Duane had found a note on his desk, calling him in to Grace's office that morning, or more accurately, Grace's new office, reflecting her new role as CEO. They were typically the two to show before everyone else in the office, reflecting each's bid for the position she now held. They both started in the company around the same time as younger interns, knew of each other, was always cordial, silently found one another attractive enough to steal furtive glances every so often, until they both got lost in different departments.
Years later, they both found themselves at the executive level, both hungry in their careers for levels higher than what they'd already achieved. As their parents warned them, managers among other managers were more about politics, more cutthroat, especially in Grace's case as she was one of a few females who'd ever climbed the ladder so high. Everyone knew she had her eye on breaking that glass ceiling, which seemed to bring out the misogyny in her competition. It seemed to come from so many directions sometimes, but Grace didn't let it deter her once. The retiring CEO, Mr. Knowles, operated in unconventional ways, including when it came to the protocol of nominating successions, but he made so many good moves that no one argued with his decisions, and none among the board of directors disagreed with the choices he had in-mind. Nominating Grace was unconventional since she wasn't the most senior exec, but it was logical as nearly no one produced better results than her, so once he had Grace's perfect work in his eye, she had a good lay of the land, to know who thought what about her, who to stay away from, etc. More often than not, the only one she didn't have to worry about playing dirty was Duane, who was actually a more considerable threat with work also considered perfect as well.
Mr. Knowles had an eye for haters and schemers too, eventually helping to narrow the field. After a dozen left in the dust, it was just Grace and Duane vying for the top.
She remembered the one time, shortly after it was made known that it would be one of them to be promoted, where they ran into each other in the break room. They smiled cordially at each other like usual, but instead of running off to finish whatever work or crisis needed handling, she decided to engage him.
"Remember that old boss we had, Withers?"
She asked Duane as if out of the blue. His brow raised, and the memories of the first boss he could ever remember hating popped up in his head. It got him to laugh.
"Ugh, yeah. What a first bastard-I mean boss to have."
"Duane," she faux chided "You dare speak of a company fixture like that? 'You'll most certainly pay for that.'"
She quoted Withers most ridiculous antiquated threat to any intern that would cross an arbitrary line with him, and what made every intern mock him behind his back every chance they got. That opened Duane up to a good laugh and trip down memory lane, as was Grace's intent. At that point, he looked like crap, and could use a reason to smile. She knew he was the glue that was holding his department together, barely, which is what caught the CEO's eye of course, an exec succeeding despite being dealt a shitty hand.
After a light-hearted laugh and taking a long sip of his coffee, Duane suddenly got candid with her.
"Look, uh, I know we're both racing to the top, but I wanted to say that I'm glad it's you I'm racing. You do really good work, and if any one has earned it, other than me," he laughs, getting her to chuckle too. "it's you. It'll be especially great if you break that glass ceiling."
He spoke a little more about their competing and how far each might go, but Grace in her years of experience scanned his face as he talked. Hers was a mask of politeness and consideration, but her eyes were hawkish, looking for any subtle tick or tell that would give him away, that would make what he's saying less genuine than he meant it to seem. It would upset her to see someone who started in this company a genuinely good guy slip into the trappings of slimy corporate ambition. It pleased her to assess his face and body language match his words, with the exception of how she noticed even more how much he needed that coffee, as if to stay vertical.
"Well, you could always step aside and hand me the hammer to break it," she laughed to emphasize how she was truly joking.
"No can do, Grace. You've got a competitor in me till the very end," he laughed back a little, eyes fluttering as if trying to give himself a "stay awake" pep talk, something she noticed and regarded as cute.
"Well, thank you for your kind words, and being worthy competition," her hand outstretched, specifically the one opposite his that held the coffee mug. He set it down and took her hand. She shook it as firmly as he did, and gently moved in a circular motion, just enough to not make him tense and recoil, but enough that he would notice. She held it gently and left the firmness to him, making slightly wider then suddenly tighter circles, adding a pulling back and forth motion between them.
Duane looked at her hand and then her to see a ghost of a small smile, lost in what she was doing, waiting for the punchline of whatever joke was being played. It came right before she was going to pull his arm back towards her.
"SLEEP."
The word was whispered sharply while jerking his arm abruptly, his forehead resting on her shoulder, repeating it over and over, holding his obviously sleepy body up, whispering more words that kept his legs strong enough to stand, and words that kept his head asleep enough like it wanted to be that time of night, comfortably taking the deeper meaning of her words all the while. He smiled, practically nuzzling her shoulder as she relaxed him completely.
It was like a second passed when he rose his head to see her in-front of him, like his head just bobbed up and down.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, yeah..." Duane tried convincing her. "Just a long day is all."
"Which ones aren't?" she queried, getting both to laugh again.
"Too true. Ok, better go finish up before I crash. Have a good one Grace." He spoke, walking away feeling better than he did before he got his coffee. It was his usual cup and blend, so he attributed it to talking to Grace. She stimulated him enough that the tail-end of the day didn't seem so bad. He found himself hoping that he would have a chance to have more stimulating conversation like that in the future.
In the following weeks, especially when things got harder than ever, his hopes were granted. When they were the last two at the office, it seems like they always met at the same time in the break area, speaking over coffee, light-hearted discussion that lifted his spirits. He silently relied on those moments, waiting hours for the sun to go down, signalling the opportunity to talk with Grace. His body complained of needing sleep always at the same time, and Grace would just smile at him, totally understanding. She would know better than any what made him so tired, he swore it was her understanding voice in his head letting him flutter away, teasing the sleep he wanted. How much of it was teased was always relative; a minute could seem like an hour, or an hour could seem like a second.
On at least two business trips, he'd dreamed nightly of being in that hotel room, awake and talking to Grace over the phone. Just listening to her drone on about this or that, and he could fall deeply asleep to that. Her words would turnout to be guiding him to a softer place than any hotel bedding more mattress was capable of providing. He couldn't believe how his body responded to that softness, in juxtaposed excitement. He breathlessly, mindlessly mentioned how it felt in that regard, and baited breath was on the other line, taking in the implications, soon returning to that understanding made it ok to feel, to react as he liked. The baited breath returned longer once her words took him deeper, past the inevitable eruption. She waited for him to finish, spending long seconds searching for the right words to say; eventually it became words of embracing that feeling, enhancing it, telling him how the day's troubles couldn't match up to it, and how that pleasure seemed totally natural. It was much easier for his mind to comprehend it at a later out-of-town trip as she understood even more than before about the softness; he could hear it in their shared breathlessness.
One particular night at the break area, she brought up the concept of the glass ceiling.
"Duane, is it weird that I kind of like the idea of a glass ceiling?"
"Umm..." he tried choosing his words carefully. "I have to admit I've...never heard a woman say that."
"Yeah, I'm kind of an outlier just by saying that. But I don't really mean the glass ceiling that's meant to keep women or minorities out. I mean one that only lets the really worthy ascend past it, a glass ceiling so high that only a special kind of worthy could even reach high enough to touch it. It certainly not like those man-made class ceilings of the good old boys days, the ones where all you need is the right look and a handshake to get it."
Grace extended her hand, and Duane automatically took it.
