by Heidi Lowe
I just stared at her, open-mouthed.
She leaned forward, glanced nervously around her, before whispering, “You’ve been with the company a while, right? You’ve heard the stories?”
I nodded. “Are they true?”
She didn’t answer with words, but the sympathy in her eyes said it all.
“Got any advice?” If I could hear the panic in my voice, she certainly could too.
“Don’t screw up, like, ever.”
I searched her eyes for signs of jest, but there were none. Great! Asking me not to screw up was like asking a duck not to quack! Screwing up was part of the Adams DNA.
My legs wobbled beneath me as I slowly made my way along the corridor, every breath I took punctuated with fear. For a woman whom I’d never met, this Naomi Pierre had managed to put the fear of God in me. I felt like Daniel walking into the lion’s den, about to be breakfast for the office tyrant.
A smartly dressed man with golden skin and jet black hair styled in a quiff, was waiting for me when I entered the double doors of the Household Goods department. Everything about him looked perfectly coordinated — from his checkered red and black shirt to the tailored black pants and red loafers. His smile was perfect and white, his scent spicy and hypnotizing. Even before he spoke I knew he was gay. Not just from the telltale mannerisms, but because no straight man I knew ever went to as much trouble to look this good, especially not for work.
Something Colin had said once, after a sermon on desires, came to mind then. “The higher you climb in business, the further away everyone gets from the traditional family structure.” We didn’t speak much about sexuality — heterosexual or otherwise — but his distaste for anything he deemed non-traditional was evident. Before my rebirth five years ago, I’d had gay male friends. Good ones. But much of my old life had been left in the dirt. Where it belonged, as far as I was concerned. Brit was the only remnant of it.
For just the slightest, briefest moment a feeling of nostalgia washed over me. Nostalgia for the friends I’d abandoned, out of necessity, out of desperation. Then it was gone.
“Hey!” He shook my hand, nearly crushing it. “I’m Saeed, Naomi’s assistant. And you must be Dakota. Love the name, by the way, and the hair!”
Nervously, I ran a hand over my long graduated bob cut. Somehow ginger hair had come into fashion when I wasn’t looking. Every now and then people complimented me on my hair, always surprising me. I’d stopped dyeing it blonde after my awakening, and embraced it, which had proven successful.
“Thanks.”
“Not that I think you all look the same or anything, but are you related to Bryce Dallas Howard by any chance?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think so.”
He shrugged. “I’m gonna introduce you to the team, get you settled in your new office, and—”
“I get my own office?”
He laughed. “Adorable. Yeah, we do things differently over here. Execs at all levels get their own office. Something to do with better productivity with privacy.” He waved a dismissive hand.
I followed him through one set of glass doors. Inside, I counted eleven small office pods — five on one side, six on the other, each with fully see-through glass windows and doors. So much for privacy. There was one more office, a large one that sat between the others, whose windows had floor to ceiling blinds, which were currently closed. Naomi Pierre, Senior Executive, the sign on the door read. Seeing that sent a shiver down my spine. That glass door stood between me and The Glacier Queen.
The nine junior executives on the team presently occupied a conference table in the middle of the room. In an instant everyone’s eyes were on me.
“Most mornings the team meet out here for briefings,” Saeed whispered to me. Then, “Guys, this is Dakota from the Pharaoh Building. She’ll be replacing Vivienne.”
Hellos abounded, though they didn’t seem all that interested in me. You could tell they just wanted to get back to their discussion. Every single one of them looked distressed. They ranged from mid-twenties to early-fifties. Or not. Maybe what I deemed fifties was actually thirties, aged through the stresses of the job. Was premature aging something I, too, had to look forward to?
Once the introductions had ended, Saeed showed me to my office.
“I loved her, but Viv was a filthy beast!” he said when we stepped inside. There were papers everywhere, a couple of potted plants that were all but dead, probably because they’d been used as trash cans for Viv’s candy bar habit. The window needed to be scrubbed; the whiteboard still had writing scribbled all over it.
