He jogged up, taking two steps at a time, and when he reached the top, he took a left. He passed by a small alcove and a line of executive offices. His sneakers were silent on the lush carpet. Ron’s assistant, Mary Ellen, was poised at her desk, lacquered nails tapping away on her keyboard. She was an elegant though hard woman, who took her job as sentry very seriously. If she did not want you to get to Ron, you didn’t get to Ron. Even Ron’s husband and partner, the CFO, Alan Altman, got turned away. She was not playing. No one was safe. Ryan held his breath while she called back, only exhaling when she waved him inside.
He stepped into the spacious office and smiled when he caught his boss’ eye. Ron had the same welcoming expression on his face that he’d had the first time Ryan met him. A little less than a year ago, Ryan had decided to attend a lecture on web design at a friend’s grad school in Philly. He’d been discontent with his job, feeling stagnate and bored, and he was hoping for some inspiration, maybe an idea or two on what he could do next. Ron’s presentation totally blew him away. The dapper businessman from New York encouraged the students to think about web design as a career choice, not because it was a growing industry or there was the opportunity to make lots of money, but rather because a web designer could actually make a difference in people’s perceptions. By designing a person or company’s website, your creative vision could and would dictate how people thought of that brand. It was an immense responsibility, but also deeply rewarding. Before Ron was even halfway done speaking, Ryan had already decided he was going to talk with the man that night. Six months later, he was the newest employee at Sharpe Designs and proud of it.
“Oh, good,” Ron said, standing up as Ryan entered. His coat was perfectly pressed even though he had been sitting, every hair in place. Ryan felt like a bit of a scrub with his faded jeans and black eye, but it was too late now. He had to just go with it. “I was hoping you’d be in around your usual time this morning.” He gestured to the guest chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit down.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, taking a seat. He rubbed his palms together, trying to get rid of the slight clamminess. “What’s going on?”
Ron grinned as Ryan sat. “That is a lovely black eye you have there. I hope you won.”
“I did.” Pride filled his heart once again. “I’m in the finals in two weeks.”
“Wonderful! Give the date to my assistant. Alan and I want to come.”
“That would be excellent,” Ryan said, deeply flattered that they’d want to see him fight. His new coworkers were unlike any he had worked with before. They actually seemed to care about one another. It was nice. Refreshing. “I’d love that.”
“Fantastic. We’ve very excited for you.” Ron leaned forward and folded his hands on the desktop. Ryan read the signs and sat up straighter. Small talk was over. It was business time. “I’ve been very impressed with the work you’ve done here, Ryan.”
Ryan blinked. This was not what he expected at all. “Thank you.”
Ron shuffled some papers on his desk, isolated a single sheet, and read it over before meeting Ryan’s gaze again. “I think it’s time for you to take on clients. I have the perfect one in mind. She’s coming in today. In a few minutes, in fact.”
Ryan’s mouth fell open. Today? No way. He was dressed like a bum, in pain, and worst of all, he was totally unprepared. “I don’t know anything about her.”
“It’s okay,” Ron said soothingly, obviously picking up on Ryan’s nerves. “It was a last-minute appointment. She was free, and I thought of you. I told her this would be just a consultation. You can go over with her all the things she would’ve normally filled out online. She’s not expecting any results yet.”
Ryan’s heart sped up in his chest. This was what he had been waiting for since the day he’d started with Sharpe. Finally, the chance to make something functional and beautiful and creative. He could not wait. “Who is she?”
“An author, named Grace Betancourt.” Ron flicked the mouse and called up something on his computer screen. “I’m giving you Kat Greer as the graphic artist on this one. Her role will be to set up the designs according to your and your client’s specifications, and advise you in any way she can about the general aesthetics.”
That was the best possible news. Kat Greer was the company’s top graphic artist. She’d won more awards than he could ever dream of even being nominated for. Ron was doing him a huge favor by letting him have her.
“Kat will meet with you and Ms. Betancourt today so she can get a sense of what the client is after and make you up some options to work with, but in the future, you will be meeting with her alone. You’ll still report to Dean, and he will advise you, but this is your project, Ryan. Total control.”
“This is amazing.” He was going to make something incredible for this woman. He couldn’t wait to meet her.
“I’m so glad. Kat is expecting you, and I’ve arranged for you to use The Conservatory for your interview. When Ms. Betancourt arrives, she’ll be shown in there.”
“Thanks.” Ryan always got a laugh out of the names of the meeting rooms here. The Conservatory, The Billiard Room, The Lounge. It may be an upscale firm, but it had a wonderfully geeky heart.
“I know it may seem that sending you out to meet a brand new client with a black eye probably isn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made, but as I’m sure your coworkers have told you, I have feelings about things. People.” He paused, held Ryan’s gaze. “And I have faith in you.”
Ryan was too blown away to respond. He knew Ron liked him, but this was crazy. He’d never been the kind of person to inspire faith in others. Yes, he was a hard worker, but he was a hard player as well—a fact that never escaped his former employers’ attention. He met Ron’s eyes once again and nodded to his boss, resolve thrumming in his heart. He was not going to squander this opportunity. When Ron rose to his feet, Ryan mirrored the action, shaking the other man’s hand hard.
Ryan left Ron’s office, his step light as he headed back down the hallway to the small alcove Kat Greer shared with his direct supervisor, Chief Programmer, Dean Kirkwell.
“Hey, Kat,” he called as he ducked into their inner sanctum. The seat beside her was empty. “Where’s Dean?”
Kat looked up at him from her desk, her cornflower-blue eyes expertly lined in black. She glanced over at the empty chair. “He’s meeting with your BFF in finance. Something about the Fisher account.”
Ryan laughed. Gwendolyn Pierce was murder to deal with. She had to be the most negative and cankerous person he had ever met. For no reason he could determine, she mildly tolerated him. She most certainly didn’t seem to like anyone else. “Wow, poor Dean.”
Kat nodded sadly, but there was a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “I just hope she returns him to me intact.” She sighed dramatically. “I do like him better that way.” She grabbed one of the legal pads on her desk. “Are you ready to go downstairs?”
“Yeah.” He was bouncing. His first project. He was going to make it great. “Any idea who this person is?”
“No,” she said. “A writer. Mysteries, I think. She’s got to be close with someone in the Family though. Ron asked me this morning if I could work on this. Appointments never happen that fast and anyone talking to Ron directly has got to be somebody.”
He stopped short. She had a point he hadn’t even considered. The Family, he’d come to learn, was what his coworkers called the mishmash of colleagues, friends, and lovers that comprised the Sharpe Designs world. If this woman was part of the Family in some way, then this was even bigger than he expected. He really had to make an impression. This was a huge chance. The best kind of nerves jangled his system, very much