Fly, Butterfly
Page 1
PRAISE FOR FLY, BUTTERFLY
“Annicken R. Day has a gift for transforming bureaucracies into businesses that buzz with creativity and joy. With her debut novel, she shows that she also has a knack for crafting stories about transforming ourselves.”
—Adam Grant, New York Times bestselling author of Originals and Give and Take, host of the TED podcast WorkLife with Adam Grant
“Fly, Butterfly is a page turner that draws you in and makes you nod furiously, laugh deeply, and then sob with empathy. This is a powerful novel that has the energy to inspire change.”
—Amy Brann, author of Engaged, Make Your Brain Work, and Neuroscience for Coaches
“This is a beautiful story about life, work, love and what it means to still be human in our modern working culture. If you are a woman, you should read this book. If you are a man, you should read this book. And if you’ve ever aspired to be happy and free, you should definitely read this book!”
—Meghan Fitzpatrick, Marketing Manager
“An inspiring read about personal and professional transformation and the impact happiness really has on life—and business.
To all men: You should read this book too!”
—Thomas Erikson, CEO, lecturer, writer, and bestselling author of Surrounded by Idiots
“This is such an inspiring—and important—story. To me, Maya Williams is the manifestation of what we are starting to see in today’s corporate world; being brave enough to lead with heart and care for people is great for business and has the power to transform not only people’s lives, but the bottom line as well!”
—Jason Angelus, Senior Director, Sales Engineering, Cisco
“Wow, Fly, Butterfly took me on an adventure! This is an authentic, bold, romantic, wise, and powerful story, which will speak to people in all walks of life. It’s also a must-read for leaders—of both genders—who want to be authentic, love life, and find a way to their true passion and purpose. I believe Maya’s story will help and guide so many people on their journey on this earth.”
—Elham Binai, VP People & Culture, The Adecco Group
“A magical and immersive experience into a journey of transformation, self-awareness, and alignment to living a life of meaning and connection. The heartfelt story of one woman’s path and those that she touches as it unfolds is filled with unexpected shifts and turns, just like the flight of the butterfly and just as beautiful and mesmeric to follow.”
—Dawn Brown, Business Development Director and Coach
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by River Grove Books
Austin, TX
www.rivergrovebooks.com
Copyright ©2019 Annicken Roed
All rights reserved.
Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright law. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.
Distributed by River Grove Books
Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group
Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group
Cover and interior images used under license from
©Shutterstock.com/Lightspring; ©Shutterstock.com/littlenySTOCK;
©Shutterstock.com/Oliver Klimek
Grateful acknowledgment is made for copyright permission to reproduce lyrics from “Bali H’ai.”
“Bali Ha’i” by Richard Rodgers & Oscar Hammerstein II. Copyright © 1949 by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein. Copyright © Renewed. Williamson Music Owner of Publication and Allied Rights Throughout the World. International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.
Print ISBN: 978-1-63299-212-3
eBook ISBN: 978-1-63299-213-0
First Edition
To my Butterfly Girl
There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask, “What if I fall?”
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?
—ERIN HANSON
We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.
—MAYA ANGELOU
CONTENTS
The Beginning
Chapter 1: Last Call
Chapter 2: Technoguard Inc.
Chapter 3: Ruth
Chapter 4: The Thirty-Seventh Floor
Chapter 5: The Presentation
Chapter 6: Lisa
Chapter 7: Alistair Parker
Chapter 8: A Walk Down Memory Lane
Chapter 9: The Conference
Chapter 10: The Beach
Chapter 11: The Dream
Chapter 12: The Day After
Chill
Chapter 13: The Key To Paradise
Chapter 14: Josh
Chapter 15: The Beach House
Chapter 16: George
Chapter 17: Lani & Liat
Chapter 18: Island Beach Yoga
Chapter 19: Another Kind Of Dream
Chapter 20: Chill Beach Babe
Connect
Chapter 21: Aimee
Chapter 22: William
Chapter 23: Island Life
Chapter 24: The Children Of The Rainbow
Chapter 25: Finding The Dream
Chapter 26: An Unexpected Visitor
Create
Chapter 27: Back In The City
Chapter 28: Day One
Chapter 29: Year One
Chapter 30: Year Two
Chapter 31: Year Three
Surrender
Chapter 32: Christmas In New York
Chapter 33: In Transit
Chapter 34: Back On The Island
Chapter 35: The Hike
Chapter 36: A Place With A View
Chapter 37: Christmas Eve
Chapter 38: Bon Voyage, George
Flying
Chapter 39: A New Day
Chapter 40: Thank You
About the Author
THE BEGINNING
There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you that it is going to be a butterfly.
