Page 9 of Only the Devil
You didn’t sign an employment contract, did you? If you’re holding onto one, have Pam in legal look it over. She can look out for any pitfalls given you plan to jump ship soon.
Aye aye, boss.
I finish speaking into the phone, check the text, and hit send.
As I cross the street, my gaze travels upward to the blue sky that serves as a backdrop to the glass facade. The building itself looks like any other office building in America, and this section of Reston, Virginia has lots of blocks with buildings that look just like this, but inside this particular structure, vultures thrive, preying on the vulnerable. And I’m going to gather all the evidence I need to lock those bastards up.
With that thought, I glide through the revolving door and step into the marble lobby. The woman sitting behind reception smiles at me, but doesn’t give any indication that I should check in. I have instructions to go to human resources on the fourth floor, and so I head to the gold trimmed elevator bank and press the up button.
Ms. Weaver told me that most people start around nine, so it’s not surprising there aren’t many people filling the lobby yet. I inhale, breathing in a mix of cleaning scent and the hint of coffee—probably my coffee.
I enter the elevator alone and watch as the floors rise. Unlike the office towers of downtown Chicago where I currently reside, at four floors, it’s tall for this block. In fact, this is one of the more congested sections of Reston, which is basically a DC bedroom community, or at least it was, until tech businesses mixed with the urban sprawl, creating a legit town center.
The elevator opens onto a floor of offices delineated by hallways. There’s no reception up here, but there are open cubicles layered in front of a select number of executive offices. I wander down until I return to Ms. Weaver’s office, where I both interviewed and was offered a job.
Only, this morning, her office door is closed. Her assistant, a middle-aged woman in a pink plaid suit, smiles as I approach.
“Daisy?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t think I met you when I was here before.”
“I only work three days a week. I’m Amy. Lillian asked me to get you set up in your office. She’s running late this morning, but she’ll come down to see you when she’s here. And you’ve got a day of meetings in front of you. I’ve got you scheduled to meet the department heads.”
She hops up from her seat, lifting a shiny silver folder with a Sterling Financial logo. “Since you’ll be working so closely with Phillip—practically a department of one—we thought you should meet the other department heads. That way, when you need anything…” Her smile brightens “...you’ll know exactly who can help you succeed.”
She passes me, folder pressed against her chest, headed back down the hall in the direction of the elevators.
The floor itself is eerily quiet, with most office doors closed, but Ms. Weaver, or Lillian as Amy calls her, did warn me the office is filled with commuters and the start time leans later. If I wanted to be superstitious, I could say that the office has Scorpio energy, meaning it’s secretive and withholding, but that doesn’t mesh with an afternoon of planned Q and A’s.
Amy takes me to the third floor, which has more life to it than the fourth. Open cubicles fill the center of the third floor, and closed-door offices line the perimeter. Amy leads me straight to an office with an empty name plaque. “Here we are,” she announces with a bright smile, leading me into a nice sized office with a window that takes up the entire back wall. Roller shades sit at the top, fully raised.
A metal and glass desk sits in the center, with a computer and a single monitor, and two guest chairs with chrome legs and black leather.
Amy sets the folder down on the center of the desk. “This here is everything you need to know about health insurance options. When Lillian comes down, she’ll take you through everything. I’ve stocked your desk with basic supplies, but if you need anything, you can buzz me. I'm extension 4342 and I’ll bring it to you.”
“Can I get an additional monitor?”
“You want two?”
“Yes. Two additional monitors would be perfect.”
“Three? That’s...ambitious for most people here.”
“If it’s an issue, I can bring mine from home.”
“No, no. No need. Mr. Sterling has two monitors. I guess when you spend a lot of time on the computer you just want more space.” She spreads her hands and that’s when I notice her nail color matches her suit. She’s trying hard to be perfect. I recognize the type—and the cost. “I’ll get right on it. Mr. Sterling said you’re going to do great things.”
With a smile she rushes out of my office. Her demeanor is strange, as is her clothing choice, but I can’t say there’s more to it than that she’s just different from me. Or maybe it’s a southern thing. I’m really not sure.
I peer outside my office and spot a young man with short hair, spectacles, and a navy-blue bow tie powering up his computer. His cubicle is directly across from my office. The cubicles don’t align directly with the doorway, so I can only see him when I exit my office.
“Hi. I’m Daisy.”
“I’m Ned.” He pushes up from his chair, but his phone lights up and rings, the sound particularly loud in the morning quiet. He’s quick to apologize, mouthing sorry, and then mumbling, “I have to get this.”
“Sure. No problem,” I say, stepping back into my sterile office. As someone who has long insisted on working from home, it’s difficult to ascertain if the unease that has me gripping my coffee like a lifeline stems from the situation, the place, or just a general dislike of offices.
With my coffee cup in hand, I stare across the street at the apartment building, scanning the balconies and windows, attempting to ascertain which unit is mine. But then I see him.
