by Cynthia Dane
Natalie Chen had walked into my life. She has yet to walk out of it.
Chapter 2
NATALIE
Eric Mann chose me.
Me. When he could have had anyone he wanted. Me, from the business back-up school. Dartmouth, Harvard, Yale, Boston… he could have chosen any of those applicants. Men. White men. The safe choice. But no, he chose me, the short Asian girl who was always told she would never go far in America.
Fuck them, because he chose me.
Eric Mann chose me.
Lest you think I am unqualified for the position of intern to Eric Mann, President and CEO of Mann-Garrett Enterprises, let me set you straight. I know what I’m about. From the day I popped out of my mother, I knew I was meant to conquer the world. When other kids went to piano lessons and played on the sports teams at school, I was in Mandarin class, not only because it was a part of my heritage, but because it was the language that would one day rule the world. When classmates did their book reports on boy wizards and magical wardrobes, I stood at the front of the class and talked about Dr. Franz Wilhelm’s A Call To Arms: International Business For A Modern And Paranoid World. I graduated Valedictorian to ensure I would get into the best bachelor’s program you’ve ever heard of. When I graduated from there Suma Cum Laude, I entered one of the biggest business graduate programs on the west coast. Even then I did not think I would get this prestigious intern position. Every year Eric Mann chooses two people out of thousands of applicants.
This year he chose me.
If I sound less than humble, it’s because I am. Humility does not get you where I am today. I know my worth, as an academic, as a human being, and as a woman. In that order. I’m not stupid. I know my weaknesses when people look at me. Sweet little obedient Asian girl. No. Fuck you.
Maybe that’s why I was so excited the first day of my internship that I was a frozen statue outside Mann-Garrett Enterprises. Not the tallest building in the city but damn well tall enough for a building dedicated to one company. Men in suits and women in silk stockings poured in and out of the front sliding doors, yapping on their cell phones, having business meetings, and even planning dates for that weekend. Then there was me, Natalie Chen, standing by a lamppost as I stared at the imposing building that represented my future – or my failure.
Dressed for the part in a conservative black dress and lilac coat, I checked myself out in the reflective windows. Maybe I should wear more makeup. No. Maybe I should take it off. When I got dressed that morning, nerves tickling my senses, I decided to dress as I had for my final interview. But now I wasn’t so sure. Should I look a bit more the part of a fashionable young woman ready to conquer corporate America? Or should I be as demure as possible… not because of what I was, but because my job was to be silent and absorbent when it came to the entire capitalistic gospel I was soon to learn?
“Can I help you, Miss?”
My breath knocked out of me as I looked at the doorman, an elderly fellow wearing a fancy red suit with golden lapels and a flat hat. Tucker, said his name badge. I was sure to remember it. Chapter One of Eric Mann’s business memoir, Manning Up In Today’s Economy, said that one should remember the names of every employee they came across. “Even your ground level employees are as important as the ones in your board room. Your vice-president can stage an executive coup, but it’s the little man who will actually bring the torches to set your world aflame.” Tucker it was.
“I’m, uh… here for the internship…” Squaring my shoulders was useless under the pressure consuming me. “I’m supposed to report to someone named Brooke Pentecost.” The woman who was my primary interviewer. Eric Mann was there too, but I didn’t meet him. Instead, I met Ms. Pentecost, his personal assistant and the one Money America Magazine declared “The Beauty And Brains Of Mann-Garret Enterprises.” The cover featuring Miss Pentecost posing with her arms akimbo and stern visage glaring into the camera was on top of my desk back home.
“Oh? Oh!” Tucker smiled, his teeth straight and white. “You’ll want to go up to the twenty-ninth floor, then. They’re expecting you. The other fella is already there.”
“The other fella” must have meant the #2 intern (because of course I was #1.) I had briefly met Aiden Webb at the orientation a week ago. He seemed competent enough. He must have been to get the job.
Because a job it was.
