Mr. Perfect(6)
I think both can be hot, but… yeah. Wow. I might be lusting over my future brother-in-law.
“Are you daydreaming about Mr. Perfect again?” Ming asks.
Before I can answer I get an inter-office message on my phone from my boss, Mr. Sowards.
Boss: Executive conference room. Immediately.
“What’s he say?” Ming asks, leaning into my space to see my phone.
“Meeting in the executive conference room? That wasn’t on the schedule.”
“Neither was Mr. Fancy Jet. Maybe it’s got something to do with him?”
“Maybe,” I mutter. “Or maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that I almost killed Brutus the rock star this morning.”
I think the second one is far more likely.
I make my way over to the train depot, which is through the back of the office and down an escalator about a hundred feet. Over here at the hangar the station is pretty small. There’s two long benches made out of stone, a vending machine filled with water and soda, and the digital company announcement board. You have to tell the train to stop here if you need a ride, so I push the call button and stand in front of the announcement board to wait.
Hmmm. There’s a big write-up about the Asian office on the board. No mention of Heath though. Strange. When he disappeared two months ago I took it a little personally. After all, we’ve known each other for seven years. He was a junior executive back when I first started. We became good friends that year and have been close ever since.
We just never dated. Never got around to it. But I know he’s the perfect one for me. It just sucks that he got sent away so suddenly.
Which is how the texting started. He doesn’t get the inter-office messages. I knew that right away because every time I sent one, the notification said undeliverable. But I missed him. I was used to texting at least once a day, even if it was just for work-related updates. Now I text him my Pinterest boards. Little things that catch my eye in the news. Pictures I find on social media.
Ming thinks I’m obsessed, but I’m not. It’s sorta like a diary.
The low hum of the electric train brings me out of my thoughts and when it stops and the door slides open, I step in, smiling at about half a dozen other passengers on their way to the Atrium.
The Atrium is the main building where all the executive, managerial, and creative staff work. It looks like the name implies—a giant seven-story building with a glass roof. When Stonewall Senior started this company twenty years ago the building was in another part of the Tech Center. One closer to downtown. But about ten years ago they moved to this building and every year the working environment gets more trendy. You know, one of those companies where everyone wants to work.
Stonewall has been voted best place to work in the whole country for eight years running. They have a ton of amenities for employees. Even a day care center for working families. There’s a Montessori school just off campus too, and only Stonewall kids can apply to go there.
And they are big on charity here at Stonewall. Every month we have a charity drive of some sort.
The Atrium is the first stop after the airport, so the doors open and I get off with two other people. It’s another below-ground station, twenty times as big as the one I just left. And the escalator ride up is not as long. From down here you can see straight up into the main lobby and there’s huge palm trees and a view of the waterfall as soon as you get to the top.
The high-level creatives who work in the Atrium don’t have offices. Everyone in this building is assigned a tablet, a laptop, and a phone, just like me. There are tons of brightly-colored workstations scattered throughout the building. Some are picnic tables, some are small living rooms—couches and chairs. Some are even hammocks. I don’t know if working in the Atrium makes people more creative or not, but it’s nice. Cheery and stuff.
Obviously, I’m not a creative. I have no input into the day-to-day marketing of the company, I just schedule guests and escort them around the campus.
The main attractions in the Atrium are the waterfall and the slide. Yes, we are one of those places. A giant seven-story slide. Actually, we have four slides. One that really does twist all the way down from the top floor, but others on floors three, four, and five.
When people come for tours I show them the slide and offer a free ride down from seven. No one has ever taken me up on it. Just once I’d like to see them sit their ass down on that slide and give it a whirl.
The waterfall is two-sided. It snakes all the way down from the sixth floor and on either side of it are banks of glass elevators.
That’s where my attention is right now, because Mr. Fancy Jet McAllister is laughing in a group of executives. Including my boss, Mr. Sowards. Jennifer Sluts-around is leaning into him like she wants to lick his face. Marty Brown-nose is doing that fake laugh thing he always does when he’s sucking up. And Clarisse Takes-all-the-credit is looking at his crotch as she plays with her hair. Jesus. Can they be any more stupid? I roll my eyes as I hide behind a large palm tree. They are standing right in front of the elevator, so I slink my way over to the stairs.