Reaching Lily

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.