Rainer
I watched Tasha Nichols march out of the elevator and stride off down the office hallway. Hyperion Industries was a huge corporation, so it shouldn't have bothered me that I didn't know where her office was before today. The detail that struck me was the direction she took to get there.
All the junior executives had offices on the same floor despite our varied department focuses. It was meant to make us feel like a larger team, in charge of the masses on the multiple floors below. Our floor was supposed to be an equalizer, but as I watched Tasha go, I realized how obvious the hierarchy was structured. Junior executives who fit the part, sucked up to the higher ups, and played the game all had offices on the east side of the building, overlooking San Francisco Bay. Those who weren't as highly favored had their offices facing the gray behemoth building on the west side.
No wonder I hardly ever ran into Tasha; her office was on the far west side of the floor.
George elbowed me as he left the elevator. "She looks good, I'll give her that, but I don't think she looks like boss material."
Our cronies laughed as they made their way down the east side hallway and into their offices. The elevator doors shut, and I savored the few minutes alone. I wanted to prepare myself for the press conference, but I found myself remembering Tasha's penetrating look instead.
Later, after the buzz and flash of the press conference, I found myself hesitating outside the elevator again. I took two steps down the west hallway but could not come up with a legitimate reason to visit Tasha in her office. And, by now, she knew what I'd done and was probably plotting the demise of my career.
"What career," I muttered. I dragged myself to my office to wait out the ten minutes before the big product meeting. It wasn't my office role to be early.
"Mr. Maxwell, congratulations!"
My overeager assistant, Topher, jumped up from his desk and rushed around to shake my hand. "Word is already going around that you nailed the press conference. What was that line you delivered about respect? I think the GroGreen app should use that as a slogan."
I slapped him on the back. "All I did was point out that we respect nature and now there's an app to help nature respect our busy schedules."
"Amazing, sir. I'm so impressed how you memorized all that information and went to that party last night."
I could tell that Topher was dying to hear some details about the glamorous product release party. He was practically drooling over his own daydreams of tailored suits and palm-greasing business deals. It tied my stomach in a tight knot. "Someone's got to do the hard work," I said.
Topher laughed and returned to his desk. "I've been reviewing all the product memos, but I'm still not sure I could convince the world to buy it. You really are very talented, sir."
I thought of Tasha Nichols. All the hard work had been hers, and yet the entire office was ready to put the laurels on my head. I knew it was wrong, but I also knew this was how our business went. Hyperion got ahead on image just as much as innovation.
"It's got nothing to do with me," I said. "The GroGreen app is going to change the way that people garden. It helps organize ideas, plot out the best use of the garden space, and keep the planting, watering, and everything on a tight schedule."
"Not to mention how fun the garden simulator is." He held up his phone. "I've already got sprouts popping up in my first rows."
I glanced at his screen, impressed with the graphics. Tasha's team had an excellent eye for details, and she had made sure the application had everything that a budding gardener might need or want. "Why don't you get a little planter box and plant some real seeds?" I asked Topher.
My assistant shook his head and adjusted the crisp white cuffs of his shirt. "I wouldn't want to get dirt in here. Virtual gardening is good enough for me. Wait until you see my GroGreen page tomorrow."
"Right," I said, vaguely annoyed by his response.
I moved past Topher's desk and into my office. At a loss for anything productive to do, I headed straight for the window. The view was significantly lower than the panorama of the penthouse office, but I was facing the right way and sure to work my way upstairs. I wondered how Tasha felt in her office overlooking the gray facade of another building. The contrast made me uncomfortable.
"Sir, you're on!" Topher scuttled into my office and turned on my large flat-screen television. "You're the headline story."
The business news segment started with a few still shots of me at the product launch party. The news anchor played up the angle of me as the industry playboy, always on the first wave of the best parties and trends. I cringed as I saw myself caught on camera with woman after beautiful woman. Sure, it was just publicity, but it all seemed so ridiculous. My stomach churned as the news anchor went on and on about the amount of champagne that flowed.
"And Hyperion Industries certainly has much to celebrate as the product sales are quickly outpacing any new app we've seen since PokeGo," the business anchor reported.
Topher was hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement. All rumors and reports were pointing to a huge success. "I can't wait for the meeting, sir. Can you even imagine the kind of bonus you'll be getting?"
"The profits get spread out over hundreds of people," I reminded my assistant. "And I just came in on the tail-end to help with public relations. I'm sure the long-term team members will get much more."
