Читать книгу Reaching Lily - Vivacia Ahwen K - Страница 9

Around four o’clock I snuck down to the cafeteria to grab a quick cup of coffee. Since I’d kept my poor team in and out of the meeting room since late morning, with no lunch break whatsoever, I was dying. Wouldn’t Dorian Holder, CEO be so proud of me? As a reward, I let them take off an hour early, and over-apologised. Least I could do. We came up with some decent ideas.

Apollyon needed something New Agey; the closest we had to yoga DVDs were that Joni Speed Pilates thing I mentioned earlier, and a workout for middle-aged women called ‘Stretchin’ to the Oldies’ featuring some benevolent-looking sixtysomething coach with a long fake braid and vintage Seventies leotards leading a group in something called ‘The Alexander Technique’ while soft rock played in the background. Mr Colossimo firmly believed mind-body wellness was a passing trend. Seriously.

So let’s throw together a bunch of Yoga videos, and give them away free with a mat. We could start selling blocks and blankets, preferably blessed by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Also, we could come up with a cookbook full of veggie-juice and smoothie recipes. There was a start. Plus, outside all our weight-training gear, we didn’t have much for guys who were more into outdoorsy workouts. I figured we should come out with a vertical treadmill for climbers, then overcharge on customised bungee cords and carabiners. Our gyms could start including climbing walls. Also, there were no instructional videos of any kind for the fellas, because, as Jay-Jay pointed out, it just seemed too queer. Maybe we could hire someone who was semi-famous and in decent shape to host a series. Hiking, surfing, ice climbing.

Of course I knew this isn’t what the copy department’s job is, duh. You have no idea how boring it gets writing about the same old gear and trying to make it sound as though Apollyon invented these gadgets. I felt so sorry for the poor tech writers. Anyway, we all agreed that if there were new products that were actually fun to write about, we’d produce higher-quality copy, hence doing our part to increase sales. Why shouldn’t we weigh in on product ideas? So each of us came up with a speculative list of gear, and outlined mock-up advertisements, as though we already had them in stock.

So I figured I’d take the next fifteen minutes or so to go over our notes, type a half-decent memo which I could edit after a well-deserved night of sleep, send a polite suckup email to Mr Holder, run out the door at five sharp, no ‘staying later to impress the boss’, and pray Adonis wouldn’t be prepared to meet me until the next morning.

So it wouldn’t look like I was trying to escape, you see.

Which of course I was.

OK, so my random act of kindness – letting my team take off slightly early – wasn’t entirely unselfish, nor was it random. I needed time to collect my thoughts, needed solitude, needed to stop being a team leader. After all, there is no ‘me’ in team, right? And I desperately needed to take some me time.

The café was generally empty in the late afternoon. Being an introvert is inconvenient, as one can’t always find an escape hatch. Silence and solitude revive me. As does coffee, even the sour stuff they have at Holder Café. Won’t name brands, but I planned at some point to tell Dorian Holder, CEO we all deserved better. And did I happen to mention that I was exhausted? Still a little hungover, even. Really.

As I flipped open my vinyl binder, which was nearly as cheap as my shoes, I heard a cough nearby. ‘Lily?’

Troy Matthews. Why? It’s official: there is no God. Gawd. That Catechism was such a load of bunk.

I glanced up and removed my glasses. Then put them back on. ‘Oh. Hey, Troy.’

Poor Troy seemed almost as uncomfortable as I, which was saying something. Why didn’t he just leave, already?

‘Hi.’ Troy’s eyes darted around before he asked, ‘May I join you?’

I fiddled with my pen. ‘Uh … normally I’d say yes, but I’ve got a major deadline to meet. Be glad you aren’t an Apollyonian today.’

Troy worked in the law office on the first floor.

‘Oh.’ He seemed disappointed by my refusal of his companionship. ‘Heard the head honcho’s in town.’

‘Yep. True story.’ So word had already spread to Wingate&Wolfington. ‘Going to be a rough few months, I reckon.’

‘Sorry to hear.’ He sat down across from me. What, did men simply just not listen to me … at all? Didn’t I ask him not to join me? But I knew what he was waiting for, and owed him an apology.

‘Speaking of sorry, Troy –’ I cleared my throat ‘– listen, about Saturday night –’

‘Oh, no.’ He held up a hand. ‘Don’t even. It was your birthday, Lily. You deserve to cut loose now and again.’

‘Generally I’m not so “loose”. I cringed at my word choice. ‘I mean –’

‘I know what you meant.’ He took a sip of his coffee. I never like it when men use creamer in their coffee, but that is neither here nor there. ‘Lily, it was a fun night, and I’m happy Gwen invited me along. Besides, nothing happened.’

Poor Troy was such a last-second idea when we left work on Friday. He was wandering around the lobby looking all cute, single and dateless; a stray pup. As I mentioned, the whole thing was Gwen’s doing. ‘We’re partying in Cambridge tomorrow. You should come,’ she’d said.

‘Oh.’ I mulled this over. ‘That’s … that’s good. Thanks for understanding.’

