by Maria Monroe
Luckily Darren interrupts. "I saw you dancing with Barnes."
"Oh. Yeah. I did. His date's into hockey, and she wanted to dance with Ben…"
Darren stares at me for a second longer than he should if this were a normal conversation. But, of course, no conversation about Julian could ever be normal. "You left right after that," he adds.
I roll my eyes. "I had a headache! You guys are being weird today." I force a laugh, but neither one of them looks convinced.
Suddenly Michelle looks towards the elevators and sings here comes the cock to the tune of "Here Comes the Bride."
I fight down a giggle as Connor walks towards us, but instead of stopping and leaning on the cubicle walls, making weird jokes and being all-around awkward, he keeps going toward his office. Darren, Michelle, and I share confused glances. This is completely out of character for him.
He stops suddenly, walks back, and says simply, "Company-wide meeting in the 7th floor atrium in half an hour." Then he keeps going.
"What the hell?" asks Darren when Connor is out of ear shot.
"He was being so… non-Connor-like," says Michelle. "No stupid jokes we've heard a dozen times already. No veiled come-ons. What's happening?" Her exaggerated confusion and anxiety make me laugh, but I feel a stab of nervousness too.
"It kind of seemed like something was wrong with him," I add. "And what's up with a company-wide meeting? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
Darren shrugs. "Sometimes they have an announcement about a new branch that's opening up. Sometimes it's a big pep-rally thing, where they pass out little knick-knacks and try to get everyone all fired up again. Random shit like that."
"OK," I say. "Hey Darren, looks like you're still trying to see how much of a bum you can look like before Connor says something to you." I smile at his outfit, which today is ripped jeans, a ripped T-shirt, and, I kid you not, a pair of flip flops. In January.
Darren laughs, throwing his head back as he does. "I seriously can't believe he didn't say anything when he came in this morning. I was sure this would get his attention. He's definitely preoccupied."
I sit at my desk to get some work done before the meeting. I've been working on the Randolph Meyer philanthropy story, and last week I found an internet chat room where some people who used to work at Hope International, one of the charities he set up, were talking about possible misuses of donations over a period of six months. I emailed two of them, and I'm eager to see if they've responded. Randolph might not have wanted to share details with me, and he may have been a sexist bastard. But if I can get some dirt on him, I can write a story to show him he shouldn't mess with me again. I'm excited to see what I can find out.
I sip my coffee and scan through my emails. There's something from Vanessa, and I smile but don't open it. I'll read it later when I have time to enjoy it. Some spam, even though this is a brand new email address on what’s probably a well-protected server. And there: a response from [email protected] regarding my questions about Randolph Meyer. I double click, my heart beating fast, because my gut is telling me this is something.
The email is simple and says only: I don't want to email. Let's talk instead. Any time after 10 pm. Ana. Then there's a phone number. Slightly deflated, I drink some more of my coffee, then program the number into my phone. Well, at least I have a lead, even though no more information than I did last week. For the next few minutes I read random emails and wait for Darren and Michelle to be ready to go to the meeting that, for some strange reason, gives me a feeling of foreboding I can't quite shake.
Finally, Michelle says, "You guys ready?"
Darren and I stand and follow her down the hallway to the elevators. "Twenty bucks says it's a pep talk and they're giving out…Frisbees," says Darren.
"And T-shirts to everyone who has a special sticker on the inside of their Frisbee," laughs Michelle, looking over her shoulder at us as she does.
We ride the elevator down with a few other people, and exit at the seventh floor. The atrium is gorgeous, a vast room extending out from the side of the building so the ceiling, which is several stories high, is made of glass. Plants are arranged throughout the room, as well as seating areas, which are all occupied. At one corner of the room a podium and microphone have been set up, and the president of Triton Media is standing next to it, talking vigorously and with a smile to several other suits, none of whom I recognize. I make a mental note to look everyone up on the internet later and commit all the important faces to memory. Just in case I happen to ride the elevator with any of them or have a chance meeting in the break room.
