by Julia Harlow
~*~
Baycrest Enterprises’ employees spent Thursday packing up for the move to their new Soter.com space at 555 California Avenue on Friday. The new tenants set to move into the Baycrest space would be utilizing the office furniture, so Isabel and her colleagues packed up personal items, cleaned out staff desks, and emptied the refrigerator, cabinets, and counters in the break room.
Friday was the move-in and orientation day, with the actual start date the following Monday. While Isabel looked forward to the new challenge and couldn’t be happier to still have a job, she still felt prickles of apprehension. Online training certainly served a purpose, but hands-on training was what it was all about. At least for Isabel, she’d always learned best that way.
Even though Gloria Parnell and Branson Drake, the CEO of Soter.com, had factored in the fit of the two very different cultures, there would be expected challenges in adjustments. While Baycrest Enterprises offered custom-made bikes from a local bike shop for anyone who committed to not driving to work, Soter.com offered guaranteed parking spaces in their underground garage at the imposing 555 California Avenue building.
Lunch at Baycrest had always been a catch-as-catch-can affair: bring your own, grab takeout, whatever you could fit into your jam-packed daily schedule. Soter.com, on the other hand, offered a wheat and dairy-free lunch prepared by a chef three days a week.
Security at Baycrest had been minimal, versus the policy at Soter.com: twenty-four-hour security and high-tech key cards issued to all employees. While Baycrest’s dress code was for the most part “tech tribe,” Soter was more professional.
Those were only the differences Isabel was aware of so far. Certainly, there would be major adjustments to the IT systems, standards, and work ethics. No use fretting about it now. By tomorrow, she’d have a much better feel for the way things worked at Soter.com.
~*~
First BancTrust, one of the largest banks in the United States and headquartered in San Francisco, embraced all things technology. They had developed an accelerator program for tech start-ups offering products for combatting digital challenges around fraud detection, customer experience, and cloud computing. Their program included direct investments and six-month mentoring of start-up leaders for the chosen start-up. Their vision was part of a larger trend of big banks buddying up with non-bank firms to better compete in the digital world. The end result would be that the tech start-ups would become vendors of the bank, offering key resources the bank required.
Soter.com had been one of the companies chosen for First BancTrust’s accelerator program. During the development of the partnering strategy between the two companies, a gap in service was detected that needed to be filled. Baycrest Enterprises offered the best fit to fill that gap, and thus takeover negotiations had begun almost twelve months ago.
At nine o’clock Friday morning, the seven Baycrest Enterprises employees selected for the move to Soter.com made their way across the expansive 555 California Avenue plaza. Because of the gray drizzly morning with temperatures hovering in the low fifties, most of them wore raincoats or jackets. Isabel hunched under an umbrella, wedged in between Gloria and Quvadus, while Logan, Scott, and Kendall tucked under their hoods behind them. Zack brought up the rear, apparently not caring if he got wet.
The tension was palpable; everyone walked stiffly on the slick surface of the plaza and clutched the handles of their totes and backpacks tighter than necessary. Scores of other people passed them on the way to their offices, all chatting easily and going about their normal day. Isabel envied them the fact that they seemed comfortably settled into their jobs. She detested first days of anything, except vacations.
Once inside Soter’s third-floor office space, Isabel felt immediately overwhelmed. This space seemed as if it inhabited, not only a different planet from Baycrest, but also a different galaxy. With ludicrously high ceilings, everything appeared open and airy, all slick glass and shiny hard surfaces. No signs of start-up culture anywhere; not a beanbag chair or table tennis set to be seen. Large Apple computers occupied the center of every visible desk with a pricey ergonomic chair tucked underneath.
Isabel became aware of all eyes in the room scrutinizing their group. She cringed at how incredibly awkward it felt and wondered why the two companies hadn’t arranged a social get-together beforehand for everyone to meet. As she gazed around at her colleagues, she wished her group didn’t appear to be so rag-tag. She and Gloria were dressed appropriately, but the others were in jeans and hoodies, except for Logan clad in his standard issue jeans and black V-neck T-shirt.
