Part 1
The headquarters for Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions, or HuGES as as it was colloquially called, was lit like a lighthouse in its block of waterfront real estate in Albany’s Warehouse District. Once occupied by a long-standing eyesore, much of the newly-constructed building known as Beverwijck Tower was leased to other companies and offices, but HuGES was the cap of the 60-story glass skyscraper, occupying the top thirty floors for its US corporate offices. The building’s footprint backed up against the Hudson River, allowing tower employees to enjoy their lunches either overlooking the river or watching the shimmering fountains of the reflecting pool at the building’s feet, and anyone with a window in the building was treated to elevated river views or views of the downtown skyline farther south down the river. Street level was full of bustling cafes and restaurants, coffee shops, and a Rite-Aid. From the inside, the tapered building glowed orange with the lights from hundreds of offices. Outside, the building’s thousands of glass eyes held on to every bit of dwindling daylight, reflecting the warm pastel hues of a warm vernal sunset.
For most, the late Monday evening work day had long come to a close. Anne Neuman’s thoughts were consumed by the promise of an uneventful evening, which she was completely okay with. Nearly 7:15 PM and only just leaving the office now after a day of stress, she was more than eager to escape the corporate world and retreat to the comfort of her own space. She hated letting work creep into her personal time, but American work culture had her feeling that putting in these extra hours was a necessity to move seamlessly through the corporate world. Her shoes, a pair of comfortably practical black flats, clicked rhythmically against the polished tile floor as she made her way to a bank of four of the many elevators serving the tower, the weight of her messenger-style purse on her hip and the weightier still, unresolved ideas floating around in her head. Even though she was now a month in, she had forgotten how tiring it was to have to learn to navigate the ins and outs of a new company’s ebb and flow.
The elevator lobby for her floor was empty, and Anne waited for the elevator to descend to her level from the top, watching the numbers tick lower on the counter. She was eager to return to her modest home and unwind with a good book, a really thick burrito for dinner, and a cup of herbal tea.
As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped inside without much thought, completely allowing autopilot to guide her movements. Her attention was momentarily captured by the task of selecting her floor, an action she had performed countless times—well, more like 25 times before. Pressing “P2” for Parking Level 2, not noticing the button was already illuminated, she froze momentarily, feeling the lightest tinge of embarrassment heat her cheeks. She was only focusing on the impending end to the work day and the peace of the commute home.
The doors sealed shut, enveloping her in the small, confined space of the elevator. The elevator’s air felt denser than usual, charged with a silent presence she only noticed when the doors had sealed shut. For a split second, Anne thought she was alone, submerged in her thoughts, until a subtle shift in the air alerted her to another person’s breath. She turned, and there stood a man, almost blending into the shadows; with his suit the same color as the velvety blue sky outside, he almost seemed to melt into the dark backdrop. Standing tall, lean, impeccably dressed, and looking somewhere in his mid to late 30s and certainly no more than a handful of years her senior, he was a striking figure amid the mundane surroundings of their corporate world. Anne’s initial reaction was a subtle feeling of unease, his imposing presence somehow at odds with the banality of an elevator ride.
The stranger, who had yet to acknowledge her presence, was 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.
It seemed as if the elevator was taking its sweet time to do the only thing it was built to do—move, and Anne wondered if her brain was just moving really fast, or if time had painstakingly slowed to a glacial crawl.
The stranger glanced up from his phone, at first his gaze traveling past her, looking out the glass windows at the river to the east, which was glowing with the pale blue of rapidly-fading sunset. Then his gaze swiveled back, his eyes meeting hers in a brief moment of connection as if he had heard her mind trying to decide if he was a threat. His lips curved into a polite smile, but it did little to dispel the feeling of intimidation she had regarding him.
Anne shifted uncomfortably, trying to sink more into the opposite corner, her curiosity warring with her apprehension. While he was a stranger she’d never seen before, and certainly never spoken to, for whatever reason a sense of intrigue tugged at her; there was something so very undeniably compelling about his presence in this space. He had an inexplicable gravity.
Maybe it was a sick sort of thrill in being the only two in a claustrophobic place high above the rest of the world, his gaze now fixed on her and only her. Maybe it was those same eyes that mirrored his bespoke suit, or maybe it was the implied lifestyle contrast of what that suit meant compared to her mere 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 in his life.
His face was one of natural good looks with 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, where his hand stayed. "Late day at the office for you too?" he remarked casually, his rich baritone authoritative and confident, splitting the silence. His casual greeting, though seemingly harmless, set off a flurry of questions in her mind and felt a tad bit like an intrusion into her private exhaustion.
Who the hell talks to strangers in the elevator? Anne thought. Oh right. Men.
Unclear as to why she was taken aback by the sudden-but-not-improbable interaction, she nodded in response, her voice laced with the discomfort of an unexpected encounter, alone, with a man, in an elevator. She hesitated before putting a voice to her response, caught between the professionalism expected of her and a strong desire to get the fuck out of the elevator as soon as possible. "Yes, it's been a long one,” she managed to say, her tone more curt than intended. “Though by the way you’re dressed, it looks like yours is probably far from over."
