‘Speaking of no way to behave?’ He tilted his head. ‘Did you just tell me you were “wicked sorry”?’
‘Well, I am.’
‘I see.’ He stared at me. ‘Do you think local colloquialisms make you come across as a professional? For a young lady who studied communications, it disappoints. Are you disappointed with yourself?’
Maybe he was actually a psychologist whom Holder Enterprises had hired, pretending to go in as the real boss. Think about who the former president of Apollyon was, after all. Mr Colossimo the basket case! Holder Enterprises must have got some shrink to come in here, do evaluations of the employees and winnow the wheat from the chaff. The nuts from the Guinness. The … Wait. Didn’t I say insanity begins with paranoia?
‘I’d like to talk more, Mr Holder,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘But since I am fired, after all, I’m not sure what the point is. You have my “high-school girl” notes. Jay-Jay can take over for me.’
‘What?’ He set his glass down on the tabletop. ‘Who said you were being let go? It’s not like this is Iowa.’
Iowa?
‘You aren’t –?’
‘No, I am not. And don’t ever tell me again who to hire, fire, buy or sell.’
‘Mr Holder, I’d never try to –’
‘Mr Tanaka is not up for your position. He’s underqualified to head up copy, and I don’t care that he’s next in the weak chain of command. I’m getting someone from the outside.’ He scowled. ‘And you aren’t being terminated, Lily. You’re being demoted. Starting tomorrow, you will once again be an intern.’
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved. After all, I remained employed, since it was a paid internship. On the other hand, I was so fucking humiliated, and didn’t know how I could talk about this with anyone. See, I just don’t command respect …
‘I’d like to move you around a few different departments, because you’ve got more to offer than copywriting, and I feel your talent could be better utilised in another capacity. Though you are quite a talented writer. I could see you excelling in PR. Concepts. Development. My long-term view would be you as a creative director, as I mentioned, but you would obviously need more grooming over the next two years.’
‘Creative director?’
‘Not beyond the realm of possibility, given the right mentor.’
‘Mr Holder, I need to be clear about something. So I … I’m being asked to step down. That sounds too much like “fired”.’
He mulled my comment over, and took a generous gulp. ‘An understandable reaction to this conference, but not based in reality, and you continue to demonstrate poor listening skills. Still, I acknowledge your disappointment, and regret that is what you are garnering from our meeting.’
He was definitely an undercover shrink. I despised him on one hand, but wanted to tell him everything on the other.
‘I – I am pretty disappointed.’ I blinked. I will not cry, I will not cry.
‘I would be, as well, were I in your shoes, your age, having no sense of direction or comprehension of potential advancement. If I had no belief in myself. What I offer you is opportunity, but we have to start from ground zero. You’ve been poorly trained, Lily.’ His eyes dropped to my feet, WTF, and I crossed my ankles, feeling exposed. ‘Since you don’t appear to think long-term, let me get down to your level and we’ll go from there.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? On my level?’
‘On the bright side, I’m offering you a most desirable internship. Same amount of money you make now, but room for upward mobility … which you currently don’t have. Room for advancement, that is. Because what you did, Lily? You hit a wall you built for yourself. I’m helping you break down the wall. Smash the glass ceiling. However you want to put it, Lily, we’re seeing to it that you are nothing but forward motion from this moment. Did I soften the blow?’
‘A bit.’ Yes and no.
‘Good.’ He seemed satisfied. ‘First thing tomorrow, you’ll come to my office, and I would like to discuss your ideas further, believe it or not. Some of them are already being implemented behind the scenes. You’ve got fine instinct, Lily, if poor execution and articulation.’
How could one teeny kind-of compliment already be enough to make me feel like everything in the world might be OK after all? Not perfect, but OK. The only thing that mattered was that Dorian Holder, CEO thought I was smart, special. That I was a girl with good instinct. Scratch that, a woman with good instinct.
I let out my breath, not realising I’d been holding it. ‘So, tomorrow morning?’
‘I’m going to jerk off on your nipples.’ Dorian returned to my résumé, giving me a slight waving gesture.
‘Sorry, what?’
