Chapter Fifteen
Genevieve
Genevieve,
Writing this email should have scared the crap out of me, but it was the easiest email I have written in a while. I just found out tonight you had reached out via the transportation company, asking for my information. Here is my email, my cell phone, and the landline of the main house where I stay, just in case. I cannot wait to talk to you. You’ve been in my thoughts, almost haunting me, to be honest. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I don’t think I’ll ever be.
“Gen, how many times do I have to call out your name?” my mom asked as we sat around the table in her backyard. It was Sunday morning after services, and a few of Mom’s mentees and I were having brunch with her. Mom sat regally at the head of the table, her brown skin free of wrinkles, her pixie cut straight, and sideswept. Yellow church dress crisp. Basically, hashtag goals for any Black woman wanting to look good in her sixties. Watching her, I thought of my father and our similarities because the only things I had from my mom were my nose and lips.
I wish I was home, in my huge T-shirt and slippers, binge-watching Netflix while rereading Adrián’s email. Instead, I was technically working.
The Black Women in Power Association was Mom’s brainchild. She had fostered the careers of many successful Black women during these brunches and one-on-one meetings. Once I started moving up the ranks in hospitality, I’d become the de facto vice president. My Sundays consisted of service in the morning, followed by two-to three-hour brunches spent strategizing different career moves and initiatives and overall being in communion with like-minded women.
“Sorry, Mom, I have a lot on my mind.”
“Of course, you do. I completely understand. That promotion entails a lot of new responsibilities,” Mom agreed. I forwent correcting her. She was still riding the high of my promotion, reminding anyone of it several times in conversation. I disregarded my embarrassment and smiled at my mom’s smug nod to the rest of the table.
“So, is there anything project-wise you need strategizing?” Mom asked, and Johana Bride leaned in over her plate of shrimp salad and quiche.
“Mmm, not right now...” I said, aware that Johana worked with a rival hospitality conglomerate; both of us were very cautious about specifics when speaking about our positions but had a cordial relationship overall. Didn’t stop each of us from attempting a leg up from any intel we could gather in these brunches.
“I heard you’re all looking to expand in Central America. Smart move. It’s an untapped market, there is some uncertainty in part of the region, but Costa Rica and Panamá are smart moves. That is where we’re planning to expand next. I’ve been tasked with finding A.D. Nicholson, the architect for the Tropics in Panamá, for our next project. Such an intriguing story.”
I nodded, shocked Johana was in such a chatty mood.
“Oh, I’m sharing because it’s a shot in the dark. The real plans of course, I wouldn’t mention here,” Johana said when she discovered my skeptical expression.
“Oh, I see because I was going to suggest not to hang up your dreams in finding him. I heard of the elusive A.D. Nicholson while working on the project. The rising star pulled out of the architect game before peaking,” I explained to the ladies.
“Oh, so why is he so talked about?” Mom asked.
“His most talked about project, and the largest one he worked on before leaving his firm, was the Tropics,” Johana explained, nodding at me. I remember being shocked when told the story. Who left their career before reaping the benefits of their success? I had admired Nicholson’s work, the structural design touches that spoke to Panamá’s known mix of cultures, and many people were lauding his final and only major project.
“True, he did a wonderful job; his practicality, sustainability, and cultural touches made an impact in the community over there and internationally. There is talk about the building getting nominated to the Worldwide Architecture Awards for the hotel category.”
“Hmm...interesting,” Mom said. Damn. This wouldn’t be the end of this topic.
“You should try to find that Nicholson guy. Would be a win for your first six months and a leg up against Johana’s company.” Mom rinsed the last platter and handed it to me to load the dishwasher. The house she bought once she made president of her financial company was gorgeous. It wasn’t huge, three-bedroom only, but the neighborhood was very exclusive, and she’d gotten to design everything inside. The decor was a mix of cottagecore and Big Momma’s house. A little crowded for my taste, but she loved it.
“No. That’s not my plan. My plan is to work with people on the ground in Panamá, maybe tap into a college or two, and see if we can work with young architects. I really want these projects to inject economic impact directly in the hands of people that need it the most.”
“You’re a VP of Operations, not a philanthropist. Don’t lose your focus.”
I sighed, speeding up the cleaning process, ready to be on my way. I’d debated between emailing back or calling and wasn’t certain what to do.
“I won’t, Mom. It aligns with the culture of my company. Trust me,” I said with slight chastisement, and Mom whirled about to stare at me incredulously.
“So, you think you know better than I do now?” Outrage. An effective tool in Lissette’s arsenal.
“I didn’t say that, Mom.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mom kept cleaning up and left me standing there, feeling exhausted. I had just started my new position five weeks ago, and the overwhelming excitement had morphed into a determined push.
The drive left me depleted by the end of the week, and this conversation with my mother was one too many on a week of negotiations and strategizing. I wished that sometimes visiting Mom was just that, a visit, and not an extension of the work I did every day. I understood her need for focus, for structure. Once upon a time, she had the opportunity to be more carefree, but having to be the responsible parent compared to my dad’s blasé approach had taken its toll. She’d chosen me, and given me a stable home, and I would forever be grateful.
