It was Monday morning and Cara was staring at her computer screen without really seeing. Her mind spun with too many thoughts. She could barely sleep last night, worried about her mother. And selfishly, she couldn't stop wondering why Mark had never called. Even Jay was out of the office for a breakfast meeting so she had yet to find out why he had called. Her calls to him last night had gone unreturned.
She pulled her cell phone out of her bag, once again checking for missed calls. None. Cara then went to her call history, still not believing Mark wouldn't call. There it was: a call from an unknown number at 7:50 PM. But it appears that it had been answered. How could that be? Cara's heart beat with excitement.
Just then the phone rang on her desk rang, Cara jumped. She looked at the caller ID and saw Ruth Johansson's name. Her heart stopped. Ruth was Mr. Jamison's personal assistant; getting a call from her was like getting a call from Jamison himself.
"Hi, Ruth. Cara Redmond here," Cara said in her most professional voice.
"Cara, Mr. Jamison would like to see you," Ruth's polished German accent made this simple statement a command.
"Of course," Cara tried to sound casual but her heart was beating wildly.
Cara heard the click as Ruth ended the call. She looked around her desk in a panic. What could Jamison want? She grabbed a slim note pad and the Mont Blanc pen her sister had given her as a graduation present, and thought for a moment about grabbing her Mac.
She knew she was wasting time so she decided against to laptop and bolted for the elevator. Once inside, she glanced at her reflection in the mirrored walls. She smoothed her dark hair, checked her teeth and wished she had put a little lip color on as all the color had drained from her face.
"Shit!" she exclaimed. She had forgotten to put on her jacket, but there was no time to go back.
As the elevated raced smoothly to the executive level on the 33rd floor she took several deep calming breaths and said a quick prayer, "Please don't let it be anything bad."
She had never been to 33, so she had no idea what to expect. The elevator doors opened and Cara let out a small gasp. The lobby looked like a museum. It was opulently decorated with enormous modern paintings in shining wood frames. Cara knew little about art but she was sure she recognized a Kandinsky that could have easily hung in the Met.
She stood frozen in the lobby unsure of where to go. Her mild panic was becoming full blown as seconds ticked by.
Out of nowhere Ruth appeared. She was close to six feet tall, a European beauty. Her hair was platinum blonde and perfectly straight, falling midway to her back. Only the crow's feet around her icy blue eyes belied her age, but they too seemed to add to her beauty rather than detract. She had on an elegant jewel green wrap dress whose neckline plunged deeply, accentuating her stunning figure. Cara gazed at her in awe.
Ruth spoke with a hint of impatience, "This way, Miss Raymond." She led Cara down a hallway to her desk which was positioned outside of Mr. Jamison's office. Cara had to walk quickly to keep up with Ruth's stride.
Ruth stopped at her desk, turned and looked disapprovingly at Cara. She leaned over and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulled out a neatly folded gray cashmere wrap and handed it to Cara. Cara looked at her dumbly, not understanding. "Oh, thanks!" she said, finally getting the fact that Ruth was saving her ass. Cara flung the wrap around her shoulders and looked at Ruth for approval. Ruth gave her the smallest of nods. Cara gave her a grateful smile.
Ruth picked up her phone and spoke to Mr. Jamison in French. Cara caught only her name. Ruth replaced the receiver and said, "Mr. Jamison will see you now." She glanced in the direction of the office behind her, to indicate Cara should go in. Cara took a deep breath and strode over to the door, and tapped lightly.
"Mr. Jamison, you asked to see me?" she tried to make her voice sound confident, but it came out in a whisper.
"Raymond, come in," Jamison rasped. He sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, which was bare, with the exception of a few neatly folded newspapers and two lap tops. He was holding the Financial Times, the pink paper that had fascinated Cara as a child.
Jamison continued to read the Times for a few moments while Cara stood uncomfortably. "Why don't I know who you are?" he said, without looking up from the newspaper. Cara detected a slight Irish brogue.
"I've only been here two years, sir. I'm still a junior associate, so I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you yet," Cara died inside. Did she really say "the pleasure of meeting you"?
Jamison looked up over his glasses at her, and grinned. His heft made him unattractive, but his smile tempered his unpleasant countenance.
