Five
M y drive to work feels a lot like the first day of school. I’m nervous as I take the same exit I do every day, and anxious as I park my car in its usual spot. Everything is as normal as it always is, but my nerves are piqued as I get out of the car and start walking in. I don't know what awaits me inside, and I’m hot from the stress. This is it. Today is the day we meet the new owner and CMO of Sandcastle.
When I enter, nothing looks different. Everyone is working as usual, but when the door opens everyone’s head pops in my direction. All of the eyes in the room land on me and I freeze, wondering what the hell is going on. When they realize it is just me, everyone goes back to what they were doing. Just like me, they are all waiting for Rome Giovanni to arrive.
I walk down the narrow pathway on my way to my office with my eyes on the floor. The click-clack of keyboards fills the air, mixed with low voices having conversations about work and phone calls with clients. I see Jeremiah working at his desk just a few feet from my door, but his eyes are glued to his computer so he doesn't realize I’m here. Before I step inside, I take a glance toward the CMO’s office. The lights are out and the door is closed. So nothing has changed since yesterday. I let out a sigh, flick on my lights, and make my way to my desk.
As the start of the day unfolds, I go through my normal routine of firing up my computer and sifting through emails from clients. Usually, there are plenty of messages from Mr. Thomas about Sandcastle’s agenda, but now there is nothing. It’s actually weird to see my inbox devoid of any of his instructions, demands, and expectations, and I can't help but wonder what it will look like once Mr. Giovanni arrives and takes over. Will he cuss us out via email if things aren’t going well? Will he flirt with the women he thinks are prettiest? Maybe he’ll flirt with the men. As one of the two Directors of Marketing, I will have to work closely with him. How will he treat me? Will he hate me? Will I hate him? If we don't get along, will we have arguments? Will he call me out in front of my coworkers or pull me aside to speak privately? What if he’s an old racist who refuses to accept working with a Black woman? What would that mean for me? Demotion? What would it mean for Jeremiah, a gay Black man? Termination? Lawsuits for discrimination? Exactly what will my life be like now that Mr. Thomas is gone? Will the grass be greener, or will it be the mirage?
With another long exhale, I lean back in my chair and try to calm myself down. The man hasn't even arrived and I’m already driving myself insane with worry and made up scenarios. Maybe he’ll be wonderful and nice. Who knows? All I can do is wait and see, and just like every other employee out there, I’ll be on the edge of my seat the entire time.
Once I’m done scanning emails, I pick up my phone. I haven't received any messages from my Tinder match, which sucks, but I have gotten a couple on FET. I hold out hope as I navigate to the app and check the messages, only to find that they are from men interested in race play. Like I told Jaz yesterday, I don't knock anybody’s kinks, but that is absolutely not something I’m interested in.
“Still sowing your wild oats?” Jeremiah’s distinct voice says from the doorway. I find him beaming at me as he leans half his body into the room with a wide smile.
“Trying to,” I reply. “I’m clearly in a drought when it comes to FET, and I haven't heard from the guy I matched with on Tinder. My email doesn't have anything new or interesting since Mr. Thomas’s departure, so I’m actually bored. What’s going on out there in the bullpen?”
Jeremiah steps into the room and plops down into one of the black and gray accent chairs next to the large window in my office that looks out into the bullpen. He’s dressed in a shiny black button-up today, looking as dapper as he always does.
“Everybody is anxiously waiting for the new CMO,” he tells me. “People are in there stressed out. One girl said she found a Facebook page of a guy named Rome Giovanni, and he’s some old Italian guy who looks mean. Another girl said she found a young guy with the same name on Instagram, but his page was completely blank. Then, Martha from brand marketing, said she found a Twitter account with a guy who was at least sixty. His page didn't have any posts, but she could see his likes, and every one of them was for an underage girl.”
“What the fuck?” I exclaim with disgust.
“I know, right? There’s no proof that any of them are right, but so far it doesn't look good.”
“That’s just great,” I reply sarcastically as I get up from my seat and walk to the door to stare out into the bullpen. Everyone looks busy, but I see plenty of eyes shifting over to the entrance before going back to work. “Do you have any expectations?”
“I don't even know,” he answers. “As long as he isn't a homophobe, it really doesn't matter to me. You're the one who has to work with the CMO and VP regularly.”
“That’s a very unfortunate fact,” I say. “Simon and I could have our hands full if the guy’s a douche.”
As soon as I get the words out, Simon Sampson walks into the room in a white T-shirt and khaki pants. His face is covered in stubble and I can see the anxiety seeping from his pores as he eyes me and Jeremiah.
“Have you seen or heard from Sierra this morning?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips like he always does when he’s nervous.
“I haven't,” I answer. “I can only assume she’s either sick, running late, or out with the new boss.”
“She’s with him,” Simon says as if the fact makes him upset. “She told me last night that they were going to meet early this morning before coming here. I told her that I wanted to join her so that I could be introduced to the new CMO, but she hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”
“Why were you trying to meet him before everyone else?” Jeremiah asks, frowning hard as he stares up at Simon.
