...the company she had grown up in – attacked on all sides by competitors and struggling in the recession – slashed their workforce. She had risen from a marketing associate to VP of Marketing, knew the people, the culture, knew the business inside out – and suddenly found herself sitting at home - the home she had kept in the divorce settlement - wondering what she was going to do now. It was a brief and truly awful time in her life: after working 10 hours a day, she had nothing to do; after having a reason and purpose in her life, she sometimes went back to bed after she got Chloe to school; after being around people – her colleagues, all day, and her family at night and on weekends - she felt almost completely alone. It didn’t matter that she knew, or knew of, many people in the same situation: she went from feeling needed, productive and respected to feeling discarded. She had taken so much for granted in her life; and suddenly most of it was gone.
A head-hunter had reached out to her less than a month after her termination and described the role at Pyrotechnique. She almost blurted out that she’d take it before really knowing anything about it but took a deep breath and putting on a calm she didn’t feel, had several more interviews, including with the CEO, Linda Hines, and a few Board members, including the Chairman, enigmatic, venture capitalist, Petr Dusek, and got an offer. It was the same title, more money, more people, a way bigger budget than her previous employer. She accepted and had slept through the night for the first time in weeks.
That had been two years ago. And three years since the last time she’d had sex…
She wasn’t sure she missed it all that much. Well, maybe once in a while. She sometimes thought it would be nice to have a man to hang out with, to talk to, to laugh with, to share the day’s happenings, and maybe…
She had a great family, and was close to her younger sister, but her sister’s life was filled with star-crossed romance and drama; her older brother was married with two kids and that took up a lot of his time. She had some friends at work, great girls really. They sometimes went out for lunch or for a drink after work. They had evolved a regular get together, every week or two, always on a Thursday, they called the “Sewing Circle”. There was some wine, some food, and much laughter – but no sewing.
After being invited to her first, she had actually thought the women spent the evening sewing, and she had liked to sew as a teenager so she had a Vogue pattern and some material in her purse when she arrived – to find a group of women cocktails in hand, letting their hair down, often speaking in a rather unladylike way – and she knew that the Sewing Circle had been chosen as a name for their get-togethers as an ironic rejection of what society – and men – had traditionally expected women to do when they gathered socially.
Several of the group, like her, were divorced, but single or not they all had man stories, listened to with the sympathy and amusement of the others. Mary Jane Flanigan, the Human Resources exec, and a frequent hostess, had, at one get-together, gone off on a long rant about the men she’d had in her life, cataloguing their faults and the crap she’d had to put up with. When it had run its course, Judy Somerset, a senior manager in finance, wisecracking and wise, had held up her glass for a refill and said, “Geez, MJ, how about some more whine.”
It was therapeutic - and made her feel less alone. She was a private person by nature and felt she didn’t contribute as much as she got back in return and had resolved to open up and share some of her stories – she had a few, all before she was married and none since, so she wasn’t sure how interesting they would be.
They kidded her about dating and encouraged her to get out there; a few had single men friends or relatives they wanted to introduce her to. But, she just wasn’t feeling it: the initial awkwardness, the baggage, getting used to someone’s quirks. Maybe she’d be ready for all that at some point, but it wasn’t now – and it might be never.
Mike, the VP of Sales at work, had flirted with her, when she first joined. Divorced, he was an easy-going guy, she liked him, but even if there had been romance in the cards with Mike – and there wasn’t as far as she was concerned – becoming a single woman prompted her to add to her rules: never date a man at work. He’d asked her out a few times, and she used her rule to politely refuse. He eventually got the idea. It didn’t get weird; they had become friends as well as colleagues, but once in a while, she’d catch his eye at a meeting and see a wistful look for a moment before they broke eye contact.
She liked going to quiet bars for an after-work drink with friends but didn’t like clubs at all. She loved to dance but hated the whole club dynamic. Having men size her up and approach her, yelling to be heard over the music, the unsubtle purpose of it all - it just wasn’t for her. There was no courtship or pursuit; it was all about getting right to the point.
She knew several women who had profiles on dating sites and didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, in fact, her rational mind totally got that you could vastly increase the population of potential mates that way compared with meeting people at clubs or parties or in random encounters, and so improve the odds of finding someone, but it – well, it just wasn’t for her.
