Chapter 5
The retirement ceremony for Mercer Industries’ longest-standing worker starts at 10a.m., but my schedule kicks off at eight as I have to do a tour of the factory—the production floor in particular, shake hands, compliment the workers, and chat up the middle managers.
Despite hating early mornings, today I made an effort to have time to talk to everyone. These people work for us, are loyal and dedicated, and we’d be nothing without them. The least I can do is show up early and make sure everyone I interact with has my undivided attention and feels properly cherished.
Tour over, the official tribute starts.
While someone else makes the introductory addresses, I check my speech one last time, adjust my tie, and wait for my turn. When it comes, I fold the written speech back into my suit’s pocket and stand on the dais. I deliver my piece, awarding the retiring worker with a watch and a plaque for his distinguished service. Then I shake his hand for the cameras, pose for pictures with the staff, and go back to my seat to listen to the closing remarks.
A few good words from the CEO of our automotive division himself, followed by a round of enthusiastic clapping from the audience, and the event is over.
On a normal day, I’d linger behind and share a few more words with the workers in an informal setting. But today, the applause still hasn’t died down and I’m already halfway out of the door, heading back to my office.
Is this what my routine will become with the new job? Rushing from one commitment to the next? Not a fan, not going to lie.
Thanks to bad traffic, it’s already lunchtime by the time I arrive at Mercer Industries’ New Jersey headquarters, where the admin offices and RD facilities of the robotics division are located. I could go grab a quick bite before I check out my new tutor, but I decide to see if the head of RD is still in her office. Maybe I could invite her to lunch. Break the ice before we start working together by getting to know each other in a less formal setting.
I ask the receptionist in the lobby where Dr. Campbell’s office is, and the unfortunate answer is: in the basement, within the robotic labs. Guess another perk of my new position will be being stashed away in a dingy, subterranean dungeon with no actual sunlight while surrounded by brainy nerds who will probably look down their bespectacled noses on a business major like myself.
I picture my light-filled corner office on the thirty-fourth floor and have to suppress a groan.
Thanks, Dad. Thanks a lot.
Before I head down to the torture chamb— err RD department, I check with the security guard on the ground floor to see whether Dr. Campbell has already left for her lunch break or not.
The guard consults the log and confirms that she’s still in the building.
All right, on to the dungeons then.
The robotics lab is a vast underground facility that gets just a teensy bit of natural light from awning windows lining the top portion of the walls along the entire perimeter.
Given the hour, the lab is empty. No one is manning the various desks, or tinkering with the miscellaneous electronic parts scattered over the workstations, or toiling with the actual robots of different shapes and sizes scattered all over.
Most of the space is divided into a handful of smaller stations, each equipped with state-of-the-art computer systems and innovative machinery. Whereas a massive robotic arm dominates the center of the room. Its practical application, I couldn’t fathom.
Lining the walls are back-to-back racks of shelves laden with tools, manuals, and different mechanical and electrical components.
The only boxed-in office with a door is at the back of the room. As I meander through the various workstations, the Mercer Robotics screensaver—the company logo rotating on itself—greets me from all the darkened computer screens.
I reach the office door but can’t see inside since all the blinds are pulled down. But the plaque next to the door reads “Dr. Reese Campbell”. I’m in the right place.
I knock.
“Come in,” a weird, almost metallic voice replies from inside.
With my hand on the handle, I hesitate, checking the laminate glass walls and wondering if glass can distort a woman’s voice like a stormtrooper helmet would.
I shrug and open the door.
My eyes widen in shock at the sight on the other side.
A woman is shaking her—pant-less—booty to an unheard tune. She has her arms swaying up in the air, causing her black blazer to raise to her waist and leaving me an unobstructed view of her pastel blue cotton panties and firm buttocks.
I stare hypnotized as she slowly undoes the tight chignon at the base of her neck and liberates a cascade of brown locks with neon-pink tips.
I don’t know what tune she’s dancing to in her head, but I’m imagining something out of the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack.
For a moment I’m too shocked to talk or move. When I get my bearings again, I mumble a hurried, “Sorry.” And I’m about to retreat and leave the lady some privacy when someone speaks to my right.
“She can’t hear you.”
Not someone. Something. A forty-five-inch-tall droid, who wouldn’t look half-bad in a Star Wars movie, rolls toward me on his wheeled feet.
“She always listens to music too loud,” the droid elaborates.
“Are office stripteases another habit?”
“No, but she’s taken up Zumba lately and it must’ve gone to her head.”
The dance the woman is engaged in doesn’t look like any Zumba class I’ve ever seen.
My gaze flicks back to the dancing queen just as she turns and, hands grabbing either side of her white shirt, she parts the fabric in a wild jerk, flashing me a pale blue bra to match the panties, and a toned stomach.
Then, just as quickly, she screams, pulling the lapels of her black blazer together and crossing her legs, trying to cover as much of herself as she can. With her other hand, she removes her earbuds and shouts, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you knock before coming in?”
“I wanted to invite you to lunch, and I did knock; you told me to come in.”
“I. Did. Not,” she responds, outraged.
“I invited him in,” the droid clarifies.
We both stare at him for a second before the woman shouts again, “Well, get out now! Out!”
Technically, I’ve never even come in, I’m still standing on the threshold, but I refrain from being fastidious. I raise my hands, take one step back, and close the door behind me. Then I go and sit on the workstation nearest her office, and, crossing my arms over my chest, I wait.