Covertly smirking from behind the glass in my hand, more to myself rather than to my “drinks” companion, I rise to stand. I pull out a business card from my purse and place it in front of him.
“Sleep on it.” I wink. “If you decide to take me to dinner, after all, showering me with flowers will grant you a decent head start.”
He eyes me somewhat incredulous yet with a side-smile. I return his smile, taking the last sip of Rosé, and lean in a little to place an airy kiss near his cheek. Just as I thought, he smells fantastic. When I straighten up, he follows my moves with his eyes, looking up at me somewhat enthralled. I reward him with a hint of a smile, turn around, and walk away. I find his eyes burning into me as I turn to look at him over my shoulder and say, “White roses –they’re my favorite.”
Now, don’t get all prude on me. I like the company of the opposite gender, for a nice, fun, period of time. And the more, the merrier! Just so we’re clear, it’s not a team sport kind of thing. Relax. I usually keep it up to a trio; too much logistics otherwise. Why disqualify a nice, promising gentleman only because you see another? I’m a great believer that not every enjoyable romantic experience should be the peak of the greatest love affair. Too little time, too much to enjoy and explore out there. First good dates and new beginnings are the best, so why not enjoy as many as possible?
Fifteen minutes later, I wait for the sliding doors to open and step into the elegant foyer of Clover Ltd, my place of work. Noticing me, my assistant jumps out of his chair to greet me. “Walk with me to the conference room,” I tell Adrian, possibly the best personal assistant on the planet. He’s probably the only guy I’d shamelessly beg not to leave me if he ever tries.
By my side, Adrian goes over the messages he took while I was away. Thirty minutes and it feels like I’ve been away for a week. I pull a fresh breath spray out of my purse and covertly spray a little in my mouth. All I need is to walk into this meeting smelling of wine. I’ll never hear the end of it. Too many people in that room are just waiting for me to screw up. I drop the spray back into my purse and hand it to Adrian. Ever the professional, he takes the bag while continuing to brief me as if no transaction has been made.
“So, you have Tammy right after the management meeting, the call with the New York office, and then you’re going to lock yourself in your office for half an hour and quietly enjoy the early dinner I’m getting you from the Greek place you like.”
I turn to him with a smile. “You’re God’s gift to womankind.”
“Bonus season is just around the corner,” he says drily, handing me a blessed cup of coffee.
I grin at him. “Duly noted.” His lips tip, and he leaves toward my office, taking my purse with him.
I enter the vast meeting room – all the ties, also known as my fellow management colleagues, are in the room. When I close the door behind me, they take their seats. I join them, placing my coffee on the table and silence my phone. Our collective boss starts with a quick review of last quarter before we give a status update of our respective departments. I throw the room a cursory glance. They all sit around the massive table, brandishing their wide, long, potent . . . ties.
Silk, money, and power.
When I got promoted to a vice president position, I thought being one of the very few women in management was a disadvantage. It can be if you see yourself that way – if you believe you are at a disadvantage. Only, I think women possess much more. Alas they are rarely given an equal chance to demonstrate their capabilities. It’s been long proved that women’s contribution to the workforce is often more significant than men’s. Power and respect can be earned even if your ass looks great in a pencil skirt and you have a pretty face. Need be, you possess extra weapons. I always wear skirt suits rather than pantsuits – I’ve got nothing to hide; on the contrary, I refrain from blending in. They walk in waving their long ties; I walk in with a sharp view, vast experience, and killer heels. The thing is, their long, wide, potent ties don’t come as close to intimidating me as my tight skirts and killer instinct intimidates them.
It’s my turn; I wait to get everyone’s attention and give a status update that makes me swell with pride. My department did a hell of a job this quarter. I have both the graphs and the numbers to back it up. Nevertheless, I don’t let myself glow, nor gloat in our success; I praise my subordinates and their hard work. I know full well that we won’t be resting on our laurels. We’ll be working twice as hard to keep this trend going upward.
“Well done, Victoria. Impressive,” the boss says and prompts for a better part of the table to send me diverse looks – a few nod with appreciation, a more significant part with a less empathic cadence. There is a handful that I can easily guess as to what goes through their competitive, misogynistic minds. I promise you it’s not in my favor and probably concludes with bitch and a couple of exclamation points. Now, now, boys, see, I don’t need a large “tie” to compensate for performance.
Some of us stay in the room for the call with the New York office, and sometime later, I finally head to my office, ready to have a break before powering through the backlog of emails waiting in my inbox.
“Dinner is waiting on your desk,” Adrian says, concentrated on his screen. A breath later, he lifts his gaze above the screen. “Dinner and a whole damn forest.”
I frown at him in question. He answers by twisting his mouth while pointing at my office door.
“Holy Dior!” I exclaim entering my office. It smells like a rose garden in here. I walk over to the enormous white rose arrangement, a wicked little smile playing on my face. With two fingers, I fish out the note that’s almost swallowed by the monstrous bouquet.
I’m up for the challenge. Dinner?
J.H.
I tap the card on my smiling lips, thinking, I guess you earned yourself a dinner date, Jacky boy.
“How many roses?” My sister asks, nodding at the waitress, confirming that yes, we’ll take another bottle of Rosé. We’re crammed around the table in our usual booth at Poison and Wine, enjoying a girls’ night out, a thing we try to do as often as possible.
I shrug with merriment. “I don’t know, a bazillion and one?” I laugh. “I swear I’ll need to hire a moving service if I want to take the thing home.”
“And I’m the supposed man eater, mmhmm. Sorry, I don’t think that I can even compete,” my friend Kayla, the badass drummer girl, says smirking.
My friend Pandora claps her hands. “Yay, I knew you guys would hit it off. He’s plenty yums.”
I nod with affirmation. Jack Howard certainly doesn’t lack in the looks department.
“I swear, Vic, if you didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent you,” my sister, Anna, says.
I side-hug her in return and raise my glass to the girls. The girls, aka The Chickens, my close-knit group of best ladies. Pandora, Panda bear, a kindergarten teacher by vocation and a certified kind-hearted, awesome lunatic by nature. And then there’s Kayla, the drummer girl with the pixie-cut, rock-chic attitude and a wealth of badassery. And last but not least, the person currently squeezed under my arm, my true best friend and younger sister, Anna, also known as Bean by close family.