R. BUCKMINSTER FULLER
LAST CALL
“Last call for Hawaiian Airlines flight 51 to Honolulu! Can passenger Maya Williams please contact gate forty-nine? The gate is about to close.”
Shoot! Would I ever learn to not wear high heels in airports? Already late to begin with, I had been detained for an extra security check because of that stupid water bottle in my carry-on. Typical.
“Please, please, please wait for me!” I shouted silently as I ran toward the gate. I had forgotten how big JFK was, especially when in a hurry.
“Twenty more seconds, and we would not have let you on board,” the strict-looking woman at the gate said. I was too short of breath to even speak, so I just smiled thankfully, scanned my ticket, and entered the plane.
As I walked through the business class section where passengers were already sipping expensive champagne, I silently cursed TechnoGuard Inc.’s travel policy. Only executives were allowed to fly business class. Since I was just a simple vice president overseeing five hundred salespeople—selling cybersecurity for a billion dollars a year—I was only permitted to fly coach. Or cattle class, as I secretly called it.
I left the calm and luxurious business class section and stepped into a world of crammed seats crowded with fam
ilies dressed in matching tracksuits, elderly couples in Hawaiian shirts, and shouting children with chocolate-covered faces jumping up and down in their seats.
Eleven hours of this. Sigh.
In my charcoal-colored suit, high heels, and black leather briefcase, I definitely did not fit in. I guessed by the way the other passengers looked at me that they agreed.
A large man, who seemed as though he was about to burst out of his trousers, struggled with getting his oversized bag into the overhead compartment. I tried to be patient and not make a face, but on the inside, I was rolling my eyes. The things I had to endure … I only hoped it would all be worth it in the end.
And as if all of it wasn’t enough already, when I finally arrived at my seat on the thirty-fourth row, I realized I would be sandwiched between one of those elderly couples in matching Hawaiian shirts. They both had raised eyebrows, as if they were constantly surprised. I nodded toward the seat between them, indicating it was mine.
“Hello, doll. Give me a moment so you can get to your seat,” the funny-looking woman said with a heavy Southern accent and smiled cheerfully. I struggled to match her level of enthusiasm.
Just getting up from her seat seemed to require all her strength, and I was near panic, just thinking about sitting between the two of them for the next eleven hours.
“Is there any chance I could have the aisle seat?” I asked carefully. Maybe they would have mercy on me.
The woman looked at her husband, or was he her twin? “Engelbert, hon, let’s give this little creature some space,” she said and moved into the middle seat, which could hardly contain her large body.
“Thank you,” I said and sat down in my seat with a silent sigh.
Maybe there was a God after all.
When the cabin attendant announced that boarding was complete and the plane started taxiing out to the runway, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. I thought about the past day and what must qualify as some of the strangest thirty-six hours of my forty-three years. Little had I known when I woke up yesterday that today I would be on my way to Hawaii, of all places …
TECHNOGUARD INC.
I had been even more stressed than normal for the first Monday of the month. It was an important day. My monthly thirty-minute Presentation to the executive team was my moment to shine, impress my boss, and demonstrate my accomplishments as a VP of sales.
I had worked all weekend and stayed up until 3:00 a.m. the night before, leaving nothing to chance.
“Fail to prepare, prepare to fail” was my mantra. I had been promoted to vice president of sales only one year earlier. This was no small feat in itself, as I was the first female VP in TechnoGuard’s twenty-year history.
My ultimate goal, however, was to be promoted to executive VP of sales, with a corner office (and business class tickets!) to go with it. But to get there, I knew I would constantly have to prove myself to my boss and the other men on the executive team.
At times, it both frustrated and exhausted me, but I knew that if I wanted to continue my way up the corporate ladder, I didn’t have any other choice than to continue playing the game. A game I, by the way, had become so good at that I sometimes forgot I was playing it.
Before I left my apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, I checked my look in the mirror. I had decided to go with a black skirt and white, low-cut blouse.
I was pleased with the way I had learned to master the art of classic corporate with just a dash of sexy. It was an important part of the game. The effect high heels, red lips, and a little bit of skin had on a man’s concentration and his willingness to negotiate never ceased to surprise—and amuse—me.
In fact, often my clients, mostly male, didn’t realize what had happened until the deal was done and I had their signature on a piece of paper. It felt like a little victory every time. Payback for all the looks, comments, and condescending attitudes I’d had to endure as a woman in business.
Today, however, it wasn’t a client but the executive team I needed to dazzle. I had an important message to convey; I didn’t particularly look forward to delivering it, but I knew I didn’t have a choice.
