Rise

by Dylan Allen

  These are just material things, but they speak of power and achievement. I need to fake it until I make it. I always keep my make-up minimal for work. But today I am wearing a dark red lipstick. I am prepared for battle.

  Last week, I spent the entire meeting taking notes, following the conversation. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss a thing.

  Yet, I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering to Simon. From remembering the things he had done to me just the night before, to the way he had then decided he hadn’t wanted to see me again. I’d sat in that meeting still able to feel the chafe of his stubble on my thighs. My nipples were still sore from how hard he had sucked them. And I had to sit across the table from him and act like I didn’t care.

  After the meeting, he had walked right up to me, starting to apologize. It took every ounce of my will to pretend I didn’t even know what he was talking about and walk away from him. God, it hurt when he shook my hand. I had wanted him. Even then. I was so angry at myself for it. But I have endured a lot worse. I steeled my emotions and forced myself to walk away to talk to their attorney instead.

  When Simon left the conference room, I released the breath I had been holding for an hour. The rest of my morning was spent trying to regain my composure.

  The “ding” of the elevator in the lobby of Simon’s office building brings me back to reality and I step inside to ride up to the twenty-fifth floor.

  When I step out into their beautiful reception area, the floor to ceiling windows afford me an expansive view of the city and the snaking, glassy green froth of the River Thames. It is breathtaking. I am a relative newcomer to this city and I am still not used to seeing, on a daily basis, images that I’d only ever seen on postcards and on television. So, I gawk.

  I hear a low, masculine chuckle behind me and turn to find Matthew, Montiva’s General Counsel, stepping off the elevators behind me.

  “Impressed?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I admit with a smile, “I am. It’s beautiful. This will be a great view to start the day with.” I continue as I turn back to gaze out of the window.

  “Yes, it will.” He says and I turn back to find him looking at me.

  I flush, not at all comfortable with his remark. I flash a small smile and make my way over to the reception area. He falls into step beside me.

  “I am actually glad I met you here. I meant to get here ahead of you to make sure your office was set up.”

  “I am usually a little early.” I return with another small smile.

  We reach reception which is armed with no less than five women who all could be sisters. They are all blonde with blue eyes and perfectly made up faces. They are seated, but from what I can tell they’re all wearing the same very expensive navy blue skirt suits. One of them has her unfriendly eyes turned to me.

  “Good morning—” I begin, determined not to let them intimidate me.

  She immediately interrupts me. “Miss Dennis, good morning. We have been expecting you. Your office, room 2510, is ready. Your phone has been set up and your computer is being installed right now. Here is your access key and your pin number for the dining hall and fitness room.” She says all this in an unhurried yet efficient tone.

  She doesn’t wait for me to acknowledge her statement before she turns her head to Matthew. When she does, her expression completely changes. It becomes one of respect and adoration. “Good morning, Mr. Roddam. Mr. Phillips called to say he is running a little late, but you should call him when you arrive and you can begin your meeting via phone.”

  I have been dismissed. I start to turn away in hopes finding room 2510 won’t be too hard. But Matthew stops me by saying, “Miss Dennis, if you’d wait I’ll show you where your office is, and get you set up with the database you will need for your due diligence review.”

  I’m relieved at not having to go bumbling around their office suite like a total idiot and wait while he finishes whatever conversation he’s having with the Stepford receptionist.

  By the time we arrive at my office whoever was setting up my computer is gone. They’ve set me up in a huge corner office that has walls of windows facing the city, one solid wall along the hallway, another which abuts it, and a door in the middle of the second wall. In other words, I have total privacy from the rest of the office, but have a fantastic view of the city.

  “So, let me fire up your computer, Miss Dennis.”

  “Please, call me Addie.” I interrupt him.

  “Addie,” he repeats with a small smile, then continues, “Let me fire up your computer so we can get you up and running.”

  He turns it on and sits on the edge of my desk while it powers up. I drop my bag on the desk and sit in the chair. There is a pile of banker boxes in the corner of the office and I look at them pointedly and raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Right. Those are all of our financials for the last two years. We’re a young company, but we’ve completed a lot of projects. Nothing as large and financially complex as this, though. We want to be aware of what our weaknesses and potential liabilities are before anyone else does.”

  “I understand. Jack and I spent most of yesterday talking about your goals and our strategy. Those files will need to be digitized though, just for ease of review.”

  We continue this conversation, and I find my earlier discomfort with him easing. His flirtation doesn’t show up again; it’s nice to be treated as colleague and I find myself really getting excited about this project.

  We are talking about the most practical way to get the files from paper to digital files when I feel it. I know he’s there before he says a word. When I look up, I find Simon standing in the door way. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are locked on me, and they look almost angry. What the hell?

  Simon’s eyes still don’t leave my face and I, for the life of me, can’t look away from him either.

  Matthew, completely oblivious to Simon’s ire, doesn’t even bother straightening up. “Well, look who decided to come to work.” He says this with a laugh in his voice, eyes still on my computer, body still leaned over my shoulder as he looked at the data we had just been discussing.