I was an intern, but unlike the free-hires so many corporations around the country “employ,” I was paid a decent salary for entry-level. Not only would I have the chance to become officially employed with Mann-Garrett by the end of my nine-month internship, but if I didn’t get an offer or decided to walk away, I could have my pick at so many other companies around the country, let alone the west coast. The crusty New England elite didn’t care as much, but I also didn’t care that much about moving across the country unless the job was well worth it.
Getting this internship meant I had already carved out a nice start for my west coast career. Out of the two interns from the year before, one had been absorbed into Mann-Garrett’s Los Angeles office on the fast track to a vice-presidency, and the other declined further employment to score a sweet job in Austin.
I couldn’t wait to see what my future would bring. But, first, I had to survive my first day in Mann-Garrett’s executive office on the top floor of The Mann-Garrett Building.
There’s only one elevator that goes up that high. My instructions from Brooke Pentecost told me to take Elevator #5 after swiping my ID card through the security block. I pulled out my card as I tripped my way to the faraway elevator and almost missed the swipe on my first try.
A woman waited behind me.
“Natalie, right?” Brooke Pentecost, with her affable beauty that could turn frigid bitch in a moment’s notice (and did I love her for it,) followed me into the elevator. “Ready for your first day?”
Her smile was genuine. By this time in my life, I had learned to tell the difference between a genuine smile and one that was put on for my supposed sake. Granted, Brooke had a fabulous fake smile that could get her way in any boardroom, but she had no reason to unleash it upon me. Yet.
The day she first used it on me quickly approached, however.
“Absolutely.” I mustered up as much confidence as possible. They hadn’t hired me to be nervous. Yet when I saw Brooke gussying up her hair and makeup in the elevator mirror, I didn’t hesitate to make sure my modest eyeshadow and the light pink blush on my cheeks was as even as possible. I would be on the front lines in Mann-Garrett. Every VIP visitor and investor would see me right after the receptionist let them in. I had to not only look the part, but I couldn’t look embarrassing, either. Even Brooke, who could easily get away with a low-cut blouse and short skirt, wore slacks and a turtleneck. Her light blond hair was swept up in a tight bun on top of her head. The Kathryn Alison look, as we seriously called it in grad school. Every white woman with long blond hair wore it up in a tight French twist or bun like one of the richest heiresses with class and sophistication. Brunettes like me could get away with our hair down.
If you could call me brunette. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could get my thick black strands up into any tight bun or twist. I would have to buy a titanium steel clip to get it to stay up, and I don’t think the weight on my scalp would be worth it.
Nobody notices the East Asian girl with long straight black hair. Everyone notices the Scandinavian supermodel with blond hair, though. The fact Brooke was almost a foot taller than me didn’t freak me out, however. The only thing that made me nervous around her was sheer performance.
Technically, she was my supervisor. She may have been Mr. Mann’s personal executive assistant, but that carried tremendous weight and responsibility. She was damn good at her job. She had to be. Her looks could only carry her so far at her level.
Okay, so I idolized her a little bit. But not as much as I did Eric Mann.
The elevators opened on the top floor, right in front of the double-glass doors of
Mann-Garrett Enterprises’ executive corporate offices. The floors beneath us merely served this one. The accountants, the advertisers, the techs and the custodians… they toiled away so this penthouse office suite operated flawlessly and brought in billions of dollars.
Every. Week.
“Come on in, Ms. Chen.” Brooke held the glass door open for me. I only blushed a little as I walked ahead of her and encountered the organized chaos of the busy office.
The first person we encountered was Ji-min Cho, the Korean receptionist who looked like she had stepped out of a Gangnam plastic surgery brochure. She had the perfectly shaved jaw, double eyelids, and high cheekbones that would have made half the girls in my prep school cry in jealousy. The only critique I have is that she wore way too much blue eyeshadow, but I would never tell Jimmy Cho that. She called it her Ice Queen Helm and, as I came to find out over the next few months, it absolutely worked for her.