He looked down at his outfit and shrugged. 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 intrigued and unnerved her.
"New around here?" he inquired, his voice dipped in curiosity. “Haven't seen your face before.”
Anne nodded, a cautious smile forming on her lips. She took an involuntary step backwards into the corner of the car, even though there was nowhere for her to go. "Yes. I work at Hudson Gateway as part of corporate administration. Top ten floors of them and all that. I’m just on the bottom,” she laughed gently. “I've admittedly no clue what happens on the other twenty floors. I've only been with HuGES for a few weeks now. Just settling in and 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, dropped casually, made Anne stiffen. The knowledge of exactly which floor marketing was on was unwelcome and unsettling.
She smiled amicably, trying to keep the fact that her senses were on high alert on the down low. "That's right. I’m the Domestic Marketing Manager.”
Why’d you just tell a stranger that? her mind admonished.
“International Marketing is in London, as far as I understand it,” she added.
The elevator's descent felt like an eternity, and judging by the floor counter, she still had 40 floors of small talk and the walk to her car to survive. The hum of machinery continued to underscore their conversation. But as their exchange continued, Anne found herself easily sharing more about her experiences at HuGES, however brief, than she had initially intended. His ability to put her at ease was both unexpected and comforting, a departure from the usual corporate interactions she had grown accustomed to, and certainly any other interactions with strange men in elevators.
“Disregard the company as a whole. How’s your personal experience with marketing the company? How are you finding it so far?”
“That’s a big question,” she laughed. “Who’s asking?”
The only response he offered was a gentle smile.
Anne considered her response for a moment, settling on something diplomatic and neutral. "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 seem to all be very good at their jobs. I think it has as much to do with their differing 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… a wild group of great people, that’s for sure."
He chuckled again softly, a faint twinkle in his eyes. "That's good to hear. I've always believed in the importance of fostering talent within my company and camaraderie between colleagues. A healthy working environment should be a priority for every business."
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."
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 do you just really wish you could change so far?”
Or maybe not.
A thought nagged at her—was he from HR? Or legal? His polished appearance and pointed questions screamed some kind of upper management or administration, but he didn’t seem familiar and wasn’t anybody in HR she’d met already. 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. “Where’s the fun in denying you don't have thoughts? What would you try differently, if there were no marketing constraints for Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions?”
What a bold question.
Anne thought for a moment before tentatively answering. “A couple of things. First and foremost, we need to drop “Energy Solutions” from the outward-facing brand name. It’s too wordy.”
A microexpression crossed his face that almost looked as if it said, “I’ve thought about that before.”
“The brand needs a complete overhaul—it’s boring and it’s long overdue. I think our approach to marketing is too serious. I think in today’s day and age with ever-changing technology, it’s important for marketing and design to be a chameleon.”
His left eyebrow quirked as the elevator chimed and the doors opened, allowing someone from another floor to step on. The stranger gave the elevator newcomer a solitary nod in acknowledgement before putting his gaze back on her. “Unpack that.”
“Well there’s a time and a place for every tone of advertising. I absolutely agree we should be serious in our approach to matters of customer service and information delivery.”
“But?”
“But we need to advertise and communicate for all of the different audiences who are customers or clients, and we need to broaden our approaches. Our Gen Z and Gen Alpha subscribers are not going to respond to advertising the way that our Boomer clients are. I’m speaking purely domestic, I mean. I don’t know much about what the international side is doing. They’re probably staying within the same boring kind of marketing solutions we are. That’s for the President of Marketing to oversee, obviously. But right now, we brand, advertise and disperse information exclusively in the way that is targeted towards seniors. It’s safe and dry. There’s no life to it.”
The elevator stopped again, and the second man stepped out of the car with a nearly inaudible, “Have a good night.”
"It's lifeless," the stranger repeated, turning the words over in his mouth. His tone was enigmatic.
“If HuGES wants engagement with newer and younger customers, then we have to speak their language. You don’t have to use memes or sarcasm, but you want fun, colorful, and things that grab attention. And none of that corporate illustration stuff that’s wildly overused. You want a refreshed brand system. I’m not saying a Millennial like you or I should be trying to speak in slang towards the younger generations, but you have people of that relative age group create content to sell to that same age group. Right now our marketing solutions are just… universal info dump. Walls of text. Too much all at once, and it’s all paired with a severely outdated ‘look and feel.” She put air quotes around that. “Nobody wants to engage with that. I sure as shit don’t want to. Just take a peek at our social media and email analytics for the different demographics—they speak volumes to that. I keep getting told that upper management, and by that I mean the Marketing Executive, says that the CEO, CFO, other executives, and board of directors don’t want to take risks, because historically ‘the safe option’ is what’s worked for them.”
“That's so.”
Anne wasn’t sure if he had said that as a question or a statement.
