Boss

by Tracy Brown

She cleared her throat. “He seemed very professional. Like he was trying to memorize everyone’s name. He doesn’t smile much, though.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Crystal said. “We’ll head to the conference room in a minute.”

  Tonya nodded and left, shutting the door behind her.

  Oscar looked at Crystal, his eyes narrowed. “I bet you he’s arrogant!”

  Crystal laughed. “She didn’t say that.” She was thinking about the look she’d seen on Tonya’s face. She had never seen the young marketing assistant so dazzled.

  Oscar counted off his points on his long fingers. “Handsome, wealthy, doesn’t smile much.”

  Crystal nodded in agreement. “Arrogant.”

  Oscar gave her an arched eyebrow in agreement.

  “Well … I’m ready for him.” Crystal sounded rather unconvincing. She pushed her nervousness down deep and checked her reflection in her mirror one last time. She winked at Oscar.

  A broad smile crept across his face in response. “You better let him know.” He stood, and together they headed to the conference room.

  On the way, they noticed that the atmosphere in the typically upbeat office was much calmer. It was certainly quieter than usual. Workstations where radios usually played were now silent. Crystal noticed that the general staff was on their best behavior, dressed fashionably as usual. But with an added polish today that could only be attributed to the arrival of the new boss. The office staff would not be attending this meeting. It was a closed-door conference for executives only. Crystal noticed the staff clustered together in groups having whispered conversations. She saw Tonya giggling with one of the girls from accounting.

  She busied herself with the papers she had brought with her. Her résumé, the magazine’s sales statistics, and their plans for the upcoming issue. She watched as Oscar went over his presentation with Marlo Stanton from the marketing department one last time. Crystal’s hands trembled ever so slightly now. She clenched them into fists as the doors of the conference room swung open.

  Fox walked in along with three other people. One of them was instantly recognizable as his son Troy. They had an unquestionable resemblance, and Troy walked in with the air of a man accustomed to running the show.

  Crystal’s eyes swept over him from head to toe. God, he was beautiful. His body looked toned and powerful in his custom-made suit. His lips were so intoxicating that she found it hard not to stare. Suddenly, her mouth felt cottony dry, and the palms of her hands were clammy. Tonya’s description hadn’t done him justice. Troy was incredibly handsome. Clearly aware of his allure, he stood at the head of the conference-room table with a strong and self-assured presence. He wore a perfectly tailored black Tom Ford suit and matching tie. Crystal recognized the look from a shoot Hipster had done with Morris Chestnut. The dark suit accented Troy’s chocolate skin beautifully. It hugged him in all the right places. Monogrammed cuff links completed the look in perfect simplicity as he gazed around the room at the staff of his company’s top performing acquired magazine with confidence. Crystal forced herself to look away, feeling suddenly underdressed.

  She focused her attention on Fox, who greeted her with a bright smile. “This is the woman who saved the magazine,” he began. “Crystal Scott.” He looked at his son. “We all call her Crys. She’s the EIC here, and she runs the show.”

  Crystal smiled and finally made eye contact with Troy. He extended his hand to her and she took it. She locked eyes with him, and saw the glint of vague recognition in his eyes. She could see him trying to connect the dots.

  Crystal shook his hand firmly and smiled.

  He nodded, staring at Crystal, a slight frown on his face. “Where do I know you from?” he asked.

  Crystal’s eyes danced as she spoke. “I met you briefly last year, I believe. At one of your father’s functions.”

  He smiled, though not as broadly as his father. “I would have remembered meeting you.” His tone was suggestive and Crystal took note. “It’s nice to meet you, Crys.”

  “Same here, Mr. Mitchell.”

  He held on to her hand as she moved to retrieve it. “Call me Troy.”

  She exhaled and smiled, instantly relieved. Just as she expected, he didn’t remember her. “Okay, Troy,” she said. “Welcome aboard. Oscar and I are looking forward to working with you.”

  She turned and gestured toward Oscar, who stepped forward to meet their new boss. As she swiveled, Troy took the opportunity to get a good look at Crystal’s well-toned ass. He was already looking forward to working with this lovely brown beauty.

