Part 1
A few days after the initial meeting with Damien, at the next rebrand-focused day, Anne shared the good news with her team. They were beyond thrilled to hear that they were allowed to start exploring design options using the name "Hudson Gateway" for the customer-facing brand. Evie, even more so than Ollie, who had initially suggested the name, rejoiced at the expanded design possibilities.
“You don’t have any idea of the world of possibilities this just unearthed, Anne,” Evie said, her glee palpable as she flipped through her sketchbook. Each page was filled with notes, sketches, and the word maps Anne had shown Damien the week before. Anne was certain those pages were about to get even more cluttered as Evie’s mind worked through the new information. “Building a logo with a name as long as ‘Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions’ is possible, of course, but it was annoying. This shorter name means it’ll be easier to work in not only a logotype but also some pretty cool logomarks and combos.”
“You’re gonna have to break that one down for me,” Anne admitted. “I know what ‘logo’ means, and that’s about it.”
“Okay,” Evie began, “a logotype is basically where the name of the company is the logo.”
“Not helpful.”
Evie sighed, forming a better explanation in her head. “Coca-Cola is one of the best examples. Google. Ford. Any newspaper or magazine masthead. It’s the hideous thing we use now at HuGES. A logomark is the icon, or what most people actually think of when they hear the word ‘logo.’ It’s what most people associate with the brand.”
“The Nike swoosh,” Carrie chimed in.
“Or the Apple apple,” Ollie added.
“Or the Target bullseye,” Anne offered.
Evie gave her finger guns. “Precisely. And a combo would basically be like the ability to use either piece and still have it represent the company well. Again, like the Target logo. It can be used with the bullseye, the big red ‘TARGET’ in Helvetica, or together, and you’d still know which company we’re talking about.”
“And HuGES is a big enough company that we’d have the funding, ideally, to play with something a little more abstract too,” Ollie interjected.
“Slow down. Cart before the horse, guys,” Anne said, though she knew there was no reeling in the excitement rippling through her department, herself included.
She was right. Almost immediately after she ended the meeting, Evie had her earbuds in and her nose firmly planted in her sketchbook, the scratch of pencil against paper the only sound coming from her desk for a while—at least until she moved her sketches to the computer.
Michael, Amanda, and Cameron placed some reports on Anne’s desk regarding their initial findings from the first two weeks of the customer service campaign. About thirty minutes into flipping through them, colored pens and highlighters in hand, her desk phone lit up with a call.
In the zone, Anne glanced at the screen with the intent to decline the call, but the name scrolling across it—DAMIEN WILSON—obviously made her rethink. She answered, and before she could even greet him, he spoke.
“Hello there, Anne from Domestic Marketing Department.”
“Hello there, Damien from C-Suite. You know, it’s very sweet of you to call me by my full, uh, title, but just Anne is fine.”
“Sure thing, ‘Just Anne.’”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Thanks. Busy?”
“Objection, Your Honor. This feels like either a leading question.”
He sighed. “Sustained. I thought I told you I wasn’t from legal.”
“That may be true, but depending on what you want, the answer I give could get me in trouble.”
“Well then, do you want to get in a bit of trouble?”
Anne didn’t know how to respond, and after an awkward pause, he added, “Sorry. Honestly, though, Anne, I need some help with something visual up here. Are you able to take a field trip to the top floor?”
“You sure you don’t want the designer?”
“You’ll suffice.”
“Wow. Really laying it on thick with the compliments.”
“I try.”
“Can you give me fifteen or twenty minutes? I’m in the middle of reviewing something, and while you’ve already so very kindly interrupted my flow, I’d like to get through this chunk so I don’t lose any more steam.”
“See you when you get up here. Tell Cathy I sent you when you do.”
Twenty minutes later, Damien’s executive assistant led Anne to his office door. He was standing by his desk, a monolith of glass and wood that she hadn’t gotten a good look at during their last meeting. In the afternoon sun, his penthouse office was toasty, and it seemed Damien thought so too. The jacket of his charcoal suit hung on a rack by the wall. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off what Anne considered very nice arms. Without the jacket, the vest of his three-piece suit became the focal point, accentuating his broad shoulders.