‘Thing is, Lily? I noticed you a long time ago, and thought about asking you out. But you always seem to be in a hurry, and …’ Troy hung his head, his sandy hair flopped over his eyes and he took another sip of coffee. For the record, he was sort of cute. I could forgive myself for making a drunken pass at him.

‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t, now?’ I forced a smile. My facial muscles actually hurt when I fake-smile. That’s why I always looked so miserable in my Facebook pictures. Remove Tag.

‘Not really.’ His voice was all brave-like. ‘I’d love to try again, maybe with less tequila involved. You busy this weekend?’

Before I could answer, my obnoxious ringtone (‘Here in my car/I feel safest of all …’) provided a wonderful excuse to end the conversation. As a rule, I don’t pick up if I don’t recognise the number, but rules are made to be broken, so I grabbed my plastic saviour. Even if it was one of many student loan collection agencies, they bailed me for now, and I would chat them up until the cows come home. Not that I didn’t consider Troy a decent person, it was just not a good time to think about anything non-Apollyon. ‘Sorry, I totally have to get this.’

‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’

What? Why would I have wanted him to wait? ‘Hello?’

‘Lily Dewitt?’ A rich, deep, voice resonated in my ear. Automatically, my toes curled.

Stupid toes.

I coughed. ‘This is she.’

‘Dorian Holder.’

‘Oh. Hello, Mr Holder.’ My tone was calm, with the slightest note of unalarmed surprise.

I hoped.

Troy’s eyes bugged out, and I gave him a frantic waving gesture, which had nothing in common with my smooth telephone talk. He nodded. I nodded. He left.

Thank heaven. Back to Dorian Holder, CEO.

‘I went looking for you at your desk, but you appeared to have taken off for the day.’

‘Oh, no. I’m not – I didn’t – I just ran down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee.’ Shit. ‘I was heading right back upstairs.’

‘I know exactly where you are.’

‘You do?’ I looked around at my colourful surroundings. Chips, salad bar, coolers, bored food service workers …

‘Right over by the grill.’

Sure enough, there he stood, holding his iPhone in one hand, and a hot dog in the other. Gross. He eats hot dogs? Then he was hanging up, walking toward me, his eyes serious as pulmonary edema. Taking enormous bites of that frankfurter. All business.

‘After this morning’s meeting, I would hardly expect to find you down here socialising with the bottom-feeders.’ He turned his head ever so slightly towards the double doors, where poor Troy Matthews viewed our interaction with a little too much interest. Troy didn’t miss the glower and departed at once, a scared bunny rabbit.

Major turn-off.

‘That’s Troy Matthews. He’s in accounting.’ Like I needed to explain anything to Dorian Holder, CEO. Not that he cared. ‘Not for us, for the law office.’

‘Holder Enterprises owns Wingate&Wolvington, and they handle all Apollyon’s legal tangles. But you knew that, right? Ah. I’m assuming this is your proposal.’ Dorian Holder took the last bite of hot dog, slipped the phone into his pocket, picked up my notes and squinted at them. Smooth as silk.

‘You assume correct.’

‘Correctly.’

‘What?’

‘You said, “You assume correct.” Which I do not. I assume correctly.’

‘Either one works, Mr Holder.’

He examined my scribbles. ‘You have the penmanship of a high-school girl, Ms Dewitt.’

What was that supposed to mean? It’s not like I put hearts over my i’s or anything. Deciding not to rise to the bait, I responded just as coolly as the proverbial cucumber. Kind of like the one he must have in his … Oh, geez.

Eyes up, Lily.

Hope he didn’t just catch me looking at his crotch.

‘Well?’ He met my eyes, and his flashed with sparkle of merriment in them. It was hard to tell, though. Around his pupils there was a ring of gold flecks. Like a wolf’s.

I was so busted. Oh, shit.

‘I like your tie,’ I bluffed, hoping he would believe that was my distraction, rather than what was below. ‘An interesting choice.’

‘One would hope.’ He lifted it up, and leaned over me so I could get a closer look. ‘A Hoffman. That’s 24K gold woven in there.’

‘Wow. That’s … extravagant.’

‘You can touch it, should you wish.’ His voice dropped to a purr.

I reached up and pulled. A curious blend of silky and stiff filled my hand.

‘Now you can release me,’ Dorian Holder said. He brushed my hand away. ‘You have a fine grip, Ms Dewitt.’

Flustered, I said, ‘If you’d like to discuss my proposal, I can meet you in your office in about fifteen minutes. But I’ll need to type it up. Lest I subject you to my “high-school-girl penmanship” any further.’

Nor would I subject him to my high-school-girl gawking. Hands shaking, I put my glasses back on in what felt like an aggressive gesture.

‘Yes, you will.’ He almost smiled at me, pleased at my flustered state. ‘Are you throwing me out of the dining hall, Ms Dewitt?’

I shrugged, averting my eyes. Some people deserved to be handsome. Dorian Holder was not one of those people.

‘Maybe.’

‘Ms Dewitt, I own this cafeteria.’

