Chapter Three - Ellie
“He has a brother?” Ming says. “Why didn’t we know that?”
Good question. Ming and I have worked here for seven years. I’ve never even heard of McAllister Stonewall. “Sowards called him Mac but his name is McAllister.”
“Sexy,” Ming says. “He’s sorta dreamy, right? I saw that shoe move. Wow.”
“Yeah, I guess. I wonder if Heath knows his brother is here?” I pull out my phone and start texting.
Ellie: Just met my future brother-in-law. Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother? I can totally picture him with us in the dream house at Christmas. Six bedrooms means we can have a ton of guests for the holidays. I bet his girlfriend is some uptight model, right? :)
Ming is still talking when I press send on that message. I wonder how one family can stand to have two beautiful sons? Stonewall Senior is also very handsome, even for an older man. And Mrs. Stonewall is stunning. They come from money. It’s very obvious she’s had the best of everything her whole life.
Ellie: Do you have any more brothers? I can’t even imagine how perfect your family photos are. Your brother is almost as hot as you.
Actually, I think the new brother is hotter than Heath. Maybe even way hotter. He’s taller for one. And his hair is lighter. I think his eyes were blue, too. Heath has dark eyes. McAllister Stonewall has a chiseled square jaw, while Heath has a more rounded one. And McAllister has perfectly groomed facial hair while Heath’s looks like he just forgot to shave.
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.
I take a picture of them as they stand there, my camera shutter set to silent. I’m sort of a stalker around here. I have a special private Pinterest board where I collect gossip about my co-workers. I don’t send that to anyone, not even Perfect Heath.
The elevator opens and they all make their way in. I hoof it up the stairs to the second floor, my eyes glued on Mr. Fancy Jet as he gets in the elevator. Instinctively I hold my phone up and snap a picture just as he turns and looks at me.
Oh my God, he smiled. I think he saw me. I look away real fast and then start climbing up to the third floor, checking the picture on my phone.
Nah, he wasn’t looking at me. Something in my direction, but not me.
But holy hell, he is damn hot. I stare at the image all the way up to the seventh floor, by which time I’m sweating more than when I was carting Brutus around in the golf cart.
Mr. Sowards is waiting outside the executive conference room and as soon as he sees me leave the stairs, he starts walking in my direction.
What can this be about? Please, please, please don’t be about Brutus.
“Miss Hatcher, just exactly what were you thinking this morning?”
“I’m so sorry. I forgot I had a peanut butter sandwich in my purse.”
“What?”
“What?”
He scowls at me. “I don’t know what that means”—he holds up a hand—“and I don’t care. I’m talking about that whole ‘Excuse me, excuse me’ thing you were doing out on the tarmac!”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know who he was. I saw the jet and it wasn’t on my schedule—”
“Miss Hatcher, the CEO of Stonewall Entertainment doesn’t have to clear his schedule with you.”
“No, of course not. I mistook him for a guest and I didn’t want him—”
“Well, don’t do it again.” Sowards stares at me until I nod.
“No, sir, I won’t.” I smile and wait. “Is… is that all you needed? Can I go now?”
“Go?” he asks. “No, Miss Hatcher. We’re having an executive meeting. Which is why I called you up to the executive conference room.”
“Executive meeting? Then why do I have to be there? You guys never invite me to the meetings up here on seven.”
“Go sit down, Miss Hatcher.”
Sowards walks off and disappears into the conference room. My eyes follow him and then rest on Mr. Fancy Jet as he appears from my left. He stops and smiles at me. “Did you at least get me in focus?” he asks.
Oh, my God, he did see me take that picture.
“Shall we?” he asks, waving a hand towards the open conference room door. I nod and walk briskly into the room. It’s glass on all four sides and the doors aren’t regular doors because that is way too mundane for a fun company like Stonewall. They are sliders that fold open, the kind you see at beach houses where a wall of windows suddenly slides back and the wall disappears, opening to the outside.
Once the folding doors are closed I am a nervous mess. Why am I here? I’m not really an executive. I can count on one hand the number of executive meetings I’ve been to, and those were all major restructuring changes. I’m my own department here. I run the whole thing. I have Ming as my assistant, but when they gave her those duties, they just added to her current IT salary. So really, I have no oversight over anyone but myself and the guests I escort from studio to studio.
The conference table seats ten. McAllister Stonewall is at the head, just in front of the digital whiteboard, and all eight chairs along the long length of the table are also taken up by other department heads.
The only chair left is the end. I slink into the soft leather and lean back—too far—and then have to scramble to regain my balance as I try to look like I meant to do that. “Wow,” I say, smiling at all the gawking looks. “Are these new? They’re very comfortable.”
“OK,” McAllister says. “Ready?”
