Chapter 1 #2
“Yeah, maybe.” He stopped messing with his sleeve and clasped his hands together, pacing between the new desk and the stylish bookshelf in the center of the suite.
Junie watched him for a moment, something unreadable in her brown eyes.
“Have they told you anything about him? Previous roles, his resume, anything like that?”
“Just his name.” Connor gestured with a thumb at the nameplate on the shiny oak desk.
“Nathan Santos, huh. Maybe I’ll look him up on LinkedIn.” It was a friendly offer, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to accept it.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, pacing another lap between the desk and the bookshelf.
“Can’t be worse than Devore,” Junie offered. She wasn’t doing anything wrong–she was just trying to be nice. But Connor bit the inside of his cheek and sighed, steps halting.
“There’s always worse, Junie.”
He didn’t mention that she’d been with the same executive for almost a decade; what could she possibly know about how bad they could be? He had to remind himself sometimes that they only knew what was reported about Devore. And Connor only said what he wanted them to know.
But June deserved better than for Connor to be so resentful. His poor luck with executives was no more anyone’s fault than it was Junie’s doing that she’d ended up with such a stable posting.
“Yeah, you could end up with a real bore like Simmons,” she offered with a wink.
That pulled a smile out of Connor.
Lou Simmons, an ancient fixture of the Alarie Board of Directors, was known for his no-nonsense attitude and strict adherence to his daily rituals. Fresh coffee every hour, a single biscuit at 9 AM and 11:15 AM sharp. He almost never attended conferences, he hardly attended meetings.
“It wouldn't be such a bad gig,” Connor said, meaning it. Then his smile found a cheekier edge. “I could see myself making a living by clicking Decline on every meeting invite. What’s so terrible about that?”
But there was plenty that was bad about that kind of position. No chance for growth, chiefly, but was that any different from what Connor’s life had been like for the last seven years?
He’d gladly take boring at this point.
“Sure, if you like being called a secretary,” Junie scoffed. “And having him touching your thigh-”
Her phone chimed, cutting off their conversation. Thornton, probably. Connor was sure of it by the way Junie glanced at her screen, her face tightening.
“She needs you already?” Connor asked. Junie nodded, her expression apologetic.
“Yeah. Sorry Connor. I gotta go. And don’t forget, your guy needs to be on at 9 for the investor introduction meeting. They’ll want to introduce him. Good luck.” She gave Connor a smile and made a little heart gesture with her hands before slipping back out through the door.
That left Connor alone again, alone with his thoughts in this massive suite.
Left to pace back and forth.
He didn’t tell Junie that he’d stuck his neck out, thrown his name in the hat and tried to interview for the role he was preparing to onboard someone else in. Why would he?
She would have only given him a pitying look before saying, “You know that won’t happen for us. We know where too many bodies are buried.”
So Connor’s failure was a secret kept close to his chest.
Still, he didn’t idle with his time this morning. He decided to get ahead of the work for the day however he could. That meant adding that meeting into his new executive’s calendar.
Other events populated the digital calendar, each color-coded in a bright primary color.
Team introductions in red, investor introductions in yellow. Client introductions would come next week, but those were highlighted in blue.
It was mindless, tedious work, checking a dozen calendars to make sure he caught every upcoming meeting, but it was nothing Connor hadn’t done before. In only a few hours, the week belonged squarely to him.
Another knock sounded around 7 AM, pulling Connor from his list of tasks.
No doubt it was another assistant on an errand, likely being asked by their own principals to check in on the incoming Investor Relations director.
Everyone would want to make an impression in their own way, hoping they might make a case for their department to be featured during investor-facing meetings.
“Come in.” Connor said. He didn’t look up from his own laptop screen, tucked into a small corner behind the desk.
But nothing happened.
The door didn’t open.
“I said come in,” he repeated, just loud enough that he couldn’t be missed. If it was Junie again - fine, he’d apologize, but only if it was her.
But this time when the door opened, a young man with tan skin and dark, curly hair poked his head inside. He seemed to scan around the room as though he was looking for something before a pair of dark eyes landed on Connor.
“Hi, good morning.” The young man opened the door completely, stepping past the threshold, the door closing behind him. He had that fresh-faced-but-ultimately-lost look Connor associated with new hires. It was hard for Connor to feel all that annoyed with new hires–most days, at least.