"I just want to grab my swag and go," whispers Michelle, flicking her long black hair behind her back and glancing around.
"I need to work on that story," I reply. "I just found a source—or a possible source—with some good info, and I'm anxious to follow up."
"These things usually don't last long," says Darren.
I look down at his flip-flops and shake my head. "I can't believe you're wearing those, Darren!"
"I can't believe The Cock didn't even comment on them! At least I've gotten a few looks from other people," he laughs.
"That's maybe not the right outfit to be wearing in front of all the bosses," I suggest with a smile.
"I guess I'm lucky my work is so spectacular that I could never be in danger of being fired," he says in a fake boastful tone.
"Nobody's safe." Michelle's obviously feigned ominous tone makes us both laugh, but we fall silent as someone starts speaking into the mic.
"Good morning, everyone. Good morning." A guy in a suit is speaking, and he repeats his greeting a few times until the crowd is quiet and listening. "Good morning. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here for this announcement."
"Like we had a choice," whispers Michelle.
"As you know, Triton Media has been continually growing and making huge strides as a global competitor in the information industry. We are—you are—to put it bluntly, awesome!"
The crowd breaks out in applause.
"Today I have an exciting announcement about a strategic move that will ensure the continued success of everyone in this room. I'd like to introduce to you the CEO and president of World News Media, Penelope Bridges!" A smartly dressed woman steps up to the podium and waves and smiles at everyone. World News Media. That's where Julian works! I glance around the jam-packed room, wondering if he's here somewhere or if this is just Triton people. The feeling of dread I already had is getting stronger; all I want to do is run from this room, avoid hearing what I somehow know is not going to be good news.
"Over the past few weeks," the speech continues, "Ms. Bridges and I have been meeting and planning and trying to figure out the best way for us, as competitors, to help each other. I know, I know," he says, as though waving away objections. "Competitors don't help each other. Right? Well, we want to. And we're going to. Penelope?"
The woman moves in front of the mic and says, "Triton employees, your fearless leader Doug Pierson and I are pleased to announce the merger of Triton Media and World News Media! As of today, we are legally and officially one corporation, Triton World News, destined to be the largest information source in the world!"
Applause breaks out, but many whispers too, as people are wondering out loud what the impact of this will be. I couldn't care less what the business impact is. I already know what the personal impact on me will be. Julian and I will be working for the same company. Being next door to each other was bad enough, but now? Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I feel suddenly hot and shaky.
"Obviously," continues Doug Pierson, "there will be lots of shuffling around and restructuring, but we've been planning for a while now and anticipate as seamless a transition as possible. We don't want anyone to be alarmed. 'Restructuring' does not equal 'lay-offs.' That's a promise. In fact, over the next few months we plan to be hiring people, and we'll be providing hiring bonuses if you refer quality employees to us. We'll have more
information on that coming soon."
There's more applause, then Doug invites everyone to the 10th floor cafeteria for celebratory refreshments.
I turn to Michelle and Darren. "You guys want to get refreshments?" I ask, but I don't want to and I wrinkle my face as I say it. I need to get out of here.
"No. Way. We need to talk this through." Michelle looks as alarmed as I feel, and Darren nods.
"Let's hit the Executive Dining Room for a coffee break," he says.
"The what?" I ask as I follow them to the elevator bank.
"Executive Dining Room." Darren looks me over. "I guess you look OK to go there."
"You're worried about me? What about you?" I ask, pointing at his outfit. "You don't even look dressy enough for the beach! And it's January!"
He shrugs. "I know people," he smirks.
"Don't we need coats?" I ask.
"No time," says Michelle. "We'll run. It's only like two blocks away."
"You guys are crazy," I mutter under my breath.
Just as the elevator dings, a voice sounds behind us. "Uh, aren't you supposed to be going up instead of down?"
I turn to see Connor staring at us with an awkward smile, like he's trying to make a joke but it didn't turn out quite right.
"Coffee break," says Michelle smoothly. "Federal law and the human resources contract we all signed clearly outline the need and right for employees to have regular breaks."