“Oh, and that doesn’t come off,” he said, following my gaze to the board. “I tried. She must have used a Sharpie.”
None of this dampened my mood, however. Awestruck, I took in my surroundings, seeing past all the junk to my very own office. A messy office was better than none at all. It wouldn’t take me long to clean up, anyway. I’d seen far worse. My childhood had been a string of filthy rooms and clean up jobs.
I shoved some papers off the swivel chair behind my desk, sat down, grinned to myself. Twisted around to peer outside. We were on the top floor of a six-story building. Below and beyond, I could see the hustle and bustle of downtown Seattle. I had finally made it.
Saeed started opening filing cabinet drawers. “You’ll be taking over some of Viv’s smaller accounts. You’re new, so don’t worry, we’re not throwing you in at the deep end. But you will need to give everyone a call, let them know who you are, that sort of thing. This business is about relationships; building them, maintaining them, sacrificing your life for them.” He smiled encouragingly.
“How many accounts do I get?”
He dropped a stack of files in front of me. “All of those.”
I gawked at the pile. “All of those?”
He winked. “All of those,” he said again. “You’ll be fine. If your last position was anything like mine, you were already doing this stuff anyway. Now you have an office.”
While true, it didn’t negate the fact that now I would be shouldering all of the responsibility; my screw ups were mine and mine alone. This sure did feel a lot like the deep end.
“If you need anything, I’m in pod six, or star one on your phone. Good luck.” He turned to leave.
“Uh, and Naomi Pierre?”
“What about her?”
“Will I meet her today?” It was the last thing I wanted, but the sooner we got that out of the way, the sooner I could get on with my life, stop living in fear of that dreaded first encounter.
“Eventually,” he said. “She won’t be in the office until this afternoon, but I’m sure she’ll want to meet you.” That didn’t sound convincing.
Once he was gone, I took a moment to truly take in my surroundings, and scream with joy internally. If the walls hadn’t been transparent I would have jumped for joy all over the office. I contemplated taking pictures of me sitting at my desk, looking all important and professional, but that would have called into question said professionalism.
Besides, judging by the heap of files on my desk, there was lots of work to do. Clients to call, campaigns to put together. But first, cleaning.
Colin’s text came through a couple of minutes before one that afternoon; a couple of minutes before my lunch break was set to start.
Sorry, sweetheart, I’m working through lunch today. Hope you’re killing it on your first day. Xx.
Whenever possible we tried to grab lunch together, usually managing once or twice a week. There was a little cafe right across the street, the preferred haunt of most of the staff in the Pharaoh Building. Even though the Sekhmet Building, my new site, was a mile away, and was surrounded by eateries of all descriptions, I was still prepared to make the trip. On my scooter, it could be done in ten minutes. But now that Colin couldn’t make it, there didn’t seem much point.
I seized my purse from on top of the filing cabinet, where I’d placed it while I was cleaning up. It hadn’t take
n long to get the place up to scratch. I’d helped myself to a couple of cleaning products in one of the stockrooms — a 75 sq ft room overflowing with free stuff from the company’s clients. In fact, the air freshener I’d used to give the room its fruity, zesty smell was one of my new clients, whom I’d yet to call and introduce myself to.
Saeed tapped on the glass door, waited for me to wave him in.
Once inside, he peered around the room, then nodded, impressed. “Looking good.”
“Oh, thanks. I’m just about to head to lunch. What do you recommend?”
“Well most people here usually bring their own lunches, because it gets pretty crowded at the shops around this time...”
“Thanks for the heads up. Don’t wanna spend half my break waiting in line,” I said, making a mental note. I would make sandwiches or a tuna salad for tomorrow’s lunch.
“There’s this cute little Italian place that does the best calzones, and because it’s a little off the beaten track it doesn’t get as busy. Mario’s.”
