Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the elevator on the forty-eighth floor of the gleaming steel and glass structure that was home to Waterbridge-Howser. A marble accented mahogany reception desk greeted me. Aluminum letters spelling out the company’s name hung tastefully on the wall behind the desk. The conference room to the right was empty, the view of the park filtering through it. Every detail was designed to demonstrate wealth and power. Appearances were important in this business.
I navigated through the cubicle maze to my desk. We weren’t packed together as tightly as possible, but it wasn’t the open office plan of a design studio either. Tall dividers gave analysts their privacy as they investigated investment opportunities. Some analysts, like myself, were experienced enough to talk to clients directly, answering their questions and handling minor issues so the higher-ups would be free to work on bringing in more business. The managers’ offices formed the perimeter of every floor, each one with a window view. The partners of the firm had their own section of the floor, and they only ever emerged to speak to the managers.
I dropped my satchel onto my desk and pulled out Vincent’s file before heading through the outer rim of the cubicle corral to Richard’s office. His door was half open and he was typing something on his computer.
“Richard, you wanted to meet about Mr. Sorenson?”
“Yes. Come in. Did you look over his file?” he said, not looking away from his screen.
“I checked everything and even reviewed our proposal. Our suggestions were very reasonable based on what we know about his finances.”
Richard looked directly at me. “Any idea why he hasn’t called us yet?”
In a second of irrationality, I thought about blurting out the details of meeting Vincent at the bar but decided it better if Richard didn’t know anything about that. Besides, it was irrelevant. If anything, Vincent would have been more interested in working with us after that meeting.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe another firm got to him before us?” I remembered Richard’s condescending comments about the “Wave Whisperer” and his assumptions about Vincent’s lifestyle that no doubt influenced his approach to the meeting. That might have something to do with the fact that we hadn’t heard from Vincent, but I kept my mouth shut.
Richard frowned. “Screw it. Nothing to do now but wait. Let me know if you hear anything.”
I took the cue that the meeting was over when Richard turned back to his computer. When I got back to my own desk, I pulled up my email. The first thing that popped up was a message from my cell phone provider informing me I had reached my data limit for the month. Again? These cell phone services really knew how to fleece you. I deleted the email and moved on, reviewing work memos and deleting spam.
The rest of the morning bled into the afternoon. After eating lunch and helping another analyst resolve a reporting issue, I came back to my desk to find a note thrown haphazardly over my keyboard.
Kaufman called, have to meet him. Keep me updated if Sorenson calls the office.
Jon Kaufman was one of the larger clients Richard handled. He had a large plastics refinery west of the Hudson and was one of the clients who didn’t come to our office. Rather, we went to him. I never met the guy but from the way Richard spoke about him, he was difficult.
I put the note aside and settled into my routine. I had barely gotten into the zone when my phone rang.
“Hey Kristen, I have Mr. Sorenson on the line for you.” Our receptionist sounded like she was going to pass out just from the mention of his name.
So we hadn’t blown our chances completely. For a moment I considered the possibility Richard had been right. These guys are fairly predictable. But there was no way Richard gave Vincent a positive first impression, and if anything saved us, it was probably my stunt with the spider at the bar.
“Thanks, transfer him over.” I kept my voice level despite being aware that Vincent had asked for me specifically. I’d told him to call Richard as part of my brush-off. I just hoped his intentions were business.
A beep later and Vincent’s silky voice vibrated through my handset.
“Hello Kristen.”
Even over the phone, his velvety rasp made it difficult to maintain my composure. I switched the phone to my left hand and wiped my sweaty palm on my skirt.
“Hello Vincent, it’s good to hear from you,” I said, feeling like I’d just swallowed a cotton ball.
“I’ve been thinking about our meeting.”
Which meeting? The one where I played with his nipple ring or the one where he asked me to mix business with pleasure?
“I’d like to discuss business,” he continued.