"Of course, of course," huffs Connor, his tanned face turning reddish as he blushes.
The elevator doors open and the three of us step in. Connor stares at us, a confused look on his face, then strides into the elevator after us. Michelle opens her eyes wide in fake horror at me, and I stifle a laugh.
"I could use a coffee myself," says Connor, adjusting his tie and standing stiffly, facing the elevator doors.
Michelle and Darren roll their eyes dramatically behind him, and when we reach the lobby, we all exit. "Where to?" asks Connor in a jovial tone. "Hope it's close because I don't have a coat!"
"Try wearing flip-flops," says Darren, looking pointedly at Connor.
"You're going to lose your toes out there!" says Connor with an awkward laugh, but he doesn't comment on the appropriateness of flip-flops for an office environment.
Outside, the cold air hits us hard and fast, and I run to keep up with the others. I'm still sort of worried about how fancy this place will be with a name like The Executive Dining Room, but it's too cold to think about it too much. My eye are practically shut against the shrill air when we stop and Darren opens a door, a rush of heat pumping out toward us.
"Oh my god, that feels so good," I mutter as I step inside and open my eyes all the way.
We're in a diner. An old, dirty diner, where the tables are cracked and the linoleum on the floor is peeling and the server looks like she's been here for the past fifty years, doing exactly the same thing in the same place. She's old, lines creased into her face. There's a pen behind her ear, and she gestures with her chin to the booths against the wall. "Sit anywhere," she rasps.
"This is The Executive Dining Room?" I ask as we make our way to the least-sticky table and sit down. I'm afraid my skirt is going to be glued with syrup—at least I hope that's what it is—to the ripped plastic seat with stuffing sneaking out.
Darren and Michelle smile broadly, obviously enjoying the punch-line to their joke. "We take everyone here," says Darren. "It's sort of like the initiation nobody wants but everyone gets."
"I've never been here," adds Connor, and I can't ignore the strain of regret in his voice.
"Oh, well, we only take people our level or below us. Of course," says Darren, and I feel a swell of gratitude, like I did at the gala, that he, too, is at least a little worried about Connor's feelings.
"Of course. Of course." Connor perks up and adjusts his tie again.
"What will you have?" asks the waitress, standing next to our table and putting one hand on her bony hip.
"Coffee," says Michelle, indicating we all want some.
"Be right back with that, hon," says the waitress, whose name tag says Elaine.
"So, Connor," says Michelle, turning to him. "I'm actually glad you're here. How long have you known about this merger thingie?" She unrolls her napkin, freeing a dingy spoon, and idly taps it on the table.
"Oh, well," he huffs, "you know. Management always knows earlier about these sorts of things." He vaguely waves his hand around, but I can tell he's posturing.
"So, yesterday? Last week?" persists Michelle. "You sneaky thing, you! I can't believe you kept this from us!"
"Well, you know." Connor smiles, but there's a crease of worry running from the top of his nose to just under the puffy coiffed hair on his forehead.
"No, we don't know. Tell us." Michelle can be very insistent when she wants to be.
"This morning." Connor clears his throat and looks down at the dingy table top.
"Seriously, man? They waited till today to drop this on you too?" asks Darren.
"They did," says Connor. "Just before the big meeting I was informed."
"Dude, that's really shitty." Darren shakes his head.
"So what happens now?" I ask. "Are we moving offices? Are you still going to be our manager?"
"We're not moving, at least not immediately," he answers. "And, at least for now, I'm going to be your manager."
"So nothing's really changing." Michelle seems to like that, and she smiles up at Elaine, who plops a coffee pot on our table and sets a cup in front of each of us. When Elaine leaves without pouring the coffee, Michelle takes over, filling each of our mugs with light-brown liquid that looks more like dirty water than coffee.
"We will be having a more hands-on boss," says Connor. "My boss is being replaced by someone who's going to take a hard look at our projects and how we operate and see if any changes need to be made."