While any man looked good in a suit, the combination of Damien’s sturdy figure, good looks, and the suit’s cut made him exceptionally handsome. The sweep of his brown hair absorbed the sunlight, revealing its broad range of colors—bittersweet chocolate with deep copper highlights.
Anne rapped her fingers lightly on the door, and his eyes cut toward her through the glass walls. He lifted his chin in a “come in” gesture, and she pushed the door open.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” he said as it swung closed behind her.
“Would be kind of weird if you summoned me and didn’t actually want to see me.” She leaned against the back of the couch.
“I was itching for a bit of insubordination and didn’t know who else to call.”
“I don’t know if I should be offended or honored.”
“Yes,” he replied with a pawky smile, his eyes quickly appraising her. “I like your shirt. It looks really nice on you.”
Not even remembering which shirt she was wearing, Anne glanced down at the warm-colored blouse with a geometric pattern. “Thanks.”
“Now let’s chat.” He came around his desk and dragged one of the guest chairs to the left of his own.
Anne sat where instructed, placing a hardcover notepad and pen in front of her on the desk. Damien took his seat in the big desk chair to her right, which might as well have been his throne. His desk was immaculately organized, holding all the essentials and then some. Curiously taking inventory of his space, Anne noticed a pad of graph paper and a legal pad with scribbles she couldn’t decipher. Front and center was a realistic model of a car, in contrast to the LEGO ones lined along the windowsills.
A gold and marble pen caddy was loaded with pens that were mostly the same, except for a few highlighters, a Sharpie, a red pen, and a couple of pencils. His cell phone lay on a wireless charger, alongside a key fob presumably for his car, and a pair of Sennheiser earbuds sat forgotten. A tall Starbucks coffee thermos rested on a coaster. His desk phone blinked with a red light indicating a new voicemail. To the left corner of his desk, his laptop was hooked up to a large second monitor. The screen displayed a photograph of a beautiful car with the Mercedes-Benz emblem embedded deep in the hood. Anne’s limited knowledge of cars barely helped her identify it as the same vehicle from the parking garage—the distinctive doors raised like the wings of an eagle made it clear.
“So,” Damien said, swiveling his chair to face her, crossing his legs and leaning on the desk, “I want your help here.”
Anne hadn’t been this close to him before. At this distance, she could see the coarse hairs of his neatly trimmed scruff, the way it followed the sharp contours of his cheekbones and jawline. A couple of strands of gray had been combed behind his ear. She noticed the faintest crow’s feet and how the navy of his tie brought out the dark blue of his eyes. Once again, she observed how his right eye was a slightly different color. It moved at a fraction slower than his left, and, as she had noticed before, it didn’t quite fix on her.
Oh, she thought curiously, does he have a false eye?
He pulled up a PowerPoint presentation and snapped it to the large monitor in front of her. The title slide read, “Corporate Sustainability: Driving Growth Through Sustainability: A Blueprint for Responsible Leadership.”
“What am I looking at?” she asked.
“I,” he began, “am giving a keynote speech early next week at a conference in Portland, and I’d like a second set of eyes—”
Hah, she thought, fighting a smirk.
“—on my presentation to see if there are any changes you’d make visually or structurally.”
“You want to just give me the whole presentation?” Anne wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.
Damien made a show of checking his watch, a big, beautiful piece of black and gold jewelry with “Rolex” written on the face. The watch alone probably cost more than her car. But while his wrist was adorned, his ring finger remained bare.
Stop that, she scolded herself.
“How much time do you have?” he inquired. Neither his tone nor the look in his eyes—eye?—indicated whether or not he was joking either.
Anne chuckled nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Well, considering you’ve already interrupted my flow once today, I suppose I can spare a bit more time for you. I’m at your disposal.”
He smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “How generous of you. It’s about an hour, but feel free to stop me and ask questions or point out things you would change in the presentation.”
“You do know that I’m presumably far from the target audience for your speech, right?”