As if he was pulling rank about the lunchroom. Like I would be ever so impressed and intimidated. Who cared? I was getting canned, anyway. ‘I am well aware. See, Mr Holder, I’m actually throwing you out of my personal space. Which, at the moment, you are standing in, and you don’t own.’

Whoops. It just popped out.

How dared he chuckle? But chuckle he did.

‘Not yet, I don’t.’

My jaw dropped, as Mr Holder stifled a yawn.

‘Mr Holder, what are you –’

‘It’s decided, then. Meet me on the top storey when you’re finished, Ms Dewitt.’

‘Done and done.’

Dorian Holder took a sip of my coffee, and his Adam’s apple took a dip as he swallowed. He winced. ‘Christ. Is this what we’re serving?’

‘Unfortunately, yes. Please don’t drink my coffee, Mr Holder. I actually paid, so you no longer own it.’

The whole thing struck me as bizarre. Couldn’t I just go home?

‘Now that was me being in your personal space.’ He set the cup down. ‘You like it sweet and creamy. I’m surprised.’

‘Would you have guessed dark and bitter?’

‘Hmm. I’ll have to speak to the staff.’ His eyes wandered to the kitchen. ‘But not now.’

I shrugged, ‘It’s good enough for me.’

‘I refuse to be served anything less than the finest,’ Dorian Holder explained. He glanced at my feet and sneered, ever so slightly. Huh? Oh, yes. Horrified by my cheap flats. Can’t blame him there.

‘Yeah, well.’ My pulse pounded. Was it lust or anger? Mix and match.

‘Nor do I like shabby presentation.’ He appraised my casual-chic frumpwear ensemble.

OK, chic was not involved in that particular outfit.

‘What size shoe do you wear, Ms Dewitt?’

Wow. Bisexual, foot fetish, or Buffalo Bill? I tried to appear unruffled.

‘Eight.’

‘Eight?’

‘Yep.’

He glanced at his watch. You got to be kidding me, he wears a Rolex? Does he think it’s 1983? ‘You said it would take you fifteen minutes?’

‘Or so.’

‘Fifteen minutes,’ he repeated, ‘is what you said. There is no “or so”.’

And then he strode away.

Definitely a strider.

* * *

While I’ve never been the world’s fastest typist, I’m not so bad. Trying to edit, revise and hammer my cryptic notes into something smart and clarified? While my hands shook and I was terrified? Not so much. To make matters worse, I couldn’t open half the attachments the team had sent. Altogether I was caught in a real-life spin on one of those anxiety dreams where someone or something is chasing you, you’re running as fast as you can but your legs are nearly immobile and, just as the Thing is about to catch you, you awaken swaddled in wet sheets with your heart throbbing.

A little blip notifying me of a new message did nothing to assuage my growing panic.

Fr: Dorian Hartley Holder

Subject: Tick-Tock

Fifteen minutes have come and gone. I’m waiting.

BTW, you won’t find a number button on the elevator. Press ‘P’ for the penthouse.

Yours,

D

I took a deep breath, my fingers hovering over the keys.

Fr: Lily Elizabeth Dewitt

Re: Tick-Tock

Penthouse? We’ve always called it the 13th floor, but you’re the boss. I know where the top storey is, though I wasn’t aware that’s what the ‘P’ button stood for; I had other ideas.

Just five more minutes, if that’s OK. I’m almost there. Sorry to make you wait.

Respectfully,

Lily Dewitt

Yeah, I totally did that.

A few seconds passed, and there was a second blip.

Fr: Dorian Hartley Holder

Subject: Impatient

I am, indeed, the Boss.

But no, I said ‘now’. Nobody makes me do anything, you see. Just email me whatever you have, which – judging from your ‘notes’ – is worth trying to do something with. We’ll discuss the rest in person. Despite what you may or may not have heard, I’m relatively flexible.

And I like your mind.

I want you in my office. Thirteenth floor, per your correction. Penthouses are for Playboys. I’m curious about your P.

Yours,

D

Oh, do you, now? I paused, nibbled at my fingernail and began to type.

Fr: Lily Elizabeth Dewitt

Re: Impatient (Tick-Tock)

OK. I’m coming.

P is for Porcupine.

Respectfully Yours,

Lily Dewitt

P is for Prick, but you know that.

Very well, then.

I highlighted, cut, pasted and sent what little I’d typed up. None too impressive. I bit my lip in consternation.

Hopefully, I won’t get all stuttery again. Scratch that. I promise myself not to get all stuttery again. I would channel my inner coolness I faked in the cafeteria. That’s part of me, somewhere inside, straight-up Lily Dewitt. I take no guff. I will present my plan with all kinds of confidence and enthusiasm, while not sounding overly bubbly. Like a high-school girl. Right?

What did he mean by that, anyway? My penmanship is like a high-school girl? Meh. How did he know so much about high-school girls and shoes, anyway? P was for Pervert. The more I could think of Dorian Holder as just freakazoid control freak, the easier this meeting – or confrontation – would be. As my mom used to say, when I was faced with a spelling bee or whatever, ‘Pretend they’re all in their underwear, Lily. And instead of fighting off tears, you’ll fight off laughter. Don’t forget the funny.’

