by Sorell Oates
Peaking at 65 levels, upon arrival he’d been assigned one of the world-class offices on the top floor.
Given he was there to assess company finances, he felt it prudent to situate himself on the same floor as the company accounts department. His presence in the American Head Office caused a stir. As the boss’s son, his relocation to the New York office could only mean changes to the current company structure. Unable to comment publicly, Oscar knew the suspicion of the staff was warranted.
The communications industry was booming. As massive profits were forthcoming from the company’s activities in other continents, the American outlets were struggling in the economy. The primary step in rectifying the situation was to study the financial reports to find where costs could be cut to streamline the company. An examination of current process and policies would then identify how management and sales strategies could be improved.
Wages were the biggest expense of any company. Oscar knew jobs would have to go. It was inevitable, but breaking the news was never painless. Too often his business mind was the origin of forced redundancies, but it didn’t harden his heart to deprive people of a household income.
The glass walls of his goldfish bowl office offered no privacy. His fidgeting and shifting was evident to onlookers. Facts and figures were blurring. Analyzing them was similar to deciphering a foreign language. It was 3pm. Food and a break might combat his lapsing concentration.
Stepping out of his office, his PA addressed him enthusiastically.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Woodruff. Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘No, thank you. I’m grabbing a bite to eat.’
‘I can run out for you or order in.’
‘No, thank you, Sandy. The walk will clear my head. I’ll be fine.’
Her face was disappointed. It seemed that of late, he did nothing but disappoint the female staff. Attending a celebratory work function for a director’s twentieth anniversary the previous week, Oscar’s presence was to represent his family’s appreciation for their valued employees. Women flocked to him. The adoration was flattering.
The bulldozer advance was however, undignified. Oscar retreated rapidly, unsure of how to react and doing his utmost to soften any rejection. Attractive female colleagues became unattractive with their public threats of pursuit and upfront sexual demands. Dominant, sexually aggressive women didn’t bother Oscar, but being labeled a ‘prize catch’ because of his surname did bother him.
Taking him to an array of bars with a range of women, the men within the company tried integrating Oscar into society. American beauties fell at his feet when introduced. They fought hard to engage with him one-on-one when they heard who his father was. Oscar was depleted of energy from the onslaught of constant female attention.
Stepping into the summer sun, he inhaled the smell of New York City. It was distinct, and invigorating. The stroll to the deli took minutes given the strides of his lengthy legs. Entering, he grinned at the familiar waitress. A young girl, plump and of Italian descent. Her brown eyes lit up at the sight of him.
‘Hello, Lucia,’ he said warmly, unaware the baritone of his clipped English accent made the young girl’s legs turn to jelly.
‘Hi,’ she replied. ‘The usual?’
‘Surprise me!’
Avoiding his habitual pastrami sandwich, she set about heaping turkey, stuffing, mayonnaise and cranberries between two thick wedges of bread.
After she wrapped and passed it over, Oscar attacked the sandwich as an impoverished child. Her fingers hadn’t entered the amount in the till as he took his a bite.
‘Tasty. Nice to stray from the ordinary.’
‘It’ll be tastier after Thanksgiving. If you stay that long.’
‘I might well do,’ he said amiably, passing her a bill to cover the cost.
‘I thought you might go home to visit family for the holiday.’
‘We don’t do Thanksgiving in England. Besides I’d be foolish to avoid having a second crack at this sandwich if it improves over the holiday.’
Leaving the change in the tip jar, he leaned on the edge of the counter, devouring the sandwich, as they discussed the variation in holidays between the two countries.
‘I have to make a move or they’ll send out a search party on the assumption I’ve lost myself in this magnificent city.’
‘You couldn’t lose yourself in New York. Not the way our streets are set up.’
‘Very true, Lucia. They might think I’m shirking, which I am. A sandwich and a chat with you are far preferable to sitting alone at a desk piled with reports with no food and a glorious view.’
The words were genuine but innocent in intent. Lucia’s heart was aflutter. Stupefied, she waved goodbye as he left.
It was a shame girls with Lucia’s nature were hard to find in the city. Devoid of female company in the three weeks he’d spent in the country, Oscar had a feeling he’d have to revert to Exclusive Love. The dating website financed by the sister of an old school friend, was specifically tailored for men faced with his predicament. He hated himself for considering it, but it seemed viable.
The sooner he was able to date without the threat of every woman wanting his wallet the better. He was thirty-five and had great appreciation for women; their figures and their company. The longer he was alone in New York the more likely he was to attach to someone who captured his eyes rather than his heart. Surrounded by beauties, finding a confident, financially independent woman was akin to the idiom of finding a needle in a haystack.
He hadn’t discussed with his father the duration of his stay in New York office, but he had no intention of living like a monk during his residence. The website would hasten the process. It wasn’t his ideal way to date but it would be helpful. Work was stressful. He wanted his spare time to be fun. Hunting and rooting around NYC for the right kind of woman was not Oscar’s idea of fun.
Locking himself in his office, rather than process reports, Oscar emailed his friend to fast-track the verification process and started creating his online profile. Appreciating they liked to ‘match’ couples to increase the likelihood of a connection, the registration form wasn’t completed till mid-evening. Having invested valuable hours, he hoped the quality of women were as the site promised, and hit the ‘submit’ button.
