Five years later…

It'd been years since I'd heard the chiming of Big Ben, and the first time I heard it ring out at noon, cutting through the still, spring London air, it brought me back instantly to memories of five years ago, when I'd come here for my year at the London School of Economics.

And what a year it was.

After the year was complete, my grades stellar after a brief brush with catastrophe, I returned to the states and finished my undergrad at the University of Iowa. Once done there, my grades bolstered by the project that I'd participated in with Professor Jenson back in London, I applied, and was accepted, to Harvard School of Business. I remember reading the letter that informed me of my acceptance, holding the piece of paper to my chest, feeling as though I might awake from this dream at any moment. But it was as real as it gets.

I moved to Massachusetts that summer, and what followed were two of the most difficult, intellectually taxing years of my life. There were times when I felt I might not make it through to the end, but at the cost of nearly every trace of my social and dating life, I managed to cross the finish line, MBA in hand.

And all throughout my years at school, one goal was fixed in my mind: to return to London. Sure, Boston had its charm, and the states would always be my home, but I couldn't shake the calling back to London that seemed to tug at my very heart. I had raw memories from my relationship with Sam, but everything else about my year there was dear to me; I knew I had to go back. It was like an itch that would only get worse the more I tried to pretend it wasn't there.

So, once the final year at Harvard drew to a close and I became certain that I was going to graduate after all, I began putting in applications to whatever companies I could find in the city. I was certain that I'd be able to find something, anything, but competition was fierce, and native Brits had hiring preference. Just when hope began to fade, however, I received an email from Langdon Holdings, one of the most respected financial firms in the city, informing me that they would be interested in bringing me on board on a provisional basis. I couldn't believe my luck.

I told them I would love to work for them, of course, and they were kind enough to provide me with a temporary apartment until I got my bearings. London wasn't exactly the cheapest place to live in the world, to put it very, very mildly, so a boon like this was more than I could've hoped for. I said my goodbyes to my friends and family, and headed off again for another adventure in the old country.

And now, here I was, sitting back in one of the coffee shops where I'd done my studying so many years ago.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary!"

The familiar voice cut through the quiet ambiance of the coffee shop. Looking up, I saw the familiar, beaming face of Anna, my roommate from so many years ago. We'd stayed in touch here and there over the years, but once I learned that I was going to be back in the city, I dropped her a line and let her know. She was more than eager to meet up.

She strode towards me, decked hair to toe in hip, fancy clothes, expensive jewelry dangling from her ears and neck that jangled as she walked. Once she reached me she threw her arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

"Oh my God, it's so good to see you," she said in that posh accent of hers. "We have to catch up; I can't believe how long it's been."

"I know!" I said, her enthusiasm infecting me and bringing a broad smile to my face. "I'll get the tea."

"Earl Gray," she said, giving me a wink and a finger gun.

Moments later, I returned with a hot black kettle of water and two white, ceramic mugs. I poured the tea and as the aroma of the drink wafted up to my nose I was brought back instantly to those cozy afternoons with Anna, sipping tea in our living room in our flat in Bloomsbury, chatting about school, friends, and everything else.

"Like Proust's Madeleines, is it not?" said Anna, bringing her steaming mug to her face and taking in a long sniff.

"The what's what?" I asked.

"Proust, the author," she said. "He said that smell and memory are quite intimately linked. In his case, the smell of Madeline cookies dunked in tea was enough to instantly bring him back to his childhood."

I smiled, knowing that she and I were on the same page.

"Not much time for literature in business school," I said, sipping my tea.

"Ah, that's right!" said Anna. "The Harvard girl. Back to the city, degree in hand, ready to conquer our humble little island."

I couldn't help but blush.

"I'd be happy to start with a flat that doesn't cost half of my salary."

Anna scoffed. "Good luck with that. You're damn near going to have to sell a kidney to be able to afford anything more than a sock drawer in this town.”

It was strange; I got the impression that she was speaking from experience.

"Now, you know I don't like giving you shit about your rich parents. But…"

"There's nothing to give a shit about, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

Anna nodded grimly. "Once I graduated, my parents decided that the time for their little girl to live off their dime was over. They stuck a little graduation gift in my pocket –enough for no more than a few months’ rent- and told me that it was time for me to make my own way."

"So, the rich girl's one of us, now," I said with a wry smile.

"Please, don't kick a girl when she's down. I got my degree thinking that I'd have a little bit of a helping hand until I got my bearings, and now that I'm done with my MFA program I'm scrambling to get a portfolio together, big dreams in my eyes about maybe being able to sell some freelance work to whatever advertising firm would take me."

"Hey, it'll give you character," I said. "Nothing wrong with a little struggle here and there."