The fifteen or so in the Soter group appeared to be significantly more put together. The majority were men, some in casual suits, some in khakis and Polos; their slacks were neat and wrinkle-free and the Polos were crisp. The handful of women wore black slacks and light-colored blouses. An uncomfortable silence settled in the area.
Branson Drake, the CEO of Soter.com, stepped forward. The jacket of his dark blue suit strained over a sizable paunch; his brown hair was thinning and there was a good start on a bald patch on top. He had straight white teeth and a nice smile. Isabel guessed him to be in his early thirties, and he appeared to be only an inch or two taller than her height.
He stopped at a spot in an open area, smiling at everyone—the Soter group on one side of the open space and the former Baycrest employees on the other. It brought to mind the Sharks and the Jets from West Side Story that Isabel and Ellen had watched last weekend. The opening notes from the film played in Isabel’s head, and she smiled at the thought.
Mr. Drake held up a hand to quiet the group and began to speak. “So, here we are at this exciting juncture. Let’s give a warm welcome to the newest members of our Soter.com team.” He gestured toward Isabel and her colleagues to a light smattering of applause.
“We’ve assembled the smartest, most creative brains to incorporate into First BancTrust’s vision. Before we move forward, we need to take care of some details first. Jackie Hall, our office manager, will conduct our newest members’ orientation, show you to your desks and offices, and cover any questions you may have. Settle in and we’ll have a full staff meeting first thing Monday morning!”
Jackie Hall, a thin slip of a young woman, had stringy brown hair and a pointy face. Clad in a short khaki skirt and a beige Soter.com-logoed Polo, she held her arms out in a half-circle as if they were wings and she was gathering her chicks around her. Something in the tone of her voice grated on Isabel’s nerves; too loud and raspy, it had a forced enthusiasm as if she were trying to convince first-time, already homesick campers that they were going to have a wonderful time at camp.
As the Soter staff ambled back to work, Jackie called out to Isabel’s group, “Gather round, people. Lots of housekeeping to cover. You’ll meet with IT to get your computers set up; then you’ll get passkeys and security codes. I’ll show you to your desks and offices. And finally, you’ll get up to speed with protocols and Soter’s ethics manual.”
By the end of the day, Isabel felt worn to a frazzle. Only one thought had kept her going through the trials and tribulations of the first day at Soter.com: her evening out with Ty.
Chapter 11
Ty had been secretive about where they were going for dinner, so Isabel pondered what to wear while she showered and shampooed her hair after work. The shower refreshed her, and while she towel-dried her hair, excitement bubbled up like champagne to the brim of a flute. An evening out with Ty. Just the two of them.
She worried she was putting too much importance on this evening as she combed through her hair and dried it with the hand dryer, using a round bristle brush to smooth out her natural curls. She’d noticed that Ty preferred her hair in a natural style, so she fluffed it a little and let it flow around her face and neck.
Back to the inevitable dilemma of what to wear, she rifled the hangers in her closet, cursing Ellen, who had gone out for the evening, for being so tiny. They could each double their wardrobes if Ellen were
n’t a measly size six.
Ty had already seen the orchid Donna Karan sheath. That was one of her dressiest outfits. She could wear her little black dress, but that was so plain. She preferred colors, vibrant ones: gem-tones in reds, greens, blues, and all shades of pink and orange. Somehow, she rationalized that the vibrant colors detracted attention from the size of her body.
Still at an impasse, Isabel applied liquid eyeliner, steadying her slightly shaky right hand with her left, and then mascara, blush, and raspberry lipstick. Next, she slipped on lacy peony-pink bikinis and a matching bra with thigh-high nylons. She’d already figured out how much Ty liked thigh-highs. Remembering his reaction the night of the fundraiser made her shiver with delight.
She held up the Donna Karan and LBD. It was between these two. She glanced at the clock on her phone. Six forty-five. Crap! Only fifteen minutes!