The floor was empty as he departed. Not a soul in sight. The display on the wall clock was past 9pm. At least his employees had a reason to go home or at least get out of the office. Oscar would return to his suite at the Four Seasons for another night of room service and cable TV.
Chapter Three
Receiving an email verifying her registration on Exclusive Love, Katy was positively gleeful. Her real life as a real journalist was finally beginning. John amended her wage to reflect a salary of $100,000 a year. Her grandparents generously agreed to deposit the lump sums they’d been paid upon retiring to bulk up her account balance.
Sending over her online bank statement with confidential information blanked out to avoid close scrutiny of the unusual transactions, Katy was selective with the financial records she referred to the website administration.
Retracting the hike in wages after her membership was accepted left Katy with her routine meager monthly salary. Transferring the monies back to her grandparents account, she congratulated herself for flying under the radar with respect to finances. Evidently fact-finding on prospective clients was restricted to financial details. No one in their right mind would buy the story that a twenty-three year old journalist had an outrageous wage of $100,000 per annum.
Confidentiality was promised by the online dating company. Assessing her profile, she tweaked it to reflect the likes and dislikes, tastes and preferences closest to her own. Keeping up a pretense would be less troublesome if it’s foundation was based on truth. In essence her income was her only lie. It was trivial in the grand scheme. The events to subsequently unfold when dating a millionaire were generating high levels of interest and excitement in Katy.
Swept up in her zeal to start the story, Katy was scrolling through pictures of available online millionaires as she sat in court on a case involving a teenager siphoning gas from another car at the mall. His excuse that his own tank had been empty and he couldn’t drive home from the cinema didn’t register with her. The range of rich bachelor pictures were classic, appealing to standard tastes. Her hand passed photo after photo until a striking man caught her eye.
Striking because unlike his blonde and dark haired counterparts, his hair was red. Not fire engine red, nor dark auburn, but blonde with a distinct red tint to it. His eyes were bluer than a stormy ocean. He had a strong jaw line with symmetrical features. In the photo, which had to have been lifted from a promotional company brochure, his lips were curved into a smile that didn’t indicate an effective and efficient financial director so much as a naughty boy hoping for trouble. The mystery millionaire mightn’t be traditionally handsome, but he had an air of playful sexiness.
Debating on whether or not to commence contact, Katy was undecided. Men might see it as forthright and off-putting. Supposedly a new age where a woman asking a man out was no longer unusual or unseemly, tradition tended to reign supreme—particularly in respect of pompous British millionaires.
Impulsive in her youth, and disregarding her concerns, Katy scanned his profile. His name was Oscar; his byline was ‘Come Keep Me Company’. Wondering if he was sincere, his words didn’t imply he was a millionaire urgently chasing true love. It read as though he was in the country for a short period seeking a flight of fancy to occupy him until settled permanently to hunt a new conquest.
He’d ticked practically every box in the likes and dislikes, which gave no insight to him as a person. In the free form box titled ‘About Me’, his words read: ‘Let’s have a drink and go from there.’ She bristled that he wasn’t even offering to pay for the drink.
Considering her own form, she wondered if it read as a novel the size of Gone With The Wind. Would potential wealthy beaus read far enough to discover the secrets she’d embedded in her profile? Newly worried she wouldn’t attract any offer of dates was the incentive required to communicate with Oscar. Following the snippets gleaned from his profile she messaged: ‘Fancy going for that drink then?’
Hearing his phone and computer simultaneously notify him of an incoming email, Oscar logged onto his Exclusive Love inbox convinced he had a message. It was brief and to the point. No small talk, no banter, no teasing, no flirtation. It gave nothing away. The other emails he’d received since his profile had gone live twenty-four hours earlier required reading detailed letters, demanding upfront extensive online discussion and video calling with women for them to even contemplate dating him.
This girl was bolder and braver. Tired from checking endless boxes when preparing his profile—Oscar discovered he had an interest in everything life offered—reaching the free-form section, he’d written few words. Whether conscious or subconscious, he’d revealed almost nothing in relation to the man he was. Essentially a random stranger, the girl had guts. She gained his respect with one sentence.
He hit reply. In keeping with their shared tone, it briefly said: ‘Where, when and how will I recognize you?’
The teenage boy siphoning gas had been given a paltry fine, his previous record for throwing a live firecracker into the window of another person’s moving vehicle failed to influence the judge’s decision. Leaving Katy without a story, the case had wasted the court’s time and money.
Her face soured in the courtroom, not because of the judge’s light sentencing, but because Oscar accepted her offer for a drink without glancing at her profile. Had he at least skimmed it, he would’ve seen the obligatory picture and not had to ask how he’d recognize her.
The level of irritation from his message, caused an immediate sense of dislike toward the millionaire. She decided he was either desperate and dateless to accept her offer without reading the profile she’d spent hours carefully constructing or assumed, perhaps correctly, that the screening process of Exclusive Love only admitted women with a certain type of look. The bias niggled at her. She made a note to explore whether a photo screening process existed whilst undertaking her investigation.
