"Go on through - he's expecting you. I'll buzz him to let him known you're on your way up."
Kristy smiled nervously back at the receptionist, who sat stern faced, clad in a severely cut suit. Her whole manner seemed to disapprove of Kristy and the slight backward tilt of her head, prominently displaying her nostrils indicated that she clearly felt that Kristy had no business even setting foot in her office, let alone the President's.
"Through here?" queried Kristy, nodding towards two immaculately polished swing doors, situated behind and to the right of the receptionist's desk. It was more an attempt to make conversation, to get some flicker of humanity from the harridan on the desk, to put her at her ease. After all, she must know how nervous Kristy felt.
None of the other young women busy working on pcs, or writing copious longhand notes at their own desks looked up or even acknowledged Kristy's presence in the 19th floor office- or the 'Inner Sanctum' as workers on the lower floors referred to it.
"Yes. Go on through and up the stairs at the end of the corridor. Mr Thulgar does not like to be kept waiting," clipped the receptionist icily, giving a barely discernible nod of her head in the direction of the doors.
"Thank you so much," said Kristy briskly, fighting to suppress her anger at being treated like some office junior. If this was the attitude of the staff on the 19th floor, she wasn't sure she wanted to be a part of their team - if, indeed, this was a proposition on offer. But then again, she mused as she pushed the doors open, noticing how soundlessly they moved on well-oiled hinges over a rather plush, dark blue carpet, why would the President ask her to compile the report and bring it to him personally, if not to offer her some sort of promotion?
As she walked along the corridor, her stomach fairly fluttering with butterflies, Kristy recalled how, just a week ago, she'd been called aside by her supervisor and told about the special assignment, sent down from the President of the company.
"Mr Thulgar requires cost projections for the next quarter, based on our performance in the electronic media market," Sarah had said, rather awestruck herself. "The thing is Kristy, he's specifically asked you to prepare the report."
"M-Me?" Kristy had stammered, wondering what could possibly have brought her to the President's attention. "I - I'll be glad to, yes, glad to, b-but I've got the Henderson account to prepare and -."
Sarah waved her hand impatiently. "I'm taking you off the Henderson account - with no loss of bonus," she added smoothly, "I'll get young Jason to do it. Time he had a chance. No, I want you to concentrate fully on the President's report from now on. You've got full access to all records and databases, he's approved your higher security clearance for the duration of this project."
Kristy almost said "Wow", but tempered her excitement and instead asked how long she had to complete what was after all, a major undertaking.
"One week exactly," Sarah replied. "The President's office will let us know where and when to deliver the report. He's specifically said it's for his eyes only, so I'm not even to check it for you." Kristy couldn't help but smile. She was good at reading body language and faces in particular. Sarah liked to think she had a poker face, but the thinness of her lips and the set of her shoulders indicated that she was pretty ticked off at this affront to her seniority.
That had been a week and a lifetime ago. So here she was, seven days down the line, on an unremarkable, but at the same time extraordinary Tuesday morning, approaching the President's office with the precious report, neatly compiled and bound in a brown folder, tucked under her arm. It had taken several late nights, working until gone ten, and all weekend, but she'd finally finished it. The detailed, yet concise report, with all its cost projections, fiscal analysis and cross-referencing, had been completed on Sunday evening. Monday had been spent printing it up, indexing and annotating where necessary and binding the whole thing together. Hopefully, there'd be a fat bonus in this for her, not least for the overtime hours worked, but, better than that, maybe a promotion to the 19th floor. After all - and her close workmates speculated openly about this - why would Mr Thulgar have asked Kristy to not only compile the report but to bring it to him personally?
Kristy reached the end of the wood panelled corridor and walked up a small, curving flight of carpeted stairs to the 20th floor, the President's own domain. Very few workers had ever ventured up here - certainly not as a matter of course, and very few people knew exactly what was up here. Of course, the President had his own private office there, but he was also alleged to have private living quarters there too. In any event, the whole suite was accessible only via the Inner Sanctum on the 19th floor or, in the President's case, via a private elevator from the lobby or via helicopter on the roof.
The stairs gave on to another corridor; this time carpeted in a green plush pile, and with tasteful paintings in the impressionist style along the oak panelled walls. Kristy swallowed nervously. She couldn't remember feeling as nervous as this in many years and she certainly hadn't felt this nervous during her interview for her first junior position at the company seven years before when she'd come there straight from university.
