25. The ASSET Phase 2
On the day of the board meeting, I wear my bitchiest outfit: a severe midnight black pantsuit, a crisp white blouse, collar popped.
My pointy-toe pumps give me an extra four inches in height, yet cut off the circulation to my toes, further pissing me off.
I’m sporting a slicked - back bun, vampy red lipstick, and a forced friendly grin that comes off as a grimace if viewed from the wrong angle.
I look unapproachable yet aspirational, the picture of a futuristic ice queen.
If Sam tries anything after the meeting, I will not hesitate to kick him.
“Hi! Howya doing?” Playing the role of hostess, I smile, nod, and chat up every board member as they file into the room. “Love what you’ve done with your hair,” I say to one. “Is that a new Porsche I see in the parking lot?” I swat another on the back, “Go get em,’ Cowboy!”
I cringe inside. Why did I call that man a ‘cowboy’?
I’m great at flattery and small talk (that’s how I got myself into this mess) but sometimes I go overboard.
That being said, I’ve successfully pumped up the energy in the room.
Everyone is in a good mood, primed to think positively of my presentation and whatever else I have to say.
Despite charming the board and appearing outwardly calm and in control, I’m wilting from anxiety. The tension has been building all week, ready to erupt at the sight of...
There’s that motherfucker now.
“Sam!” I welcome the CEO with an unbothered smile. I’m reluctant to come to him, and I’m even more reluctant to extend my hand. “So happy to see you!”
“Carina!” Without a hint of awkwardness or acknowledgement of what transpired between us, Sam clasps my hand and pulls me in for a hug. “How’s my favorite ASSET specialist?”
Gross. Gross. Gross.
The hug lingers. Of course it does.
He sniffs my hair. Of course he does.
I pull back immediately and force myself to look into his face. He’s in a good mood, a handsome man-child without a care in the world.
“You smell great,” he says, leaning deliberately closer to take another whiff of my temple.
I back up, thwarting his attempt, but he has me by the shoulders in a Godfather-like grip and won’t let go.
“New perfume? Notes of pear.” Sniff. Sniff. “With undertones of spice.” Sniff. Sniff. “Nutmeg? Cinnamon?”
“It’s called Revulsion.” I shrug out of his grasp while trying not to cause a scene.
“I haven’t heard of that one,” he says, unfazed by the winter in my tone. “Is it by Calvin Klein?”
“A boutique online seller.”
“Strange product branding.” Sam’s leery gaze runs over my body and settles on my chest. “I’d called it Seduction.”
I fight the urge to hurl. Metaphorically speaking, I’d just thrown up a million times over. Money and good looks can’t buy you game. Sam Rylan is living proof of that.
“I bet you would,” I mutter.
He arches an eyebrow. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Ready to be done with pleasantries (unpleasantries, really), I smile tightly, both testing my facial muscles and my threshold for bullshit. “Why don’t you have a seat. I’m just about to begin.”
“Knock ‘em dead, tiger!” He shoots double air pistols at me.
I’m not in the mood to humor him by pretending he shot me.
Nevertheless, I nod and smile like a teacher greeting parents on Back-to-School Night.
For once in my life, I’m looking forward to delivering my presentation if it means I won’t have to make any more small talk with CEO Grab Ass.
At least he can’t make advances in front of the entire board.
My direct reports have just about finished setting up the projector.
Like magical helper elves, they scurry around the conference table, dimming the lights, handing out custom print-outs so the board could follow along (I know this is completely unnecessary.
What can I say? Lily has a Canva membership and a dream).
“All clear, Director.” With a curt nod at me, Ramin is just about to shut the door when Rhys pokes his head in, his hair disheveled in a ‘I forgot to comb it and never got around to maintaining my expensive cut’ kind of way.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic…” He apologizes to the board and receives a chorus of laid-back ‘no worries.’
Sam breaks from his conversation with the man beside him. “ASSET man!”
To which Rhys, unable to disguise his disgust for the man, gives him the briefest nod of acknowledgement before taking his seat at my right hand.