Topher shook his head. "No, sir, I checked. All junior executives are considered equal pay no matter how long they have worked on a project."
"Speaking of work," I said. "I need a minute to return some calls."
Topher nodded and trotted back out the door. I sat down at my desk and kicked my heels up on the corner, knowing full well my assistant would look back as he shut the door. The young man grinned, seeing me as the lounging picture of success.
If only he knew how my stomach worked into tighter knots as I smiled.
Once my office door was closed, the smile disappeared. I sagged farther down in my chair and stared at my shoes. Stupid, shiny things that I'd paid more for than most people spent on their cars. Those shoes were good looking but lacked a substantive sole. I slammed my feet onto the plush carpet and rubbed my hands over my face. If it was true what people say about judging a man based on his shoes, then I should have been exposed as a fraud a long time ago: I was all polish and no soul.
I fumbled for the remote and turned the television off. It was too ridiculous to see my smiling face all over the news. I scowled into the sudden silence. I knew there was no shame in playing the game, and it had gotten me far, but I was sick of my own hype. The office playboy who the women loved and the men wanted to be. The public relations man who could spin any situation. The junior executive with the solid gold charm. I was really going places.
The only reason I had been added to the GroGreen project was my reputation. The top execs knew they had a success on their hands and they wanted to make sure they stamped it with their brand of work. I was to represent Hyperion's old-school style while showing off the latest innovations. How did anyone believe that two-martini lunches, passing the buck, and stealing the credit created the next step in technology? Because I made them believe it.
It was a cheap trick and reminded me of the shell game I learned when I was little. I robbed my brother of all his quarters before he realized I was a cheat. When he complained to my father, my father only told pointed out that was the way the game was played.
"Mr. Maxwell? Your brother is on line two." Topher buzzed the call through to my desk.
"Speak of the devil," I said.
"Were you?" my brother asked. "I'm glad one of your colleagues pointed out those crow's feet. Television shows all the flaws. You tell them I can fix all that in an hour?"
I groaned. "What do you want, Evan?"
"Oh, so now my baby brother thinks he's the best because he was on television?" Evan sighed. "I keep telling you a real reputation can't be built on bottles of champagne."
"Are you trying to sell me on Botox injections again or what?" I asked.
"Nope. I'm just calling to show you how a real Maxwell makes the grade. Have you seen my review in the Best of the Bay? All the top critics are calling me the new face of plastic surgery," Evan said.
I dropped an elbow on my desk and leaned on it hard. "Father must be so proud."
"Yes, exactly. In fact, the old man's taking me out for a celebratory dinner tonight. You want in?"
I ground my teeth. It didn't matter that my face was now all over the headline news or that my name was trending alongside the biggest app launch of the year; my father was not impressed. Instead, he was taking my older brother out to dinner to celebrate. And I was being invited as an after-thought. Less than that, I was being invited as Evan's way of rubbing my face in it.
"I've got plans," I muttered.
"More champagne? More models? You really do the Maxwell name proud, little bro," Evan said.
Even my own family didn't see that my reputation was all for show. I couldn't remember the last time I thought they really knew me.
"Congratulations on the review, Evan," I said. "Tell Father I say hi."
"Come on, Rainer, don't be like that. Come to dinner and say hi to him yourself."
I shoved up out of my office chair and glared out over the tremendous view. It didn't matter that I was almost at the top of Hyperion Industries. It didn't matter that I wore custom-made suits and expensive shoes. My brother had worked his way through medical school, paid off all his debts, and then climbed to the top of his field all on his own. Compared to him, I was a parasite. The world thought I could charm everyone, but my father saw through me. He knew I was nothing but a con in a fancy suit.
"Sorry, Evan, I'm just not in the mood for a family share and compare tonight," I said.
Evan laughed. "But it's a family tradition. We fight it out until we're sixty and then we see who gets the family fortune. A little friendly, family competition. That's the reason we have the family fortune in the first place. You know Father just barely beat out Uncle Bert. If he hadn't made those real estate deals a decade ago, we'd be sucking up to old man Bert for tiny trust funds."
"As if you need any more money," I said.
"It's not for me; it's for future generations," Evan said.
"I know, I know. 'Maxwells make the family fortune.' You realize our grandfather was a sick man to pit everyone against each other," I said.
"Sick? How about genius. We've got to make something of ourselves before we get the big bucks. I can't wait to see what my kids do," Evan said.
