘for all to see on the timber supports. It made me proud to see proof of my building’s escape from devastation. That was when I knew what to call this room, which is the pride of our establishment.’

  Verity only barely resisted the temptation to applaud. ‘I can certainly understand why,’ she remarked warmly, ‘and thanks for sharing the story with us.’ She turned to look at Royce who gave a smiling nod of agreement.

  Over dinner, the peaceful sound of water tumbling from the sculptured fountain in the corner helped fill any gaps in conversation. Not that there were many, Verity had to admit. Royce proved to be an interesting and attentive dinner partner, although she found his proximity at times unnerving, especially when he looked at her with those intense, too-perceptive-for-comfort, eyes.

  She also had to acknowledge his good taste in eating places. The ambience was superb at The Conservatory, and the service, impeccable.

  ‘I think I’ll have the cream of mushroom soup for entrée,’ she said, gazing at the menu and licking her lips, ‘but I’m in a quandary about what to choose for main ... I wonder what the seafood brioche with honeyed wild rice is like?’

  ‘The soup’s a good choice,’ Royce agreed, ‘and in all the time I’ve been coming here, I haven’t heard any complaints about the brioche.’

  It occurred to her that he had probably dined there with a number of women in the past. Not that it matters one iota, she told herself.

  Royce was still studying the menu, but said with the certainty of a regular patron, ‘I’m having the asparagus cheese pâté, followed by the beef fillet. And if you’re contemplating having dessert, I’d recommend the bavarois.’

  Verity ran her eyes over the desserts on the menu. ‘Mmm, mint bavarois with warm chocolate sauce ... I’m up for that!’

  They grinned at each other and a waiter immediately materialised to take their orders. Verity chose an award-winning West Australian chardonnay to have with her meal, and Royce, a mellow cabernet sauvignon. Both agreed WA wines were hard to beat, even when compared with more well-known international tipples.

  Their first course arrived promptly and they demolished it, and the following main, with relish. While waiting for dessert, Verity found herself gazing through the window at the pounding surf below.

  Royce enquired, ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

  ‘Oh, just running through the presentation in my mind.’

  ‘We’ve spent enough time on it, Verity, it’s looking good. Why don’t you switch off from work now?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, it is looking good. Thanks to your help.’ But as she said that, her inner voice sneered, what is this, grovel hour? Which one of you is the CEO here? She hurriedly added, ‘Of course I could’ve—would’ve—got it done on my own. Just might have taken longer. But, anyway ... um ... thanks.’ Her praise sounded hollow and insincere, making her instantly wish she could take back the words.

  But as though unaware of her discomfort, Royce carried on smoothly with a small shrug, ‘It’s just experience. You were on the right track. I only gave some pointers on the subtleties we servants need to employ with our masters.’

  Slick operator, Verity thought sceptically, I can see why people find you so charming. But I wonder how many of them have glimpsed your dark side?

  But Royce’s smile and the restaurant’s soft lighting made his
face look gentler somehow, and his voice had assumed a friendly, warm quality. Despite her wariness, Verity found herself wondering if Royce James was indeed human, after all.

  ‘Well, I’d better call it a night soon,’ he sighed, as the waiter discreetly placed their bill on the table, and departed with the last of their empty dishes. ‘My plane leaves early in the morning and I need to pack.’

  A sudden jolt of disappointment at the reminder of his impending departure caught Verity off guard.

  Only because I’ll have to finalise the EC arrangements on my own, which is no big deal, she hastily consoled herself.

  Later, when Royce left her at her villa gate with a softly spoken, ‘Goodnight, Verity, see you when I’m back from the States,’ she surprised herself by admitting what an enjoyable evening it had been.

  At her desk the following morning, Verity stared thoughtfully out the window, her mind on the day and evening before. She and Royce had accomplished a lot in their meeting. Thanks to his shrewd nous, she felt well-prepared, and her presentation was now polished and professional. And because of the time they’d spent together, she felt more comfortable in her dealings with him.

  Taking her home after dinner, he’d insisted on walking her right to her villa. The complex had been quiet; the only sounds a murmur of waves on the beach, and the occasional mournful cry of a night bird in the distance, and she’d felt the need to fill the companionable silence that had fallen between them.

  ‘When are you back, Royce?’

  ‘Not until a few days before the EC meeting. Will you be OK with the remaining preparations?’

  ‘Oh yes, the rest will be a breeze now that damn presentation’s under control.’

  When they’d reached her gate and stood illuminated under a lantern, Verity had glanced up at him as he gave her a final, parting nod, and noticed a strange look cross his face. In that instant, he’d appeared ill at ease, making her radar twitch once more.