At last, his gaze swings to me, and the flush on his cheek, already red from running against the clock, deepens.
And then he says what I’ve been waiting for him to say for over a month, “Hey.”
An inconvenient lump crystalizes in my throat.
It’s taking every last shred of self-control not to jump on him like a life raft and sob into his shoulders.
I’ve missed you so much. I have so much to tell you.
Why didn’t you trim your hair? But that would ruin my ice queen persona and smear my makeup, so I bottle my urge to emote.
“Hey,” I say casually.
“Director?” Ramin appears by my side. “Ready?”
“Give me five,” I wave him off. “I need to run something over with Mr. Stiltskine.”
“Of course,” Ramin nods, then turns to Rhys and pounds his chest in solidarity, “Synergy.”
“Right.” Rhys frowns, confused, and pounds his chest half-heartedly for Ramin’s benefit.
“You’re here,” I say, unable to mask the surprise in my voice.
So he’s alive after all. He looks the same, moves the same. He’s even wearing the same ill-fitting suit.
Wait... Why is he wearing that blasted suit?
Did he learn nothing? I clearly remember hooking him up with two beautifully tailored suits while we both agreed to retire this baggy monstrosity to the donation pile.
It appears he’s retrieved it. There’s so much I want to ask him.
What has he been doing? How’s it going with Michelle?
Is he happy? No calls. No texts, obviously no hellos.
Like a mirage, he materializes out of thin air, all our estrangements forgotten.
I have the overwhelming urge to hug him (and slug him) for forgetting about me.
But the middle of a board meeting was not the place to catch up.
Fortunately, we’re hardly the center of attention.
My direct reports have plastered themselves along the wall like footmen waiting to be called upon to serve.
Sam and his board members are chatting amongst themselves and couldn’t care less about our reunion.
It’s as if we’ve carved out a bubble in the boardroom.
We could say anything to each other, and no one would care.
And yet, the most articulate thing to leave my mouth:
“How ‘bout that traffic?”
Rhys ducks his head, hiding a smile. “It sucks.”
“You braved it to come here?” I gesture to the title slide, The ASSET: The New Frontier projected on the wall. It’s a cringy title, though not as cheesy as my original version: The ASSET: What is it good for? Absolutely nothing.
Personally, I was little in love with it until Paulina, mashing her lips together in disapproval at my cringy millennial humor, offered to fine-tune my slide deck.
“Rumor has it that you’re entering Phase 2,” Rhys says, eyeing the projection dubiously. “I’ve never cracked Phase 2. Didn’t even know there was one.”
There he is. The Rhys I know and love (and love to hate). I’m not angry. I’ve grown accustomed to his stings and barbs and know exactly how to swat the ball he lobs into my court.
“There’s absolutely a Phase 2,” I sniff. “Maybe you need to brush up on your ASSET analyzing skills because I’ve discovered things that will blow your mind.”
Tipping his chair backward, Rhys laces his fingers behind his head. “This I have to see for myself.”
The invisible wall between us crumbles. My lips twitch. “Prepare to be enlightened.”
“I’m prepared to be something alright.” Suddenly, he sits forward.
“How goes it with... ahem.” Without turning around, he nods toward the other end of the conference table where Sam was holding court with stories of his scuba diving trip to Australia.
“Did he try anything? Send you anymore … photos?”
I shake my head. “Just the one,” I eye Sam, hoping he hadn’t overhead and somehow deduced that we’re talking about him.
Fortunately, he’s showing the man next to him the scar on his shin. “A run-in with a giant stingray,” Sam says.
Which he later harpooned and barbecued on his private beach.
“You can say I threw some ‘stingray on the barbie,’ Sam says in a godawful Aussie accent to the laughter of everyone around him. “I have some stingray jerky for all of you later. Made it myself.”
“Isn’t a stingray an endangered species?” someone asks.
“Is it?” Sam frowns. “Well, this one is…”
Did I tell you that I truly loathe Sam Rylan? As both a woman and a lover of marine life… Fuck him.