“I’m going to head out, Mom. See you Tuesday for dinner?”
“Yes. Thanks for coming with me, it will be very beneficial for you too. The financial association has great connections with all industries, you never know,” she said, never able to shut her networking brain off, reminding me of the finance dinner she had asked for me to attend with her. Ask was a soft way to describe what Lissette had demanded. And what Lissette wanted, she got.
The drive home was short, and the time from walking through the door to me sitting on my sofa, wearing sweatpants and eating ice cream, was worthy of a world record.
My cell phone burned a hole in my lap, the innocuous device the reason why I was binge-watching beach romance movies and stuffing my face with frozen, flavored lactose. I could call Adrián. I could call him right now. He might answer, or he might be on the road, busy. But I could call, and then the ball would return to his court.
What about this man made me act like a teenager in love for the first time? The cold ice cream rolled down my throat, soothing the intense heat at the thought of Adrián naked on his bed, sheets covering his plump ass, tangled between his thighs as I walked away from him. The temptation to go back to bed and let the plane leave without me had been so strong. But recklessness had never been comfortable for me.
Recklessness wasn’t welcome in the Raymond household. Follow your head, and your heart will be satisfied—another motto of Lissette.
Fuck that.
I put down the ice cream and picked up the phone. A cold tingle that had nothing to do with the sweet concoction settled in my belly and made me feel more alive than I had in weeks.
Not since the last night with Adrián.
The phone rang two times, then his euphonious voice greeted me.
“Hello, Preciosa. I’m so happy you called,” he said, and I sank back on the sofa, basking in the joy of speaking to him again.
“Me too. I was nervous, but...”
“I was nervous too, that you wouldn’t call me,” he said, and I could hear the noise of cars beeping behind him.
“Why would you think that? I emailed you first.” I twirled a strand of my hair on my finger.
“Well, you left me that morning. I thought I had more time, but I woke up and...”
“I couldn’t say goodbye. I just...” I trailed off and shrugged, unable to explain how hard it had been to walk away from him.
“I understand,” he responded, and his voice sounded so close I wished he was here.
“So... I emailed you because I got the VP job, and the first person I thought of telling was you.”
“Let’s go! Look at you killin’ it out there in those streets. I knew that job was yours, you’re very dedicated, and it shows,” Adrián said, congratulating me, and besides Gino and Anibal, it was the most sincere, selfless congratulation I had received. I beamed like a kid in a toy shop, and again I wished Adrián was sitting next to me.
“Listen, I have to go, but I want to do this more often. I know we both have lives and careers, but...would you like to have a long-distance friendship?” Adrián asked.
Friendship... I wanted a hell of a lot more than a friendship with him, but I understood his offer and was grateful for it. Oh, if he were one of the men in the shallow dating pool here, things would be different. However, Adrián’s goals were as crystal clear as mine, the one space where our compatibility wouldn’t be enough to overcome the obstacles.
“Yes, I was wrong to delete your number and mine from your cell. I don’t want to say goodbye to you, even if I can’t have you near.”
“There are always business trips, right?”
“Yes, you’re right. LATAM is my region now.” Another visit to the Tropics with a weekend in Aguimar haunted me like a dream deferred. Having to see him to then let him go each time...maybe I was a masochist and just didn’t know it.
“There you go, so. Can I call you in the evenings?”
“Of course, of course, please call me.”
“Okay. Bye, Preciosa.”
“Chao, Adrián.” I hung up with a silly grin on my face and with decidedly not friendship feelings crackling inside.
A quiet, cold room, furnished by an elegant long oakwood table and executive chairs, a screen with a PowerPoint, and two flip charts with ideas written down in colored marker would be the beginning of my villain origin story.
Another “this could have been an email” meeting. The hour lingered interminably as I attempted to focus on the topic at hand.
“Each of you in this room has an expansion goal, which we will be reviewing every other week together to brainstorm ideas and check progress. My expectation is that you provide a brief overview of the results of your region and then move on to detailing the progress in your action plan for expansion. When we thought of these positions, we wanted them to be nimble. Many other organizations have two people for what you do, one for ops and the other for expansion and acquisition. Here at Tropics, we believe that with the right team and resources, we can accomplish much more in a streamlined structure.” Jan Ricard’s words resonated in the boardroom where we, the VPs of Ops for the Americas, sat listening intently.
We were a diverse bunch, all due to Ricard’s vision for the future. Anibal, Southeast Region with his suave aura but great results; Shelly Allerton, a fifty-year-old, no-nonsense woman, who had a collection of primary-colored pant suits that draped her plus-size body to perfection, who covered the Northeast. Jack Jack Cohen, forty, who asked every meeting to be called Jack Jack, even though Ricard refused to do so, and called him instead by his last name, handled Canada and Midwest/Central. Jack Jack always looked like he had a funny secret and was just here to have a good time. Arjun Suthar, a quiet man who was promoted at the same time as I, handled the West Coast. Arjun only opened his mouth after he’d clearly thought things through from all angles, and I saw an ally in him immediately.
