Innocently, Calli held up her mug full of coffee from Bienvenue and smiled.
The principle partner walked heavily into the room, greeting people as he made his way to his seat at the head of the table. Ronnie Hall followed, and their administrative assistant, Mackenna trailed with a stack of folders. Ronnie scanned the room, obviously taking inventory of the faces present, then nodded to the end of the table.
Frederick Moffitt sat forward with his elbows on the table and fingers folded, then said, “We have some tough news to share this morning.”
The silence in the room grew louder than if everyone had spoken at once. Everyone gave their undivided attention to Mr. Moffitt. He nodded to Mackenna to pass out the folders. As she began, Mr. Moffitt continued, “Kyle was in a car accident over the weekend.” Several hands flew to mouths, and the other investment advisors looked around at each other with uncertainty. Moffitt held up his hands to ease the confusion in the room. “He will heal eventually but will be in the hospital for several weeks. Flowers on behalf of Moffitt & Hall have already been delivered. Mackenna will e-mail out information as to where you may send personal messages and the likes. Yes, Jake?” Moffitt asked the junior advisor who’d raised a hand.
Jake said, “Do we know any of the details?”
“Not at this time, but we’ll share what we can when we know more,” answered Moffitt. “In the meantime, the folders Mackenna is handing out are Kyle’s accounts. Everyone will need to pick up a little extra while he’s on medical leave.”
A murmur went up around the room. From the administrative assistant, Calli accepted a stack of three folders—the same number given to each of them. With a small nod, she cradled them into one arm.
Mr. Moffitt continued, “Ronnie and I have chosen who we felt was the most capable for each account. Please see one of us with any questions. Now, I believe there are only two new accounts this week for assignment, true, Ronnie?”
“Yes.”
As Ronnie Hall went into the stats and description of the first account, Calli pulled out a notebook and listened intently to see if she needed to take notes or if the account might fall to her. When he announced that the client was a sportscaster, she tuned out, confident that it’d go to the junior advisor, Jake. He was the newest and most athletic of the advisors at Moffitt & Hall, so he was a slam dunk. Calli hid a small laugh at the punny thought.
The second account was a pro golfer and likewise would go to an advisor who golfed, probably one of the four who already spent most of their time on the courses with clients.
When the meeting adjourned, Calli walked slowly toward her desk. Jordan caught up, and nudging her shoulder, she said, “Well?”
“Well what?” Calli asked, but her blush betrayed any feigned innocence.
Jordan inhaled sharply with a wide-open mouth. “You didn’t?”
“So what if I did?” Calli ducked her head and pressed on toward her desk.
Her friend and colleague removed the computer bag and sat in her guest chair, rolling it closer. She leaned in and said, “Then I want all the dirty details.”
“Jordan?!”
“Okay, fine. Maybe only half the details.” She smiled slyly.
Calli shuffled the folders on her desk, her eyes flitting to Jordan and away. “It was nice.”
“All right, let’s start from the top. What does he drive?”
“A beamer. Silver.”
“Did he come to your door?”
“Of course he did.”
“Where did he take you?”
“Babette’s”
“Ohhh . . . wow. That’s upscale!”
Calli didn’t share the bit about dining in private with a personalized five-course meal.
“And . . . ” Jordan pressed. “After?”
“We went to The Jazz.”
Jordan placed a hand on her chest and swooned. “Be still my heart.”
“He did a wonderful job in planning the evening,” said Calli.
“Sounds like. What about after?”
Calli chewed her bottom lip.
Jordan pounced, placing a hand on Calli’s arm, her eyes glinting mischievously. Calli nodded slightly, and Jordan sat back. “I’m so happy for you. Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“I’m considering.”
“Well, even if you don’t, you couldn’t have done much worse for a first time after the DB.”
“Yeah,” said Calli. “It was an awesome night.” Then she switched the course of the conversation. She couldn’t pine over Mr. Amazing all day. She had a job to do. “Who’d you get?” she asked Jordan, nodding to her folders.
Jordan looked at the labels, “Cox, Hamilton, and Smith. You?”
Calli glanced down. “Jorgensen, Schultz, and . . . ” Her eyes widened, and she looked up at Jordan’s waiting stare. “You have to take this one. I . . . um . . . can’t.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Jordan. She snatched the folder and read aloud, “Moretti.” Laughing loudly and standing to leave, she said, “You heard the partners, they chose us to match the client. I’d say they did a good job on that one!” Her laughter trailed as she walked away.
Calli didn’t read the file. She neither turned on her computer nor did she check voice mail. She stood and marched to the elevators bound for one of the partners’ offices. She punched the button for the elevator twice and looked up to the floor indicator. Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, . . . Good it was coming. Waiting and holding the manila folder shakily in one hand, she searched through her brain for an excuse—some plausible reason that she couldn’t take the account.
On the nineteenth floor, the elevator slid open, and Calli stepped out into the prestige of Executive Row—all cherry wood with black leather accents, walled offices, and not a cubicle in sight. Moffitt & Hall was a small firm, and the space they rented consisted of space on the second and third floors, and the nineteenth floor for the directors and partners. Calli made her way to the administrative assistant’s desk and waited for Mackenna to look up from her computer.
When the admin smiled at her, she said, “I need to see Mr. Moffitt or Mr. Hall about one of the files they assigned.”
Mackenna looked at the calendar. “Mr. Hall is in a meeting, but Mr. Moffitt’s calendar is open right now. Let me give him a call.”
Meanwhile, Calli picked at a cuticle and tried to wait patiently.
“Okay, he said to come right in.”
Calli walked past the desk and into the suite with a separate reception area that led to six office doors. She crossed to the largest, the corner, office and knocked.
“Come,” the booming voice called.
Calli opened the door and stepped inside. Frederick Moffitt stood tall and lanky, and buttoned his blazer jacket. As she approached, he reached his hand toward the guest chair across from his desk. “Please, Calli, have a seat.”
She obliged, sitting with a straight back and placing the folder on her lap. The principle partner before her slicked back his white hair, smiled, and unbuttoned his blazer as he returned to his seat. His suit-wearing habits are seriously ingrained, Calli thought.
“Mackenna said you have a concern with one of Kyle’s accounts?”