She worked hard to keep her eyes from rolling. “That’s why it’s important to be a chameleon, able to read the room and decide which forms of advertising work best for each scenario,” she continued. “One size does not fit all, and HuGES upper management is apparently very keen on one small, itty-bitty size. In my professional opinion, we need to experiment a little more, and that includes occasionally failing, to find out what does and doesn’t work. And it’s entirely possible that it won’t. I keep trying to tell my team that I agree with their efforts to be a little experimental and more creative. I would love to bring them in to allow them to each pitch their case. The designers, digital marketing folks, and trad marketing folks, they’re the real experts in that kind of stuff. I’m just the handler, so to speak, trying to make it all work. Liaise with all the other much bigger cogs in the machine.”
“Why don’t you? Just let them plead their case, I mean.”
“Like I said, I’m just one too many floors down from the top to do it myself, and so I would have to go to my superior, who while is as top-adjacent as they come, would have to be willing to listen to our ideas to push through to the CEO and board at the tippy top in the first place. My job as a Marketing Manager is to improve the advertising and marketing to boost sales stateside. I work with what I’ve got, but I’m cut off at the legs because someone directly above me doesn’t think it’s worth the effort to try. Or they don’t have the spine to float it up the chain in the first place.” It came out more bitter and cynical than she had intended, but Anne knew precisely how sour it did sound. “Simply put, it feels like some of the executives are out of touch, or just don’t give a shit, with what’s happening on the ground. It’s like they don’t see how rigid structures stifle creativity.”
“Wow, tell me how you really feel,” he laughed again in that distinct way of being far away but kind.
She shrugged with a chuckle of her own. “Yeah, well, it’s 7:15 on a Monday evening. I’m hangry, but luckily there’s a Chippies on the way home.”
“I agree that there’s something so satisfying about one of those monster burritos.”
Finally coming to rest on P2, the elevator doors finally slid open, revealing the underground parking garage. The stranger gestured for her to exit first, which she did, him right behind her. Their conversation reached a natural but unexpected pause.
“I’m this way,” Anne said, scrambling to find something to fill the silence and gesturing in the general direction of her car, a dark gray Hyundai Sonata standing alone at the end of a line of empty spaces. Something reoccurred to her at that moment, suddenly settling in her stomach with an anvil of dread. “You were on the elevator before me, which means you are HuGES in some capacity. Are you legal or something? Am I in trouble now?” she said, hopefully sounding more unconcerned than she felt.
“Yeah, ‘or something,” he replied. It was only when he reached for his car keys from his pocket and the car next to them made a small clunking sound as the door locks disengaged, that she noticed the "Reserved for HuGES CEO" parking space they had stopped in front of, a detail that finally clicked into place.
Anne’s eyes widened, and she turned towards him, a mixture of astonishment and embarrassment coloring her features. She had just shared an elevator with the man who signed her paychecks, and complained directly to him about what she blamed as his own decision making—blind to his identity for every moment of it. He appeared to take slight enjoyment out of the look of surprise she wore.
“I’ve always believed in the importance of fostering talent within my company.”
“My company.”
Damien extended his hand towards her. "Damien Wilson," he introduced himself, his eyes locking with hers. “CEO.” Anne noticed his eyes were two ever-so-slightly different shades of blue, and his right one didn’t quite seem to fix on her. “And President,” he added as an afterthought. “Word of advice from the CEO, you should probably ask someone if ‘they're from legal’ before you go on a rant next time. Or if they’re any other kind of upper management for that matter.”
Recovering from her initial shock, she shook his hand, a warm smile gracing her lips and hopefully hiding any panic she might have been feeling. "Anne Neuman," she replied, her voice steady but her thoughts racing.
“Well, Anne Neuman, you have given me a lot to think about when it comes to advertising my company. We certainly don’t want to seem as if we have ‘no life.’” The corner of his mouth was crooked in a sly smirk.
“Sorry,” she said, unable to conjure anything better, the flush still holding heat under her skin.
“No need to apologize. It'll take more than that for me to reprimand you. Besides, I can appreciate a challenge.” His eyes held a mischievous glint. “I may be the CEO, but I know I can't be the expert on everything—that includes marketing.”
His car, a long silver beast that sat low to the ground and looked like it ate the cost of her home for a mid-morning snack, chirped as he unlocked it. The driver’s side door lifted above the car, not out from it like every other car she’d ever seen, opening with a metallic whisper sounding almost like a gentle breeze. He sat and started the engine. It roared, bouncing throughout 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?”
“Careful where you share your opinions,” Damien said with a wink. “Some of us already know Charlie lacks initiative—we just didn’t expect you to say it out loud. I look forward to seeing all the ways we can make our company contemporary and fun. Make me a proposal. I’ll take a superficial look at it with you, and then you can let you and your team plead your case to us upper management folk.”
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. “You and I are gonna spend a lot more time together now because of your little rant, so we might as well get chummy.”
She crossed her arms.
He drove off, calling “I’ll email you!” into his tailwind, allowing her no time to get another word in.