  Oscar shook his hand and introduced himself.

  Fox introduced the other people who were with him. She watched as he gestured to the Shemar Moore look-alike on his right.

  “This is Eric Donovan, the new chief revenue officer of Stuart Mitchell. Eric oversees our corporate sales, marketing, and digital sales for all of the company’s magazines and Web sites.”

  Eric smiled, revealing a Hollywood-worthy set of veneers. “Hello, everyone,” he said simply. She noticed Tonya checking him out. Marlo Stanton sized him up, too, from where she sat at the conference-room table. As marketing and sales director, Marlo would no doubt be working closely with Eric to increase Hipster’s sales and advertising income. Eric was younger than what she had expected. In fact, every member of the new executive team was young—all of them under fifty years old. That was unusual in their field, with most professionals who reached this peak of success doing so in their golden years. Marlo was intrigued.

  Fox continued. “Dru Beckford is our new CFO. Obviously, he presides over all of the accounting, finance, and treasury facets of the company. But he also oversees the strategic sourcing, real estate, and editorial rights and permissions departments.”

  Dru, a middle-aged brother with a caramel complexion and precise goatee, smiled at them warmly.

  Fox gestured toward the table. “Let’s sit down and talk about the transition from one generation of Stuart Mitchell to the next.”

  Everyone took a seat, and Crystal noticed that Troy immediately moved toward the seat at the head of the conference-room table. That seat had always belonged to Fox. And to Crystal, in his absence. But it was clear that Troy was enjoying his new position of power. She, Oscar, and Marlo took seats to Troy’s left, while Fox and his team sat on the opposite side of the table.

  Fox spoke first. “Everyone here knows that I’ll be stepping down as head of Stuart Mitchell, and that my son Troy here will be taking over. Over the past few weeks, my team and I have been transitioning the work over to Troy, and it’s all been going smoothly. I expect the same will be the case now that the two of you will start working together to keep Hipster on top.” He glanced at his son, and then at Crystal. He smiled at her softly. “Crys, why don’t you tell Troy and the rest of the new team about your background?”

  She nodded and launched into her verbal résumé. “I earned my bachelor’s degree in English from the University of Maryland. Then I took a job at Sable magazine, where I worked my way up to editorial duties. I worked as an editor there for three years. But the work became unchallenging. So I left and came to work here at Hipster.” She smiled then and glanced at her peers. “We have a great team and we work well together.”

  Troy nodded while Fox beamed proudly. He often spoke about Crystal, and Troy could see why his dad was so smitten. She was charming and lovely. Troy was intrigued.

  “Crys is being modest,” Fox said. “When she came on board here, the magazine was struggling. Big publications like Essence were outselling us in every region. She came in, brought Oscar and Marlo and their whole team. It’s made all the difference. Sales have been on a steady incline. Our covers and content are competitive. She’s got a formula that works.”

  She smiled in appreciation. “There’s no real formula,” she confessed. “Our team just ebbs and flows with the tide of pop culture, politics, and entertainment. That’s what our readers are interested in. As long as our staff remains curr
ent and we give them the freedom to push the envelope, the readers will continue to respond.”

  Oscar agreed. “Crys is the type of editor in chief who believes in giving her staff room to stretch themselves. We both came from a climate at Sable magazine that felt rigid and inflexible. Angela Richmond is a legend in this industry. But she’s too tied to her own vision. It’s her way or the highway. Crys isn’t like that. The editorial and creative staff all rise higher with her direction.”

  Crystal made a mental note to thank Oscar later. At the moment, Fox was explaining his plan to introduce Troy to the general staff that afternoon. Everyone listened, including Troy. But each chance he got, he stole a glance at Crystal as she sat beside him at the conference-room table. She had an unmistakable allure, and it took some effort to avert his gaze.

