TWO WEEKS later, I was beginning to lose my mind. I was a people person. I enjoyed meeting new people, and I’d always been good at small talk. A lobbyist was in a sense a salesperson. You had to possess good people skills as well as intelligence if you hoped to influence decisions on behalf of an important multi-billion dollar empire. But it occurred to me that Peter Morgan was the only face of this project, and while my role was important, I wasn’t going to spend much time meeting and greeting. I might get the odd assignment that would send me over to the Department of Energy, but that was hardly exciting.
At least Mel was a good partner. She wasn’t easygoing, but she wasn’t overly full of herself either. I was beginning to feel like everyone was on a major quest to impress. We all wanted to do well, of course, but there was no denying there was something about Peter Morgan that made you want to try a little harder. He had an almost dangerous air about him that clearly told anyone who paid attention that he did not suffer fools. So we put our heads down, determined to put forth our best effort. I arrived every day before the sun and went home to my empty townhouse well after darkness had fallen.
“HE SHOULD be here any second. You ready?”
Mel ran her long, slender fingers through her short, dark hair. She wore it in a stylish bob that suited her small, pointed features. I noted she’d dressed with care this morning in a tight-fitted, long black wool skirt and a white button-down shirt. The scalloped collar and oversized white-beaded necklace kept her from looking like a waitress. I saw the red soles of her black high heels and made a quick comment about her breaking out her Louboutins to meet with the resident hottie. Mel actually blushed.
“You have a crush!” I accused giving her a mock appraising glare.
“Oh, be quiet! You do too! Are those Prada?” She pointed to my Italian loafers.
“Of course. But I wear these every day.”
“Yeah right. You have more shoes than me, Jay Reynolds. Don’t for one second try to deny it!”
I was about to tell her that was probably true, when a muffled sound near the door to the small conference room alerted us that we had company. And it looked like we’d been overheard. Great. The smallest facial twitch that I really couldn’t decipher was the only indication I had that Peter had been privy to the great shoe debate. But it was enough to make me uneasy. I was out at work, but I wasn’t overt, if that makes any sense. If I’m with friends or family members, my voice tends to embrace my southern self and yes, my gay self. Talking about shoes with a female coworker was surely not something my straight male coworkers were prone to do, but every once in a while, I couldn’t help myself. Mel and I had been spending a lot of time together. She knew I was gay, and she certainly didn’t care, but Peter Morgan… he was another story. I couldn’t read him. It frustrated me to no end. He was all business all the time from what little I could tell. He gave us each a brief nod as he settled into his chair at the head of the table and immediately got down to business.
We made our presentation, each of us separately reporting our analyses as we had agreed upon before Peter had entered the room. While Mel spoke, I stole surreptitious glances at our team leader. He was so damn good-looking I found myself going moony-eyed before I was able to refocus and try to gauge whether or not he approved our report content so far. His face was like granite. Gorgeous, but no eye movement, no twitch of the lips… no body language for me to read whatsoever.
When Mel wrapped up her segment, I began mine. I tend to be an animated speaker. I used to let my hands fly as I spoke, but after I knocked a presentation board over and sent a cup of coffee careening across the conference table when I first started at Jackson and Burnell, I trained myself to be less physical in a work setting. However, my voice took over where my hands wanted to go. I always thought appropriate vocal modulation made for a more entertaining than average boardroom meeting, and I was often able to capture my audience’s attention with a dose of levity.
Not this time. Peter sat with his arms folded across his broad chest and stared at the screen behind me, never once looking at me. When I retook my seat and the meeting finally wrapped up, Mel and I quickly made eye contact. I’m sure she was just as mystified as I was. Where was the feedback? We were used to having a dialogue of some type with the project leader, but it didn’t look like we’d be getting one. He simply gave us a brief nod, thanked us, and stood to leave. His cell phone rang and he took the call, moving over to the floor-to-ceiling window in the small conference room. I rolled my eyes at his back, and Mel giggled quietly. We were about to walk out of the room when Peter’s deep baritone voice called out.