by J. J. Bella
"That's…weird."
I couldn't help but feel a little worried. I mean, he wasn't a totally crazy party animal who risked death constantly, but he was certainly the type to live on the edge. What if something had happened to him?
"It is," said Anna. "He went from being the star golden boy of his little social scene to a ghost. Very unlike the Sam that I knew."
I felt like I should've said something, but no words came to mind. My thoughts felt twisted up.
"Oh, come now," said Anna, giving me a playful swat on the knee. "I'm sure he's fine, if that's what you're worried about. London's a positively massive city; he probably just moved to another neighborhood and made some new friends."
"Yeah, you're probably right," I said, only feeling a little bit better.
"Who knows- maybe he was so traumatized by your little break-up that he went off and joined some a monastery, devoting himself to a life of celibacy or something of that sort."
I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle at the thought of Sam in some dreary monastery, wearing a billowing robe and chanting in front of a big cross.
"See?" she said. "Not a big deal. And it's probably for the best that he's gone all ghosty on us; what would you even do if you bumped into him at some pub in the neighborhood?"
"I don't even want to think about that. I don't know if I'd want to throw a drink in his face or pull him into the nearest bathroom stall."
"Exactly," said Anna, pleased with her accurate assessment. "You've got so much going on in your life, the last thing you need is some little troublemaker whose only concern is where he's going to be drinking his Jaeger bombs tonight. You're back to run this city, and you don't need some man-boy dragging you down."
I felt a bit better. But still, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of…something when I thought about Sam. Was it possible that now, years later, I still had some sort of fire smoldering?
But I placed the thought aside as best I could; no point in wondering about something like this.
Anna and I finished our glass, and against my better judgment, I had another as she helped me pick out my outfit for tomorrow. I ended up going with a black pencil skirt and a fitted white blouse along with a pair of simple, but fashionable black pumps. Nothing too crazy, but professional through and through.
"Oh poo," said Anna, admonishing me for my conservative clothing choices. "At least let me do your makeup in the morning."
"We'll see," I said, looking at myself in the full-length mirror in my room.
With that, I bid Anna a good night and went to bed. I knew that I was going to need to be well-rested for my first day; pressure was high enough and I didn't want to take any chances.
When I awoke in the morning to my alarm and got ready, I saw that Anna, still asleep on the couch, likely wasn't going to be doing my makeup, after all. Which was just as well- I preferred everything to be on my own terms today. Once I was showered and dressed, I gathered my things and set off, equal parts excitement and fear roiling in my stomach.
The day couldn't have been more perfect. The weather was mild, the sky was a clear blue, and the sun was just warm enough to feel pleasant on my face. I took the train into the City of London –the downtown portion of the city where the major financial institutions were headquartered- and was soon standing under the silver, gleaming tower of Langford Holdings, the "LH" of the logo in imposing, stainless steel letters above the many sets of glass double-doors that led into the lobby. Employees were bustling to get inside, all of them sharply-dressed and moving with an air of purposeful professionalism. I did my best to set aside my feelings of anxiety and stepped into the vast, open lobby, my neck craning up at the towering ceiling of the space.
Feeling small, I made my way to the front desk, where I informed the strikingly beautiful redhead there that I was here for my first day.
"Name and position?" she asked in a lilting Irish accent, her eyes on her computer.
"Mary Metzger. Executive Assistant."
Without a word, she began to type on her keyboard, her fingers a blur of red from her glossy nails.
"Fifteenth floor. You'll be meeting with Mrs. Haverford."
And that was that. I hurried away from the desk and made my way to one of the elevators, the doors sleek and stainless steel, just like much of the other décor here in the lobby.
I stepped inside and the doors sealed shut in front of me. The interior of the elevator was quiet, chrome, and sterile; I almost felt as though I was in the inside of some kind of spaceship ready to launch. The elevator started up without the slightest bit of a lurch, and soon the doors opened, revealing the modern, fashionable office interior. Just like the lobby, this space was a bustling hive of young professionals. The front desk was a long, white swoop of a thing, and seated behind it was yet another impossibly attractive young woman, this one a brunette with cobalt eyes and hair done in a tight professional bun.
"Hello," I said in the meek voice that I'd spoken to the lobby girl with. "I'm here to meet Mrs. Haverford."
"Down the hall, take a right. Her name's on the door, can't miss it," said the girl in a prim English accent, also not looking up from her work.
So much for warm welcomes, I thought as I hurried away from the desk and down the hall.
I weaved through the professionals, all seeming to be busy beyond comprehension. I wondered if they'd slam right into me if I weren't angling my body out of the way of their power-suit-clad bodies. Eventually, after following the directions, I arrived at a large, stately door bearing the name "Mrs. Emily Haverford" in clear, crisp letters. I gave the door a gentle rap, and a voice called out from within.
"Do come in."
Here goes nothing, I said, opening the door.
The office revealed was impressive, to say the least. It was spacious and sleek, with black leather furniture placed here and there. Modern art of geometric patterns adorned the walls, and a corner desk took up nearly a fourth of the room. The tall windows gave a sweeping view of the city, the curving form of the Thames twinkling in the morning sun.
