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As the elevators open, I stride across the corridor and stop just in front of the large glass doors. Pulling my ID card away from my body via the retractable ID holder, I scan it and the doors are momentarily unlocked.
Already feels like home, I think to myself as I swing the heavy door open.
I had only began working here as an executive assistant three weeks ago – and by ‘here’, I was referring to the largest drugstore corporation in all of Canada. After only two fast-tracked virtual interviews and one in-person meet-and-greet, I found myself on the ninth floor of a twelve-story building, whose floors were filled solely with our company and one other.
I had always been in administration. Fresh out of university, I took an entry-level administrative assistant position – a glorified receptionist, of sorts, and kept at it until I had a many years of experience to move into executive administration. And while some still used this position as a steppingstone to move yet higher in any given company, I had always loved serving executives and everything that went along with it. No – for me, I was a career executive assistant, and I felt lucky to have had the opportunity to move into such a renowned company.
My past few weeks in my new office had been a blur of fifty handshakes and learning names I’d already forgotten, with fifty more still yet to be shaken and learned.
As overwhelming as taking a position in a new company was anywhere, this company and its people were so welcoming that I felt more comfortable here than I can recall feeling anywhere I’d worked before.
Newly arrived in Canada from Chicago – all thanks to a bad breakup and dual citizenship from my Canadian father – I had finally decided to make the move up north.
Now, don’t get me wrong – I had visited Canada more times than I could count as a child, taking family trips up this way during summer vacation. Canada had always felt like a second version of America, so to speak, but moving here and living here permanently was something altogether different; the people and the vibe were different – even if only slightly. The noticeable contrast was enough to remind me that this was, in fact, an entirely different country with its own set of rules, ideals, and values, but I couldn’t deny that I loved living here.
Even though I was still adapting to my new job, life, and country, Canada felt like a homecoming.
I turn left and make my way down the airy corridor, passing rows and rows of open desks before finally turning at the last row and settling at the desk by the large floor-to-ceiling windows.
Unpacking my laptop from my suede messenger bag, I look around at who was here today. Ever since the pandemic, our office was in a permanent hybrid state, so you never quite knew who you were going to run into on any given day, with the three mandatory in-office days being employee’s choice.
I sigh as I glance around at those already here. Everyone in this office was just so … beautiful.
This wasn’t an exaggeration, either. Almost all of my co-workers were almost exclusively in their late twenties to late-forties, and the majority of them seriously looked and dressed like they were actors in a film that only took place at an office.
As for me, at 5’6′ and moderately fit – neither an athlete nor a couch potato – I sported flat-ironed chestnut hair that fell down around my shoulders with deep brown eyes under naturally thick, long eyelashes which I always received compliments on. I also had a smattering of freckles and facial beauty marks, thanks to my Irish heritage. I wasn’t exactly homely – but I had never felt that I was America’s Next Top Model, either.
And, having worked with executives and higher-ups that were all almost over fifty and nothing yaşlı escort much to look at, this was a shift for me, no doubt about it. At thirty-five, I was smack-dab in the middle of the age range in the office and found it refreshing that I had a crowd of colleagues with whom I could more easily relate… even if their magazine looks and fashion forwardness did feel a bit intimidating.
After a few hours of sending and responding to emails, I feel myself begin to slow down.
Coffee, my brain orders.
I waltz into the large open-concept kitchen, one which looks like it came straight from the pages of Fortune magazine. This kitchen had everything – a professional-grade fridge with sliding doors for coffee creamers and lunches, six stainless steel microwaves, an in-counter water purifier, and an extra-long granite countertop that stretched along the length of the room. In front of this counter was an equally long island, holding coffee supplies on top and such.
It was incredible how simply working in such a stunning office as this made me feel like someone.
As I enter, my phone rings. Glancing down at the caller ID, I see that it’s my best friend from back home in Chicago.
I look around briefly and decide to answer, putting the phone call on speaker, noting the complete emptiness of the kitchen.
“I was just going to call you tonight,” I say into the phone.
“You busy? I just got out of a meeting and needed a break… that was another one that definitely could have been an email. What a waste of time,” Monica exclaims exasperatedly.