“Morning, Jimmy,” Brooke greeted her. It was my first time hearing Ji-min called by her preferred nickname, but it would be a few weeks before I felt comfortable calling her that. “This is Natalie Chen. She’s one of the new interns starting today.”
Jimmy perched her sculpted jawline upon her French-tipped nails and languidly looked me up and down. What was she thinking? That I was the first woman to intern there in two years? That I was the first Asian in three years? Or that I was the first Asian woman in six years? I liked to think the latter, because I already felt that sense of intense camaraderie with Ms. Cho… even though she was Korean and I am Taiwanese. In this world, we were nothing more than Asian girls.
“I already like her more than the other one,” Jimmy said with a sigh. “He’s already here, by the way.”
“So Tucker told me.” Brooke handed a stack of mail to Jimmy. “Is Mr. Mann in yet?”
“Yes. He was in before me.” The executive receptionist comes in an hour before everyone else to go through the overnight calls and make sure the office is in pristine order. That meant Eric Mann had entered his office at least ninety minutes before us. “You know how he is this time of year, Brooke.”
“Absolutely. That explains the cryptic texts I’ve been getting on both of my phones since I showered at seven. Adam thought I was losing my mind.”
Jimmy waved us through the second set of doors leading into the core office. “Have a fun first day,” she called after me, only slightly sardonic. I decided she was already my best friend.
“Your desk is over here.” Brooke marched forward, her Dolce & Gabbana boots slamming against the gray carpet with purpose. “Which means this must be Mr. Aiden Webb.”
My partner in this internship was already in his seat, readjusting his tie the moment we approached.
Aiden Webb. If I only I knew then…
He was my age, a tall man of German and Austrian (he made sure I knew the distinction) ancestry that did not account for his last name, nor did I ever ask for clarifications. From the moment our eyes met, I knew he would be trouble. Because he looked me up and down the same way Jimmy had, but in a completely different way.
He wasn’t sizing me up. He was checking me out.
Great.
I’ve dealt with men like Aiden my whole life. The kind who start drooling the moment I cross their paths, and their heads become full of those nasty, fetishistic fantasies they’ve been harboring since they saw their first anime at the tender age of ten.
I ignored it. As long as he remained outwardly professional, he could think whatever nasty shit he wanted.
“Hey!” He stood, knocking his swivel chair back behind him. His extended hand came for me first. “Aiden Webb. Believe we met at orientation.”
“Indeed.” We hadn’t spoken, but we had exchanged glances while Brooke and a few other execs from Mann-Garrett went over our duties and helped us fill out the last of our paperwork. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Webb.”
“Please. Aiden. Just like you’re Natalie. Or Ms. Chen if you prefer, I guess.”
It was one thing for Brooke to warmly greet me with my given name. Quite another for this man to assume it.
“Call me whatever Mr. Mann would call me.”
Brooke checked a smirk before it could fully bloom on her face. “Ms. Chen it is. Let’s get you two settled. Then I need to check in with Mr. Mann.”
“You don’t need to do it right now?” I tucked my bag into the bottom drawer of my new desk and took a seat. Brooke followed me, already pulling out my login credentials for my computer. She passed them to me with a shrug.
“If he’s already been here for so long without burning the whole office down, then he can wait ten more minutes.”
I was rather impressed that she spoke like that about her own boss. They must have been working together for a long time and built up enough rapport.
I couldn’t imagine.
Brooke helped us login to our computers and take inventory of our assigned office instruments. My fastidious nature forced me to refrain from rearranging everything to my desires in front of Brooke. Aiden looked like he couldn’t be assed to care where his stapler was, let alone his wireless mouse.
Me, on the other hand? Itching to make better sense of the pens, papers, and rulers inside my top desk drawer. I wanted my Post-Its on the right hand side, ready to go. The phone on my left. Do you know how many hours are wasted every day in offices, due to a lack in efficiency? My biggest pro-tip is to put the notes on the side of your dominant hand and the phone on the other side. No reaching across the keyboard for pens and notes. Five seconds saved right there.