“Was counting on it. You can sit in my chair; it’s more comfortable, and I’m about to not need it.”
He slingshotted his presentation to the television mounted on the wall, standing as he began. Damien took her through his slides, stopping at the end of each section to ask if she had questions about the content. She did, but his delivery was so clear that she had significantly fewer questions than she’d anticipated. Many of the infographics, however, were visually terrible, looking as though they’d been created years ago. Still, by the end, it was clear why he was asked to speak. His confidence and knowledge shone through. He only glanced at his notes once or twice, delivering most of his remarks from memory. He moved methodically about the space as though walking a stage, maintaining good eye contact, a balanced cadence, and crisp articulation.
Anne felt a little envious of his presentation skills, and knew with certainty he’d run through it countless times. She voiced her curiosity.
“How many times have you given this presentation?” she asked as she returned to her guest chair, letting Damien reclaim his throne.
“Of course I needed you,” Damien objected, not answering the question. “You’re not afraid to be honest with me, and a lot of people in this company are afraid to do that because I have Chief Executive Officer written on my door.”
“I’m a little afraid of being honest.”
“You shouldn’t be. That ship sailed when you released the kraken of opinions in the elevator that day.”
“I set the bar waaayyy too high right out of the gate, evidently.”
“What’s the worst that’s gonna happen if you’re honest? I get a little combative or defensive?”
Anne sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes playfully. “Then I’ll go ahead and be as brutal as possible.”
He chortled. “Well, there’s the insubordination I was craving a taste of. I need to watch out. You, Anne, are a woman of danger.”
“I would say ‘danger’ is my middle name, but it’s not, and I can’t tell you my middle name because then I’d have to kill you.”
She felt heat color her cheeks. That was a terrible joke. Why did I say that?
Damien leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, looking her straight in the eyes. Up close, Anne could tell he definitely had a prosthetic eye—an incredibly realistic one. The pupils didn’t match and it lacked the life that his real eye, the left one, had. But it was a shade of dark blue that, while noticeably different, was still very close to his real iris. It was painted to mimic the natural pigment fluctuations of a real eye, presumably his, with hue variations in its artificial collarettes, frills, freckles, stroma fibers, and patterns. The only giveaway was the slight lag in tracking movement. It explained why all the monitors and the television were positioned to his left.
“I could just look in your employee personnel file,” he teased.
This close, she caught the faint aroma of his cologne—woody, earthy, and full-bodied, like cedar or amber and musk with a hint of vanilla. Beneath it was something more natural, perhaps his sweat. The combination was quintessentially masculine and undeniably pleasant. Anne tried not to inhale noticeably.
Damien leaned back, taking his intoxicating scent with him. The title slide reappeared on the monitor.
“Lay it on me, Anne Danger Neuman of Domestic Marketing Department. I can take it.”
“Your infographics look like shit and seem like they were made using Windows 95 WordArt.”
“Wow, okay, no foreplay.” He closed his eyes briefly, blowing out his cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… Please don’t report me to HR.”
Anne stared at him. “Strike one, Damien from C-Suite.”
“Which infographics are you talking about?”
“All of them.”
Damien leaned forward again, hands clasped, his left eyebrow quirked. “All of them, huh? That’s quite the indictment.” He rapidly flipped through the slides, jotting notes on a piece of paper.
“Hey, you asked for honesty.”
“I did, didn’t I? I’m glad I brought you in for this.”
Anne felt a warm flush of pride at his praise but played it cool. “You know me,” she shrugged. “I’m not one to hold back.”
“That’s what I like about you,” Damien replied, his smile widening. “You’re not afraid to tell me what you actually think, even if it’s not what people want to hear.”
She smiled back, feeling a sense of camaraderie deepen between them. Despite their differences in rank and department, they seemed to be on the same wavelength. There was a magnetism about him—an easy confidence and genuine interest in her opinions that made her feel valued.
“Okay,” Damien said thoughtfully, straightening his laptop so it was perfectly aligned with the desk. “Let’s dive into the nitty-gritty. Can you remake them?”
