Navigating the ebb and flow of a new job was exhausting—even after a month. Anne Neuman stood in the empty elevator lobby, tapping her foot rhythmically against the polished tile. She fantasized about the promise of an uneventful evening ahead—trading the corporate world for the comfort of her own space. An evening with a carton of Crumbs Along the Mohawk, a really thick burrito, a glass of strawberry wine, her book—and maybe an orgasm to go along with it—awaited her at home—so close, yet so far away.

Like the elevator with its numbers slowly ticking lower. 

Nearly 7:15 on a warm spring Monday, it was hardly a surprise she was waiting alone. For most, the workday had come to a close. For Anne, the societal pressure to put in extra hours felt more like a necessity to move seamlessly through the corporate world. The messenger bag on her hip didn’t hold nearly as much weight as the unresolved ideas floating around in her head. Outside, the glass tower caught the last of the sunset—river and skyline blurred in pastel reflection.

Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions—HuGES, as it was known in the industry—had torn down an old eyesore, replacing it with Beverwijck Tower. The sixty-story glass spire capped by HuGES rose over a reflecting pool and lush manicured gardens that gave the district a veneer of tranquility.

Anne glanced down into the reflecting pool, where orange office lights glimmered against the last hues of daylight.

As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped inside, completely allowing her newly-calibrated autopilot to guide her movements. She pressed “P2” for Parking Level 2, not noticing the button blazed red back at her—already illuminated. She froze momentarily, feeling the slightest tinge of embarrassment heat her cheeks. 

The doors sealed her into the small space. The air felt denser—charged with a silent presence she only noticed when the machinery hummed again. The shift in the air alerted her to another person’s breath, and the faint aroma of cologne. He stood in the corner, nearly absorbing the dark blue backdrop of glass and sky. His suit matched so closely, he seemed to melt into the frame. Tall, lean, mid to late thirties—handsome. The kind of man you didn’t just see so much as feel.

Subtle unease niggled at her—he looked important. Finance maybe?

The stranger had yet to acknowledge her presence, engrossed in his phone. He looked as if he had his own brand of autopilot engaged, his fingers moving deftly across the touchscreen, the rose gold metal sides reflecting the sharp overhead lights.

The stranger glanced up from his phone. At first, his gaze traveled past her, looking out the glass windows at the river to the east. Then his gaze swiveled back, his eyes meeting her in a brief moment of connection—as if he had heard her mind trying to gauge if he was a threat. His lips curved into a polite smile, but it hardly dispelled the intimidation that had coiled around her stomach. 

The elevator was taking its sweet time to do the one thing it was built to do—move, and Anne wondered if her brain was moving fast, or if time had painstakingly slowed to a glacial crawl. 

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to sink into the opposite corner—her curiosity fighting for purchase over her apprehension. His presence in this confined space was undeniably compelling—an inexplicable gravity. 

There was a quietly sick thrill in being the only two people in a claustrophobic place high above the rest of the world, his gaze now fixed on her and her alone. Maybe it was those same eyes that mirrored his bespoke suit, or what that suit implied of his lifestyle versus her jeans. Maybe it was as simple as a kind of people-watching—he was a stranger, and she was having a weirdly surreal awareness of her place in this one moment of his life.  

He was naturally good looking—symmetrical, sharp features set in a semi-permanent serious expression. His eyes flicked over her in an appraising glance as he slid his phone into his pocket.

“Late day at the office for you too?” his baritone split the silence—rich, confident, authoritative.

The greeting was harmless enough, but it pried at her exhaustion, stirring questions she didn’t want to answer.

The audacity of man.

She nodded in response. She hesitated before putting a voice to her response, caught between the professionalism expected of her, and the strong desire to get herself out of the elevator as soon as possible.

“Yeah,” she managed to say, more curtly than intended. “It’s been a long one. Though by the way you’re dressed, it looks like yours is probably far from over.”

He looked down at his outfit and shrugged. Finally, the elevator began its descent towards the parking garage, the soft hum of the elevator sliding down the shaft an eerie soundtrack to the awkward exchange. 

The stranger leaned against the glass and chrome wall. His gaze remained fixed on her with an intensity that both unnerved and intrigued her. 

