Chapter 3

3

DES

E very time I push through the doors of the battered building Williams Security inhabits downtown on Water Street, it's like coming home. I don't know how Jo managed to wangle a spot in this place, but I love being in this small tatty 1920s building surrounded by gleaming skyscrapers with Wall Street around the corner. Like we're nibbling away at the foundations of these financial institutions, and they will eventually collapse all around us.

When I head up the stairs on Monday morning, the door gives when I shoulder it. Someone is already in, and a buzz races through me: Who's here so early? When James pops his head out of the kitchen at one end of the high-ceilinged office and smiles at me and waves, my face breaks into an irrepressible grin. He's the third corner of the triangle that runs this company: Jo heads it up, and he and I run around like headless chickens making it all work. He wasn't here on Friday when I came in, and I haven't seen him in person for nearly three months. The joy of no longer living out of a suitcase and being back at my desk in this glorious city almost flattens me as I head into the kitchen. James waves a cup at me, and I nod.

Once he's pressed the button on the machine, I can't resist wrapping my arms around him.

"So good to see you, man."

"Likewise," he mumbles, hugging me back before pulling back with a grin. "Zoom calls are not the same, and the office has been insufferably quiet since you left." He steps away and picks his coffee up from the counter, lifting it to his mouth. "When did you arrive back?"

"Friday. Early o'clock."

By rights, I should be exhausted. Too many late nights and I've only been home for a few days. I'm running on adrenaline.

"Happy to be back?" he says. "Lots of plans for partying?"

I laugh and run my hands over my hair. That date last night was awkward, and I don't do awkward. Usually, I can overcome any difficulty by charming the pants off someone, often literally. What was up with that Alex guy? New York is so full of weirdos sometimes. I had a restless night in bed on my own, and that's so goddamn unusual for me.

"Yeah, it's fantastic to be back."

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and he laughs.

"Back on the scene so soon, Des?"

James is well versed in both my clubbing and my dating life, or, more honestly, my hookup life.

I nod. "I had an odd date last night, though."

His eyes brighten behind his glasses. "Already?"

"I swear this guy just wanted to take the whole thing slow." And that whole odd conversation about whether I did exclusive. Maybe I gave him the wrong impression. Being exclusive is important to me if I'm in a relationship, but that kind of commitment is a long way from Grindr.

He snorts. "Didn't he pick up from your pre-hookup communication that slow isn't exactly your middle name?"

"No! He didn't, and I'm not sure why he met up with me TBH."

"Was he cute?"

Damn, he was. Lovely dark hair, artistic fingers, whatever they are, and that long straight nose.

"He was gorgeous. In any other circumstance …"

My phone vibrates in my pocket again.

"No go?" James asks.

I wrinkle my nose. "It's hard to see how we'd be compatible. He was very clear about it, and that was refreshing, but he said he liked to build the anticipation, whatever that means."

James raises his eyebrows. "Are you going to see him again?"

I shake my head, sweeping my arm around. "Probably not. Who's got time for …?"

My pocket buzzes again, and he laughs.

"Lots of notifications, Dessy," he says, shaking his head. "Goddammit, I've missed that buzzing phone and all your wild pictures. I think I live vicariously through you."

James and his childhood sweetheart, Jane, have been dating since high school. It's ten years this year.

I peer through the kitchen door at the people starting to flow in and settle in at their desks.

"It's good to be back in the office. We need to chat about Samsung."

"Yeah, and about the negotiations for the extra space," James says, waving his hand. "This place is getting so overcrowded. About to get more so, too."

My heart sinks. This cozy workspace is my happy place. Splitting us over two floors will be … I nod absently as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

"I've got to bring the new hires up to speed as well," I say.

Ten notifications are sitting in my Grinder app, alongside a notification for a photo. Oh, God. That's never good news. People send too many dick pics. But as I open it, my jaw drops.

It's a picture of a guy's ankle. The lighting is … dark, sunlight falling across a foot and part of a hand that has just finished tying a shoelace and is pulling back. Smart polished shoes, navy pants hitched up over a black sock with a logo on it. A tattoo peeks out from the top of the fabric. It's close up, moodily shot, and artistic. I zoom in on the tattoo. What the hell is that?

James laughs, eyes on my face. Does he think I'm looking at something rude? Spinning my phone around, I hold it up for him and his eyebrows go up to his hairline.

"What is that mark on his leg?" he says, peering at the screen.

"No idea."

We both lean in to examine it.

"Looks like writing to me," he mutters, zooming in. "Arabic, Hebrew maybe? Who's it from?"

I glance at the name. "God, it's that guy from last night."

James eyes me sideways. "I like his style. Slow, hunh? This could be a whole new experience for you." And he punches my arm, the asshole.

Rolling my eyes, I study the picture again. The skin is smooth, not a hint of hair. I can count on one hand the guys that remove the hairs on their legs, and they're all drag queens. Maybe Alex has a secret life as a drag queen? That'd be fun. Has he removed hair from anywhere else? I can't stop staring at it: the perfect crease along the front of his pants, the high shine on the shoes. How do you respond to something like this? It's completely outside my playbook.

