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“Which one?” I hold out the pants with a matching jacket and a skirt and top. Race grunts and points to the pants. Relieved he chose that one, I change quickly, blow-dry my hair, and lightly apply my makeup. I step back and examine myself. The pants are long and in need of some statement shoes. On my way out of the room, I grab a pair of four-inch heels. Race is still curled up like a baby on my bed. I grab my purse, kiss him on the forehead, and walk out the door.
I call a Lyft and ask the driver to stop at the last neighborhood coffee shop. I order three coffees, hoping that my new coworkers are java lovers. I decide that if they aren’t, they must be aliens.
That would explain the spaceship dream from last night.
Walking the few blocks to the office, a sense of gloom washes over me. My new reality feels like rubbing myself with sandpaper. Eyes burning, I bite my lower lip to hold back the tears. Although I stubbornly repeat in my mind that it’s going to be the best day ever, I don’t believe it one bit.
It's going to be a lousy day.
To top it all off, my shoes are killing me. I make a mental note to wear flats next time. Heels have never been my ally.
But then again, looking as if I am six feet tall next to a six-foot-four titan might be worth the discomfort.
I step into the quiet lobby and head straight to the bank of elevators on my right. Joining a small crowd, I survey the group. Everyone is dressed in formal business attire, their attention fixated on their phones. If they are not hunched over their phone, they are zoned out, AirPods plugged into their ears. Not a single person is engaged in a face-to-face conversation.
I believe in social interaction, conversation, and personal attention. That's what my business was all about, and it thrived on those principles. I had created a space where people could connect and build relationships. I knew my clientele, and they knew me. Leave it to the corporations to create zombies out of their employees.
The elevator finally arrives, and I step into the car, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. The heels give me confidence despite the slight wobble in my step. While I won’t be quite on eye level with Brando, these shoes do bring me considerably closer.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with my new colleagues, I watch the numbers on the elevator light up for each floor. As the elevator ascends, I can't help the flutter of nerves. The 99th floor feels like a world away, a realm where big decisions are made and the corporate machinery hums with precision.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step into a realm of polished floors, glass walls, and buzzing energy. Taking a deep breath, I put on a cheery face.
“Good morning, Charlotte. I took a chance that you might enjoy some coffee.” I hand her the cup.
“Boy, could I use some! Thank you.”
I knock on Brando's door. I hear clicking on the keyboard and a curt, “Come in.”
He’s engrossed in a stack of papers, a frown of concentration on his face. As he sees me, for the briefest of moments, his eyes turn dark and graze me from head to toe. Then he snaps out of it, lighting up.
“Ah, Ana! Good morning. Come on in.”
I enter his office, holding a cup of steaming coffee. “Good morning. I thought you could use some fuel to kick-start your day.”
He smiles gratefully. “You read my mind. I've been buried under these contracts.”
I set the cup on his desk. He grabs it right away, takes a long sip, and thanks me. He nods and returns to his keyboard.
I walk out of his office and settle into my chair, eager to soak up the energy of my environment and fit in. Charlotte joins me, her own cup of coffee in hand.
“You've really brought your fashion A-game today. Looking sharp!” She grins, eyeing my outfit.
I laugh, a hint of self-consciousness coloring my cheeks. “Well, I figured if I'm entering the corporate world, I might as well dress the part. But I can't promise I won't be kicking off these heels by the end of the day.”
Brando's voice interrupts our bonding as he steps out of his office, holding a large file. “Ana, please make photocopies of this file. We have a board meeting tomorrow; I need fifteen copies. Also, we have the closing later this morning. Please ensure that your lawyer has reviewed the paperwork and has made any necessary changes on his end.”
I meet his intense gaze, taking in his expression. He is either focused or upset, it’s difficult to tell. His hazel eyes are sharp and clear, and frown lines appear between his brows. I accept the folder, but before I can even open it to check for any questions I might have, he's back in his office behind a closed door.
I sigh. But in his defense, what questions could I possibly have about making fifteen copies of a file?
“Is he always like this?” I look at Charlotte, hoping for a no.
“Brando is up against the board and his father, and he's raising his daughter on his own. He has a lot on his plate. Don't let him scare you off.”
I chuckle. “It takes a lot to scare me off.”
“Good,” Charlotte responds, turning her attention back to her computer.