"I'd like to keep my life as struggle-free as possible, thank you very much," she said with a pout. "Just never thought I'd have to worry about making rent."

"Then again, ‘watching roaches climb up the wall/you call your dad, he could stop it all'," I said, unable to hold back a wry grin of my own.

"Clever girl," said Anna with a narrow-eyed smile.

"Hey, you're not the only one who can make high-brow cultural references."

Anna gave me a playful kick under the table.

"You might very well be right, but I've got my pride, you know. And I'd like to prevent having to crawl to daddy for rent money for as long as possible."

"Hm," I said. "And where are you living now?"

"On a friend's couch in Kensington. A very rich friend whose patience with me is growing quite thin, I might add."

A thought occurred to me.

"Well…" I started, "…the apartment that Langford Holdings set up for me is pretty big for a one bedroom. You could crash there until you find something a little more suited to your oh-so-posh tastes."

I flashed her a smile.

"That…could work," she said. "After all, we did have quite a bit of success with the roommate situation before."

Anna looked away in thought for a brief moment before turning back to be.

"Oh hell- let's do it!"

We both let out the same embarrassing, excited squeal.

"You can come over tonight," I said.

"And when's the first day at this new job of yours?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning," I said, my stomach tightening in anxiety at the thought of it.

"Oh my," said Anna, her eyes widening. "But I wouldn't worry about it one bit. I'm sure you'll do a smashing job."

We finished our tea and headed off to a nearby sandwich shop where we ate and caught up. When we parted, I gave her my address and told her to come by anytime tonight. She must've really been eager to leave her place, because by the time I arrived home after doing a bit of grocery shopping, I was greeted by the sight of Anna standing at my stoop, flanked by a pair of designer suitcases, that same beaming, confident smile on her face. I helped her up the stairs and led her into the humble, but cozy apartment that Langford Holdings had set up for me.

"This work for you?" I asked, dropping one of her bags on the floor.

"Darling, it's a place to sleep and isn't in some back alley- it's wonderful."

I helped her get situated, and by the time we were done the evening was already well on.

"A little housewarming present?" Anna asked, slipping a bottle of her parent's wine out of one of her bags.

A quick internal debate later, I was game.

"Sure," I said. "But only one glass. I do have something going on tomorrow, after all."

"Naturally," said Anna.

She filled a pair of glasses and sat back in her seat, an expectant look on her face.

"What?" I asked.

"I do have a question for you," she asked, a scheming little smile on her face.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Have you, perchance, spoken to our little friend Sam during these last several years?"

The name was like a little jab in the gut. I hated to admit it, but there was still some rawness with that situation.

"Not a word," I said. "I saw him about to kiss that little skank, and that was all I needed to know about that."

Anna's little smirk didn't budge a millimeter.

"You know I don't believe that one bit, right?"

I took a long sip of wine.

"I mean, sure, I was kind of into him…"

"…Kind of?" asked Anna. "You were gaga for that boy."

"Fine," I conceded. "Maybe I was a little gaga. But he cheated on me, and that's that."

"You can keep saying that all you like…"

"I know, I know," I said. "Why do you ask? Have you seen him recently or something?"

As soon as the words left my mouth I realized that they'd been shot out in an excited tone. I almost wanted to clasp my hands over my mouth and prevent anything else from slipping out.

"No, I haven't- and that's the thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, after you and he broke up, he sort of…dropped off the map. I went to his bar every now and then, and I never once saw him there, either as a patron or an employee. I asked around a bit after you went back to the states and his friends all said that he just up and vanished one day. And his old number just went to a dead line. Neither hide nor hair, as you yanks say."

"That's…weird."

I couldn't help but feel a little worried. I mean, he wasn't a totally crazy party animal who risked death constantly, but he was certainly the type to live on the edge. What if something had happened to him?

"It is," said Anna. "He went from being the star golden boy of his little social scene to a ghost. Very unlike the Sam that I knew."

I felt like I should've said something, but no words came to mind. My thoughts felt twisted up.

"Oh, come now," said Anna, giving me a playful swat on the knee. "I'm sure he's fine, if that's what you're worried about. London's a positively massive city; he probably just moved to another neighborhood and made some new friends."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I said, only feeling a little bit better.

"Who knows- maybe he was so traumatized by your little break-up that he went off and joined some a monastery, devoting himself to a life of celibacy or something of that sort."

I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle at the thought of Sam in some dreary monastery, wearing a billowing robe and chanting in front of a big cross.

"See?" she said. "Not a big deal. And it's probably for the best that he's gone all ghosty on us; what would you even do if you bumped into him at some pub in the neighborhood?"