“New around here?” he inquired, his voice dipped in curiosity. “Haven’t seen your face before.”

Anne nodded, caution coating her smile. She took an involuntary step back into the corner of the car, even though there was nowhere for her to go. “I work at HuGES. Corporate admin. Top ten floors and all that—I’m just on the bottom.” She laughed gently. “I’ve admittedly no clue what happens on the other nine floors. I’ve only been with HuGES for a few weeks now. Just settling in. Getting the lay of the land.”

“Marketing, right? That’s your floor.” He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head in the direction of the floors above.

His statement—casually dropped—made Anne stiffen. The knowledge of exactly which floor held marketing was unwelcome and unsettling. She smiled amicably, hoping to keep the fact that her senses were on high alert on the down low.

“Domestic Marketing Manager,” she replied without hesitation—then admonished herself for her foolishness. “International Marketing is in London, as far as I understand it.”

The elevator’s descent felt like an eternity—40 floors of small talk still to endure. The machinery underscored their conversation, but as their exchange continued, Anne found herself sharing more about her HuGES experience—however brief—than she had planned. 

His ability to put her at ease was both unexpected and comforting—a departure from her usual interactions with strange men in elevators.

He didn’t feel like a threat.

“Disregard the company as a whole,” he began. “How’s your experience marketing the company? How are you finding it so far?”

“That’s a big question,” she said with a shallow laugh. “Who’s asking?”

The only response he offered was a disarming smile.

Anne considered her response for a moment, settling on something diplomatic. “It’s been a challenging but rewarding experience. The team is great, and I’m learning a lot. I’m never not entertained, and they are all very good at their jobs. I think it has as much to do with their different personalities and chaotic alignment—”

He laughed, a sound warm and pleasant, but undeniably distant.

She smiled as she continued. “—as it does their work ethic and abilities. The marketing team is a… wild group of great people. That’s for sure.”

He chuckled softly again, a faint twinkle in his eyes. “That’s good to hear. Talent’s wasted without camaraderie. A healthy team can do more for a company than any board directive—though don’t tell my board I said that.”

Anne nodded in agreement, appreciating the sentiment. She scrambled to find the safest lines of dialogue.

Buzz words… buzz words… What would a suit like him want to hear?

“Yes, a team that gets along well is what creates growth and innovation,” she finally said.

Good enough.

A conspiratorial smirk crossed his face as he scanned hers, privy to his own joke. “But let’s cut the corporate small-talk bullshit.”

Oh, thank God. I’ve been spared, she thought. 

“You’re a new face; you have new ideas. What would you change?”

Or maybe not. 

A thought nagged at her—was he from HR? Or Legal? His polished appearance and pointed questions screamed upper management or administration, but he didn’t seem familiar—nobody in HR she’d already met. She desperately wished she could conjure up the floor map and remember which HuGES offices were where.

“Oh, I don’t think I—”

“Come on!” he interjected with a chuckle. “Don’t deprive me of your ideas. What would you try differently—no marketing constraints for Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions.”

A bold question that somehow didn’t seem loaded.

She thought for a moment before tentatively offering him an answer. “A couple of things. We should drop ‘Energy Solutions’ from the brand name. It’s too wordy.”

His mouth twitched—a momentary smirk. 

“The brand needs a complete refresh,” she suggested, firmly.

The elevator bell chimed. His left eyebrow quirked.

“It’s boring and long overdue. I think our approach is too serious. I think in today’s environment, it’s important for our brand language and design to be a chameleon.”

The doors slid open, admitting another passenger. He nodded politely at both of them before retreating into silence. The suit didn’t take his eyes off Anne. “Unpack that.”

“Connection is the tool nobody here knows how to use. Our language is human, but it’s stiff—too corporate, too impersonal. Fine if your customer base is retirees who gripe on NextDoor. Not fine if you want anyone else.”

His laugh was short, but authentic.

“It doesn’t resonate with people,” she continued. “People change. Technology changes. Trends and language change.”

She looked him head on, and spoke assuredly. “We need to.”

There was a beat, then he nodded, interested.

“If we cannot connect, we cannot communicate. We need a logo that actually connects—something with life, with a future. New language, new approach. Right now, it’s just info dumps and a logo my designer swears she can’t even work with. The safe, legacy brand is what works for upstairs. It’s lifeless,” she continued.