  Oscar gave a presentation with Marlo’s assistance. Troy listened, though he continued watching Crystal discreetly. Or so he thought. She caught him staring while Oscar gave a PowerPoint presentation on the black history month theme of the issue. Their eyes locked, and she held his gaze for a long, intense moment before coyly looking away. His eyes swept over her again before he gave Oscar his attention once more. He applauded along with everyone else when the presentation concluded.

  Next Dru spoke about Stuart Mitchell’s goals for the upcoming quarter. Now Troy was all ears as the topic turned to dollars and cents. Troy was impressed by the magazine’s success in comparison to similar ones in recent years. Print was a floundering industry in a digital age. But Hipster was doing well in both markets. As he listened to Dru’s assessment of the magazine’s sales potential over the next few months, Troy decided that Hipster would be his pet project among Stuart Mitchell’s holdings. He would give Crystal a better budget, and watch her work her magic. He looked at her now and was confident that she could take the magazine even higher with his support. Even though he’d just met her, he could sense a real spark in her. He grinned, more excited than ever to move into this sector of the family business.

  For years, Troy had worked behind the scenes, often straddling the fence between two different worlds. One was corporate and legal, the other one was quite the opposite. Now that his father was retiring, it was apparent that he was the chosen one to take over. His brother Wes was older than him by five years, but far less personable. There was no way that he could take over with a trail of legal woes and a penchant for violence. The business of Stuart Mitchell was the real deal. Not the cutthroat game with unwritten rules that their uncle had introduced them to. Troy was ready to embrace a new normal. Running Stuart Mitchell was just the beginning.

  Fox wrapped up the meeting and looked on like the proud father that he was as Crystal and Troy exchanged business cards. She gathered her things quickly afterward, and apologized for having to leave so abruptly.

  “I’m interviewing the subject of my next piece this afternoon,” she explained. “I’ve got to run.”

  “Of course!” Fox nodded.

  He and all of the men present watched, rapt, as Crystal sauntered out of the conference room in her curve-hugging dress.

  Fox turned to his son. “You’re gonna love her.”

  DÉJÀ VU

  Crystal returned to her office, and shut the door. She needed a minute to catch her breath. She was proud of herself for keeping her cool. But on the inside she felt several things at once. Relief, angst, and adrenaline primary among them. She hadn’t expected to feel that way after one simple meeting. She wondered how long she could keep her professional integrity and avoid ending up spread-eagle beneath her new boss.

  She buzzed her assistant, Monica, and asked her to call for a Town Car to take her uptown for the rally. Assured that her driver would meet her curbside in ten minutes, she gathered her belongings while mentally preparing herself for the interviews she was about to conduct.

  A young man named Arnold Jackson had been shot by police during a traffic stop in the Bronx. Jackson was unarmed at the time and had his hands raised, according to several witnesses at the scene. But the young man had been vilified in the press, his criminal background mentioned as frequently as his shooting. He was clinging to life now at Bronx Lebanon Hospital. His parents had held several press conferences alongside Reverend Al and other community organizers who had become prominent members of the Black Lives Matter movement. Crystal would be interviewing the organizers of the rally that afternoon. But she was really hoping to score an interview with one of the victim’s family members. Unlike so many of the other journalists vying for the same opportunity, Crystal didn’t seek to exploit the family’s turmoil. Instead, she sympathized with them more than any other reporter might. She had watched her mother pray and cry for Malik as he fought for his life. It was a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching experience to watch a mother grieve for her child. She hoped to capture the humanity of the Jackson family more than their anger.

  Her desk phone buzzed. It was Monica. “Crys, your car is downstairs.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at her watch and tucked some papers into her bag. They were articles she would review on her way to the rally. Even her downtime was work time. But she wouldn’t change a thing.

  She grabbed her jacket, her cell phone, and headed downstairs to meet her driver.

  Her cell phone buzzed just as she reached the lobby of the office building on the Upper West Side that Hipster operated out of. With a flourish that was natural for her, she whipped it out of her pocket, glanced at the screen, and answered the call, her sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose.

  “Hello?” She strolled through the lobby, pretending not to notice the security personnel admiring the sway of her hips.