“One of my designers can. I am but a lowly project manager with zero Photoshop skills, or whatever they’d use for this,” she replied, touching the monitor to indicate an infographic.
He winced, presumably at the fingerprint she left.
“How often do you give this presentation?” she asked again.
“I hold people hostage a few times a year with this one in particular.”
“Yikes. With those graphics, it’s definitely torture.”
His mouth flattened into a line, and his nose scrunched a little. It was cute.
“My designers wouldn’t be able to redo this volume of infographics by the end of the week. But I can have them reworked for the next time you give it.”
He nodded slightly.
“Want to give me all your presentations to shit on?”
“How about we start with three, ones you won’t need for a few months, and see how it goes?”
“Works for me. Email me the presentations. I’m assuming it’s too much to ask, but you probably don’t have the original files for the infographics, right?”
There was a brief pause as he thought. Sunlight caught his eyes, making them both, artificial and real, glimmer like brilliant sapphires.
“Whoever made them is long gone by now, so they’re lost to the binary abyss.”
“We’ll hold a vigil as we replace them.”
“Light a candle on my behalf.”
“Consider it ablaze.”
“We’re all set then. You’re dismissed. They’ll be in your inbox before you sit back down at your desk.”
“You got it, boss.” She started toward the door.
“Hey, Anne?”
She turned.
“Thank you. I appreciate your feedback. Seriously.” He smiled, softening the sharp lines of his features.
“You’re welcome, Damien,” she said with a smile, then left, swearing she felt his gaze linger longer than necessary.
Anne slammed a Wild Card down on the table in front of Todd. “Draw Four! Red.”
Todd let out an exasperated, dramatic “Ugh!” and pulled four cards from the deck stacked in front of them. He frowned, continued drawing until he found a red card, and slapped it down.
The board game cafe’s atmosphere was lively, filled with cheerful conversations and the clinking of glasses. Anne and Todd sat at a cozy little table in the corner, surrounded by shelves stacked high with colorful board games, somewhat haphazardly arranged. The air was sweet and inviting, carrying the scent of brewing coffee, pizzas, and springtime warmth.
Anne took a sip of her taro bubble tea, savoring its creamy sweetness. Across the table, Todd grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He placed another Wild Card down with triumphant flair. “Take that! Green.”
She drew four cards as instructed, retaliating with a matching green card to flip it back to red.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
“I did warn you,” she teased, “that I’m the undisputed UNO champion.”
Todd raised an eyebrow. “Disputed, actually. That remains to be seen.”
They played through the deck competitively, their laughter mingling with the surrounding chatter. As Todd shuffled the cards again with fluid movements, Anne couldn’t help but admire his easygoing, infectious energy. They bantered and taunted, occasionally breaking into bursts of laughter. Toward the end, Todd matched her card for card, proving himself a worthy opponent.
“Uno!” he cried gleefully. “Haha!”
“Not so fast, Todd.” Anne placed another number-not-color match on his penultimate card. “Don’t celebrate just yet.”
He waggled his eyebrows playfully and dropped a Reverse card of the same color.
Anne’s face scrunched in mock disgust. “I have been the victim of a crime. My title was robbed, I say. Robbed.”
Todd’s grin turned devilish. “How about a rematch at my place? Strip UNO. Whoever gets hit with a Wild Card loses a piece of clothing.”
“I won’t lose twice.”
Anne lost.
“Looks like you’ve officially been stripped of your UNO champion title,” Todd teased.
She giggled. “Stuff it.”
“Already did,” he replied with a smirk. “And it was way more fun than UNO. Gotta be careful about putting down colors you can’t, uh, reverse.” He gestured to his neck, right under the jaw, undeniably indicating that there was a bruise on her neck that would prove a lot harder to hide than the other ones under her clothes.
“Aw, crap,” Anne muttered, standing from the bed and appraising the mark in the mirror. “My team won’t let me hear the end of this.”
“At least they’ll know you had a good time,” Todd said. “That’s what makeup’s for, right?”
“Makeup can’t fix everything,” she replied, pausing to pet his dog.