Oh yes, she was well qualified, no doubt about that. She'd continued her education via various study courses and evening classes whilst working her way up to Senior Account Manager. It had been hard work, but well worth it, with an enviable salary and an apartment overlooking Central Park. Boyfriends had been few and far between, although she hadn't sacrificed her looks - or her occasional needs - for the sake of the job. But domesticity and a family of her own were not in her game plan this side of thirty. She was well thought of in the company, trusted and sought after by clients. Maybe now all that hard work had paid off and Mr Thulgar, nobody's fool as the success of his business had proven, had noticed her. The report was clearly a test of her mettle; as such a report would normally be compiled in three days by a team of accountants and cost analysts.
Well - if there was a Vice Presidency in the offing, or a post on the 19th floor, Kristy was more than ready for it.
And now here she was, standing in front of the big double doors, situated halfway down the corridor. A small brass plaque on the right hand door indicated 'N Thulgar - President'. Cursing her own nervousness, Kristy brushed any specks of dust off her neatly tailored suit, checking that all the buttons on her jacket were fastened, adjusted the collar of her white blouse and smoothed down her knee-length skirt. Her patent leather court shoes gleamed, her light stockings the perfect contrast to the dark blue of her suit. Her hair was neatly pinned back, but with just a few wisps dangling down, framing her face. Attractive, yet business-like.
She took a deep breath and, still feeling like a student summoned to the principle's office, rapped smartly on the door. Three knocks, not too loud, nor too hesitant. The sort of knocks that indicated a confident manner and sense of purpose.
She waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. Long seconds dragged by. Maybe the President was talking on the telephone - but inclining her head slightly she could hear no sound from beyond the doors. Maybe he'd left via his private elevator. But he should be expecting her. The summons to his office had been set for 11 am prompt.
What should she do? Should she knock again? Should she go back down to the 19th floor and risk telling the harpy on the reception desk that the President wasn't answering?
Swallowing hard, Kristy poised her knuckles over the door, ready to knock again.
"Enter!"
She stopped her knuckles from connecting with the door with about a quarter of an inch to spare. What would he have thought of her if she'd knocked again just as he'd bid her enter?
Squaring her shoulders, Kristy twisted the solid brass door handle and pushed the right hand door open, realising that she was, indeed, entering into the unknown.
The door slid silent open admitting Kristy to a surprisingly large office - or at least it appeared to be large. The sparse - some might say Spartan - furnishings gave an impression of space. As Kristy walked forward purposefully, her eyes quickly scanned the office. To the left, most of the wall was taken up with simple wooden shelves, upon which, tightly packed, were various box files, bound reports and, surprisingly, what appeared to be a large number of leather bound, obviously antique books. To the right, various abstract prints lined the walls, whilst on low, polished tables sat a fax, a xerox machine and a coffee percolator, with cups and saucers neatly stacked next to it.
Straight ahead was a large window, vertical blinds half open, admitting enough sunlight to illuminate the highly polished wood of the vast, solid antique desk directly in front of it. A large, black leather executive chair sat behind the desk, its back facing Kristy, the occupant obviously facing the window, his elbows just visible resting on the chair's arms.
As though sensing Kristy's progress towards the desk, the occupant slowly swivelled the chair round, bring Kristy face to face with Mr Thulgar, the company President. She stopped, a discreet couple of steps in front of the desk, momentarily taken aback by the striking - arresting - presence of the man sitting in front of her.
Of course, she'd seen the President's photograph in the company annual report and portfolio, but the nearest she'd come to seeing him in the flesh was watching him from the far side of the lobby as he strode outside to his waiting limousine. But this was no substitute or seeing him up close.
To start with, he was a big man - not fat, but solid, rather muscular, well proportioned, with broad shoulders, dressed in an immaculate, well-cut suit, with a white shirt, silk tie and, she noticed gold cufflinks - tasteful, not in any way ostentatious. He had a stern, craggy face, his grey hair cropped short so as to almost render him bald, his skin tanned but not ridiculously so, more the kind of tan which came from outdoor pursuits such as sailing - certainly his skin was weather beaten, but not unattractively so. Perhaps the most disconcerting thing about Mr Thulgar, however, was his eyes. Blue, like frozen pools of the deepest ocean, the dark eyebrows above framing them and channelling their piercing stare directly into Kristy's eyes, boring deep, as though probing her every secret thought.