She slipped the sleeveless black dress over her head, wriggled it over her hips, and reached behind to zip it up. It fit her opulent figure perfectly, and the deep, round neckline outlining her breasts was flattering. The fabric clung to her curves, and an empire waist with a peplum detail flattered her figure. She found her three-and-a-half-inch Jimmy Choo jade-colored heels and matching clutch. All she needed was a dab of cologne behind the ears and jewelry. Oh, and a wrap because the dress was sleeveless.
Isabel held up earrings and a pendant necklace, debating which one worked best with the dress and heels. The dinging sound of the doorbell was immediately accompanied by Queenie’s high-pitched yapping. Isabel attached silver chandelier earrings on the way to the door, stilettos clicking on the hardwood floors, and gave her fingers a loud snap in Queenie’s direction.
Queenie’s eyes widened as she peered at Isabel with a “Guess I have to be quiet since it’s you!” expression while Pilot sat bolt upright next to Isabel, ears pricked up on high alert.
“It’s only Ty, Pilot. You can relax.” When she peeked through the peephole to make sure, she lost not only her breath but also a considerable amount of brainpower at the sight of Ty. She had to remind herself to actually open the door.
He seemed to be having the same sort of difficulty as his eyes lingered on her after he strode in. He might have been trying to focus them elsewhere, but his eyes kept coming back to rest on her cleavage.
“My God, Isabel, you look amazing.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. It was a light kiss that held the sweet promise of what was to come. She caught his clean scent with just a hint of spice and breathed it in.
“I’m glad you approve. I’ve almost run out of dresses that you haven’t seen. I just need a minute to get my wrap. Queenie and Pilot will keep you company.”
She felt his eyes on her as she made her way back to her room to collect her evening bag and black cashmere wrap, which she draped over her arm. She was so hot at the sight of Ty that the last thing she needed at the moment was a wrap.
Ty was the kind of man who definitely wore the suit and not the other way around. A combination of potent alpha male and natural elegance, he sizzled in a black three-piece suit that clung to every hard muscle and sinew. A white shirt and polka-dot-printed pocket square completed the ensemble. The style of the suit sent a clear message: strength, sex appeal, and power. His dark blond hair had been combed back in a sexy style.
Brilliant stars dotted the azure blue sky and a crescent moon shone high above them on the balmy night. A light breeze ruffled her hair and fluttered the hem of her dress as they made their way to the curb.
Inside the Bentley, the atmosphere sizzled with sexual tension. Fortunately, they arrived at their destination in less than twenty minutes. Isabel glanced around and realized they were parked at a harbor. Not exactly what she’d been expecting.
Ty’s hand felt warm on her waist through the thin fabric of her dress as they made their way down the dock toward the very end where they boarded a waiting launch. Tiny beads of water misted over them as the launch rippled across the water toward the yacht, the roar of the motor so loud that they didn’t attempt to talk. The launch took them out into the bay to board one of the most spectacular yachts Isabel had ever seen. She craned her neck back to view the four decks of the sleek white yacht towering above them.
“There’s only a small crew, so we’ll have some privacy,” Ty told her as they disembarked the launch and boarded the yacht. It seemed to Isabel that a large crowd of people waited to welcome them onto the yacht: stewards dressed in navy blue blazers and crisp white trousers, deckhands, the captain, pilot, and engineer, in addition to the chef and his staff in the galley. Ty greeted the captain before grasping her hand and leading Isabel to the lounge.
She needed a moment to take all this splendor in. The interior was ultra-modern and dramatic, especially seen at night. Snow-white marble and pure-white leather seating contrasted with high-gloss black-lacquer cabinetry and dark-toned Makassar wood. The atrium walls were made of patterned backlit onyx set in a background of black granite. A round black dining table was raised on a two-step platform with high-backed white leather chairs. The table was set with sparkling Irish crystal, Versace china, and a crystal vase overflowing with lavender and hot pink orchids.