She parked in the underground parking lot of Pyrotechnique’s building and stepped into the elevator to begin her day and her week. The only time she took the elevator was from the parking garage on arrival in the morning and back to the garage at the end of the day. During the day, she always took the stairs. Sometimes she headed for the stairs and paused on the landing, just to have a brief respite from the frantic workday. She pushed the button for the third floor and was already feeling blah from the reflections on her drive in. Was it possible she’d be alone for the rest of her life?
As if the universe were listening to her thoughts, the elevator stopped at the lobby level, the doors opened, and a man – a rather handsome man - faced her. Her Chinese culture believed in fate, but she smiled inwardly, and rejected the idea. Fate didn’t just hand you a man because you were thinking it might be nice to have one.
This particular one was tall and lean - she guessed around six feet - with light brown hair (with some gray starting to show), and the warmest, clear, gentle blue-gray eyes she’d ever seen. Chinese people tended to be fascinated by the light colour eyes many Caucasians had and this man’s eyes were captivating.
His hair was short at the sides and longer and a little choppy on top, styled with a little product – not overdoing it. He wore a trim, dusky blue suit with a subtle patterned weave and a crisp white shirt open at the collar, no tie. He carried an olive coloured, canvas shoulder bag with leather flaps and was holding a tablet with the Globe and Mail open on the screen. His shoes were simple, black leather, shiny, with no creases – so they were either new or he stored them with a shoe tree. Slender, elegant, gold wristwatch. No ring.
All this, in half a second, barely moving her eyes.
Their eyes met; his smile was friendly, showing white, fairly even teeth.
Her long dormant libido sent a faint thrill of desire along her thighs and the small of her back; she nevertheless regarded him with perfect nonchalance.
He smiled and pointed his finger up and raised his eyebrows to ask, going up?
Kelly returned his smile and nodded.
Side by side in the elevator, she caught his scent. She got sandalwood notes and a little spice.
Thankfully, given the small space they shared, it wasn’t overpowering the way a lot of men worn their cologne.
To overcome the awkwardness of the elevator’s forced intimacy, she asked, “Anything interesting in the Globe?”
He glanced at the tablet and turned to look at her. “Well, the pointy-haired boss said something that completely demoralized, Dilbert.”
He shook his head in mock disbelief. “Who saw that coming?”
She smiled. So, to sum up: handsome, knows how to dress, smells good and a sense of humour. Hmmm.
She said, “I don’t believe we’ve met”.
He looked at her again, smiled and offered his hand.
“I’m Steve.”
“Kelly.”
He held her hand for a moment longer than the customary grip and release, making the gesture something more than perfunctory. His smile had just a degree of warmth that suggested – what? – familiarity? - rather than the mere politeness of new acquaintance. A faint memory scurried across her mind and was gone.
“What brings you to Pyrotechnique, Steve?”
“Actually, I work here – this is my first day.”
Right, he must be the new product development guy, she thought.
As though reading her mind, he continued, “I’m the new CTO.”
“Good luck,” she said, not intending the ironic edge she heard in her voice, “I mean, congratulations - welcome. We’re going to be neighbours. I’m the VP of Marketing.”
The elevator came to a stop on the third floor and the doors opened.
“Where are you headed, Steve?”
“I have an orientation meeting with Mary Jane Flanigan.”
“I’ll show you the way,” she said.
As she stepped off the elevator ahead of him, Steve admired her trim little figure, and enjoyed the natural sway of her hips as she walked. She hadn’t gained a pound in all those years: from behind he could be appreciating her 19-year-old self as though the elevator had been a time machine carrying them back twenty years.
As he tried to take a long step to come up beside her, he realized how weak his knees were and he almost stumbled. She looked back, “Okay?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he said as he caught up to her. The moment he had been anxiously anticipating – seeing her again – had come and gone. He took a deep breath and exhaled with a sense of relief. She hadn’t recognized him, which was just as well, preferable actually. It probably would have been fine if she had, but he couldn’t think of any good reason to bring it up. They were going to be working together and this way it wouldn’t get weird as it might have if she’d remembered their first meeting over twenty years ago...
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