Sighing, I grabbed my bag, and prepared myself to lose my first decent job.

Ah, well. It was a good run, I figured.

Then I was off to Dorian Holder’s office. The thirteenth floor. The Penthouse.

P.

The top storey.

* * *

The thirteenth floor was a euphemism for ‘gentlemen’s club’, which is itself a euphemism.

Anyone who knows from what knows there’s no such thing as a thirteenth floor. It’s straight-up bad luck. Look at any control panel of elevator buttons, whether in an apartment building, hotel, skyscraper – there will never be a 13. But Apollyon LLC did the thirteenth-floor thing with pride, though it had apparently been re-christened ‘The Penthouse’ by Dorian Holder, CEO in some covert operation.

Because he could do that shit. He could do whatever he wanted.

Still can.

The thirteenth floor was actually the thirty-first floor (see what they did there?) and last I had known was a sweet little bar with a view of the city, and a couple of faux offices in which I assumed private dances happened. Maybe a random handjob or two. Seeing as Mr Colossimo’s and his ever-changing Vice Presidents’ desks had always been next to the conference room on the nineteenth, and that I was always a sucker for water-cooler gossip, that wasn’t an unreasonable call. My poor former boss was not only afraid of climbing stairs, riding the elevator apparently stressed him to the max. If it had been me, I’d have been hanging on the top floor all the frigging time.

Anyhoo.

The People Who Matter held business meetings, bachelor parties and whatnot on the mysterious thirteenth floor, but none of the businesses in our building had ever done any office nesting, per se. Or they’d done some nesting, of course, but no settling in. Nothing wholesome or businesslike.

Must admit, I was beyond curious.

When the massive metal doors spread open, I was surprised to find that whatever was once the thirteenth had been transformed into yet another generic-looking level, sans busy cubicles. That was the transformation of the businessmen’s club? A smashing disappointment. It was as though I’d just been summoned to the headmaster’s office, which, in a sense, I had.

Why did that thought turn me on? Headmaster. Not as if I would do anything about it with Mr Holder, I thought. I mumbled ‘headmaster’ three times, and pictured Dorian Holder in what were likely to be boxer-briefs. Rather than easing my fear, my anxiety went up a notch. Danger on the horizon.

* * *

Dorian Holder’s green office door was all oaken majesty and power, looming at the far end of a narrow white hallway. All the other new offices were sterile and empty, with glass doors reflecting a ghostly image of me as I trudged down the impossibly long industrial-grey carpet. But there was no turning back. The door was, like, a million feet tall, as intense and commanding as an entrance could be. He had already got a new plaque:

DORIAN H. HOLDER

CEO HOLDER ENTERPRISES

ACTING PRESIDENT, APOLLYON LLC

The contractors had been busy. As I mentioned, nobody ever utilised the mysterious thirteenth floor for anything non-recreational, so they must’ve put all of this newness together in a week. Right behind Mr Colossimo’s fat back! Well played, Mr Holder.

I rapped my knuckles against the hard wood, feeling very much as though I were in a fairy tale, sans prince. Lily in Wonderland.

Much to my surprise, a slammin’ hot blonde, whom I hadn’t seen around Apollyon ever, ushered me in. The brand-new she-creature flashed her expensive-looking teeth while looking me up and down. Her eyes stopped at my shoes, and she sneered, ever so slightly. But I caught the scorn. I was supposed to. What was up with these newcomers and their shoe fetish? I stared down at my feet, wanting to just melt into my Steve Maddens, which had never looked more awful to me.

‘Right this way,’ she said, not sounding particularly inviting. She might as well have said, ‘Get out’. After all, I was already standing in the office. Her office. If the – I glanced at her desk.

BEATRICE COLLINS, ASSISTANT TO

DORIAN HOLDER, CEO

HOLDER ENTERPRISES

OK, then. Real original, Holder, fucking the imported secretary.

Beatrice Collins looked about eighteen, though she was surely my age, just with some surgical trimmings and tuckings. Question was, how did someone get a job like hers so young, while I seemed to be in a holding pattern? Granted, ‘Assistant’ is not the greatest title, but you could bet she made several times what I did, and could work wherever she wanted. Dorian Holder would surely give the best recommendation.

Meanwhile, my life was on pause.

You know, I went to the wrong school, that’s what. Boston College doesn’t groom one for that certain something Beatrice Collins and Dorian Holder had. That confidence, that self-assuredness, that sense of entitlement. Liberal arts just make you bitter and leave you with a BA in English, concentration in Communications. Should so have gone the business track.

Or been born to a more well-to-do family. Something told me Beatrice was a daddy’s girl, and, heck, I don’t even have a daddy. My fate was sealed while I was still in utero.

‘Thank you, Beatrice.’ Taking a brief glance around, I added, ‘Been a busy day, right?’

‘Not a problem.’ Her tone was icy. ‘Ms Dewitt.’

It clearly was a problem. I wasn’t supposed to call her Beatrice without permission. ‘Thanks, anyway.’ I matched her voice. ‘Ms Collins.’