"Crap," says Darren. "Nobody likes to be under a microscope."
"Exactly." Connor shakes his head, looking defeated.
"Do you know who it is yet?" Michelle takes a sip of coffee and grimaces, then starts ripping open little packets of creamer and dumping them in. "The coffee sucks," she stage whispers to the rest of us.
I pick up my mug, blow lightly on the coffee, and take a sip. I like black coffee, though this coffee isn't even close to black. It's not even dark brown. I take a sip anyway, though, feeling the need for caffeine.
"I do know who it is. Unfortunately," says Connor, leaning across the table conspiratorially like he's letting us in on some big secret, "he seems like a complete and total asshole."
"Connor!" says Michelle, pretending to be offended.
Connor shrugs. "It's true. He's some new hotshot who just transferred from New York."
The coffee I just sipped ends up in my lungs, and I start to cough, unable to stop. My head is spinning and I can't breathe, but it's not from the coffee. I excuse myself just as I hear what I knew I would: "Julian Barnes," says Connor. "He's the new boss."
Back at the office, all I can hear are snippets of conversation from people around us. "But they said there would be no layoffs, so we have nothing to worry about. Right?" "This is a great opportunity for everyone!" "I gotta get my resume in shape. Now."
I try to tune it all out, but it's impossible to ignore the energy and buzz surrounding us, and Michelle and Darren are busy reading articles online about the merger. I take the time to text Vanessa. It's weird that she was my best friend in college and also is Julian's sister, but she's been the most supportive person I've known, even when I broke up with her brother, and I know I can count on her to tell me the truth and give me good advice.
Hey, I text. You'll never believe what I have to tell you. Triton Media merged with Julian's company today.
What?? she texts back. I haven't talked to J in a few days. How is this going to affect your job?
Uh, Julian is going to be my BOSS.
There's no response for a few minutes, and I think that
maybe Vanessa had something else to do and couldn't respond. Finally she texts back: Holy. Shit. What are you going to do? And how did Julian let this happen?? She adds an angry-face emoticon.
I don't know? Maybe not his fault?
Nothing goes unnoticed by him, she responds. He must have had something to do with this.
No way. I've run into him a few times in Chicago (tell you more later) and he's been really rude/angry with me.
She sends me a sad face. I'm so sorry, Lia. That sucks. Can you talk to someone? Get transferred?
I don't want to make a big fuss since I just started here. I think I'll wait to see how things go.
Seriously? If he messes with you? I will come there in person and kill him. It's my right as his sister.
LOL! I think I can handle it. That's a lie. I don't think I can. But what choice do I have?
Call me tonight, she texts.
OK. I drop my phone into my bag and sit back, sighing deeply.
I do some more searches on Randolph Meyer, trying to focus on the story to keep my mind off of Julian, but it's impossible. And then, just as I'm about to go crazy from nerves, I hear Connor's voice.
"People," he's saying, even more fake bravado in his tone than normal, "I have someone to introduce you to."
I can't look up. I can't do it. I know who it is, and I'm not ready for this. I hear Michelle and Darren saying hello in overly friendly voices with just a hint of sarcasm, which normally would make me smirk, but right now I’m frozen.
The timbre of Julian's voice, that low sound, works its way into my blood. It's the voice I'll never forget, the voice from my most treasured memories and my darkest fantasies. The voice of the person who changed my life forever. The one and only man I've ever loved, who's destroying my life once again.
Slowly I look up. I take in his dark hair, just a tiny bit too long, and the shadow of masculinity on his hard jaw. His full, firm lips. His blue button-down shirt is crisp and does little to hide the fact that his body is rock hard underneath. It's tucked into a slim-fitting pair of black pants. I study his black leather belt, a silver buckle so unassuming yet the first step to finding the most magnificent cock ever… What am I doing? Mentally undressing, literally, my new boss on the first day I meet him? OK, so we've definitely met before. But still. This is all sorts of wrong. My ex boyfriend who now hates me is suddenly my superior, and everything feels crazy and dizzy.