“In that case, have you tried duct tape, WD-40, or a pool noodle?”
“Pool noodles? That’s new.”
“I’m a trendsetter,” Todd said, handing her blouse over.
She slipped it on. “I suppose I’ll survive a day with my team. It’ll turn yellow in a day or two.”
Cass, Anne’s roommate, barely looked up from her laptop when Anne came through the door. “How was date number two?”
Anne shrugged. “Todd’s still charming and a worthy UNO competitor.”
Cass ejected a plangent laugh, finally glancing up with skepticism. “UNO?”
“You don’t know someone’s true colors until you hit them with a Draw Four. No pun intended.”
Cass raised her eyebrows and conceded. “So you hit him with a Draw Four, and then you let him hit that?”
Anne rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t that simple. I had to lose strip UNO first.”
“Strip UNO? I’ve been playing wrong my whole life.” Cass shook her head, her eyes landing on Anne’s fresh bruise. “Note to self...”
Anne grabbed a sparkling water from the fridge and flopped onto the couch, the can hissing as she pulled the tab. “How was your day?”
“S-S-D-D,” Cass replied monotonously. “Trying to do something productive but stuck. How about you?”
“Different. Spent the afternoon critiquing a presentation on ‘corporate sustainability.”
“Sounds excruciating. Was this for the secret project?”
“No. Totally unrelated. Damien asked for feedback on the visuals.”
Cass’s eyes lit up. “Damien, the outrageously hot CEO?”
“I never said he was outrageously hot.”
“It was implied.”
“How?” Anne laughed. “I’ve never described him to you.”
“Deduction, dear Watson. Also, Damien is, by nature, a very sexy name. If you’re going to be like that, I’ll solve this the professional way. To LinkedIn! What’s his last name?”
“Wilson.”
Cass typed furiously. There was some scrolling. “Albany Metropolitan Area… 500+ connections… 230,000 followers and followed by… Elon Musk? Damn.”
“Who, according to a first hand account by Damien, is apparently a tool. And Nazi.”
“Old news. Look, it says right here in Damien’s profile picture…” There was a click of the mouse. She spun the laptop in my direction, the black box with a circular photo in the middle of her screen with Damien’s rather stoic, sternly confident face in full display. “I’m exceptionally, unfairly hot.’ Look at those cheekbones.”
Anne blushed. “I won’t deny he’s good-looking.”
“Gorgeous blue eyes.” Her voice was sing-song.
“One’s a prosthetic, I’m pretty sure.”
Cass squinted at the screen. “Right eye? Very convincing. Does he smile?”
“Of course. He’s a nice guy. A real one. Not superficially nice.”
“His cover photo is probably some graphic someone in your department whipped up at some point.” She scrolled and clicked some more. “BS in Environmental and Sustainable Engineering at UAlbany. MBA at Wharton. More awards than I have phalanges. Like nine million endorsements. Oh, his most recent post is that he was on the cover of the Business Review. ‘The Power of Sustainable Power: Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions CEO & Founder Damien Wilson charts a course to a sustainable nuclear future.’ It’s a great photo. There’s some major Big Brain Energy happening here… Want me to send this article link to you?”
“No,” Anne lied. She’d find it later.
Cass’s gaze darted between the screen and Anne. “And you’d never met the man until a few weeks ago, and all of a sudden you’re up in his office multiple times a week? Let’s be real, Anne. You’re a mid-level marketing manager who has no business being in the C-Suite with the CEO.”
“It’s professional,” Anne said firmly, closing the laptop. “Nothing to think about.”
“Married?”
“No ring.”
“Aha! But you did notice he wasn’t wearing one.”
“That’s not fair. It was a loaded question.” Anne grabbed a book from the coffee table—not because she was actually reading it, but because she needed something to appear unbothered.
“Does beg the question. Why is a man that hot and rich still single?”
“Don’t care. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Cass.” She started towards her room.
Cass called after her smugly, opening her laptop again. “Wet dreams!”
Anne cast a sarcastic glance over her shoulder before retreating upstairs.