And seated at the desk was a trim, middle-aged woman with black-rimmed glasses, an immaculately-tailored suit, and dark hair worn in a simple but stylish bob. Her limpid blue eyes flicked to me as I entered, and she rose from her desk and approached me.
"Mary Metzger, I take it?" she asked, extending a slim-fingered hand to me.
"That's me," I said, taking her hand and giving it a delicate shake.
"Be seated, please," she said, returning to her desk.
With quick, short steps, I made my way over to one of the high-backed chairs and took a seat.
"Allow me to pull up your files here, young lady," said Mrs. Haverford, typing away at her computer. "Ah yes, the American from Harvard that we brought on. I could barely tell your accent from how quietly you were speaking. You're going to need to learn to project that voice of yours if you're going to hope to have anyone listen to you here, my dear."
"Yes, ‘Mam," I said in that same soft voice.
Mrs. Haverford raised an eyebrow at me. "Try that again."
"Yes, ‘Mam," I said, speaking more loudly than I was used to.
"Better, but still not quite there," she said, sitting back in her chair. "You'll find very quickly that Langford Holdings isn't the place for wilting lilies, my dear."
I nodded, the anxiety in my stomach building to a hot froth.
"But take that as a word of friendly advice rather than warning. Your CV is quite impressive; I see you did a year at our very own school of economics, doing a rather impressive project under…Wow, Professor Arthur Jenson. With a glowing letter of recommendation, to boot."
"It's a great school," I said, still trying to make my voice stern and deep.
"Quite," she said. "Then an MBA at Harvard. But you knew all this already, and so did we. Which is why you're sitting in that chair at this very moment."
I didn't know how to respond to this, so I kept quiet.
"Let
me get right into it: you're going to be working with one of our executives, staying at his side, doing whatever he needs in order to get his job done. A ‘he says jump, you say how high,' sort of situation, as you Yanks say."
She took a slow sip of her coffee.
"And I'm not going to mince words: the executive you'll be working with is a…demanding fellow, to say the least. His last executive didn't last half a year. After that little debacle, he suggested that we bring a man aboard, but I think the right, tough lady could perform this job most adequately. How do you feel about this, young lady? You feel tough enough?"
"More than enough," I said, finally finding my footing. Sort of.
"Good. This executive is one of our rising stars; he's only been with us for…four years, I believe? And he' already risen to one of our top executive positions. His rapid movement hasn't made him too many friends with some of the other senior executives –they feel like he hasn't ‘paid his dues', whatever that might mean- and feel that he's even making them look poorly in comparison. Still sound good?”
She was asking me for an opinion on a man whom I've never met?
"Well," I said. "It's certainly important to put in one's time and adhere to proper protocol, but I believe that a successful company should place results before any sort of rigid pecking order, as it were. Perhaps if the employees who feel bitter about this executive's success had been turning in the same sort of performance than they'd be the ones in his position?"
A broad smile spread across Mrs. Haverford's face the corners of her lips fanned with tight wrinkles.
"I couldn't have said it better myself. And that sort of thinking will do nothing but endear you to your new boss. That is, unless you're just telling me what you think I'd like to hear."
"No," I said. "Of course not."
I was a little surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth, but I wasn't totally naive; I knew that playing by the rules was the fastest way to get lost in the mix in the world of finance.
"Very well," she said. "In that case, I believe it's time you met the man to whom you'll be attached at the hip. Come this way."
She rose from her desk and moments later we were headed down the hallway. The other professionals in the hallway deferred and greeted Mrs. Haverford as she walked past, and I couldn't help but compare it to the way I was nearly bowled over by these same people during my way to the office. And Mrs. Haverford walked with the confident, powerful strides of a woman in charge.
Perks of being a boss, I suppose, I thought to myself.
I made a silent promise to myself to one day have this sort of authority.
"Unfortunately," Mrs. Haverford started, "he's the in the middle of a meeting. But I figure this is as good of a chance as any for you to meet, at least in passing, the better part of the executive staff here."
Gulp.
Not only was I meeting my new boss, I was meeting every new boss.
We came to a stop in front of a large pair of stainless-steel double doors.
"Here we are," said Mrs. Haverford. "If I were you, I'd take the ‘speak when spoken to' approach for this particular meeting."
"Will do," I said, straightening my back taking one last deep breath.
Mrs. Haverford then opened the doors, revealing a massive conference room with a long black table in the middle. A dozen or so suited men and women were seated around it, and the tall windows gave an even more dramatic view of the city than in Mrs. Haverford's office.
But down at the end, I recognized something. Or someone. It was that familiar shock of gorgeous blond hair, those stunning blue eyes, and that trim, fit form.
It was Sam.
My eyes went wide and I felt light on my feet. My head swam and I thought I might drop in a heap at any moment.
"Greetings everyone," said Mrs. Haverford, her voice sounding like it was underwater. "Hate to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce you all to our newest executive assistant. Everyone, this is Mary Metzger. She's from the states, but try not to hold that against her.”
Dry chuckles sounded from the room.
"And that's the wunderkind down there," she said, pointing to…Sam, of course.
Sam rose and flashed a tight, wry smile.
"Come," he said in that familiar purr of a voice. "Have a seat. We're just getting started.”
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