“I hate those. I’m just grabbing a coffee in the kitchen,” I reply as I make my way to the set of six high-end coffee makers, standing here for a moment while trying to decide which type I wanted.
“So how’s your first few weeks going? How you settling in?”
“I love it so far,” I gush. “Everyone has been so warm and helpful.”
“I’m happy for you,” Monica comments genuinely. “Have you met anyone yet?”
I scoff softly. “I’ve gone on a few Tinder dates,” pausing. “Everyone has been either completely wrong for me or a total mess.”
“How many girls have you gone on dates with since that last one? What was her name – Sabrina?”
“Heh, Sabrina was like two girls ago.” I pour the Colombian dark roast into my paper cup before setting it onto the countertop, just standing here again with my back turned to the room as I’m lost in thought.
I continue. “There was a girl after her that only confided she had kids with an ex-wife once we were at dinner… and then proceeded to complain about how shitty co-parenting with her ‘ex-wife from hell’ was – her words, not mine.” I laugh, and hear Monica echo me.
“So let me guess – that one didn’t see another date?” She jokes.
“Ding ding ding! Tell her what she’s won!” I exclaim sarcastically.
“And the girl after her?” she asks inquisitively.
“Ugh,” is my only response. “One of those lesbians with that fake swagger and forced confidence that used to be attractive in your twenties but is now such a turn-off in your thirties.”
“Mmm,” Monica murmurs. “The kind that’s like – dude, you’re thirty-seven… cocky is no longer sexy,” Monica adds. “It’s just sad.”
“Exactly,” I affirm.
I let out a deep sigh. “You know what, Monica? I think I’m done dating. From here on out, it’ll be just me and my vibrator, ’til death do us part… the only ‘woman’ I need in my life, really. Do you think they’ll marry a girl and her vibe in Vegas?”
I can hear Monica belly laugh on the other end of the line.
“Stop. Don’t give up, babe. Keep trying. She’s out there.”
“Mmmpfh,” is all I respond into the phone.
“Honestly, it’s times like these that I’m so glad to be married.” She pauses. “Only times like these, gaziantep yaşlı escort though,” chuckling sarcastically before continuing. “Hey, listen – I have to get back to it here. Call me next week?”
“You bet. Thanks for calling. Miss you.”
“Miss you, girlie,” she replies before hanging up.
I place my phone back into my pocket before sliding my coffee cup off the counter and spinning around towards the island. I go to take a step forward but immediately freeze in my tracks.
There’s a woman there, leaning against the island, phone in hand, casually scrolling through it.
She looks up when she notices my movement and offers a warm smile. Her electric blue eyes stare back into mine from across the way, and I feel my breath catch at their colour.
I take her in for a moment. This woman’s long dark hair is not quite black but not quite brown, cascading down to mid-chest or so, and is thick but straight and all one length.
While normally it would have seemed an outdated hairstyle, it somehow suited her somewhat lanky figure. Wearing grey slacks and a neatly tucked-in white blouse with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, I notice her olive-skinned hand holding an empty coffee cup in the hand not holding the phone.
I feel myself nervously smile back, still attempting to process what she may have heard. Given the fact that she was only leaning ten or so feet away coupled with the fact that Monica had been on speaker, I arrive at the conclusion that it was everything.
It wasn’t that my conversation was inherently inappropriate or crude that bothered me. Rather, I just preferred to keep my private life private; and while I was certainly as ‘out’ as they came, I never felt the need to announce to colleagues that I was a lesbian… or that these days, my vibrator was my bestie.
I find my feet again and make my way towards the island, stopping next to her as I reach for the sugar packets.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was in the kitchen.” I turn to look at her again. “Didn’t mean to block all the coffee, either.”
It’s only now that I’m standing next to her do I realize how much taller she is than me. She must be at least 5’10”.
“No harm done… I was just waiting to access it. Already on my third cup,” she smiles at me again as she shakes her empty cup in an exaggerated way. “Not exactly an emergency.”
I chuckle softly. “One of those days? I guess it is Monday, after all.”
“That’s exactly it.” She shifts the cup now to her left hand still holding the phone and extends her right hand out to me, moving out of her casual lean on the island and turning towards me.
“I’m Laura.”
“Oh! Nice to meet you. I’m Elizabeth.”