‘Mr Holder has been waiting for you.’ Beatrice Collins wrinkled her adorable nose, strutted back to her desk and pretended to shuffle papers. Without looking up again, she added, ‘For quite some time now.’

‘Got it. I apologised, remember?’

Should I just be straight up and tell her I’m hardly a threat? I wondered. Anyway, Ms Thing sat back down at her desk and pushed a button. ‘Mr Holder? A Lily Dewitt is here for your meeting.’

‘A moment, Ms Collins.’ His deep voice was smooth even through an intercom.

‘Of course, sir.’ Beatrice Collins nodded at a row of severe-looking chairs lined up by a coffee table. ‘Feel free to sit.’

‘Thank you.’ I followed her directive, but added, ‘Freedom is a good thing.’

No response. She began tapping away at her keyboard again, a shade too loud.

Anyhow, the dullest-looking magazine collection a girl could ever ask for was fanned in a perfect semi-circle on the table. Money. Forbes. Wired. Sail. Oh, wait: National Geographic Travel. That would have to do. I flicked it open and escaped from reality, immersing myself in the Virgin Islands, almost smelling the salty air. Images of turquoise waters, colourful fish and coral reefs were most soothing to my frazzled countenance. Imagining a vacation someplace I will never afford, swimming in a warm ocean, soaking up the island breeze, was even better than picturing Dorian Holder, CEO naked, as in my mother’s advice about stagefright.

Imagine he’s in his underwear.

Come to think of it, picturing him this side of naked was probably not the best coping method. Not soothing, not at all.

In fact, the coping method had somehow faded to a sexual fantasy and was causing wicked tingle-action. No fair. Maybe later, when hanging with my electronic companion before I fell asleep, that would be a soothing thing. Dorian Holder, boxer-briefs, black and white, Calvin Klein … For the record, Dorian Holder totally didn’t deserve to be thought about naked or thereabouts while I got off. Hopefully, I’d see some other, nicer, better hottie on the way home to star in my dreams. Yeah, right.

So I stared at pictures of wise-looking sea turtles, mentally transporting myself to a land far, far away …

‘Ms Dewitt?’

I gasped, dropping the magazine.

No fair. You shouldn’t just sneak up on a girl like that, especially if you’re a guy who’s hot, interesting and a domineering asshole. Like, if you happen to get lucky enough to be born Dorian Holder, CEO. Or something.

Flustered, I bent over, both to pick up the magazine and hide my burning cheeks at the same time. Of course I stood up just as he was crouching to assist me, and we unceremoniously banged heads.

‘Jesus.’ He slapped a palm against his forehead, winced, then rubbed hard and fast. ‘That kind of hurt, Dewitt.’

‘I am so s-s-sorry, Mr Holder!’ I stammered, and instinctively reached out to him.

Just as instinctively, he pulled back.

Oops. I set the offending Geographic back on the table, wishing for the second time in five minutes that I could disappear. Oh, and he called me Dewitt. How horrible. No Ms, no Lily, just …

‘You OK?’ he asked, but his politeness was strained. That bump stung his head more than a little. Well, guess what? The product in his hair maybe hurt mine. So there.

‘As much as a girl in my shoes could be.’

‘Your shoes, yes, of course. Come in.’

We stood, looked at each other evenly, looked at silent Beatrice Collins even more evenly, and he opened his office door. It was an even deeper shade of green than his Bangy’s foyer. I followed him into the Emerald City. This would be the part at BC where we’d turn on Pink Floyd, smoke pot and play that ‘Dark Side of the Oz’ game.

‘Welcome,’ said Dorian Holder, gesturing to the black leather couch across from his ostentatious desk, against which he leaned. Mr Holder’s body language was both graceful and elegant, the liquid movements of his large frame unexpected and most appealing.

We stared at each other. I knew this trick – or I’d read about it, anyway – and refused to break the silence. Whoever speaks first loses the power play. So I shifted my gaze upward, as gazing into his titian eyes was unnerving, to say the least. They tell you to never look into an eclipse of the sun, and that moment was the second time I thought of it when peering at Dorian Holder.

You’ll go blind.

Don’t stare at a golden compass.

You’ll get hypnotised.

Perhaps that was when it first became clear to me that Dorian Holder was more than a man. He had a certain magic, a power greater than his obvious advantages over the Troy Matthewses of the world. He could make anyone’s head spin, should he wish, not just because of his notable beauty, his powerful position as one of the wealthiest men in America or his casual intelligence. No, Dorian was the master of his domain, and could become the master of anyone else’s domain as well. I was no match for him.

To distract myself from the thickness in the air, I checked out the office in a manner I hoped was subtle. There was one detail it was impossible to tear my eyes away from. Near the top of each wall was a narrow shelf with a miniature train track on it. No joke. And there was a very long train directly over his desk. Though I was dying to ask about it, I’d just have to wait.

Thirty seconds passed. And yes, I was totally doing the ‘one-Massachusetts, two-Massachusetts, three-Massachusetts’ count to time it.

I had never realised how long the word ‘Massachusetts’ is.