  “Hey, baby.” Her mother’s voice sounded more upbeat than usual. Crystal felt a twinge of hope that she might be having a good day.

  “Hi, Ma. What’s up?” She walked through the revolving doors and merged into the crowds on the street below.

  “Baby girl, I know you’re busy. But we need to talk about this situation with your father. I can’t even sleep. I’m so worried about it.”

  “Calm down, Ma.” Crystal located her car and sighed as she climbed inside.

  Her mother persisted. “I can’t calm down. I can hardly sleep, I’m so worried. The last thing he needs to do is go back to Brooklyn. You know what can happen.” Her words sounded rushed, anxious.

  The driver headed for Fourteenth Street, and Crystal sighed. “Ma, it’s all gonna be fine.” She unbuttoned her coat. “Where’s Aunt Pat? Are you guys okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” her mother assured her. “Pat went out to the supermarket. We’re fine. I just … I just want you and your father to be alright out there.”

  Crystal could hear the concern in her mother’s voice. The woman was always worried about something. Crystal could picture her now, probably sitting at her dining-room table in her pajamas. Surely with all of the doors locked and the windows tightly secured. Her mother existed in a virtual prison that was entirely self-inflicted.

  “You don’t have to worry. I keep telling you that,” Crystal assured her. “I have to go, okay? I’ll call you tonight. I love you.” She hung up and changed out of her heels into a pair of designer flats. Her feet seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

  She rubbed her neck, feeling the tension there. Her mother’s fear and anxiety seemed contagious at times. Crystal loved her mother, there was no doubt. But she wanted her to stop being afraid of the boogeyman. The added burden of trying to help their dad get sorted out was beginning to take its toll on her. Lately she found herself missing her brother more than ever. If Malik were alive, she knew that things would be much different. He wouldn’t have allowed her to shoulder the pressures alone.

  Their parents had met in 1982, back when the two of them were guests at a party in Harlem. Georgina “Georgi” Scott was from Brooklyn, but she loved to take the train uptown with her girls to see what the Harlem boys were wearing, saying, and what they were selling. It was a time of high stakes and big profits
in New York, and money flowed through Harlem like hooch in the Prohibition days. There seemed to be an underground railroad of crack and money flowing through the streets of the city. And Georgi and her friends enjoyed incredible evenings on the arms of the dudes who were simultaneously brave and foolish enough to gamble on the drug game. Quincy Taylor was one of the young warriors hugging the block back then.

  He’d followed her sauntering hips down a hallway at a house party one of Georgi’s friends was hosting one night. He hardly let her take a step without him, mesmerized as he was by the way her booty jiggled in her Lees. To him, she was fine. He knew he was being a bit aggressive, but couldn’t help it. She seemed to like him, too, though. She was looking at him with the same intensity and hunger in her eyes as he felt. She seemed turned on by his bold approach, and she let him buy her drinks all night. Georgi’s very air had made it clear from the start it was a privilege to do so. Many men sought her time. So she learned early to capitalize on that. She knew what her face and body were worth. She thought she did anyway. Eventually she would learn the hard way how wrong she was.

  Quincy was aware of the way heads turned when Georgi walked in a room. From that night on, he hardly left her side. The money flowed in, and she grew distant from her mother and sister. The trips and shopping sprees monopolized her time. But she had fallen in love with Quincy. A cocky hustler from uptown, getting money enough to spoil her rotten. Malik was born a year later. Quincy convinced Georgi to marry him and their baby girl was born soon after. The couple had been madly in love.

  No one could have predicted the turn their lives would take years later. How a tragic series of events would lead to an encounter between two long-standing rivals and culminate in Malik’s death. And in the wake of that fateful day, the family existed under the weight of a dark cloud.

  The years after the incident that left her brother slain were filled with angst. Her mother was a shadow of her former self, no longer as preoccupied with her own desires. Suddenly, Georgi Scott had been humbled completely. There was no safety net to catch her and for the first time she was expected to figure it out alone. All while their father, Quincy, sat in prison feeling powerless and frustrated. Their entire family dynamic had been shattered.