"I don't even want to think about that. I don't know if I'd want to throw a drink in his face or pull him into the nearest bathroom stall."

"Exactly," said Anna, pleased with her accurate assessment. "You've got so much going on in your life, the last thing you need is some little troublemaker whose only concern is where he's going to be drinking his Jaeger bombs tonight. You're back to run this city, and you don't need some man-boy dragging you down."

I felt a bit better. But still, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of…something when I thought about Sam. Was it possible that now, years later, I still had some sort of fire smoldering?

But I placed the thought aside as best I could; no point in wondering about something like this.

Anna and I finished our glass, and against my better judgment, I had another as she helped me pick out my outfit for tomorrow. I ended up going with a black pencil skirt and a fitted white blouse along with a pair of simple, but fashionable black pumps. Nothing too crazy, but professional through and through.

"Oh poo," said Anna, admonishing me for my conservative clothing choices. "At least let me do your makeup in the morning."

"We'll see," I said, looking at myself in the full-length mirror in my room.

With that, I bid Anna a good night and went to bed. I knew that I was going to need to be well-rested for my first day; pressure was high enough and I didn't want to take any chances.

When I awoke in the morning to my alarm and got ready, I saw that Anna, still asleep on the couch, likely wasn't going to be doing my makeup, after all. Which was just as well- I preferred everything to be on my own terms today. Once I was showered and dressed, I gathered my things and set off, equal parts excitement and fear roiling in my stomach.

The day couldn't have been more perfect. The weather was mild, the sky was a clear blue, and the sun was just warm enough to feel pleasant on my face. I took the train into the City of London –the downtown portion of the city where the major financial institutions were headquartered- and was soon standing under the silver, gleaming tower of Langford Holdings, the "LH" of the logo in imposing, stainless steel letters above the many sets of glass double-doors that led into the lobby. Employees were bustling to get inside, all of them sharply-dressed and moving with an air of purposeful professionalism. I did my best to set aside my feelings of anxiety and stepped into the vast, open lobby, my neck craning up at the towering ceiling of the space.

Feeling small, I made my way to the front desk, where I informed the strikingly beautiful redhead there that I was here for my first day.

"Name and position?" she asked in a lilting Irish accent, her eyes on her computer.

"Mary Metzger. Executive Assistant."

Without a word, she began to type on her keyboard, her fingers a blur of red from her glossy nails.

"Fifteenth floor. You'll be meeting with Mrs. Haverford."

And that was that. I hurried away from the desk and made my way to one of the elevators, the doors sleek and stainless steel, just like much of the other décor here in the lobby.

I stepped inside and the doors sealed shut in front of me. The interior of the elevator was quiet, chrome, and sterile; I almost felt as though I was in the inside of some kind of spaceship ready to launch. The elevator started up without the slightest bit of a lurch, and soon the doors opened, revealing the modern, fashionable office interior. Just like the lobby, this space was a bustling hive of young professionals. The front desk was a long, white swoop of a thing, and seated behind it was yet another impossibly attractive young woman, this one a brunette with cobalt eyes and hair done in a tight professional bun.

"Hello," I said in the meek voice that I'd spoken to the lobby girl with. "I'm here to meet Mrs. Haverford."

"Down the hall, take a right. Her name's on the door, can't miss it," said the girl in a prim English accent, also not looking up from her work.

So much for warm welcomes, I thought as I hurried away from the desk and down the hall.

I weaved through the professionals, all seeming to be busy beyond comprehension. I wondered if they'd slam right into me if I weren't angling my body out of the way of their power-suit-clad bodies. Eventually, after following the directions, I arrived at a large, stately door bearing the name "Mrs. Emily Haverford" in clear, crisp letters. I gave the door a gentle rap, and a voice called out from within.

"Do come in."

Here goes nothing, I said, opening the door.

The office revealed was impressive, to say the least. It was spacious and sleek, with black leather furniture placed here and there. Modern art of geometric patterns adorned the walls, and a corner desk took up nearly a fourth of the room. The tall windows gave a sweeping view of the city, the curving form of the Thames twinkling in the morning sun.

And seated at the desk was a trim, middle-aged woman with black-rimmed glasses, an immaculately-tailored suit, and dark hair worn in a simple but stylish bob. Her limpid blue eyes flicked to me as I entered, and she rose from her desk and approached me.

"Mary Metzger, I take it?" she asked, extending a slim-fingered hand to me.

"That's me," I said, taking her hand and giving it a delicate shake.

"Be seated, please," she said, returning to her desk.

With quick, short steps, I made my way over to one of the high-backed chairs and took a seat.