"How did you come up with a three year return on investment for NCR Plastics? That piece of shit company should be torched." He growled.
"I, um, well," Cara stammered, trying to think back to her well-memorized presentation from Friday. She had committed it to memory but now she was too terrified to think.
"Management just came out on top of their negotiations with union members , which freed up capital to further invest in R&D. If NCR obtains the patent they're pursuing on the new polymers they'll be in the position to bring to market a viable competitor to the polyurethane produced by EVCO Plastics, and wreck their monopoly. Once they obtain approval and start production I think in three years they can run in the black."
"What if the patents rejected? Their R&D has always been years behind the competition," Jamison said self-satisfied. He crossed his arms over his vast chest and leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight. "NCR is dead in the water."
"it won't be," she stammered. Oh my God, she thought, I'm contradicting the owner of my company. I'm dead. "The patent is currently under review; and from what I've read the approval is days away."
"So you're saying I'm wrong," he smirked, enjoying watching her squirm.
"I'm sorry sir, but yes," she whispered.
Jamison grinned and spun one of his laptops to face her. The web headline read "NCR Plastics patent application approved through the US Patent and Trademark Office."
"Congratulations, Ms. Raymond."
"Yes!" she celebrated.
"Good work. Somehow you saw this coming. Unusual for a junior associate to have long term vision,"
"Thank you, Sir. I've been watching their work over the last two years and I believe their research capabilities are tremendous for a small company."
"So you're saying to leave our client's money with them,"
"Yes sir, I am," she said now confident.
The phone buzzed and Ruth's voice could be heard over the intercom, speaking in slow, careful French. Jamison responded awkwardly, his French halting and virtually unrecognizable because of his Irish accent. With Jamison distracted, Cara finally relaxed enough to glance around the office. Her eyes rested on an enormous oil painting which hung directly behind Jamison and his desk. It was a painting of a beautiful girl in riding gear, standing in front of a split rail fence, a huge Irish wolfhound seated next to her. The girls hand rested on the dog's head; both looked haughtily from the canvas.
"Oh let's just drop it for now, Ruth. I'm so sick of French I may cancel this trip," he growled. "Don't know why I bother," he mumbled to himself. "Every Frog speaks English." he seemed to have forgotten Cara was in the room.
She cleared her throat to remind him of her presence.
"oh yes, Redmond," he said, slightly flustered. Cara didn't bother correcting him; she rather enjoyed seeing a somewhat more human side.
"Whose associate team was it that you are on? Do they still do that team nonsense downstairs anyway?
"Yes, Mr. Jamison. My team leader is Jay - I mean Jason Smerling."
"Ah, Smerling," he smiled. "A good lad."
Cara smiled, happy for Jay. "I like working with Jason." she both meant it and wanted to appear a team player.
"I bet you do," Jamison smirked. The double entendre was not lost on Cara but she chose to ignore it. She saw his eyes roaming over her.
"Who is the young lady in the portrait?" she asked, hoping to change the direction the meeting was headed.
"That's my daughter, Erin. Takes after her old man, eh?" he cackled, but watched Cara for her reaction.
"She's lovely," Cara avoided the bait. And so familiar, Cara thought to herself.
Ruth buzzed again, this time using her perfect English, "Mr. Jamison, Mr. Cranston is on hold."
"Hm. Okay. Redmond, I thought after your presentation we should meet. I usually don't involve myself in our junior staff but you're a pleasant surprise." His smile was part leer.
"Thank you, Mr. Jamison," Cara said proudly. Jamison waved her away; she turned to leave.
"Oh and don't forget to give Ruth her shawl back. Next time you come to this floor, dress appropriately." Jamison turned back to his paper and Cara slunk out of the office.
When she got downstairs Cara rushed to Jay's office to share the good news, but he wasn't back yet. Knowing Jay he was out to an early liquid lunch. Even though he was still junior Jay was given the latitude of a senior associate.
Cara went back to her desk and took out her phone. She was too excited and had to share her meeting with Jay. She went into her old calls to retrieve his number, but the first number her eyes fell upon was Mark's. Who to call first?
She decided Jay could wait. She held her breath, tapped the number and hoped Mark would be on the other end.