“Kathryn Grayson for Malory Dean.”
The security for the building is tight, with a guard posted at every entrance and two more behind the desk. Not to mention one at the elevator bank, checking IDs and visitor’s passes.
I hand over my ID. The guard behind the desk eyes me, probably making sure I’m not a terrorist, before taking my picture with a small camera stationed on the counter.
“Twenty-fourth floor. Take the elevator on the far left.” The guard gives a direct stare.
I grab the obnoxious red visitor pass and make my way to the elevator bank. Once inside, I try to tame the butterflies dancing in my belly.
Breathe, Kat, just breathe.
As the elevator doors open, I’m greeted by an impressive reception made of glass and mahogany. A striking young woman with bright-red hair is busily shuffling through papers behind her desk. Her brown eyes light up when she sees me exiting the elevator. She is thin and smartly dressed, wearing a plaid jumper and Doc Martins, a typical ensemble for a fresh-out-of-college Murray Hill post grad. Her long locks are tied in a braid down her back. The contrast against her ivory skin reminds me of a Venetian courtesan in a Titian painting.
“Ms. Grayson,” she says, extending her thin arm out in greeting, “I’m Trish.” She has a beautiful smile and a playful bounce in her step. “Ms. Dean will be right with you. Oh, and you can ditch the visitor’s pass. I’ll get you a permanent ID.”
Peeling the red sticker off my jacket, I take a seat on one of the metal and leather chairs and wait. There’s a large plasma screen overlooking the seating area, playing a reel of Asher-Marks Communications promotional footage. Clips of the Academy Awards and the winter Olympics, followed by a charity concert at the Met, play in succession. All produced by this company. A chill runs down my spine. I can’t wait to start working here. I have to remember to send Malory a gift for getting me this job.
“Kat!” Malory walks toward me with open arms.
Just seeing her reminds me why I love working with her. I envy her. She is polished, professional, and she doesn’t give a shit what anyone has to say. With her cocky attitude and no-holds-barred business personality, Malory is the kind of woman men want to emulate.
She has on a black leopard pencil skirt and a blood-red satin top unfastened one button too many. No one except Malory with her jet-black hair and piercing black eyes can pull off this outfit and make it look professional. She looks phenomenal. I can’t help but feel self-conscious of my post-baby body. I would kill to have my breasts stand up straight again.
Just looking at this incredible, career-savvy woman, I’m baffled by why she has always been so nice to me. She’s been a great friend and supported getting me this job when she had no obligation to.
“How are you? How is Gabriel?” Malory asks as she pulls me in for a hello. She even smells exotic, with hints of amber and cocoa pouring off her skin. “Don’t tell me you’re missing them already, because now that I have you here, I’m never letting you leave.” Malory lets out her breathy deep laugh that makes her sound like Lauren Bacall.
I return her embrace, hugging her perfectly toned frame. “I’ve been so excited to come back to work and to work here.” She releases me from our hold and I follow suit. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She waves her hand. “Honey, I didn’t pull any special favors. Everyone was thrilled when you interviewed. That’s why you got the job. Erik was begging me to have you start immediately.”
“I would have, but we had to get a nanny, and I really didn’t feel right until I had Gabe’s approval.”
Malory grabs my arm and we start walking down the polished concrete hallway.
“You’re lucky.” She glides as if she’s walking on air. “Most men these days force their wives to go back to work. Yours wants you home. It’s a good sign. I told him the other day you need to work. You’re not a stay-at-home.” She says the term as if it’s a foul thought. “You thrive on this type of energy. This will be so good for you. Besides, you had to be bored sitting at home, feeding Junior all day long!”
I stop in my tracks. “When did you talk to Gabe?”
“Last Thursday,” she says nonchalantly, tugging on my arm to continue moving. “I called and you weren’t home.”
That’s shocking since I feel like I’m always home.
“I was probably at the supermarket. It’s a very glamorous life in the suburbs.”
Malory tugs back on my arm, motioning for us to continue on and changing the topic. “Oh, how I hate that you left the city. Just promise me you don’t own a snuggle and jeggings and I’ll forgive you for leaving me.”
“It’s called a Snuggie, and I would never be caught dead in one of those things.” I bite my lip, thinking how this is actually a lie. It seems silly to lie. Gabriel bought me a leopard Snuggie just last year, and I’ve worn it on more than one occasion. I just don’t want Malory to know just how domesticated I’ve actually become.
Part of the excitement about coming to work is getting dressed again. “Like my new suit?”
“Girl, it hugs you in all the right places. Especially where those new mom boobs come into play. You seriously don’t even look like you had a baby, except for the girls, that is!” Malory laughs and nudges my left breast for fun. She’s always been very brash. It’s something I’ll have to get used to again.
“I have curves I didn’t have before. I think I’m carrying some booty too.” I tilt my head back, motioning toward my backside.
Malory smacks my ass. “You needed it. Come, let me introduce you to the team. Conference meeting starts in five.”
We turn down a corridor and walk along a wide hallway with a wall of glass to our left and a series of doors leading to offices on our right. Behind the glass wall is a conference room with a birch wood table, which looks like it can easily fit twenty people. Orange leather chairs with high-back seats and casters on the feet surround the table. Six plasma TVs line the far wall, while artwork of vintage alcohol and tobacco advertisements that have since become taboo line the opposite wall.
Past the conference room is an open area with a pool table and plush leather couches. The place is high tech but in a groovy, frat house sort of way. Another flat-screen TV hangs on the wall. This place has a lot of TVs. A bit excessive, even for a media house.
Erik, Gretchen, and Heather are in the conference room when Malory and I stroll in.
“Morning, team. You remember Kathryn.” Malory offers me up as she pulls out one of the orange conference chairs and takes a seat.
“So glad to have you on board.” Erik stands and gives me a congratulatory handshake.
“Welcome to the team, Kathryn.” Gretchen is equally enthused.
“Kat, please call me Kat.” I return their handshakes, making sure to keep them firm.
“Welcome, Kat,” Heather says as if she’s sucking on a sour candy. Heather’s welcome is the least… welcoming. Even when I interviewed a few weeks ago, she was the least receptive to me. I have to remember to ask Malory what that’s all about.
Erik Marks is the president and my new boss. He has long black hair and a black goatee. His wardrobe is equally devoid of color, from his T-shirt to his jeans and boots. The look is more biker chic than art house sophisticate. As casual as he looks, I can only assume he’s in head to toe Armani. And he has a wedding ring on his finger. I bet his wife is equally as fashion forward.