Crickets.

So I waited, and peeked back at Dorian Holder. One corner of his mouth was curved into a half-smile, in fact he looked as though he were about to laugh. At me? Again, I looked back up at the Lionel train, and began to count cars.

The CEO of Apollyon’s model train set is composed of 32 cars, if you include the locomotive and caboose. Just sayin’.

‘You win,’ I said, at last.

‘Of course I do.’ He beamed. ‘Holders always win.’

‘Should I “feel free” to sit?’

‘Please do.’

The new leather couch made an unfriendly crackling sound as I leaned back against its sterile softness. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re most welcome. Don’t mind if I stand.’ He crossed his legs and leaned back. ‘I’ve been sitting most of the day.’

I pointed up at his toy collection. ‘So …’

‘Like it? Nineteen-forty-six model. The year they introduced the “smoke effect”.’

‘What’s that?’ This was not the conversation I had been expecting. ‘The smoke effect?’

‘Oh, you drop what looks like a little white pill into the smoke box.’

What do you say to that? And what was Dorian Holder?

‘You like trains.’

‘Yep.’

He was not offering to turn it on for me.

I looked through the window, or rather the wall of glass. ‘Beautiful view.’

The city lay below and beyond. Though I don’t recommend swimming in Boston Harbor, it makes for a stunning sight, especially from about 300 feet overhead mirroring the springtime light. Everything is stunning from up on high. Now I get it.

‘Indeed.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You should see the terrace.’

‘The terrace? I hadn’t known there was one. You can’t see much of this building from the ground.’

‘It’s quite splendid, Ms Dewitt. After we’re finished here, I’ll show you the real view. Puts this one to shame.’ He waved toward the window.

‘The sunset must be gorgeous.’

‘Hopefully. I’ll find out tonight.’

‘Oh.’ I wished he would just cut to the chase so I could go home and get my cry on. Perhaps he was enjoying watching me squirm? ‘How late are you staying?’

‘Until I’m done.’ He walked over to the windows, hunched over as though tired, then gave me a sidelong glance. ‘I have a bedroom suite up here as well, should I need to pull an all-nighter.’

Wow. The bedroom suite. Where did he keep it? I wondered. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes to wander around the office again. Anywhere but at Dorian Holder.

It was quite lovely there, and smelled very new. A few potted trees in the corner. Built-in bookshelves, void of books. Mr Holder seemed the sort who would buy some objet d’art as a conversation starter, seeing as he didn’t want to discuss his toy train set in depth. But for now the black shelves were stark and bare. The coffee table in front of me was glass-topped, with a small antique vase in the middle, also empty. No one brought him flowers.

There was an old-fashioned dessert cart with several crystal decanters of what I’m sure was the most expensive booze. And a box of Cuban cigars.

How quaint.

Dorian Holder watched me closely. I could feel him. At last, he asked, ‘Would you care for a drink, Ms Dewitt?’

I very much did, but thought it not the wisest choice. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Hope you don’t mind if I imbibe.’

‘Why would I?’

‘Indeed.’ He moved across the room with animal grace, and made quite a show of clinking the crystal as he poured about three fingers of scotch.

‘No ice?’ I asked. Oh, Lily. Sometimes I made myself so weak.

‘Never.’ He turned around to face me. ‘Why? Would you have a drink if it were chilled?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘I’ve kept the bar and restaurant, if you change your mind.’ Mr Holder sat down in one of the two throne-like leather chairs that faced the couch. How very cosy. Apparently he’d changed his mind about standing.

I want to be closer to you, Lily. I can’t help myself.

My fantasy version of Dorian Holder was so corny. But wicked hot and in love with me.

‘Really?’ I smiled at him. ‘So the infamous thirteenth floor is real? You’ve got the drinks, you’ve got beds, you’ve got the –’

‘Yes, really. Though it’s about half the size now, since we put the offices in.’ He shrugged. ‘I have to take clients someplace to dine, and don’t do the long lunches out and about.’

‘Will there still be strippers?’ I blurted.

‘No.’ The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was a beat, and I asked, ‘Are we going to discuss my proposal or what?’

‘Eventually. But first, I’d like to discuss you, Ms Dewitt.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’ve been looking over my employee files all afternoon.’

‘Why? And you can start calling me Lily.’

‘Excellent. In the past, Lily, I’ve found that I can save hours of conference time by looking over who has been hired by one of my companies, and then I know who needs to go before I even talk to them.’ He scowled. ‘You’d be surprised how many people don’t make the cut.’

Oh, boy. And he failed to do the You can call me Dorian. Oh, well.

I waited.

He gestured at a menacing file cabinet. ‘Now that I’ve seen how unqualified so many of you are, my workload has significantly decreased.’

‘How very convenient for you.’ Why should I waste any more of my time? ‘So, I didn’t make the cut, did I.’

It came out as a statement, rather than a question.

‘Why would you say that?’ He seemed surprised. ‘I simply wish to know why you still choose to work at Apollyon. Aren’t you hungry?’

Had he heard my stomach growl? ‘Hungry?’