  Simon finally drops my eyes and looks at Matthew. He clips out, “I’ve been calling you.”

  At Simon’s response, Matthew looks up and reaches into his pocket. “Huh, reception must be bad in here. I got nothing. Anyway, I think I’ve got enough to get Addie started. Let’s go and get busy.”

  He stands up and starts to walk out. He is almost to the door and to Simon when he turns around to say, “Addie, let me take you out to lunch as a welcome. There is a great Thai place right next door. You’ll love it.” Without waiting for me to respond he keeps walking, claps Simon on the arm and walks out.

  Simon walks out with him. He doesn’t say a word to me. Not even good morning. What in the world is he angry at me for? I cannot, for the life of me, understand this man. I just hope he keeps his distance from me. And I hope I can keep mine from him.

  September 12, 2014

  I can’t fucking concentrate. Having Addie down the hall from me is not going to work. I feel her active disregard like a brand. She smiles at everyone when she enters a room. When her gaze hits mine, her expression always cools. Her responses to any questions I ask are straightforward, civil, and brief. It’s fine. I tell myself, this is what I need.

  I tell myself this because it’s true. I don’t have room for her in my life. I have work, and I have Henry. I can’t handle more because more means that in the moments they need me, I won’t be there. Just like my mother, just like that night.

  But, fuck me! Why does Addie have to be so perfect? Why does she have to be so beautiful and smart? When I see her smile at someone, I wish like hell it was directed at me. Seeing her every day is like being in a desert near an oasis, but having legs not strong enough to carry me forward to drink from it.

  And to make matters worse, Matthew is making his intent clear. He wants her. Not that I blame him, and he is the kind of man who she w
ould probably go for. I can tell she comes from money. She went to Harvard, and probably not on a scholarship. He’s an Oxford man, read law at Kings College, and came to us from the best Chambers in Grey’s Inn. I know that women like him, and that he likes them. He doesn’t have a parent in jail and one he’s never even known, and he doesn’t have an infant he’s raising. I mean, I know I should wish her well if it is what she wants. But, I can’t.

  I grit my teeth as I see him saunter past my office in the direction of her office, fucking whistling to himself.

  My phone rings as I sit there helpless to do anything but clench my jaw in frustration.

  I look at the caller ID and see it’s Kyle.

  “Hey, Kyle. How’s it going, little brother?” I greet him warmly.

  “Si, man. I’m good. Just getting ready to catch the train. I’m heading up to Birmingham for the weekend to do some research. Just wanted to say bye and make sure you and little Sir Shits-a-Lot are going to be fine without me.”

  Kyle calls Henry all sorts of names, but Sir Shits-a-Lot is one of his favorites and it’s probably the most apt. The little guy is just starting to eat solids and he goes through diapers like he thinks we own stock in the factories that make them.

  “‘Kay. Have a good trip. Don’t fall into any pussy unprotected Kyle, please. One baby is enough. Do you need any money? Does your phone have enough credit?” I ask.

  “Yes, mummy, I’m fine,” Kyle responds in a voice I suppose is meant to sound like a little boy’s.

  I laugh. I know I tend to fuss, but I take my responsibilities seriously. I wish I’d had someone to do this for me when I was in university. I don’t want him to worry the way I did and I don’t want him to have to ask me first if he needs something. I just want him to focus on studying and staying out of trouble.

  “Yeah, yeah. All right. Well, call if you need anything and call when you get there. See you on Sunday.”

  “Yup, see you Sunday,” he says. “And Simon,” he calls just as I start to pull the phone away from my ear. “Thanks, bro.” Then he hangs up.

  I smile as I hang up and immediately call Mercy to check on Henry. Our conversation is brief, but Henry’s got a slight fever she has just given him something for. He just started going to this new baby gymnastics class twice a week and is bound to pick things up from his classmates. She reassures me he’s fine, playing, and I can hear him making happy noises in the background.

  We disconnect and I get back to work. Thoughts of what Addie and Matthew are doing are pushed to the back of my mind as I try to focus on work.

  September 15, 2014

  The worst part of each day are these daily status meetings we have. I have been assured they will only last the first two weeks of the project or until we are all sure we’re on the same page. The junior partner from my firm joins us by phone and we debrief.

  Occasionally, Simon is asked to come in and discuss a question about the design. As it’s a refurbishment rather than a rebuild, we often have to distinguish what is original from some of the more recent work done on the building. It’s exhausting and painstaking work, but we are making progress, and when this part of the project is done, Simon won’t have to join us anymore and that is music to my ears.

  It’s torture being in the same room with him and having to train my features to impassivity. To pretend his presence doesn’t speed up my pulse in equal part with anger and desire. I am still wounded by the way he treated me, but I refuse to let him see it, especially when he seems to think he has a right to be annoyed with me.

  Every time I see him, usually when he walks past my office or in these status meetings, he looks like he is barely tolerating my presence. It’s galling. But it is also an incentive to keep up my act of disinterest.