“It’s lifeless,” the stranger repeated in an enigmatic way—almost as if he was turning the words over in his mouth.

 “Why stray from the tried and true?” she posed, only to answer herself. “Because nobody wants to engage with it. Me included—the analytics prove it. But the President of Marketing? Upstairs? They don’t want to take risks.”

“That’s so.”

Anne wasn’t sure if his response was a question or a statement.

The elevator paused again, and the second man stepped out of the car with a nearly inaudible, “Have a good night.”

“Be a chameleon, remember? One size doesn’t fit all, but the C-suite keeps pretending it does. I trust my team, but I can’t let them plead their case. I’m just the handler, keeping the plates spinning while the bigger cogs grind above me.”

“Why don’t you let them plead their case?”

“I’m too many steps from the top. My supervisor’s close enough, but he won’t listen—let alone push it higher. I work with what I’ve got, but I’ve gleaned that I’ll be forever cut off at the legs because the person above me doesn’t think it’s worth the time or effort to try. Or lacks the spine to.”

It came out more cynical and bitter than intended, but Anne knew precisely how sour it did sound.

“The executives are out of touch. Rigid structures stifle creativity, and they don’t even see it.”

“Wow, tell me how you really feel,” he laughed—faraway, but not unkind.

She shrugged with a chuckle of her own. “Yeah, well, it’s 7:15 on a Monday. I’m hangry, but luckily there’s a Chippies on the way home.”

“I’ll give you that. Those burritos are hard to argue with.”

At last, the doors opened on P2. The stranger gestured her out, and their conversation broke on a natural pause.

“I’m this way,” Anne said, scrambling to fill the silence. She gestured in the direction of her car, a dark gray sedan at the end of the row.

A thought dropped heavy into her stomach. “You were on the elevator before me. You’re HuGES. Legal or something?” she said, hopeful she sounded more unconcerned than she felt.

“Or something,” he said smoothly, pulling his keys from his pocket. The car beside them chirped to life, parked beneath a sign: Reserved for HuGES CEO.

Oh, no.

She’d just complained about his decisions to the very man who signed her paychecks. His expression brimmed with amusement; hers with embarrassment.

Something clicked into place.

“A healthy team can do more for a company than any board directive—though don’t tell my board I said that.”

“My board.”

Fuck.

He extended a hand. “Damien Wilson. CEO.” His eyes locked with hers—two shades of blue, one not quite fixing on her.

“And founder,” Mr. Wilson added as an afterthought. “Word of advice: next time you should probably ask someone if ‘they’re from Legal’—or any other kind of upper management, really—before you go on a rant.”

She found the capacity for a smile, hoping it hid her panic. “Anne Neuman,” she replied, her voice steady but thoughts racing.

“Well, Anne Neuman, I’ve now got a lot to consider. We certainly don’t want to appear lifeless.”

“Sorry,” she said, incapable of conjuring anything better, the flush still holding heat under her skin.

“Nah, no need to apologize. Takes more than that for a reprimand. Besides, I can appreciate a challenge.” His eyes  were mischievous. “CEO doesn’t mean expert on everything—that includes marketing.”

The car, a long silver beast, looked like it ate the cost of her home for breakfast. The driver’s side door lifted upward with a metallic whisper, more like a breeze than a hinge. Mr. Wilson sat and started the engine. It roared, reverberating around the underground concrete echo chamber. He pulled the door shut, and Anne began to walk towards her car. The window whirred as he rolled it down.

“Hey, Anne,” he said, and she turned to face him again.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Wilson?”

He winked. “Some of us already know Charlie lacks initiative—we just don’t expect you to say it out loud. Make me a proposal. I’ll skim it, then you can pitch it upstairs.”

Anne nodded once, and he began to back out of the parking space. She stepped aside, looking over at him once he had pulled out.

“By the way—call me Damien.” His eyes narrowed playfully. “After that little elevator pitch, we’re bound to spend more time together.”

Anne crossed her arms, and he looked back at her smugly.

Then Damien drove off, calling “I’ll email you!” into his tailwind, allowing her no time to get another word in.

As the garage once again returned to silence, Anne’s mind filled it with one thought:

Oh, this’ll end well.