He lowered the paper. ‘I’m going to work out a few wrinkles.’
‘Oh.’ I cleared my throat.
‘Why? What did you think I said?’
‘Nothing.’ I shook my head. ‘Just, yes. Tomorrow. After you work out a few wrinkles.’
Dorian Holder, CEO, rose to his full height. He was so scary, and definitely taller than my initial guess of six-two. Why did he have to use that old-school PA thingy or whatever you call it, anyway? He leaned over his desk and pressed a button. ‘Beatrice, please come to my office.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said. ‘I can find my own way out.’
‘Sit.’
I sat.
Beatrice Collins came in, carrying a fancy-looking box, winked at Mr Holder, set it down on the desk and left without a word.
He pulled off the red ribbon, opened it and beamed as though it were a Christmas present. ‘Ah. Perfect.’
He removed a pair of red-soled flats and knelt before me. In utter silence, he lifted my right leg, removed my shabby Steve Madden, and slipped the lovely new shoe on my foot. Dorian’s touch was slow and gentle, taking me utterly by surprise. ‘The Intern Flat,’ he explained. ‘Give me your other foot.’
‘OK.’ I raised my leg, and he looked at my calf appreciatively. At least my black hose didn’t have a hole in the toe. Most of my tights did.
This time, when he slid on the other slipper, he caressed my ankle, and glanced up. ‘Do you like them?’ he asked, his voice husky.
I nodded. They were remarkable. And the way this man looked at me? For a second, I felt remarkable as well. Like I did when leaving the train station. For a second.
‘Why?’ I whispered.
‘Because you clearly haven’t been making enough money to dress in a manner appropriate for the office environment. You’ve been earning it, but Apollyon hasn’t been paying. We owe you.’ He was brusque and businesslike again. He grabbed my tattered old shoes – which I kind of felt sorry for at this point, poor shoes, never hurt anyone – rose to his feet and tossed them in the trashcan behind his desk. ‘You represent me, as long as you are working here. When you return to Apollyon, I expect you to be dressed in clothing that rises to the occasion of your new Louboutins.’
There was that word again. ‘Of my what?’
He shook his head. ‘Never mind.’
‘I will,’ I told him, trying to sound knowledgeable. I wondered if maybe Louboutin wasn’t an urban term after all, but some literary reference any English major should know … though this one didn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t ask him – or Gwen – what they were talking about; that’s what Google’s for. I stood up, brave and true, because these fancy flats were a perfect fit, and my feet felt quite dainty.
‘Now that we’ve had our chat, would you care to step outside on the piazza? To get the full effect of the thirteenth floor?’
‘I should go, actually.’ I was confused as all-get-out, and refused to crumble in front of him. ‘But thank you, Mr Holder. Perhaps another time.’
‘You may call me Dorian.’ He looked down at his desk and pretended to shuffle papers. I took this as my cue to leave.
‘Fair play. Thank you, Dorian.’ I’m not sure whether I was thanking him for the lovely new f
ootwear, not firing me, or letting someone as lowly as myself be on a first-name basis. I was grateful for all these things, and at the same time humiliated.
‘You’re most welcome.’ His voice was gruff. No more Mr Nice Guy. ‘Eight forty-five tomorrow, Lily. Not ten past nine. I have no patience for tardiness. It’s a passive-aggressive way of letting someone know his time is not valuable.’
‘I –’
He raised his eyebrows, and his forehead did this worried wrinkle that made me wonder again how old he was. I shut my mouth, because that’s what you do when Dorian Holder raises his eyebrows in a warning fashion.
‘Understood?’
‘Yes, sir. Dorian.’
‘“Sir Dorian”.’ He took one last hard look at me, and down at my feet. ‘I like it.’
‘Well. Good night, then.’
‘Good night, Lily Dewitt.’
I took my leave, and, as soon as I closed the door behind me, heard the rattling of a toy train, and its low, long whistle.
