I knocked timidly on the door to Mr Melo's office, opening it when I heard "Enter." I'd been summonsed to a client meeting... My first, to take minutes and ensure there was a clear record of decisions. I didn't know what to expect, as I tried to walk in confidently... to seize the opportunity. I was wearing a short flared grey skirt and peach blouse with the top two buttons undone, three-inch stilettos and glossy black stockings, feeling smart but feminine.
Mr Melo's office was beautifully decorated with a wooden desk and black leather chair in front of ornamental shelves at the far end. Directly as one walked in, there were brown leather Chesterfield couches and chairs encircling a modern thick pile feature rug. Mr Melo was seated in front of the picture windows overlooking the bay, a bald man with an unremarkable oval face, loose jowls and matching flabby physique. But his dark eyes were alive and intelligent, always making me feel like he was looking right through me, exposing my thoughts.
To his right, were two men I had never seen before. They were dark skinned older men, so I assumed they must be the clients from India, here to discuss the large telecoms programme I'd hear about in the corridors. Nicolas was sitting casually on a couch across from them, sipping coffee as if he belonged. Unlike me, or at least that's how it felt...
Mr Melo continued talking as I entered, while all four of them glanced over to me standing uncertainly at the edge of the circle, waiting for instructions or hopefully an invitation. They all undressed me with their eyes, lingering over my feminine assets, hungry looks of men who felt entitled to taking whatever they wanted.
I blushed at the scrutiny and looked away, slightly embarrassed as I noticed two other women, tall and gorgeous... one platinum blond, the other rich auburn, standing demurely at attention just outside the circle of chairs. They were dressed in micro miniskirts with loose cowlneck sleeveless tops in diaphanous fabric and towering heels, the typical attire of what I'd come to know as 'coffee girls'...
Junior admin staff who seemed to do nothing except attend meetings, get refreshments and carry papers for the senior executives. They kept to themselves on the C-suite floor, so I had not really talked to any of them. But even more strangely it seemed like they revolved, with a constant supply of new women. I'd asked about them and been told cryptically that catering and entertainment had been outsourced and they were deployed as and when needed.
After what felt like an eternity of being ogled, Nic patted the seat of the couch next to him, indicating with his eyes that I was to sit beside him. As Mr Melo carried on about planned engagement with government officials, I took my seat, trying valiantly to prevent my far too short skirt from revealing too much. I sank into the low couch, causing my knees to elevate above my hips. The smirking expressions on the faces of the clients as they stared unabashed at my legs told me they hoped I didn't succeed.
I smoothed my skirt over my side-crossed legs, all the while awkwardly holding onto my notebook computer, trying to project competent professionalism, rather than the insecurity eating away at my confidence. I smiled politely, trying to follow the conversation, not sure what I was supposed to do.
Eventually Mr Melo turned to me and said, "Morning Lucia, we were just concluding an engagement with Dr Patel and Mr Babu."
"Yes, Sir." I acknowledged, not sure why I called him that, except that I felt like a schoolgirl in front of the headmaster and it seemed appropriate.
They both nodded at me, greeting my boobs as I mumbled "Pleased to meet you."
"I'll summarise the key points of agreement for you. Then I want a memo for signature before lunch." Mr Melo instructed, and almost as an afterthought. "Do you want a coffee?"
"Yes please, Sir." I felt like I was being included in the inner circle with that simple offer, so there was no way I wasn't going to accept. I hesitated for a second, not knowing if I should get it myself or ask one of the 'coffee girls' instead. It seemed neither, because Mr Melo just clicked his fingers and uttered a single word "Americano".
I was taken aback by the dismissive authority in that action, commanding the girls without even acknowledging them, as if they were purely there to attend and serve his needs. It felt powerful to be included with those who get to give orders. This was what I wanted in life. To be part of the elite, secure in the knowledge that my directions would be followed. To be someone important...
He immediately launched into a series of points which I frantically noted, complex arrangements and names I was not entirely sure about. But I valiantly tried to keep up, typing a couple of pages of notes as he spoke.
He didn't even pause when one of the girls arrived less than a minute later with my coffee. She curtsied respectfully while her eyes remained downcast, almost fearful, placing the cup on a small table beside the couch, because I was too busy writing to take it. As she bent, taught stockinged legs impossibly straight in her heels, her skirt rode up on her bottom to reveal a hint of lace at the top of her stockings. Even more surprising was the sight of her pert breast and a glimpse of nipple through the gaping armhole as her loose blouse fell forward, without her making any attempt to preserve her modesty. She spent unnecessarily long displaying herself in that position, as if she had been taught to perform for others' visual enjoyment. I was momentarily distracted as a shiver of superiority ran up my spine, with the realisation that this was the girl's job as 'office eye candy'.
Balancing my computer on my lap was awkward, with the two clients gazing between my legs. I had no option but to let them part slightly for stability as I typed. Trying to concentrate on the words and not let the embarrassment distract me was all I could do for those few minutes. But at least I was a professional... in this office because of my brain and my abilities, not my physical assets, unlike the two unfortunate coffee girls...
As he concluded his points, he looked over at the two clients and asked. "Does that capture everything, gentlemen?" And then when they confirmed, he told me. "Go and sit at my desk and finish the memo. Nic, you check that she gets it right. Okay?"
I had my instructions, so rising carefully so as not to flash them again, I made my way to the other side of the room. He started chatting to the other men... I sat down at his desk, bare except for a computer on the one side and a pile of documents on the other, the one on top with a government stamp and CONFIDENTIAL in red text across the front. How could he have access to confidential government documents? Was that even appropriate?
"We'll be going to dinner at our private club tonight. I have no doubt you'll love the entertainment." He chuckled crudely, as if sharing a private joke. "Have you seen Brazilian dancing? Cabaret?"
My mind wandered at the way he said, 'private club', as if it were something special, only for select guests. I knew I was not being invited, but would Nic? I shook my head figuratively, realising those types of thoughts were not useful. They were distracting and self-defeating. I had work to do and the chance to impress. As I started typing the memo, I heard a mumbled comment from one of the men "No, but we're looking forward to it."
"Well then, let's have a preview... while we wait." Mr Melo said as he clicked his fingers again, obviously a trigger for the girls, because they immediately sashayed onto the carpet, rolling their hips and shaking their breasts in time to some imaginary music in their heads, fake smiles pasted on their faces as they began dancing...