“Can I help you?” Connor asked, closing his laptop, taking this man in.
He was wearing an expensive suit. That was the first thing Connor noticed, eyeing the cut of his lapel.
Not that he considered himself an expert in the latest fashion trends, sticking to tried-and-true classic cuts that he could find at a good discount a few times a year.
But the suit worn by this newcomer wasn’t the facade of wealth and style that Connor relied on; it was the real thing.
Proper wool jacket in a gorgeous burgundy, crisp white shirt with delicate embroidery at his collar, and the cleanest Double Windsor Connor had ever seen on a man.
All with a coordinating white handkerchief peeking out from his lapel.
Connor did his best not to stare, but it was hard not to–he didn’t often see men around Alarie with this kind of attention to their wardrobe. What the hell, the suit looked good on him and Connor couldn’t deny a good looking man.
“I hope you can. It’s been a morning–you know how it goes–I’m not sure that I’m in the right place,” the other man replied. He offered Connor a warm smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. It was enough to have Connor regretting being so thorny. “This is, uh, 503, right?”
“Yeah, 503. If you’re looking for Mr. Santos, he’s not in yet,” Connor offered, deciding he might as well be polite and introduce himself. “I’m Connor, I’ll be working with him if you’d like to leave a message.”
“Connor Hayes, right?” The man asked with a tilt of his head, snapping his thumb and forefinger together. “I was looking for you.”
“You were looking for me?” Connor repeats uneasily. He couldn’t recall ever being addressed by his full name in the office. Only ever “Connor”, or just “Hayes” if someone was barking orders at him.
But his hesitation–and silence–was thankfully missed by this man who only offered a hand for him to shake.
“I was told to find you. I’m Nate.” He said it so matter-of-factly, so nonchalant that Connor had just about taken his hand before his brain caught up. He couldn’t help the way he froze, no doubt creating a less-than-stellar first impression.
“Nate- You’re Nathan Santos?”
It was like someone knocked the floor out from beneath Connor. He couldn't jump to his feet quickly enough, already having made a terrible first impression.
Seven seconds.
That was how little time it took to make or break a first impression. Connor read that once in the Wall Street Journal.
He shouldn’t have been sitting, he should have answered the door, he should have been far more polite than he was. Goddammit it, he should have bothered to look up his new executive on LinkedIn so he'd have some idea of who he was expecting so he didn't go and embarrass himself.
And this was it, his only chance to make a good first impression and here he went and fucked that up.
Precious seconds ticked away while he tried to seize them back, smooth over what feathers he might have ruffled.
“Mr. Santos. It's a pleasure to meet you,” Connor managed, doing his best to recover. He even shook his hand as though nothing was wrong.
But much like the man himself, Nate’s hand wasn’t expected.
His skin was rough, his fingers calloused, his palm warm but strong.
Not soft, like the other executives at Alarie Inc.
No, this was more like the kinds of men Connor had grown up with, men who worked with their hands, tying complicated knots as they moored lines along the Lake Erie coast. Connor almost drew his hand back in surprise, but he had more self control than to let his expression slip.
Competent. Pleasant. Not a single sand-colored hair out of place. Nothing ever could be for Connor.
But if Nathan Santos was wearing a mask of his own, it must have been ironclad with the way his handsome features never wavered.
He looked young but it was hard to tell for sure with the dark scruff growing at his jaw, his cheeks, and his neck.
Yet there wasn’t a hint of gray, not a single silver wisp.
Did he dye his hair? That wasn’t unusual, not nowadays at least.
Maybe a nice skincare routine to boot, the kind his hefty director salary could easily manage, no doubt.
Connor wasn’t sure, but he wondered as he studied Nathan Santos, as Santos seemed to study him in turn. His warm eyes never left Connor's, exuding a confidence that was hard not to envy.
Connor hadn’t felt anywhere close to being this comfortable on his first day.
“Just Nate,” was how his new director responded pleasantly. “You know Ramona, down in reception? She told me to find you. Yeah. She said you’d get me going, show me the ropes, be my sherpa into this great unknown.”
He hit Connor with another smile - and it was a damn charming one, too. So charming that he’s disarmed, left without his usual bite.