After I passed my own final inspection, I took the elevator down to the ground floor, said hello to Fred, the doorman, and stepped out on the pavement. It was 6:15 a.m., and the streets of New York were bustling with cars and people. Everyone was in a hurry, and most people seemed to be even more stressed than I was, which said a lot.
It was still dark outside when I got into the back seat of the yellow cab Fred had waved in for me. “Have a beautiful day, Ms. Williams,” he said with a bright smile and opened the car door for me. I had no idea how he did it. Rain or shine, he always had a friendly smile and remark for everyone.
“Thanks, you too, Fred,” I said and smiled back as I sat down in the back seat of the car. It took me less than five seconds to discover that the cab driver didn’t have Fred’s good mood. I watched from the back as he honked and screamed at the other drivers, and when there was no one else to swear at, the man swore at himself.
It was just a regular morning in New York City.
I put on my headphones to drown out the cabbie and listened to the morning news while browsing through the emails on my phone. I had one hundred new emails since I had checked earlier that morning.
As I quickly browsed through my inbox to see if any needed an immediate response, one email in particular caught my attention. The subject line read, “Invitation to speak at a Young Professional Women’s Network (YPWN) event.”
The network’s chairwoman, Cynthia Jones, wanted me to come and speak to their members about how to become a successful businesswoman in the male-dominated corporate world.
I looked out the window of the cab for a moment. Men and women in similar attire were rushing up and down the streets, their blank faces revealed by the lights of hundreds of cars aggressively making their way through the heavy southbound traffic.
I sighed. What could I possibly tell these young professional women that would help them become successful in today’s corporate world?
“Work hard, much harder than the men.”
“Learn to adapt—to be treated as less worthy.”
“Be smart, but not so smart that you intimidate your male colleagues.”
“Look good, but not so good that you attract your male boss.”
I felt a bit nauseous. No, I couldn’t say that. Someone might get curious and start asking questions. And that was the last thing I wanted and needed right now. I decided to decline.
As soon as the cab arrived at the office building on 57th Street, I hurried in and took the elevator up to the thirty-sixth floor. I always arrived in the office before seven and expected my team to do the same. Never mind that we usually stayed until eight or nine in the evening. If you wanted to get ahead, you needed to put in the hours. The competition was fierce. “Eat or be eaten,” that’s what my dad had always told me. He had forty years of experience; I only had fifteen, but I knew he was right.
Many members of my team were in the crowded elevator. I nodded to a few of them before I stared down at my phone, making sure no one felt invited to start a conversation. I neither had time nor interest to engage in meaningless chitchat.
Once on the thirty-sixth floor, I noticed that most of my sales staff were already inside their cubicles staring at their screens with their headsets on.
The few people who stood by the coffee machine hurried toward their cubicles when they saw me. I pretended not to notice.
RUTH
Right outside my office, Ruth was already at her desk. She looked like a picture cut out of a glossy magazine that featured smart, professional women in their mid-fifties. With an extraordinarily organized mind to go with her professional look, Ruth was a dream of a personal assistant.
As soon as she saw me, she stood up, followed me into my office, locked the door behind us, and handed me a cup of freshly brewed coffee, like she did every morning.
> “Ready to kick some ass?” She smiled.
“Always,” I said.
Ruth sat down opposite me, legs folded, with her iPad in her lap, and looked at me over her 1950s-style, black-framed glasses.
“OK, boss. This is what your week will look like.”
Little did we know that it wouldn’t end up looking anything like that.
I first met Ruth five years ago. It was the day I had been promoted to senior sales manager. She had knocked on my door, introduced herself, and said that she wanted to work for me.
“If you are serious about getting somewhere in this company,” she said, “you need someone who knows people, who can give you the information you need, including the kind you’re not supposed to have.” She winked.
I admired her gumption.
Two weeks later, her boss, the director of marketing, was fired. That is when I realized how well informed Ruth was. She’d known about his firing long before her boss did.
The day after he left, she started working for me.
I know it’s unusual that a personal assistant chooses her boss and not the other way around, but there was nothing ordinary about Ruth.
“We women need to stick together,” she said. I knew the kind of women she meant: ambitious, determined, and perhaps a bit more ruthless than most.
…
From that day on, my journey up the corporate ladder accelerated. Skillfully guided and advised by Ruth, I learned where to be, what to do, and what to say to whom at what time.
Soon I was promoted to sales director, and then senior sales director, and then to my current position as VP of sales.
I wondered how much longer it would be until I could call myself Executive VP and move into my own corner office on the thirty-seventh floor.
The alarm on my phone beeped. It was 8:45 a.m. and my presentation to the executive team was scheduled for nine.
On my way up to the executive suite, I thought about some of the nicknames the execs apparently had given me: “Hot Lips,” “Ice Queen,” and “Little Miss Lonely Pants.”