"Well, good luck with that. I've got a meeting to get to," I said.
"Fine, but don't say I didn't invite you. Oh, and don't crinkle up your forehead when you smile or you'll get more wrinkles than even I can erase," Evan said.
I hung up the phone and leaned my forehead against the glass. It was ridiculous to call the expectations in my family a tradition. My grandfather had been dirt poor but made a respectable living as a master stone mason. My uncle had become a corporate attorney and set the bar high. Then my father had cashed in all his shrewd real estate deals and become the patriarch. As a Maxwell, I was expected to contribute to the slowly accumulating family fortune or not receive any of the benefits.
So, I put on the big smile, trotted out my best jokes, and dodged my way through the murky ranks of Hyperion Industries. It was just the sort of monstrous corporation that allowed men like me (short on tangible talent, heavy on personality) to grease the right palms and get to the top. Even I was sick of the rigged system.
A rapid knock was followed by, "Mr. Maxwell? Just a few quick items before your meeting."
I turned from the glass and dragged my mouth into an easy smile. Rainer Maxwell didn't brood out the window. I knew I had it good but wanted more, and I hoped today's meeting would do just that.
"Tasha Nichols requested a meeting. As soon as possible, she said." Topher smirked and moved that message to the bottom of his list.
"Tasha Nichols?" I asked. Her name was like a lighthouse in my foggy thoughts, but that didn't fit my playboy persona. "The new coffee girl?"
Topher chuckled. "No. That's Sasha. Tasha Nichols oversees the GroGreen app production team."
"How else would I know her?" I asked.
Topher was eager to show off his assistant skills and his impressive memory for Hyperion personnel. "She's been on the rise for the two years, a favorite of Mr. Eastman."
"Stan?" I retied my tie in the mirrored wall behind my desk. "His reputation for chasing skirts was worse than mine."
Topher grinned. "He's taken a particular interest in her this year and has been carefully tracking her progress on this app project."
The Chief Operations Officer had his eye on her. He was at least twenty years Tasha's senior, but it still bothered me. "So, is she old and silver like our Mr. Eastman?"
"You really don't remember her, Mr. Maxwell?" Topher asked.
I pulled on my suit coat and arched an eyebrow at my assistant. "Why would I remember her?"
It was a test. I knew it, and he knew it. Topher had to walk the fine line between giving me the information I wanted and leaving out the details that did not reflect well on me. I might not have had the best talent, but I could sure teach the kid how to navigate the egos of corporate America. It was a special skill he'd seen me wield with great results.
"You met her at last year's holiday party. She was in a red satin dress with a white cashmere cardigan. You knew her name and reputation, but that's the first time you met in person," Topher said.
I nodded. The image of Tasha enduring a pose with Santa Claus was impossible to erase. A pretty blush had lit up her cheeks even as she smiled politely and pried off Santa's hands. I saved her by pulling her onto the dance floor. Frankly, she'd dazzled me, and all I'd been able to say was, "Pretty little candy cane." The line haunted me every time I saw her, and I was very glad that detail had been forgotten.
I waved my hand to make Topher continue. "I'd had a few cocktails by the time Santa showed up."
"She's attractive, with coppery-red hair, dark-brown eyes." Topher was nervous and decided to hedge his bets on whether we liked her or not. "Always in a hurry, uptight. Her smiles are always puckered up, sour."
"Tasha Nichols isn't uptight. She's busy," I said, not caring that I'd revealed I knew her.
"Well," Topher said, "she could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Maxwell, on how to make it look easy."
I checked my watch to hide my irritation. I made it look easy because a monkey could do my job. "One trick to that is to always arrive early. That way you look like you've got a handle on everything and have time to relax. Doesn't hurt to chat with the other early-arrivals. Those are the go-getters," I said.
Topher nodded, eager to put my advice to good use. "The meeting is in conference room four."
I led the way. I had purposefully avoided Tasha after the holiday party. She had the kind of talent, smarts, and drive that made me nervous. Still, she'd been like a beacon all through the rainy winter, and I'd looked for her every day. I'd finally decided to pull some strings and jump on her project, just to get the idea of her out of my system. I hoped she was every bit as uptight as Topher said, but our little run-in in the penthouse office had me worried.
A warm rush accompanied the memory of her wedged against me in the narrow door. Now, not only could I not take my eyes off her, but my body was drawn to her like a magnet. The success of her project was just a bonus.