Maybe it doesn’t matter in middle class offices, but when you reach the executive level of Mann-Garrett, your ass better be ready to take down notes right that second. Or you’re fucked.
“All right. Now log out, because we need to go say hello to Mr. Mann before he starts his meetings and forgets who you are.”
My heart leaped into my chest. Nerves tickled my skin as I stood up from my leather swivel-chair and straightened out my dress. I hadn’t even taken off my coat yet. Here was hoping my black A-line dress was conservative enough for this office. I had worn dark pantyhose beneath the skirt, but even my modest breasts received more lift than I wanted. I should’ve known this was a cocktail dress before work appropriate.
Brooke barely looked at me twice after I took off my coat and left it on the back of my chair. Aiden and I followed her to the back of the main office, where Eric Mann’s imposing oak doors remained closed to us.
Some CEOs have frosted doors and encase themselves in walls of opaque glass. Some company presidents use half-wall facades to create the illusion that they’re always open to communication. Captains of capitalism like Eric Mann, however, completely guarded himself behind solid walls and sturdy doors that would only come down with the help of a battering ram. Or a key, of course.
Really, as the weeks went on, I found it a miracle that he even came to the downtown office to begin with, let alone three or four days a week. Mr. Mann was a homebody who preferred to close himself off to the world. People, especially in business, joked that he was a recluse even at thirty. Few people could say they had the pleasure of enjoying his personal company. Oh, he did the absolute minimum when it came to social engagements like major charity dinners and high-profile weddings, but my fellow students at the grad school level traded whispers that seeing Eric Mann in the flesh was like finding a unicorn.
My nerves transformed into sickening butterflies as Brooke knocked on one of the thick oak doors and turned the golden handle. She strode in with the confidence of a woman who had been working with Eric Mann for years while beckoning us to follow like helpful little dogs.
In that moment, when the door flew open and we were ushered inside, I wondered if Mr. Mann and his personal assistant were sleeping together.
It wasn’t unusual. I had even braced myself for that fact to come true back in my undergrad days. CEOs and presidents often fucked their assistants. Sometimes they were already married and cheating
on their well-to-do partners. Other times it was merely the convenience factor for two people with hectic, demanding schedules. Other times an attraction was discovered during the hiring process and the relationship pursued until the female assistant got a ring with her paycheck. It didn’t matter if the guy was older or younger. Mr. Mann was thirty when I started working for him. That was probably the worst age, right?
In a way, I had braced myself for flirtations, advances, and come-ons in the office. It came with the unfortunate territory of being a young woman in the corporate world. I wasn’t any elite man’s beloved daughter. I wasn’t the claimed girlfriend or fiancé of some powerful magnate. I hadn’t owned my own company or commanded my own recognizable empire for over a decade. I had the credentials for my position, but I was still fresh meat, ripened fruit, whatever metaphor you want to use to advertise the fact men were going to hit on me and try to sleep with me as soon as I stepped into a corporate office.
A part of me hoped that Mr. Mann and Brooke were sleeping together so the focus would shift from me.
Another part of me hoped that they weren’t. Because I was jealous.
Ah, yes. This is the part where I make my first confession. A confession I hadn’t even made to myself until that moment, when I crossed the threshold into Eric Mann’s company office and realized…
Dear God. I had a massive crush on him that went beyond professional admiration.
I have refrained from discussing Mr. Mann’s physical attributes until this moment. I suppose it’s embarrassment. After all, I have presented myself as a prepared young woman who knew what she was getting into when she decided to take over the corporate world as one of the ultimate American underdogs. I had hardened my shell and my soft insides so nothing would faze me. I was prepared to become the person the little guy hates and protests against. It wasn’t even about the money, really. It was more about proving that I could do it. That I didn’t need anyone else to succeed, to take care of myself, to dominate a world already stacked against me.