Chapter Four
Blackberry Curve
Oh, my God. The last time I was so happy to see this place was the day I moved in. It’s not that my apartment is gross, exactly, but when you tell people you live in a loft apartment in Cambridge, this hole is not what they picture, I’m pretty sure. Yes, my flat is an old, quaint granite building. From the impressive steps leading down to the street, I’d want to marry it. Yes, I do have hardwood floors. Yes, there are high ceilings. There is even a chandelier, a real one that is most Phantom of the Opera. And yes, someone rich or ridiculously smart probably slept here at some point over the last few hundred years. The fantasy, yes. I have a sweet little place in a historic building in Cambridge, so good on me. But some much smarter man split the joint into a bunch of tiny apartments, and what must have once been a beautiful walk-in closet was turned into an upscale efficiency, and the place was left to seed. The efficiency? This is where Lily Dewitt dwells, but when I’m feeling blue and insignificant I fantasise about who may have lived here before. What happened? What was said? What was written? Whose hearts were broken? Such pondering makes the place seem magical.
I kicked off my fabulous red-soled shoes, tossed my less fabulous handbag on the floor and flopped onto the futon. It was time for some hardcore rumination. So should I, like, just quit, see if I can get in touch with Paula for a decent reference, waitress on the Square for a while and hope something better comes along?
But I couldn’t waitress for shit, and would never go back to being an au pair again. Ever. The dads always hit on me.
Summer break was close. Maybe they would need a new janitor at Harvard.
You know, I actually applied to do that the previous summer, and they told me I was ‘underqualified’. How can you be underqualified to clean a toilet? Are preppy bums really so much more precious than us commoners’? Perhaps they do a serious background check. After all, it is Harvard. My housekeeping habits were slim to nil. My bathroom situation could’ve indicated that I was underqualified to clean a richy’s toilet. You know, when Harvard did its background check.
There had to be something else I could do. Ugh. Damn, my head hurt. How was it that a man could have simultaneously insulted me yet flattered me so completely? He was good. Dorian Holder was very, very good. I was still not entirely convinced he wasn’t a shrink, just doing a little recon on Apollyon LLC, making sure we peons weren’t quite so batshit as Mr Colossimo. Hopefully I’m just neurotic, not entirely bonkers. But that night I questioned my sanity. The one-on-one with Mr Holder was quite the royal mindfuck.
My clock chimed seven, startling me. I had an awesome Eclipse Regulator my grandmother left me, hanging on the wall as the sole living-room ornament. A lovely chime from another era, perhaps not as old as my building, but antique and quaint nevertheless. The Impermanence of Time. I thought about calling Gwen to let her know I made it through the meeting, relatively unscathed, although that would not be 100 per cent true. I’d tell her the rest at some point tomorrow. Bleah. My purse was too far away, and I didn’t want to move. Get your lazy ass off the couch, Lily, I told myself. Don’t give in to the sulk.
So I dug around in the bag, but my cellie was nowhere to be found amidst all the clunky girlstuff, pens and wadded-up napkins. Fuck. Where the fuck was my phone? No.
No.
I dumped everything on the floor, and was shamed by the plethora of contents, none of which were my phone. Crap. Yeah, I totally left it on my desk. I saw it in my mind’s eye, right by my mousepad. This sucked. Perfect end to a perfectly horrible day. Ugh. Time for wine.
There was a knock.
Gwen. Thank God for the psychic-friend network. I flung the door open, and found …
You have got to be kidding me.
‘Dorian?’ My heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird. ‘Mr Holder.’
He leaned against the doorframe, looking deadpan, debonair and downright amused. ‘Hello, Lily. May I come in?’
For just a moment, I had to ponder. You know that legend about not inviting vampires into your house? But I nodded, like a marionette, as though my head were being yanked up and down by invisible strings. ‘Yes. Of course, Mr Holder.’
He swaggered in with confidence and a sense of ownership. ‘Not what I pictured.’
‘Yeah, well.’ I shrugged. ‘This is how the other half lives.’
‘I see.’ Dorian Holder looked at the maple floor, my scattered belongings, the flipped Intern Flats, the worn futon … and my face began to heat up. Stupid face. I hoped he didn’t think the napkins were dirty tissues.