“I’m surprised you stayed,” Rhys says, watching my dark thoughts play across my face. “You look like you want to stab him in the neck.”
“I’m staying on general principle.” I clear my throat. “And out of spite.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll catch you up after the meeting.” Okay. Here’s my moment. I take a deep breath, “Lunch?”
I see a flicker of hesitation and immediately backtrack. “That is, unless you already have plans with Michelle...” I clear my throat, seizing my moment. “How... how is that going, by the way?”
Rhys turns red and sinks into his seat. “It’s a long story. I’ll catch you up afterward.”
Uh oh. Looks like he’s got a juicy story to tell.
“I look forward to it,” I say, nodding to my direct reports. “Okay, I’ve gotta—”
“Sure.”
I clap my hands together to get the room’s attention. “Let’s begin.”
Sam spares a glance from his phone to raise a fist in the air. “Synergy!”
By now, ‘synergy’ has lost all meaning. Everyone at Rylan uses ‘synergy’ for everything. You get someone a coffee: Synergy! You hand someone a stapler: Synergy!
“Synergy,” Rhys repeats with a roll of his eyes.
Ramin dims the lights, and a moody New Age soundtrack plays from my laptop. We had some time after lunch yesterday and curated a playlist for my presentation. It’s the attention to detail that makes us so good at our jobs.
“The ASSET.” I clear my throat and repeat in a more somber tone. “The ASSET.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Rhys mashes his lips together, his expression strained as he suppresses the urge to laugh. Frankly, I don’t see what’s so funny. The ASSET is no laughing matter.
Ignoring him, I pace as I’ve seen Ted Talk lecturers do. “You’ve seen how powerful the ASSET is, been blown away by what the ASSET can do...” Halting in front of the projection, I brace my hands on the conference table. “But are you ready for the new frontier?”
“Fuck yeah!” Sam pumps another fist in the air. “I’m pumped. Who else is pumped?”
The board members, while not an enthusiastic group, are cultish in their worship of their CEO. Suddenly there are nods of agreement, and the man to my left, bald and built like a brick shithouse, raises his hand. “Er... I am!”
Rhys quietly shakes his head, “Cocaine is a hell of a drug.”
“Behold! The ASSET: Phase 2!” I play a flashy video introduction to my introduction just to drive home how awesome Phase 2 is.
My direct reports worked their butts off to put together this montage involving clips from Scarface, ‘80s bros on jet skis, and space launches (all set to a thumping EDM soundtrack).
The vision behind this, according to Ramin, who edited the intro, is to remind the board members that they were masters of the universe.
Truth be told, I was strapped for material. This meeting could’ve been summed up in a short email:
Dear Shareholders,
Your stocks are projected to rise by $9.5 million by Q3.
You’re welcome,
Carina Wu, Director of ASSET Analytics.
Our montage’s motivational aim seems to be working. Sam is bobbing his head to the music, and while some of the board members are probably old enough to have witnessed the turn of the century, they’re staring at all those flashy images of money with a misty twinkle in their rheumy eyes.
As the intro plays, I make myself invisible in the corner, quietly cocooned in shadows, dead inside.
Rhys is the only one who notices me. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he arches a quizzical brow that asks, “What am I watching here?”
I answer with an apologetic shrug, embarrassed that he’s witnessed a major component of my job as a director: I kill time (with style) and metaphorically jerk off the egos of the board with promises of riches.
I want to whisper that we have a better intro after this intro, consisting of the meat and potatoes of Phase 2, when my personal phone vibrates.
Acting on autopilot, I glance at the preview on my lock screen.
CEO Grab Ass has sent an image
I immediately look towards the head of the table.
Sam’s attention is fixed cooly on the projection, his expression as innocent as can be, until he notices my eyes on him and responds with a clandestine curl of his lips, followed by a wink.
Oh no...
I tense in alarm.
Why did he wink at me?
We’re in the middle of a conference. I happen to be giving a presentation. He couldn’t possibly be this juvenile, unless... he gets off on harassing me in public.
Holding my breath, I open his text. “Oh, for the love of God...”