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The receptionist stands up, flashing a bright smile when she sees me. “Good morning, Mr. Bucklow,” she says.
Her silver-brushed name tag says Marnie. I’m bad with names, but she does seem familiar. I remember my fingers running through her black hair one night, not that long ago. Her dark eyes half-closed, her pink lips wrapped around my… Oh.
“Good morning, Marnie. Hope you had a great weekend,” I reply.
“It wasn’t as great as the one before, but it was all right,” she giggles as I walk past her.
I can feel her gaze drilling into the back of my head. She’s undressing me with her mind, though she’d probably prefer doing it for real like she did the weekend before. My head has been up in the clouds since I brought Olivia MacArthur into the company. The excitement alone was enough to make me seek out a more intimate dynamic with a woman.
Marnie satisfied my most basic needs, I’ll give her that. We’re back to the original setting now, though, and she knows it. The moment I brought her to that hotel room, she understood that was all we’d ever be. I appreciate a woman who gets and accepts that.
Most others would love to see themselves on magazine covers beside me. It’s why I’ve stopped going on dates. Reporters and paparazzi are dying to catch me outside my work environment. I’ll never understand this thirst for salaciousness surrounding me.
Upon reaching the top floor, it’s obvious that everyone is aware of the headway we’ve made since SanFranLabs. I’m greeted by bright smiles and nods of appreciation. I’m starting to feel like an alternate version of Captain Ahab, one who managed to kill the white whale.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say as I cross the open space area of desks and worktables and head for my office, a sprawling smoked-glass room overlooking the Sacramento River. “Lunch for the whole crew is on me today.”
That has the software engineers high-fiving one another while the sales team laugh and chat among themselves. Alina, my PA, greets me with a bright smile, work tablet at the ready to go over today’s tasks with me. I like the cream skirt and white shirt combo she’s wearing today. It fits her curvy, hourglass figure perfectly.
“Good morning, Will,” she says as she follows me into my office. “You look… rested.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
I take a seat behind my desk. Alina places a freshly brewed espresso just a couple of inches from my mousepad. I take a long sip and welcome the hot bitterness of Jamaican Blue Mountain, then turn my computer on and wait for the emails to start pouring into my inbox. I never touch this stuff before eight a.m.
“It’s a very good thing, considering the busy day you have ahead,” Alina says. “Olivia MacArthur starts today. I’ve already sent her the onboarding package and entry instructions, and I’ve told the reception staff to help her with anything she might need along the way.”
“Thank you, Alina. I hope you’ve warned her about bringing in trinkets and personal items. You know how I feel about that.”
“I emphasized that in my email, yes.”
I take a second to look around. My own office is mostly white, chrome, and simple Scandinavian design. The rest of the floor is much of the same. I want my people to separate their personal and professional lives, so I ask that they keep their personal items in the building to a minimum. I don’t want them living here. I don’t want them fawning over photos of their families when they could just go home and be with their families. It’s part of why my company is one of the best in Silicon Valley.
“We rebuked the hustle culture years ago,” I remind Alina, who’s been with me for quite some time now. “We’ve managed to get everyone on board, too, so let’s not let our future star ruin it, okay?”
“Leave it with me, Will,” she replies, half-smiling. Movement outside makes her glance back at the opening office door. “Okay, Zara’s here. I’ll email you the rest of today’s activities and let you get on with your meeting.”
“Thanks, Alina. And don’t forget, lunch is on me today, so do a small poll around the building and see what’s the best restaurant to order from.”
“Sure thing.”
I watch her leave, her soft and supportive presence replaced by Zara Henstridge, an enticing and energizing contrast. Tall and slim, with broad bony shoulders and legs for days, Zara would’ve made a fantastic model. I’m pretty sure she pursued that passion when she first came to the United States as a kid. Her mother, an Iranian activist, married Zeke Henstridge, one of Sacramento’s political royalty beaus, and the rest was history. Zara became one of the country’s leading attorneys in the tech and finance sectors, and I was lucky enough to get her to join Bucklow Tech five years ago. She’s been my fiercest defender since.
“Morning, Billy,” she quips, settling comfortably into one of the guest chairs across the desk. “You knew I was coming, yet you didn’t think to have Alina bring in two coffees. I’m dismayed. Dis-mayed.”
“You’ll get over it. But stick around and I’ll make it up with lunch. I’m in a good mood.”
Zara flashes her signature grin. With short black hair, dark blue eyes and flawless olive skin to go along with her impressive physique, she is known to have turned plenty of men’s heads. Unfortunately for most of them, she plays for the other team. “It’s that Olivia chick, huh? I can’t wait to meet her,” she says.
“I think you’ll get your chance soon enough. She should be coming in any minute now.”
“Will Lilian Darcy ever forgive you?” Zara chuckles dryly.
“Lilian is my closest friend. The fact that we’re business rivals and have been since I left her protective wing to start my own company comes second, you know that,” I reply. “She’ll forgive me, but I will absolutely have to send something enticing her way. A good divorce lawyer might be just what she’s after.”
Zara thinks about it for a moment, her ultramarine gaze lighting up with newfound interest. “Hold up. Lilian is getting divorced?”
“Mhm. Just heard the news myself.”