Maybe he's a serial killer and this is the way he reels all his victims in.

"I hope we did a good job on the new recruits. This next security update is the big one," James says, dragging me back to reality.

"Yeah, we've got to get it right across their entire suite of phones." Ha! No pressure, Des.

Artie, one of our engineers, sticks his head into the kitchen. "You got time to brief the new hires who are starting today?"

I take a gulp of coffee and shove my phone in my pocket and turn to Artie. "Sure," I say.

I'll deal with that photo later.

When I step into the glass cube that is the conference room and our only meeting place in the office, a large hairy guy is holding court, talking about all the work he did for Motorola in Italy and how he understands better than anyone a phone's internal workings. He's got thick arms, a heavy accent, and a gold chain on his wrist that keeps catching the light as he waves his hands around. There's dark chest hair peeking above a white shirt. A macho male who loves the sound of his own voice, no doubt. And I know who he is: I read all the résumés of today's new starts on the plane overnight on Thursday. And his résumé was impressive, but as I study him out of the corner of my eye, all I can think is: I could do without this guy today .

Scanning the room, l count ten guys and two women. And I've come all the way back from Korea to settle them in, bring them up to speed, and get them all working sweetly together.

"I've worked for Samsung itself," another guy says, no doubt not wanting to be outdone by Mr. Hairy. Can I call him that? No, Des, you can't, because one day you'll accidentally say it to his face and be outed as having dreadful, un-PC names for people. So, I'm a judgmental asshole, shoot me. And how much of this conversation have I missed? Not sure I like the macho "who's the kingpin?"' vibe happening here.

"Okay," I say, clapping my hands. "Welcome! My name's Des and I'm head of operations here. I'm going to go over our Samsung plan for the next six months this morning to bring you all up to speed on where we're headed. Artie"—I gesture to where he's standing by the wall—"will also spend some time going through the progress to date and the technical systems we use."

Mr. Hairy, who I think is named Rodrigo, glowers at me like he's not happy that I cut across his diatribe. Goddammit. Some guys are assholes. I hope he isn't one of them and this posturing bullshit calms down. Pulling up the Samsung spreadsheet on the projector screen on the conference room wall, I study the timelines.

"They're doing this on spreadsheets ?" a guy whispers to the girl next to him.

"Don't you have project planning software?" someone asks.

When I turn around, the questioner is a nerdy-looking man whose shirt seams are stretched over a rather large stomach.

I take a deep breath. "This Samsung contract happened fast. After their call, we were out in Korea in two days. We've put in a lot of hard work and late nights to catch up. We're still trying to catch up, if I'm honest. You guys are here to help with that. Dahlia is in the process of moving all this"—I wave at the spreadsheet on the screen—"into proper planning software. "Now I want to run through the areas that each of you …"

"Unprofessional," Mr. Hairy mumbles under his breath, and Mr. Nerdy on his other side nods.

"The office is very small," a girl with long dark hair pipes up, peering out at the dozen or so desks now crammed into the space.

"We're negotiating on new office space as we speak," I say, and the back of my neck starts to get hot.

"Are we moving location ? Man, that's going to fuck with my commute," another guy groans.

Jesus Christ. "It's an extra floor in this building," I say.

An Asian guy sitting near me on my right examines the screen. "Surely we need some sort of induction into the company's systems before we start on the …"

Leaning forward, I slam my hand on the table. "Listen up! We don't have time for all this …" I wave my hand around "… side-tracking."

The man who asked the question's eyes go wide. Another guy clears his throat in the silence and shifts in his seat. His smart pants and his shiny shoes remind me of … Nope. Not going there. Why is he so dressed up? Developers never wear those clothes.

I take a deep breath. "I need you to spend some time listening and absorbing on your first day here. Make a note of anything you're concerned about, and we can deal with individual questions one at a time afterward."

Two hours later I'm through the briefing and the whole team are in the kitchen getting drinks. James sticks his head around the meeting room door.

"How's it going?"

I squint at him and grit my teeth. How about losing my mind ? "Fine. We've got a lot to wade through."

He grins. "Did Cath and I do a decent job with recruitment?"

We employed Cath right after we landed the Samsung contract as a general project manager. She's excellent but young. What do I say to this? I'm going to have a problem with at least two of them. Is it me? Am I the obstacle here? Four people left from the last group we took on, and we can't afford to lose any more. Samsung is 80 percent of our business right now, and I don't want to think about what could happen if I don't deliver.

"The Italian guy, Rodrigo, is a bit …"

"Male?" James laughs. "Cath and I have a sweepstake running on how quickly you'll get pissed with him."

About five minutes is the answer to that one.

"I'm sorry, Des. He had too much phone system expertise for us to turn him down."

I wave a hand. "Yeah. Yeah. I get it. It's not like software people are easy to find."