Everyone nods and affirms with a chorus of yeses just as the shades come down and the room goes dark. A video starts playing on the digital whiteboard and everyone settles in, tablets in hand to take notes.
Should I take notes?
I get my tablet out and set my phone on the table beside it.
The video is about… hell if I know. Ethics? Mission statement? A reorganization? I don’t know. I have nothing to do with any of this. I’m the celebrity concierge.
I do my best to pay attention, but the chair is so comfy, and the room is dark. I start to drift off.
Jesus, Ellie. Get it together. You are in an executive meeting, for Pete’s sake. The CEO is sitting right in front of you.
Hey, the relaxed voice in my head says. His back is to me. He will never know if I just close my eyes—
Sowards clears his throat next to me, and everyone glances over at us.
I force myself to stay awake.
Three minutes later I’m dozing again so I look to my right. Clarisse is taking notes on her tablet. So I flip open the cover on mine and do the same.
New page. Heading. Executive Meeting. Wednesday—I glance at the clock—seven forty-five.
Video about… employees. New health benefits. Reorganization chart.
See, I knew it. That’s the only reason they call me up here. I never get reorganized.
Then I notice my name has moved on the flow chart on the screen. “Hey,” I say out loud. “Did I just get reorganized?”
Fancy Jet looks over his shoulder and smiles at me.
“Later, Miss Hatcher,” Sowards growls to my left.
“Sorry,” I whisper. By now the chart is off screen, so I can’t even take a note. I glance over at Clarisse’s tablet, but she shields it from me with her arm like we’re taking a test in fifth grade.
Bitch.
I open up Pinterest and ease my tablet up slightly so I can take some pictures. Snap. I catch Bob Moran picking his nose and almost laugh out loud. Clarisse is still guarding her tablet like a child. Snap. Jennifer Sluts-around is staring at McAllister like she wants to eat him.
And… McAllister is off to the side now so he can get a better view of the video, so I see him in profile. God, that’s perfect. I snap about a dozen of him and then make a new board called My Hot Brother-in-Law.
I almost giggle to myself as I add his photos and send Heath a text.
Ellie: Having a meeting without you. Bet you wish you were here. :) Send.
I’m just about to add captions to all the pictures when someone’s phone vibrates.
Oh, hell. I look over at Sowards, who is about to fume about not turning off a phone, when we both realize McAllister is the guilty party.
Sowards simmers down and I go back to my tablet so I can continue my delusional life as Heath’s girlfriend and report on what’s happening.
Ellie: Why didn’t you tell me your brother was so hot? Send.
I snicker at that, glance up at the boring corporate video, then go back to my Pinterest board. I need some hot gifs to add. I do a search for hot, sexy kissing and have to fan myself.
I add about a dozen of them with captions like, Fancy Jet Mac can kiss me like this any time he wants. And, I like the choke move on this one. Take notes, Heath.
A laugh actually escapes my lips and Sowards gives me a kick under the table just as McAllister’s phone vibrates again.
I look up and catch him smiling at something. Well, isn’t that special. I’m glad he is allowed to get funny texts during this very important executive meeting while the rest of us are expected to act like we give a crap.
I text Heath again.
Ellie: Is your brother available? I might need to replace you as my boyfriend since you haven’t answered my texts in months. Send.
McAllister’s phone vibrates again, and now everyone is starting to notice he’s not even trying to pay attention to the movie. Figures.
Ellie: Your brother is setting a very bad example in today’s executive meeting. Maybe someone should tell him to turn his phone off and pay attention to this stupid movie like the rest of us. Send.
I go back to my Pinterest board and add a few more pics of him. One as he smiles down at the phone and then another as he gets a vibrating reply and looks right at me.
Jesus. I hope he doesn’t know what I’m doing. I pretend to watch the movie for a few seconds until McAllister turns his attention back to his phone. It vibrates again.
Ellie: His phone would give me an orgasm if I slid it between my legs, that’s how much it’s vibrating right now. Send.
Fancy Jet’s phone vibrates one more time, just as an incoming message appears on my phone.
Heath: I can make arrangements for the hot brother to get you off with his vibrating phone if you want.
I stare at it. Wait, what just happened? My heart starts to race. He didn’t just text me back. Tell me he did not just text me back.
Ellie: Heath? Are you getting my messages? Send.
And that’s when I notice… the little notification that usually says undelivered says delivered.
Ellie: Oh, my God, Heath. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you were getting my messages.
I scroll up and the panic starts to set in. They all say delivered. All of them.
McAllister’s phone vibrates again and I look straight at him this time.
No.
No. No. No. This is not possible.
Heath: He isn’t. I am.
McAllister looks straight at me and he winks. “Message received, Ellie.”