Fighting the urge to retract the offer, she turned her phone off, Sitting straighter in the uncomfortable hard row of wooden seats, she focused on the next case.
Oscar wasn’t normally nervous around women. He’d never had a need to be. Assuming Katy to be open and friendly from the single message he’d received, the lack of response had him edgy. Had he been too keen replying straight away? Was she a player, deliberately keeping him on tenterhooks for a reply? It was possible that she was simply caught up in work. Alleviating his tension, he perused her profile on screen rather than submerge himself in financial reports.
As a man of the world, Oscar knew women would upload their most flattering photographs to reel in dates. The photos rarely reflected the women in the flesh partaking of their daily lives, hence he paid no attention to them. Katy was pretty in a brown eyed, brunette way, but her profile was endless. It was an essay not a brief introduction.
Allegedly she was a reporter. Coming from that professional background, he assumed she’d be concise with her writing. He was miffed at the stream of words reading as a feeble romantic novel. Losing interest in her onscreen babble, he was comforted that perhaps he’d had a lucky escape from her.
Finishing work for the day, Katy was tidying her desk hurriedly to avoid crossing paths with her boss. Seeing him enter the main office from the corner of her eye, she cursed.
‘How’s that piece coming along, Katy?’
‘I only got verified today.’
‘Don’t string it out. Start making a move,’ John advised.
Gritting her teeth, to not roll her eyes and vent a churlish comment she’d later regret, Katy nodded as if taking his advice.
‘If you leave it too late, another journalist at another publication may jump on it and you’ll miss the scoop.’
Why did he always have to sound as if he was a newspaper editor from a cartoon strip? Scoop indeed! Scurrying out of the office, preventing a longer conversation relating to the article, she knew she’d have to reply to Oscar.
Her temper had simmered over a few hours. Turning her phone on to reread the message had her blood boiling. Why hadn’t he suggested a bar and time to meet? She had no awareness as to where millionaires frequented in New York. Undertaking perhaps the briefest groundwork she’d ever done (praising online access offered by her cell phone), she discovered the Rose Bar which apparently catered to the filthy rich.
Was tomorrow too soon for a date? Perhaps it would benefit her to present herself as someone with a full diary to gain his interest. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have or so her oldest friend Julia had drummed into her head since puberty. Julia was someone whose comfort and advice she could use. Confiding in her reliable friend wasn’t feasible on this undercover job. One excited slip of the tongue and word could spread fast; rendering her piece untimely. Keeping in mind John’s words she opted to go forward.
‘Tomorrow. 7.30pm Rose Bar. You’ll recognize me if you take five seconds to review my picture online.’
Oscar wrinkled his nose at the message. Whiling away an afternoon fretting over the rejection of a girl who ultimately read as ‘boring’, he decided to compensate for his laziness by catching up with work in the nearly vacant office. Whoever this Katherine was, he’d written her off already. Faced with a message dictating their date affirmed his intrinsic sense they would not gel as friends or lovers.
His breeding surpassed his instinct. He agreed to her invitation. In fairness, he had requested she select the time and venue. Perhaps it was the snide chastisement relating to her profile picture that irked him. At thirty-five had been too long since he’d felt someone could discipline him with any real right or reason. It would be easy to block her from contacting him via the website, agree to come but not turn up t
o the date or delay the event with excuses until she got the message he wasn’t keen. Cowardice was not one of Oscar’s faults.
On the positive side it was tomorrow night. He could get it over and done with promptly. He wasn’t obligated to make a night of it. After all they both specified ‘a drink’.
‘I’ll see you then,’ he typed. Unable to resist his predisposition to flirt, he keyed a further sentence then hit send.
Katy remained surprised at his prompt response.
‘I’ll see you then. Hopefully you’ll spot me through the crowd of women surrounding me.’
‘Arrogant sod,’ she thought reading it.
Chapter Four
Katy didn’t bother with the office after the court closed for the day. Her boss interfering and giving guidelines on how conduct herself with the enigmatic and arrogant Oscar was the last thing she needed.
Spending yesterday evening with Julia trawling her wardrobe for an appropriate dress to wear, it had been Julia’s mother providing the vintage Chanel. Remaining vague as to why the dress had to be designer, seizing it she kissed her friend’s mother exuberantly on the cheek.
Appraising herself in the mirror, the dress wasn’t quite the gem she’d hoped for, but she was stuck with it. Transport hadn’t been at the forefront of Katy’s mind when proposing the Rose Bar. Not owning a car, or having a private driver, public transport was her only option.
Made up and dressed up, she trotted in her glamorous outfit to the train station. Knowing what an abnormal vision she was to those passing by, the stares and wolf whistles attracted from the less poised men on the carriage were expected.
Her deteriorating appearance over the spell of the journey was cause for concern. The rattling train and trooping to the Gramercy Park Hotel would alter her tireless endeavors in front of the bedroom mirror that afternoon.
Friendly enough, the doormen were suited and carried an air of discernment. Katy wanted to yank the Chanel tag from the back of her dress to present it as if it were a membership card. Whether it was pity or approval, they warmly welcomed her.