‘Do you have ambition?’ he explained. ‘Your CV has so much to offer, but you choose to work for a failing company, and are willing to perform the tasks of three people without demanding a raise. Also, since when are copywriters creative directors?’

‘Well, I didn’t –’

‘What that says to me as your boss, Lily, is that you don’t take yourself seriously.’ His face was a mask. ‘If you don’t take yourself seriously, or value your work, why should I take you seriously? Or any of your co-workers? Or any of Apollyon’s clientele?’

I hung my head. This was not the conversation I’d hoped to have, though I wasn’t surprised. Well, not entirely true. The angle he took came as a total surprise; I wasn’t expecting him to cushion it so nicely. The man was good.

‘Look at me, Lily,’ he commanded.

‘All right.’ My voice came out small and choked, as I looked up at him, fully obedient. ‘You are firing me, aren’t you? It’s OK to just say yes.’

‘Let’s talk about your past.’

Please, God, help me keep it together, I prayed.

‘I can – could we please talk about the ideas I came up with?’

‘At some point. Right now I want to know more about you. What your goals once were. Starting with Boston College.’

I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘Mr Holder, I need to apologise for this afternoon. I was rude to you, and I know it. Generally I’m not … I’m not like that.’

It was worth a shot. I’m not too proud to grovel. As you’ll find out, I have no shame at all when push comes to shove. Though at that moment in his shiny office? Really, I feared everything. Dorian Holder. Life. Myself.

‘What?’ He had either forgotten my bad behaviour or was a fine actor.

‘I kind of snapped at you in the café.’ Not to mention my looking at his pants. ‘I apologise, and it won’t happen again. I’m wicked sorry, Mr Holder.’

‘Oh, please.’ He waved his hand. ‘You’re fine. I was being impolite, and deserved far worse. If that’s your idea of snapping at someone, you must comprehend what I meant about not taking yourself seriously. You command zero respect, and if you’re heading up a department, yours is no way to behave. Letting your staff leave early when you are under duress and need to meet a deadline? Poor choice.’

I watched him take a slow, languorous sip. Late-afternoon sunbeams illuminated Dorian Holder’s drink, giving the illusion that he was swallowing liquid amber.

‘Speaking of no way to behave?’ He tilted his head. ‘Did you just tell me you were “wicked sorry”?’

‘Well, I am.’

‘I see.’ He stared at me. ‘Do you think local colloquialisms make you come across as a professional? For a young lady who studied communications, it disappoints. Are you disappointed with yourself?’

Maybe he was actually a psychologist whom Holder Enterprises had hired, pretending to go in as the real boss. Think about who the former president of Apollyon was, after all. Mr Colossimo the basket case! Holder Enterprises must have got some shrink to come in here, do evaluations of the employees and winnow the wheat from the chaff. The nuts from the Guinness. The … Wait. Didn’t I say insanity begins with paranoia?

‘I’d like to talk more, Mr Holder,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘But since I am fired, after all, I’m not sure what the point is. You have my “high-school girl” notes. Jay-Jay can take over for me.’

‘What?’ He set his glass down on the tabletop. ‘Who said you were being let go? It’s not like this is Iowa.’

Iowa?

‘You aren’t –?’

‘No, I am not. And don’t ever tell me again who to hire, fire, buy or sell.’

‘Mr Holder, I’d never try to –’

‘Mr Tanaka is not up for your position. He’s underqualified to head up copy, and I don’t care that he’s next in the weak chain of command. I’m getting someone from the outside.’ He scowled. ‘And you aren’t being terminated, Lily. You’re being demoted. Starting tomorrow, you will once again be an intern.’

‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved. After all, I remained employed, since it was a paid internship. On the other hand, I was so fucking humiliated, and didn’t know how I could talk about this with anyone. See, I just don’t command respect …

‘I’d like to move you around a few different departments, because you’ve got more to offer than copywriting, and I feel your talent could be better utilised in another capacity. Though you are quite a talented writer. I could see you excelling in PR. Concepts. Development. My long-term view would be you as a creative director, as I mentioned, but you would obviously need more grooming over the next two years.’

‘Creative director?’

‘Not beyond the realm of possibility, given the right mentor.’

‘Mr Holder, I need to be clear about something. So I … I’m being asked to step down. That sounds too much like “fired”.’

He mulled my comment over, and took a generous gulp. ‘An understandable reaction to this conference, but not based in reality, and you continue to demonstrate poor listening skills. Still, I acknowledge your disappointment, and regret that is what you are garnering from our meeting.’

He was definitely an undercover shrink. I despised him on one hand, but wanted to tell him everything on the other.

‘I – I am pretty disappointed.’ I blinked. I will not cry, I will not cry.

‘I would be, as well, were I in your shoes, your age, having no sense of direction or comprehension of potential advancement. If I had no belief in myself. What I offer you is opportunity, but we have to start from ground zero. You’ve been poorly trained, Lily.’ His eyes dropped to my feet, WTF, and I crossed my ankles, feeling exposed. ‘Since you don’t appear to think long-term, let me get down to your level and we’ll go from there.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? On my level?’