"Allow me to pull up your files here, young lady," said Mrs. Haverford, typing away at her computer. "Ah yes, the American from Harvard that we brought on. I could barely tell your accent from how quietly you were speaking. You're going to need to learn to project that voice of yours if you're going to hope to have anyone listen to you here, my dear."

"Yes, ‘Mam," I said in that same soft voice.

Mrs. Haverford raised an eyebrow at me. "Try that again."

"Yes, ‘Mam," I said, speaking more loudly than I was used to.

"Better, but still not quite there," she said, sitting back in her chair. "You'll find very quickly that Langford Holdings isn't the place for wilting lilies, my dear."

I nodded, the anxiety in my stomach building to a hot froth.

"But take that as a word of friendly advice rather than warning. Your CV is quite impressive; I see you did a year at our very own school of economics, doing a rather impressive project under…Wow, Professor Arthur Jenson. With a glowing letter of recommendation, to boot."

"It's a great school," I said, still trying to make my voice stern and deep.

"Quite," she said. "Then an MBA at Harvard. But you knew all this already, and so did we. Which is why you're sitting in that chair at this very moment."

I didn't know how to respond to this, so I kept quiet.

"Let me get right into it: you're going to be working with one of our executives, staying at his side, doing whatever he needs in order to get his job done. A ‘he says jump, you say how high,' sort of situation, as you Yanks say."

She took a slow sip of her coffee.

"And I'm not going to mince words: the executive you'll be working with is a…demanding fellow, to say the least. His last executive didn't last half a year. After that little debacle, he suggested that we bring a man aboard, but I think the right, tough lady could perform this job most adequately. How do you feel about this, young lady? You feel tough enough?"

"More than enough," I said, finally finding my footing. Sort of.

"Good. This executive is one of our rising stars; he's only been with us for…four years, I believe? And he' already risen to one of our top executive positions. His rapid movement hasn't made him too many friends with some of the other senior executives –they feel like he hasn't ‘paid his dues', whatever that might mean- and feel that he's even making them look poorly in comparison. Still sound good?”

She was asking me for an opinion on a man whom I've never met?

"Well," I said. "It's certainly important to put in one's time and adhere to proper protocol, but I believe that a successful company should place results before any sort of rigid pecking order, as it were. Perhaps if the employees who feel bitter about this executive's success had been turning in the same sort of performance than they'd be the ones in his position?"

A broad smile spread across Mrs. Haverford's face the corners of her lips fanned with tight wrinkles.

"I couldn't have said it better myself. And that sort of thinking will do nothing but endear you to your new boss. That is, unless you're just telling me what you think I'd like to hear."

"No," I said. "Of course not."

I was a little surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth, but I wasn't totally naive; I knew that playing by the rules was the fastest way to get lost in the mix in the world of finance.

"Very well," she said. "In that case, I believe it's time you met the man to whom you'll be attached at the hip. Come this way."

She rose from her desk and moments later we were headed down the hallway. The other professionals in the hallway deferred and greeted Mrs. Haverford as she walked past, and I couldn't help but compare it to the way I was nearly bowled over by these same people during my way to the office. And Mrs. Haverford walked with the confident, powerful strides of a woman in charge.

Perks of being a boss, I suppose, I thought to myself.

I made a silent promise to myself to one day have this sort of authority.

"Unfortunately," Mrs. Haverford started, "he's the in the middle of a meeting. But I figure this is as good of a chance as any for you to meet, at least in passing, the better part of the executive staff here."

Gulp.

Not only was I meeting my new boss, I was meeting every new boss.

We came to a stop in front of a large pair of stainless-steel double doors.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Haverford. "If I were you, I'd take the ‘speak when spoken to' approach for this particular meeting."

"Will do," I said, straightening my back taking one last deep breath.

Mrs. Haverford then opened the doors, revealing a massive conference room with a long black table in the middle. A dozen or so suited men and women were seated around it, and the tall windows gave an even more dramatic view of the city than in Mrs. Haverford's office.

But down at the end, I recognized something. Or someone. It was that familiar shock of gorgeous blond hair, those stunning blue eyes, and that trim, fit form.

It was Sam.

My eyes went wide and I felt light on my feet. My head swam and I thought I might drop in a heap at any moment.

"Greetings everyone," said Mrs. Haverford, her voice sounding like it was underwater. "Hate to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce you all to our newest executive assistant. Everyone, this is Mary Metzger. She's from the states, but try not to hold that against her.”

Dry chuckles sounded from the room.

"And that's the wunderkind down there," she said, pointing to…Sam, of course.

Sam rose and flashed a tight, wry smile.

"Come," he said in that familiar purr of a voice. "Have a seat. We're just getting started."