‘Not sure what you pictured or why you were picturing it at all, but I’m sorry to disappoint you yet again. What are you doing here?’ Fair question. I crossed my arms, waiting, and he reached into the pocket of those Armani slacks. Gone were the gold tie and grey jacket. Just the black button-up shirt and fancy pants. Yes, he looked fabulous, and I wished I’d had time to change into something cuter than my Annie Hall work clothes.
‘Your phone.’ He handed it over with a slight smile. ‘You left it on your desk.’
‘Oh, man. Genius of me.’ Oh, man, he had been rifling my desk. Probably boxing my stuff up for me as a gentlemanly gesture. ‘I swear to God, I’m not usually so flaky.’
‘Well, you didn’t have the easiest day.’
‘Thank you, Mr Holder.’
‘You’re welcome.’ His eyes returned to the futon.
‘Have – please have a seat, Mr Holder.’
Dorian Hartley Holder sat down, trying to find a way to position himself that wouldn’t make him appear folded in half. My furniture does nothing for posture, even of a classic alpha male such as he. Welcome to my world, Dorian Holder, CEO.
‘Lily, I do apologise for turning up unannounced, but obviously I couldn’t ring you. Hoped you’d check your email, but it appears you’ve only just got in.’
‘Yeah, uhm. Missed my train.’ I took a step backwards, lest I get too close to his force field. That mystical aura with which he had been blessed. ‘So how did you find me, Mr Holder?’
‘Oh.’ He waved a hand, nonchalant. ‘I called your mother. She’s your emergency contact.’
‘This is hardly an emergency. Wait. You talked to my mother?’
‘I did. Lovely woman.’
‘Oh, you have no idea.’ I smiled, despite my annoyance at the massive privacy invasion. ‘Lovely, big time. Kind of a handful, though.’
‘A handful, eh?’ He mulled that over, and I thought he might be reflecting that “handful” was an odd way to refer to a mother. ‘Jasmine, right?’
‘She goes by Jaz. With one ‘z’.’
He winced. ‘Ouch.’
‘I know, right?’
We looked at each other for a good ten seconds. I blinked first. Geez, never have a staredown with men like Dorian Holder. Epic fail.
‘Can I get you something to drink, Mr Holder?’
‘You can call me Dorian when we’re not at the office.’ He was pleas
ed with my hospitality. ‘If it’s not a bother. What do you have?’
I was already taking the ten paces it takes to get to the kitchenette. Please don’t follow me, Dorian. I’ve never been big on the whole dishwashing thing, and didn’t need him to see the mess. ‘Not a helluva lot.’
‘I’ll have what you’re having.’
So I poured us a couple glasses of blackberry wine. I’m happy to tell you that my glasses are real crystal. Yep. Thanks again to my grandmother, to clear up any confusion, same one who handed down my chatty clock. Gamma rocked, and still holds the bar on what it means to be a good woman, as far as I’m concerned. She pretty much raised me until I was twelve, and I miss her like crazy.
Also, she didn’t go by ‘Jaz.’
‘Sit down,’ Dorian said, as though it were his Crate&Barrell futon, dragged from the brick sidewalk out in front of Apley Court. Those Harvard kids throw out everything, and furnished my entire apartment at no charge.
I sat next to him, and passed over a goblet.
‘What are we drinking?’ He swirled it about. ‘Nice legs.’
‘Yeah, well. Only the best for this “high-school girl”. Blackberry wine.’
He out-and-out beamed at me. ‘Well, cheers to that.’
We clinked glasses, and I was proud of the melodious ring, which clearly surprised Dorian. He took a sip, swished it with a curious expression and swallowed. ‘This isn’t Boone’s Farm.’
‘Thanks for the elitism and judgement, but no. It’s Bartlett’s, and you haven’t heard of it.’
‘Bartlett’s, you say?’
‘A little winery in Maine. I buy it over at Kendall Square, and am addicted. Just so you know, it’s on discount right now.’ Babbling never sounds classy, and as if discounts on anything mattered to Dorian Holder. ‘If you want, I bought a case, and can send you home with a bottle.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Lily.’
‘Just a thank-you for bringing my phone.’ I tried to still my wiggling feet, so he wouldn’t see how nervous I was. ‘And the new flats.’
Reaching Lily Page 6