A calzone was just what I needed, though I could have eaten just about anything. My stomach growled the whole time I was on the phone to my clients. I prayed they hadn’t heard it.
Saeed had been right about Mario’s being off the beaten track. Although just a seven minute walk from the office, it was tucked away down a side street that, if I was being honest, didn’t look all that safe. Had he sent me there to get lunch or to be mugged?!
Once inside, my breathing settled to a normal pace. The place looked bigger from the outside, but had a cozy, familiar feel to it. Homely, like you were dining in your living room. Six tables, all but one occupied. I’d come just in time.
I probably should have asked Saeed which calzone he recommended, because as my eyes scanned the menu, it became overwhelming. So many fillings, every combination imaginable. Too much choice; too much pressure.
“Take your time, bella,” the waiter behind the counter said, shooting me an Italian smile filled to the brim with passion.
The bell behind me rang as I was still perusing the menu. Another customer had entered. Which meant I had to choose fast in order to grab the remaining table, or be forced to join someone else’s.
“You ready to order now?” the waiter asked.
“I think so. I’ve narrowed it down to the chicken and bacon or the mushroom and spinach calzones.”
Before the waiter could speak, a voice behind me said, “Go with the mushroom and spinach; your mouth will thank you.”
There was the faintest whisper of an accent, but I couldn’t put my finger on where in the world it originated from. Spain? Israel? It could have been from anywhere; I was no good at accents. I’d never left the States, so my knowledge was limited.
The melodic, somewhat hypnotic playfulness in the tone made me turn around, intrigued to see who possessed such a voice.
The woman smiled... And time stopped for me.
In my twenty-nine years on Earth, I’d never seen anyone more beautiful — up close or from a distance. I couldn’t believe she was real. In those few seconds, I took everything in: the dark, slightly wavy hair that fell to her waist; the smoldering brown eyes; the beauty spot below her right eye; the cinnamon shade of lipstick on plump, perfectly symmetrical lips. Her long, grey cashmere coat looked expensive; she smelled like everything delicious in the world.
It took me a second to realize I was staring at her and not saying a word. My brain couldn’t function to string a sentence together.
“That’s what you want, the mushroom and spinach?” The waiter’s voice brought me out of my reverie.
I turned back to him. “Uh, sure.” Risking looking the fool again, and gawking at this beautiful stranger again, I turned to face her again. “Uh, thanks.” That was all I could manage.
“Don’t thank me till you’ve tried it,” she said with a laugh. “It could be the worst thing you’ve ever tasted.”
Somehow I didn’t think so; for some reason I trusted her. Was it because of her beauty? Were beautiful people more trustworthy than the rest of us mere mortals? There must have been a science to it.
“How are you doing today, Mario?” she said, talking straight past me to the waiter, who, as it turned out, was also the owner.
He pressed a hand to his heart dramatically, beamed. “Now that the love of my life has returned, I feel like singing.”
She chuckled. “Maybe I should leave, then. I’ve heard your singing.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Have you reconsidered?”
“Marrying you? Still thinking about it.”
Even though it was all fun and games, there was virtually no way Mario would have said no to her hand in marriage. She looked to be in her mid-thirties; wrinkle-free and would likely age well. Like expensive wine. She was probably already happily married, anyway, to the richest man in the city. When you looked as good as she did, fun-loving and friendly to boot, you got your pick of the most eligible bachelors in town.
Once I’d made my order, I slipped into the empty table, but stole glances at her when she wasn’t looking. It was hard not to. There were beautiful people all over the city, but no one had ever come close to this level.
What was her story?
This was the question on my mind as I watched her pay for her meal, exchange more words with Mario, and then... look in my direction.
Crap! She caught me staring at her. How cringe! And because I didn’t know how to proceed without coming off like a weird stalker lady, I quickly looked away, trying to pretend that I was looking at something else. Then I took out my phone and tried to seem busy.