Then there was me.
I’d fought so hard to be in this room; I’d gone above and beyond every single day of my career to be here, in strategic meetings that would shape the company’s future for years to come. The sense of accomplishment and excitement had not died down, but Ricard’s words lingered as a sober reminder of the workload that was coming my way.
After a round of updates and a presentation of each of our expansion plans, the meeting adjourned, and I braced myself for the barrage of emails waiting for me.
“So, how do you like it so far?” Anibal’s long strides kept up with my speed as I navigated the sleek hallways back to my office.
“It’s all I imagined, and then another additional pile of work. I wasn’t expecting for them to add acquisitions and contracts to our responsibilities.” More work. More work seemed to be the recurring theme of my promotion. Do this, but title is the same. Do that, but of course you are a salaried team member. I didn’t usually allow dissatisfaction to color my thoughts about work. The only thing I understood was corporate America. My personality suited my work perfectly. My profession was a solid one, reliable even in times of financial concerns because the target market that traveled to our hotels was high-earning individuals. I had ensured I was in a field that would support me and my little savings fund for retirement for the rest of my life. There was no pot of gold waiting for me when I was no longer capable of working. My mom was the perfect example; she’d worked hard and whenever she decided to retire she’d be able to do so comfortably. So complaining about work seemed counterproductive, or at least it used to feel that way.
“Yeah, there was a rumor for months that they were going to slim down that department. Now that Finn and Thomas retired, the biggest detractors, Ricard made the move,” Anibal said as we turned into my office, which I had already made mine with all gold and white office supplies, a few frames from photos I took from Panamá and other islands on the walls, a scent machine and dehumidifier and foot massager tucked in below my desk.
“Interesting, it truly does double our workload. I wish I’d known Finn and Thomas were detractors of the idea,” I said absentmindedly as I cracked open my laptop to see any emails. Moving through the paces as my brain flooded with additional to-do lists. I wondered what Adrián would think of this conversation? Of me confronting the load of more work that I hadn’t signed up for, but which would be thrust upon me regardless of my feelings?
“Yeah, big-time. They didn’t feel the support work required for the field is possible if we are focused on acquisitions. They believe the field is gonna suffer for it. But the compensation packages make sense, and we get bonuses for each acquisition signed.”
“Mmm... I don’t disagree with them about the field suffering. I have been thinking of that. I haven’t been able to get out yet, and it’s been six weeks since I got promoted.”
“Tell me about it. I’m one of the lucky ones with my hotels being right here. But y’all have it harder. One of Finn’s recommendations was to source people from the areas they serve so that at least travel was more manageable, but they continuously hire from within the office or Florida.”
I stared at my computer, everything vanishing as the three hundred emails awaited in bold for my review. I snapped the laptop close with dread and attempted to focus on Anibal.
“Mmm, micromanaging much? And...why are you so chatty? You weren’t this forthcoming before I took the job.”
“I’m not dense. I wasn’t about to sell you the nightmare. I needed to market the dream.”
“Damn, I thought you had my back.”
“I do. And both of us know you’re hungry to tackle it all. To prove that this is doable, so...”
Anibal didn’t know me. Okay, maybe he knew me a little.
“I mean, it is exciting, right? To establish the ways we can optimize our time and our efforts? I’m working on some special reporting I want to roll out to the hotels in my region to be able to have live results daily so I can quickly pinpoint any areas of—”
Anibal raised his hand and stopped me.
“Two seconds ago, you looked sick when you saw your emails. Now you are over here telling me how you added more work to your day...girl, you need help, honestly. Why don’t you go home, take your laptop and work from there? It’s six already. We should both head out.” Anibal stood up, and I wondered how he managed to keep his suits so crisp through the day. I stared longingly at my cell phone, wondering if Adrián was already home and we could chat, but then I stared at my laptop, and the tug of responsibility had me wondering what to do.
“Hold up...what was that face?” Anibal asked from the door.
“What face?”
“That ‘I have a date waiting for me in my bed, and I wish I was rich and didn’t have a job’ face.” Anibal pointed at me, snapping his fingers.
“Okay...that seemed oddly specific... Anibal, you tired. You’re imagining things.”
“No, I’m not...you have someone. I have worked with you for five years since I joined the company. I know that face.”
“Shhh.” I stood up, deciding to finish things at home. Home where I had the privacy to get on the phone and...
“There, there it is again.”
“Stop. Let’s go. You can pick up your laptop and stuff as we pass by your office toward the elevator.”
Anibal chuckled, then moved aside to let me out.
“Nah, I’m not taking my laptop. It’s Monday. All those emails will be there tomorrow.”
As I drove home, I wondered if Anibal had it right and if I was wrong in planning to work through the night to catch up. Then, I thought about how Anibal had had his position for years, whereas I was just establishing myself. This was normal. I would get things under control soon enough. There, that was better. Positive thinking. No more dread about the job and what it entailed. Of what it meant for my social life, or lack thereof. It helped that before checking all my emails, I had that date, even if it was only on the phone.