“Is this yours?” Isabel asked when she could gather her wits enough to formulate a question. She felt overwhelmed at the sheer opulence of her surroundings.
He moved toward her with the elegance and strength of a panther, smiling and shaking his head.
“Mine? No. It belongs to Grandin Financial.” He held two flutes and a bottle of Perrier Jouet Belle Époque Blanc de Blanc, possibly the most beautiful champagne bottle Isabel had ever seen. “Champagne, Isabel?”
“Yes, please.”
Ty gestured to the white leather seating area where he proceeded to expertly twist the bottle from the cork and not the other way around. After a soft pop and curling swirl of CO2 vapor, he poured her a glass, handed it to her, and then poured the other for himself.
“Let’s toast to our first official date, shall we?” He clinked his glass against hers, and gazing into each other’s eyes, they both took a sip of the nectar of the gods.
The champagne ranked in her book as the finest Isabel had ever tasted. Chilled to perfection, the bubbles tickled her throat in a medley of delicious flavors that included peaches, apricots, fruit jam, and butter. She knew she’d have to pace herself, because this was way too easy going down. She suddenly became aware of soft notes of music playing in the background. She thought she recognized an older tune of Dionne Warwick’s her mother used to play on repeat.
“What is this music? It sounds like Dionne Warwick.”
He gave her his lady killer smile, but she got the feeling in this case it was his way of showing his genuine pleasure at her response. “It most definitely is. The song is ‘I Say a Little Prayer.’ My dad was a huge Burt Bacharach fan, and by default, I’m one as well. I put together a playlist for tonight that I hope you’ll enjoy.” He leaned his big body back into the sofa cushions and stretched an arm over the white leather cushion behind her back.
She took another sip of the heavenly champagne. “It’s lovely. My mother is a big Dionne Warwick fan. I remember hearing this very song often when I was younger.”
A young male server handsome enough to be an Esquire model entered, carrying a silver salver. He lowered the tray for their perusal before setting a china plate in front of each of them.
“Chef’s first course this evening is Tsar Imperial Ossetra caviar with Nova Scotia lobster ‘en Gelee’, toasted brioche, dill pollen, and lemon crème fraîche.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “Oh, it sounds and looks wonderful.” She watched Ty lift a triangle of brioche, take the small mother-of-pearl spoon and spread a layer of dill pollen, and add Nova Scotia lobster and a small mound of caviar. He topped it off with a dollop of lemon crème fraîche, and offered it to her.
“Try this.” His eyes were glued to her mouth as she took a bite.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and a mo
an escaped her as the medley of tart and sweet, salty and tangy flowed over her tongue. “Oh. My. God. That’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted!”
She felt his hot gaze linger on her and her cheeks flushed. “Okay. Your turn.” Following his lead, she prepared a toast point and handed it to him. His smile was both sweet and amused. He consumed the toast point in one bite.
“Oh, very, very nice.” They continued in that fashion; he prepared one for her and she prepared one for him while Cher’s iconic movie rendition of “Alfie” played over the sound system. She and Ellen had recently watched that movie as part of a Best of 1960’s British movies tribute.
“Just so you know, this is Chef Aiden Kelly’s seven-course tasting menu. The courses are small, but even I get filled up.”
“You have no idea how huge my appetite is.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized how they might have sounded to him.
He raised his brows, and his voice sounded hoarse when he responded, “Oh, I sure hope so.” Just then a female server with a long blond braid snaking down her back entered the lounge with the next course: slow poached Elevages Perigord Moulard duck foie gras with yellow peaches, spiced walnuts, and pickled celery relish.
When Isabel took her first bite, making certain to include small amounts of foie gras, peaches, and spiced walnuts on the tiny silver appetizer fork, she was enraptured. The rich velvety texture of the foie gras contrasted with the gentle sweetness of the peach, and the spicy crunch of walnut hit her taste buds full force. It made this culinary experience almost orgasmic in its intensity.