The early-arrivals amounted to three executive assistants sent to take notes and the majority of Tasha's department managers. Her team was impressive, still working hard despite the positive reception of the finished project. Still, when they saw me, work was forgotten and out came the questions about the celebrities I had invited to the launch party. I regaled them with stories of the opulent party until they were roaring with laughter.
"I see my hangover cure is working for you," James called from the conference room doorway.
The conference room fell into a hush. James Berger's reputation was neck and neck with mine, though he'd gotten the bigger bonus last year. Now, he was the new standard of luxury living, and everyone regarded him with jealous awe.
I got up and met him in the doorway with a hearty handshake. "Didn't you take your own tonic? You look like hell."
James laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. "That's what I get for taking a midnight helicopter ride down to Santa Cruz. Starlight beach volleyball is worth it, let me tell you."
I gritted my teeth but grinned. James never missed an opportunity to flaunt his outrageous spending, and it was going over great with the wide-eyed production team. "I did all right with post-party dim sum and cocktails in Chinatown," I said. "Next time you hit the Li Po Lounge, try the White Dragon spritzer. I helped out with the recipe."
"Perfect thing to mix up at my yacht party this weekend. You in? I know you don't have your sea legs, but she's a real gentle giant. We're taking her out to the Golden Gate Bridge and then over to Sausalito," James said. "I'm telling you, Rainer, the yacht has opened up an entirely different world for me. Not that I don't love my helicopter, but the yacht is a whole new level."
"Sorry, ensign, but I don't have a sailor suit," I said. "Besides, didn't you hear there's an exclusive happy hour over at the speakeasy? I got the password to open up every single secret tunnel."
James laughed and wrapped an arm around my neck. "I bet you do. That explains why I saw you with supermodels on each arm last night. Oh, and here, that's the number for my tailor. He'll set you up with a suit even if you have to put it on a payment plan."
I took the card and slipped it into my suit pocket. James was a braggart, but he had enviable taste and no end of high-society connections. He was just the buddy I needed to give me access to the best investment bankers. Whatever change I made from the GroGreen app was going right into high-return investments. It was time to close the financial gap between me and my brother.
"Trust me, Rainer, you won't regret it. Hey, I was just swinging in to congratulate you on the press conference. Bang-up job. Next time you might want to pause longer before you answer the questions. Don't want to seem too slick," James said.
"Isn't that what I told you about those rich debutantes you were after last night?" I asked. "You buy me lunch at Manny's and maybe we can compare notes."
"Oh, no, I'm not a fool," James said. "A little advice here and there is good, but I'm not forgetting you're my competition, and you shouldn't either. You got lucky jumping on this project. Took it right out of my playbook from last year. That means it's on, Rainer. I'm watching you."
He backed out of the conference room door, alternating pointing two fingers at his eyes and at me. The employees around the conference table laughed at his antics. Topher, on the other hand, scribbled copious notes on the exchange; he wrote down anything he thought I could use later.
With James Berger out of the way, the conference room began to fill up. I started interesting conversations here and there on my way back to my seat, but I really was just keeping an eye on the door. It wasn't like Tasha to be late. Half the reason I'd followed my own good advice about arriving early was because I thought it was something someone like her might say. I had hoped for a chance to chat with her before the room got too crowded. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was just on her project for a quick payday.
Tasha Nichols was the opposite of James Berger and all the more attractive for it. She dressed conservatively in tidy pencil skirts and suit coats that she could interchange without breaking the bank. My mind drifted to the array of bright, silky blouses she wore, but I shook off the tempting thoughts. Tasha knew how to work hard, make people respect her, and build her own stellar reputation. She was just the kind of colleague I needed to help me in the long run.
"Rainer, it's been months. How are you?" A leggy blonde with sharp eyes gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
A quick and clever charade by Topher saved me from fumbling for her name. "Dora. You look lovely as ever."
The problem with watching the door is there were a lot of familiar faces that I wished had moved on to other jobs. Being the office playboy went over well with the old boys' club upstairs, but it was hell on my physical well-being. More than one of the women I had had pleasant encounters with now looked ready to flay me alive.
"You really should call back," Dora advised me in a cold tone. "It's just tacky to ghost someone like that."
The advice echoed as I sat down and gave the doorway one more glance. I had given Tasha Nichols my number the night of the holiday party and watched her throw it away. This morning, she acted as if we had never spoken before, and it stung. I sat back and wondered if I would get the chance to talk to her more or if this whole project was just another bad line I couldn't take back.