“Do you mind?”
I looked up to find her standing at my table, gesturing to the empty seat across from me.
“Oh, uh...”
“I can ask someone else, it’s not a pr—”
“No, no, of course,” I said hurriedly.
“Thank you.” She took off her coat, revealing a white blouse and black pants. Of course she had a figure to die for. Her BMI would put any fitness coach to shame — there wasn’t an ounce of extra fat anywhere.
She sat down. I’d never felt more nervous, more flustered, more intrigued.
“Let me guess, this is your first time here?” she said with a knowing smile.
“Yeah. I just started a new job today, so I’m getting to know the area. I like it here. Do you come here often?”
“When I can. When time permits.” She took out her phone, looked at it, tutted then slipped it back into her purse. Her eyes were on me again. “Mario usually leaves me a calzone at the end of the day, if I can’t make lunch.”
“Wow, he must really like you.” Everything I said sounded moronic, and I couldn’t understand why.
“Well we go way back. I’ve been coming here ten years.”
“Wow,” I said again. Jesus, couldn’t I think of anything more creative to say than wow? “Do you work close by?” Was that too personal, too forward? Would she tell me to mind my own business?
“I do.” That was all she would give. Maybe she had some top secret job with a government intelligence agency and had to be coy. “You? You mentioned you just started a new job?”
“Oh, yeah. Same ad agency, different site. Oh, and a promotion.”
“Congratulations,” she said. “How has your first day been so far?”
“Good, I guess. I had to clean up my new office before I got any real work done. But the few clients I spoke to seemed nice. I wasn’t sure how they would react to a new person taking over their accounts.”
She nodded, held eye contact with me the whole time, like she was fully engaged. It never took long to get me talking; stopping me was the problem. But there was just something about her that made me want to share all the details of my life with her. My deepest, darkest secrets; the crap about my childhood that I’d buried from my closest friends. She must have been a shrink. Yeah, that was it. She had that kind of energy.
And because she seemed genuinely intrigued
, I went on, “Lots of pressure, but I think I can do the job. I mean, as assistant to the senior executive in my previous life I did the same things I’m doing as a junior exec.”
A little smile teased the corners of her mouth. Her eyes sparkled with fascination. “New coworkers too? What are they like? That’s always the hardest part of starting a new job, joining an already bonded team.”
“Right!” She got it. “I mean, everyone seems nice. Stressed, but friendly enough. I haven’t met my new boss yet, though...” Here my tone changed, darkened. I couldn’t keep the torment out of it.
“How does that work?”
“Well she wasn’t in this morning. I’ll meet her when I get back. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.”
She laughed beautifully, her perfect teeth gleaming. “Not your cup of tea?”
“She’s no one’s cup of tea! A real battle ax. Slave driver. Medusa in a pant suit... or so I’ve heard.”
“She sounds awful!”
“I know I shouldn’t judge her before I’ve met her. That’s pretty much a no-no in my religion, but—”
“But everyone has the same opinion of her?” she finished for me.
“Exactly.” I laughed. “I’ve been told not to make any mistakes or The Glacier Queen will get me!”
This amused her. “The Glacier Queen?”
“That’s what they call her.”
“Ah,” she said. “Heart of ice, that kind of thing?”
I nodded. “Jesus, I must sound like a horrible person, talking about her like this. I’m sorry, this isn’t who I am. I’m gonna do my best not to prejudge her.”
“Don’t worry about it, everyone does it. She probably is as tyrannical as she sounds.” She smiled, then winked. A strange sensation stirred inside me. It terrified me to think what it was.
We talked briefly about the area, about the calzones, and right as I was about to ask her what she did for a living, seeing as we’d only talked about me, Mario brought out our calzones.
“Mmm, that smells amazing,” I said, my stomach screaming from hunger. Luckily, with the Italian folk music playing at a low level, the sound got swallowed up.