The afternoon session, which Artie leads and I sit in on, doesn't go any better than the morning one. Lots of questions, endless poking of holes into everything we're doing. What's wrong with these people? I like to be challenged, but about every little thing? This meeting was scheduled to take three hours, not all day, and I've already had to put off a couple of Zoom meetings. But I'm not a quitter, and making this team gel is my job, so when it reaches 5 p.m., I say:

"It's been a long day. How about we all decamp to the bar around the corner for a drink?" I pull myself up out of my chair, and everyone glances at each other like they're waiting for someone to argue with me. Jesus Christ. Rodrigo stands and says he's got to get home to his family, and then another guy gets up behind him and says he also has to head out. People begin to shuffle their feet and look at their phones.

"Does anyone else need to go immediately?" I say.

The girl who complained about the size of the office, who I think is called Amy, skewers me with a look. "There was nothing in the contract about having to stay late, and most technology companies are flexible with the times people start and finish. I was wondering if I could come in later because I have to take my child to preschool."

"That's no problem. I'm aware that people have other responsibilities. Tonight is a social drink, which is entirely discretionary. I thought it would be a fun idea since you all started today." I sweep my hand around the group. "The company will pay for the drinks. But if you need to go, I fully understand. We can talk about individual start and finish times one-on-one tomorrow."

Another guy, Michael, who's been pretty quiet, and I'd marked him down as one of the okay guys based on the fact he took loads of notes, pipes up, "In my previous job, I worked flexible hours, too. I don't see why people with children should be the only ones to work the hours that suit them."

Amy folds her arms on her chest. "You do know it's not time to ‘suit us,' don't you?" she says, making air quotes around the words. "You can't leave a three-year-old standing on the street because you didn't turn up at 3 p.m."

Michael shakes his head. "I was just saying that all employees ought to have equal rights. No need to get uppity. Geesh."

"Asshole," Amy mutters under her breath.

I raise my hands. "Guys, please. Let's be supportive of other people's needs. Amy. Michael. We'll talk about what we can to do accommodate both of your requirements tomorrow."

The guy with the straining shirt, Mr. Nerdy, says, "If you're offering free drinks, then I'm definitely in. Gotta save money wherever you can."

This team! It's not like we're underpaying them. But it's already crystal clear I'm going to have to do something drastic. Split them into pairs?

Artie and I end up in a dubious Irish bar up the street with seven of the new recruits. It's all the quiet ones, and no one is making conversation.

"I hate this whole gay thing New York has going on," one of the guys, Carl I think, says suddenly to Michael sitting next to him, as he chews on a pretzel. Michael shifts uncomfortably, sips on his beer, and glances around, presumably wondering if anyone heard. I did: Isn't that enough?

His eyes meet mine, and I try and give him my best supportive smile. They must have realized I'm gay, right? I'm not hiding anything here.

Another guy leans over to talk to Carl. "Hell, yes, they're everywhere in Manhattan. I have to stand against the wall these days."

Oh.

My.

God.

Michael's eyes bug out, and I turn away from the three of them. This is going to be a desperate evening if I've got two gayophobes to deal with.

Amy left straight after the meeting, but the other girl, who hasn't said a word all day, is sitting next to me playing a retro game on her phone like a true introvert, so I lean over to watch what she's doing. She immediately falters and dies.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," I say, but she shakes her head, looking close to tears. I'm not far off weeping myself. How to fail at managing a team 101.

"What was that?"

"It's Space Invaders . I wrote the software to put it on Android."

I beam at her. "That's so cool!"

She shrugs. "There are loads of competitors in the Playstore. I've hardly got any downloads, and it took me months."

"Got to work through the failures, though, right?"

She eyes me dubiously. "You don't look like you've had a lot of failures."

I grin at her. "Don't be deceived. Under this beautiful glossy exterior lies a bruised heart." I'm only half-joking.

This elicits a slight smirk. Thank God.

"Before I joined Jo, I worked in a few nightmare offices."

She sighs. "Today was intense. I hope this isn't going to be one of those."

"Over my dead body," I say, and this gets me another small smile. Progress .

"I'm Sadie," she adds. "You didn't do intros for us at the beginning of the session, so I thought I'd let you know who I am."

I didn't? Oh shit, I didn't. The warmth buzzing through me disappears as fast as it came. I sip on the beer one of the guys bought me: not my normal drink but sometimes you have to do what it takes to fit in.

"Nice to meet you, Sadie. Where do you live in New York?"

"With my mom in Queens, I just graduated. I've got no money. College left me with a mountain of debt, and I really need this job."

"I appreciate your honesty, and that's cool. New York's expensive, and we all need our jobs. Work hard and prove yourself, and there'll be lots of opportunity here: We're expanding fast."

Sadie studies her phone screen. "Yeah, I don't like confrontation with other people, and I find the whole conversation thing awkward. I like living in different worlds."

Perhaps that was too much honesty. "Are you a big gamer?"

She nods.

How the hell am I going to make this team gel? I think of the band of enthusiastic Korean people I work with at Samsung—how confident I feel in all of them—and I want to weep.