I quickly set down my stirring stick and take her warm hand into mine, and we linger for a moment as she flashes me another genuine smile.
“Likewise,” pausing. “You’re the new EA… American, no?” she states matter of factly.
“Yeah…” I trail off, surprised that she seems to know me.
Sensing the slight confusion in my voice, Laura explains. “I heard that Robert had hired an
‘Elizabeth’ to replace Rita after she retired, and he mentioned a bit about you, but I guess we just hadn’t crossed paths until now.”
“Oh. Right. Well, that’s me. I’m on week three,” I announce proudly.
Laura now moves across the to where the coffee makers are and pours the House Blend into her cup.
“Are you hanging in there? I’m know you’re probably getting hit with a lot here at the beginning – trust me when I say I know what that’s like – but we’re all here to reach out to if you need anything.”
Moving back over to where I’m standing, she proceeds to empty two creamers into her cup, stirring it before turning to walk out of the kitchen.
“Yeah, gaziantep yaşlı escort bayan I am… thanks, Laura…”
It dawns on me that I had no idea who this person was supposed to be. It also dawns on me that it appeared as though she thought I should.
Laura stops at the corridor, turning back. “Best thing to do is get involved with the company – network, make connections, join a Diversity, Equity I’m lost in thought as I find myself surprised that this beautiful woman – with whom I briefly interacted in the kitchen a few days ago, and who was just casually leaning against the island, patiently waiting for me to move the hell out of the way – was the senior vice president of our entire company.
That – and the fact that our new SVP had heard me talking about my vibrator in such detail was enough to cause me to panic.
I spend the next thirty minutes taking deep breaths and trying to convince myself that Laura no longer remembered our little interaction. Hell, I was just some random EA… there was no way she even remembered me.
These were the lies I told myself, anyhow.
Finally, people start to file out and the room clears.
I head for the door when I hear my name called. “Elizabeth!”
I turn towards the sound to find Robert waving me over to where he and Laura are standing.
I feel a surge of butterflies as I make my way across the room.
“Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Laura, our new SVP. You’ll be working with her from time to time, so keep an eye open for her communications. Anytime she needs something from you is a priority in and of itself.”
“Hi, Elizabeth,” Laura extends out her hand, a sparkle in her eye.
Thank god. She definitely doesn’t remember me. Or, was she just pretending that we hadn’t already met?
But then again – I guess we hadn’t, considering that I had no idea of who she actually was before today, nor had she ever bothered to offer up any formal introduction, either.
“It’s a pleasure,” I state. “I look forward to working with you.” I quickly drop my hand as I feel it begin to sweat.
Laura’s eyes ever so briefly close as she just smiles in response.
I turn to leave and descend the stairs to my floor.
I reflect on the possibility of working with her going forward, and the surge of butterflies hits me again. But why? Was it because of my phone conversation that was supposed to be private? She was clearly either too professional to remember or care, so I no longer did either.
No – maybe this was something else.
I picture Laura standing in front of me again, and my stomach tightens.
Okay – so I’m attracted to Laura, I admit to myself. But so what? Pretty women were a dime a dozen, and I didn’t usually tend to get nervous around them, even so. I had always considered myself to be fairly confident.
Anyway, Laura was like a company celebrity. Laura was the company, pretty much. And who was I, really? That – plus she was my boss’ boss. And she was older. And she was almost certainly straight.
I brush the confusion aside and busy myself with looking into travel arrangements for Robert’s upcoming trip instead.
After half an hour of trying to plan a complicated itinerary, my mind wanders back to my conversation with Monica.
Maybe she was right, though. Maybe I did need to keep trying. Or – at least, try to meet more people. Between settling into my new place in a brand new country and being swamped with a new job, I had barely had time for any social interaction beyond a few terrible Tinder dates.
Maybe that’s what the issue was – I was starved for some basic human interaction and just getting confused. Maybe that was all I needed to remedy.
*************
Room 809. I pull out my phone and bring up the Diversity, Equity & Inclusion webpage again, scrolling down to the LGBT group.
The first Tuesday of every month, room 809.
Yep, I was at the right place.
I pull open the door, cautiously peeking my head inside. There are around twenty people inside – both guys and girls – milling about. I approach them, and they welcome me enthusiastically as we trade introductions.