  He didn’t attend yesterday’s meeting, but halfway through today’s we discover we need him to answer some questions. One of the finance staffers is sent to fetch him. I prepare myself for his appearance by getting my roiling stomach under control and taking a deep breath when I am sure no one is watching me.

  Simon enters the room, and I can tell right away something is wrong. Normally, Simon walks in and gets to work immediately. He doesn’t even spare a moment for greetings, instead it’s “what’s the question.”

  Today, Simon walks in while typing a text, he sits down, continues to type the text, and doesn’t address anyone. We all watch him as he types furiously. His brows are drawn together. I notice his normally clean shaven face is sporting enough of a beard to let me know he hasn’t shaved recently.

  He finishes his message and looks up. “Okay, I’m here. What do you need?” He says this to no one in particular. Then his phone rings, and without a word he snatches it up and leaves the room as he answers it with a brusque, “Yes?”

  A few minutes later, he sticks his head back in and says, “I’m leaving for the day and probably won’t be back for the rest of the week.” And then he’s gone.

  No one says a word for a moment. And then, Eric their VP of Finance, speaks up. “Okay, let’s just move on to the next item on the agenda.”

  They act as if nothing bizarre just happened. Am I in the twilight zone? I want to leap out of my chair and chase Simon out of the room and demand to know what the hell was going on. I want to scream at the fucking weirdos who are acting like the normally composed Simon hadn’t just behaved totally unprofessionally.

  Instead, I sit there like I’m the fucking weirdo and finished the meeting. Because, shit, what else can I do? Clearly, there are things about Simon I don’t know. I mean, of course there are, but this is not a minor thing. And I was going to get to the bottom of it.

  When the meeting ends I walk back to my office to start working on the action items I have been tasked with. I plan on talking to Simon myself. I hate second hand talk. I’ve lived thirteen years of my life being the subject of gossip. I like my tea straight from the source. I know I am not really talking to him, but I’m going to because I want to know what the fuck that was about.

  As soon as I sit down, Matthew’s head ducks into my door with a conspiratorial “Hey!” I deserve some sort of medal for not rolling my eyes.

  “Hi, Matthew. I was actually just about to make a call—” He cuts me off.

  “Oh, I won’t keep you long. I was just stopping by to explain Mr. Perfect’s behavior. Everyone lets him get away with whatever he wants because he won us this bid. It’s ridiculous if you ask me, it was dumb luck. But now he’s the second coming of Christ in the eyes of the C-suite and exploits it every chance he gets.”

  I stare at him. This petty, jealousy driven speech is so unprofessional and shocking I can’t believe that this man, who is the head of their legal department, is standing in my office giving it.

  “Then he goes and adopts his nephew and they act like he’s fucking Mother Theresa. They let him come in late, leave early, work from home, take days off, whatever he wants.”

  I cut him off, sharply-- “What did you say, Matthew? About his nephew? He adopted his nephew?”

  So the crying baby lives with him. He mentioned a nephew, but he didn’t say anything more. So I assumed he was just visiting. Or something.

  “Yeah, something about his sister, who knows who cares, right? Those people never really get past their true nature. God only knows what sort of the drugs the baby is withdrawing from.”

  I rear back in shock. I don’t think about hiding my reaction.

  “Matthew, I know we have to work together, and that I owe you professional courtesy, but you don’t know me well enough to talk to me like this. Nor should you be talking about your co-worker with me this way. I don’t know what compelled you to come to my office to explain.” I put the last word in sarcastic air quotes, “but I really don’t want to hear any more.”

  I look back to my computer and continue without looking at Matthew. “I’ve got a ton of action items from our meeting to deliver before tomorrow, so I’m going to get started. See you later.”

  I ho
pe Matthew knows he has been dismissed and doesn’t say another word as he leaves my office. No such luck.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to let you know he’s bad news. I don’t want you to get caught up in all that stuff. I can tell you haven’t been around people like him - you know, with his background - before.”

  I am enraged on Simon’s behalf. I know people often can’t tell, but my mother is black, and I can’t believe the way Matthew just disparaged Simon because of his heritage. And the way he cavalierly divulged something so private about Simon to someone who is, as far as he knows, a total stranger.

  What a dick.

  At the same time, he is my client, I can’t afford to do anything to damage this relationship. My career is the thing I care about most. I remind myself of that as I look back at him and smile.

  “Of course, Matthew. I know. I am just stressed about everything I’ve got going on. Let’s just forget it.”

  I hate myself a little right now, but I am not sure what else to do.

  “Sure, Addie. I’ll let you get to work.” Matthew sounds mollified, but wary. I’ll take it.

  “Thanks, Matthew. See you later?” I muster every ounce of control I own and smile at him.

  It works and he smiles back.

  As soon I hear the click of my door closing, I pick my phone and call Cara. She has been seeing Louis. She must know something; I am going to get to the bottom of this today.

  As I start to call, I remember that as much as I love Cara, she is the queen of evasion, so I decide I am just going to show up at her place tonight after work. She can’t look me in the eye and keep something from me.