‘On the bright side, I’m offering you a most desirable internship. Same amount of money you make now, but room for upward mobility … which you currently don’t have. Room for advancement, that is. Because what you did, Lily? You hit a wall you built for yourself. I’m helping you break down the wall. Smash the glass ceiling. However you want to put it, Lily, we’re seeing to it that you are nothing but forward motion from this moment. Did I soften the blow?’

‘A bit.’ Yes and no.

‘Good.’ He seemed satisfied. ‘First thing tomorrow, you’ll come to my office, and I would like to discuss your ideas further, believe it or not. Some of them are already being implemented behind the scenes. You’ve got fine instinct, Lily, if poor execution and articulation.’

How could one teeny kind-of compliment already be enough to make me feel like everything in the world might be OK after all? Not perfect, but OK. The only thing that mattered was that Dorian Holder, CEO thought I was smart, special. That I was a girl with good instinct. Scratch that, a woman with good instinct.

I let out my breath, not realising I’d been holding it. ‘So, tomorrow morning?’

‘I’m going to jerk off on your nipples.’ Dorian returned to my résumé, giving me a slight waving gesture.

‘Sorry, what?’

He lowered the paper. ‘I’m going to work out a few wrinkles.’

‘Oh.’ I cleared my throat.

‘Why? What did you think I said?’

‘Nothing.’ I shook my head. ‘Just, yes. Tomorrow. After you work out a few wrinkles.’

Dorian Holder, CEO, rose to his full height. He was so scary, and definitely taller than my initial guess of six-two. Why did he have to use that old-school PA thingy or whatever you call it, anyway? He leaned over his desk and pressed a button. ‘Beatrice, please come to my office.’

‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said. ‘I can find my own way out.’

‘Sit.’

I sat.

Beatrice Collins came in, carrying a fancy-looking box, winked at Mr Holder, set it down on the desk and left without a word.

He pulled off the red ribbon, opened it and beamed as though it were a Christmas present. ‘Ah. Perfect.’

He removed a pair of red-soled flats and knelt before me. In utter silence, he lifted my right leg, removed my shabby Steve Madden, and slipped the lovely new shoe on my foot. Dorian’s touch was slow and gentle, taking me utterly by surprise. ‘The Intern Flat,’ he explained. ‘Give me your other foot.’

‘OK.’ I raised my leg, and he looked at my calf appreciatively. At least my black hose didn’t have a hole in the toe. Most of my tights did.

This time, when he slid on the other slipper, he caressed my ankle, and glanced up. ‘Do you like them?’ he asked, his voice husky.

I nodded. They were remarkable. And the way this man looked at me? For a second, I felt remarkable as well. Like I did when leaving the train station. For a second.

‘Why?’ I whispered.

‘Because you clearly haven’t been making enough money to dress in a manner appropriate for the office environment. You’ve been earning it, but Apollyon hasn’t been paying. We owe you.’ He was brusque and businesslike again. He grabbed my tattered old shoes – which I kind of felt sorry for at this point, poor shoes, never hurt anyone – rose to his feet and tossed them in the trashcan behind his desk. ‘You represent me, as long as you are working here. When you return to Apollyon, I expect you to be dressed in clothing that rises to the occasion of your new Louboutins.’

There was that word again. ‘Of my what?’

He shook his head. ‘Never mind.’

‘I will,’ I told him, trying to sound knowledgeable. I wondered if maybe Louboutin wasn’t an urban term after all, but some literary reference any English major should know … though this one didn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t ask him – or Gwen – what they were talking about; that’s what Google’s for. I stood up, brave and true, because these fancy flats were a perfect fit, and my feet felt quite dainty.

‘Now that we’ve had our chat, would you care to step outside on the piazza? To get the full effect of the thirteenth floor?’

‘I should go, actually.’ I was confused as all-get-out, and refused to crumble in front of him. ‘But thank you, Mr Holder. Perhaps another time.’

‘You may call me Dorian.’ He looked down at his desk and pretended to shuffle papers. I took this as my cue to leave.

‘Fair play. Thank you, Dorian.’ I’m not sure whether I was thanking him for the lovely new footwear, not firing me, or letting someone as lowly as myself be on a first-name basis. I was grateful for all these things, and at the same time humiliated.

‘You’re most welcome.’ His voice was gruff. No more Mr Nice Guy. ‘Eight forty-five tomorrow, Lily. Not ten past nine. I have no patience for tardiness. It’s a passive-aggressive way of letting someone know his time is not valuable.’

‘I –’

He raised his eyebrows, and his forehead did this worried wrinkle that made me wonder again how old he was. I shut my mouth, because that’s what you do when Dorian Holder raises his eyebrows in a warning fashion.

‘Understood?’

‘Yes, sir. Dorian.’

‘“Sir Dorian”.’ He took one last hard look at me, and down at my feet. ‘I like it.’

‘Well. Good night, then.’

‘Good night, Lily Dewitt.’

I took my leave, and, as soon as I closed the door behind me, heard the rattling of a toy train, and its low, long whistle.