Simon scoffs. “I’m a director of marketing. It’s important that I make a good first impression.”
“You mean you wanted to make an impression first , before anybody else—meaning Nia—could,” Jeremiah shoots back without missing a beat.
Simon’s eyes dance over to me, but they don't linger.
“That’s not … no, that isn’t why,” Simon lies.
“Sure, Simon,” Jeremiah says as he rises from the chair and speaks to me over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Nia.”
“Later,” I reply.
Simon’s eyes are wide as he looks at me. “What he said is totally not true, Nia. I wouldn't do that.”
I have to laugh, because Simon Sampson is well-known in Sandcastle as the office brown nose. We all are aware of the fact that he kisses the boss’s ass, and will throw any of us under the bus if he thinks he can benefit from us being run over. It’s nothing new, and I’ve learned to not let it bother me.
“It’s fine, Simon,” I reply dryly. “Did Sierra tell you anything about the new boss?”
“Unfortunately, she didn't. Honestly, she didn't seem to know much about him herself. It was Mr. Thomas who set it up for her to meet Mr. Giovanni this morning so she could show him around the place. I guess Larry didn't tell her much either.”
“Damn. Nobody knows anything about him.”
“Nope. I really wish Sierra would have answered my—”
Simon cuts his sentence short as his head nearly breaks to look at the entrance door. Sunlight beams into the office in a long white streak as the door opens, and everyone in the building stops moving. Simon and I step into my doorway, cramming into the small space to get a peek of who might be coming in. Is this it? The moment we’ve all been waiting for?
The first person to walk in is Sierra Martinez. Her brown skin looks golden in the sunbeam, her lips plump and covered in dark lipstick, her hair wavy as it careens down her back, and her brown eyes focused on someone behind her. She holds the door open while the rest of us hold our breath. Then, he enters.
The air in the room is sucked out along with the oxygen in my lungs. We all see him at the same time, and I swear he is the only thing moving. He's the only thing alive in the entire building, and my forehead is blanketed with wrinkles as I gawk at him in confusion.
He’s at least six-foot-two—maybe even six-three—with broad shoulders carrying a fit frame, but not overly muscular. His black hair is perfectly styled and almost looks wet, but when he instinctively runs his fingers through it, there is no residue coating his hand. His jawline is the strongest feature on his tanned face, and it is covered in a perfectly trimmed, well-kept beard. His lips are pink and full, drawing my eyes to them when he sucks the lower one into his mouth, biting it before letting it flop back out again. The gray suit he's wearing looks tailored to his body—not too big, not too small, but perfect for him and him only. His light brown eyes scan the room, and even though he’s moving at a normal speed, it feels like he’s in slow motion. The rest of the world has stopped turning in order for him to make his entrance, and it is more grand than I ever could have imagined. The man is absolutely stunning.
Everyone gawks at him as the door finally closes and he begins following Sierra. She leads him down the path, only stopping to explain what he’s seeing.
“This is the bullpen,” she says in her strong Spanish accent. “Managers, individual contributors, and everyone who is entry-level works here. Directors of marketing, advertising, brands, social media, and products all have offices—as well as you and I, of course. I’ll introduce you to everyone soon, but let me show you to your office first.”
He doesn't reply verbally, only with a subtle nod. Sierra spins on her heel and begins down the path again, and my heart starts to hammer. The walkway runs directly in front of my office, which means he is going to see me. We are going to be face to face, if only briefly. I don't know why, but I’m more nervous now than I was when I thought he could be an old racist. Shit. Should I go back to my desk and act like I’m hard at work? That’s what Simon would do—look like the hardest working person in the building—but even he is frozen solid. My feet won’t move. I’m stuck in cement with my eyes glued to his face. Before I can even shift an inch, his eyes find me as he and Sierra approach.
“G … good morning, Sir,” I hear myself say.
Why? Why the hell did I say that?
Again, he doesn't reply with words. He nods at me, but the look on his face isn’t polite or inviting. In fact, I’d say his gaze is menacing. So much so that I involuntarily take a small step backward. I couldn't move myself, but the stone cold stare in his eyes forced me back with nothing more than a look.
The moment passes as he and Sierra keep going. The entire office watches as Sierra walks into the CMO office and turns on the light. Mr. Giovanni walks in behind her, and she steps to the side to allow him access to everything that is now his. Even Sierra, who is usually so bold and headstrong, looks anxious and quiet around him. She moves like a servant, pointing out things to the owner of every item in the building. I’ve never seen her look so meek, even when standing next to Mr. Thomas. It’s clear that the man she’s showing around now is not Mr. Thomas. They couldn't be more different, and even Sierra knows it.
The door to the office closes, and sound and air finally re-enter the building. Everyone in the bullpen comes back to life. Mouths pop open and jaws hit the floor. Smiles take over the faces of quite a few of the women and even a few men, and when I look at Jeremiah, his eyes are saucers.
We stare at each other, both of us clearly thinking the exact same thing, but Jeremiah is the only one to say it out loud. He speaks my thoughts into existence with the exact level of enthusiasm that I hear inside my head.
“Holy fucking shit.”