I spent much of my lunch at a local restaurant, jotting down notes for reviewing the pre-interview with the team. I also came up with a fresh list of questions we needed to have answered before I went back for the final interview. Particularly, questions about the specifics of the charity.

With lunch done, I headed back to our building and through the bustling first floor lobby. I then shouldered my way into a tightly packed elevator and squeezed myself into a cramped corner of the car. Taking the time to distract myself from the heavy scent of sweat and overpriced cologne, I began thinking through my next steps. If I got up to our floor and discovered that Alec had returned from his ad firm meeting then I would need to sit down and debrief him. We had a lot to talk about, including the gaping hole in my defense against Mariska. I shook my head, recalling her fairly simple question and how utterly incapable I was at providing an answer. How could I have neglected the charity so easily?

The elevator cleared out quickly once we reached the programmers' floors. The rather youthful bunch, that chose jeans and loose fitting shirts over the tailored suits of those situated a few floors above them, made up a large chunk of the company's staff. With the elevator past their stomping grounds, I was left alone with a single woman whose outfit somehow looked both fashionable and akin to a suit of armor. When added with her flawless complexion, statuesque facial features, and enough height on her — even without her impressively high heels — to tower over me, I couldn't help but conjure up the visage of an Amazon in my head.

"You're from Public Relations, aren't you?"

Despite what I thought was a rather commendable effort to keep my eyes trained upon the door per elevator etiquette, my neighbor apparently noticed my awe of her impressive appearance. Of course, she herself seemed uninterested in the long standing customs of elevator travel. As she inquired about my department, she did the unthinkable and stepped out of her corner of the carriage and directly into my line of sight. I'm generally fairly comfortable in awkward social situations, but the rules of elevator etiquette were so ingrained in me that even I felt a mild panic attack burning in my chest.

"Yes, my name is Alexis Jeffries. Unfortunately, I must admit, I'm not familiar with you."

"Don't worry," she said with a sweet, but proud smile, "it is my job to know who people are in this company. My name is Tamara Hudson and I'm aide to the president of the company."

I took a small step back at this revelation. The aide to the president of the company also meant aide to Mr. Quinto's son. By pure association, that meant this Tamara Hudson was well above most, if not all, of the other employees at Quinto Technologies. My recognition of this very fact brightened the smirk on her finely sculpted cheeks and I felt a flash of indignation at her pleasure.

That's when the elevator jolted to an abrupt stop.

"What did you...?" I couldn't form the question, my mouth was too busy gaping at her hand which had slammed over the emergency stop button on the elevator control panel.

"I hope you don't mind," she said with a practiced smile. "This is just the easiest way to have a quick, private chat."

"Won't they have someone running over to see why it stopped?"

Her answer was a twist of mischievousness on her lips. She reached out and opened a hidden panel beneath the floor call buttons. There she found an intercom.

"Max, it's Tamara. Ignore the emergency stop in elevator two. I'll start it back up again with my key when I'm ready."

A raspy voice acknowledged her request and she shut the panel before returning her attention to me.

"Sorry, this is the best way to do this," she said with a softened, yet still poisonous, grin. "If he finds out that we're looking into his progress with more scrutiny than just our occasional checkup reports, then he'll just fall to pieces."

"Who will? Progress on what?"

"Progress on the gala, of course," she said with an ill humored laugh. "And I'm talking about your boss, Alec Radcliffe."

"Why would you need to check up on Alec? If you need to know more about our progress, I'm sure he'd be happy to extend his reports..."

"No, no, dear." She and I both knew the age difference between us was not enough to allow the term "dear" to be anything other than condescending. I bit the inside of my cheek and let her continue on without disruption. "Reports can only tell you so much. They say only what the author wants you to know. This is a very big project and a very important one for the success of Quinto Technologies. We just want to make sure we're well informed on how the matter is being addressed."

At the time, I could certainly admit that the gala was a large and important project for the PR department, and I knew it would offer a favorable boon to the company's reputation if we succeeded. However, the inflection and tone of her words hinted to an underlying motive that I simply couldn't grasp.

"Don't worry," she added as if she sensed my growing unease with the conversation. "We're confident Alec is doing everything he can for the project. We just want to be on top of things. To do that we have to keep our noses over the pot and Alec's ego is a bit too fragile to handle that."

I wondered if the real problem was that his will was too strong to be a puppet. His being passed over for that promotion years ago was suddenly starting to make sense.

"I just want to hear how things are going straight from the troops on the line. I don't think that's so unreasonable."

As much as I disagreed with her methods, I couldn't completely disagree with her sentiment. There was something to be gained by checking in with the general staff as well as the managers. I shrugged the whole thing off and figured the sooner I gave her the report, that she'd probably already gotten from Alec, the sooner I could get to my office and away from her.

"I can only speak for my team. In regards to marketing..."

"Marketing?" she asked. "What good fortune, that's the one Alec is assisting on right now, correct?"

"Yes, he's helping us out now since we need to get marketing in place early on. He'll follow up with Colin Travers later to assist with the actual gala planning. But, since I'm lead on marketing I can only give you a report on that aspect."

"You're the lead." A furrow broke the perfectly smooth skin of her forehead and the pinch of her lips cast an ugly shadow over her sharp chin.

"Yes, um, anyway, as I was saying... Right now with marketing we've spent the week laying groundwork down for our social media push and scripting out a commercial. I just got back from a pre-interview for Mornings with Mariska and Alec went to the ad firm this morning to..."

"You're awfully informal with him."

"Pardon?"

"You call him by his first name, not Mr. Radcliffe. He is your superior and older than you."

"Not by much." I spat out the response before I could think it through. I hadn't really noticed I was doing it. She kept calling him Alec and after the previous night, I was having trouble thinking of him as my boss. It wasn't meant to be disrespectful, but I'd be damned if I'd let her try to make me out that way.

"You should keep in mind your status in this company. If you want to be sitting at the table with someone like Alec, you can start by dressing in something other than discount pant suits."

I wouldn't let her childish tactic hurt me. I knew that to the people that mattered, I was exceeding expectations. Still, I caught myself glancing at my murky reflection in the elevator doors and judging my drab grey slacks and pale yellow blouse next to the fierce red dress suit that looked like it could have been poured over Tamara's body and molded perfectly to her curves. I bit back my resentment, not sure I was angrier at her or at me for giving her even an inch after using her high school level bullying.

Thankfully, we both appeared to be more than done with the conversation and she inserted her key into the elevator's console. The elevator started up again and the hum of the carriage climbing up its tracks filled the tense silence. Fortunately, my floor wasn't far from where we had stopped and the doors opened mercifully to the sanctuary of the PR department.

I stepped out onto the floor without looking back at the towering Amazon that was Tamara Hudson. I stood there for a moment holding my breath, waiting for her to get in one last jab, though, I still didn't really know why. From the moment I saw her I sensed hostility that simply grew into animosity. But, why? It just didn't make sense.

"You going to move or am I going to have to pay some sort of toll?"

The question snapped me to my senses and I looked over my shoulder to see the elevator doors had long since closed and Tamara was probably already back on her floor.

"Sorry, Cynthia," I said with a sigh as air found its way back to my lungs. "The toll is $20."

"What?" she asked with a confused shake of her head. "That's kind of expensive. Going down to talk to the graphics department is not particularly worth the cost."

"Well evidently I need to start a designer suits fund and times are tough," I said with a groan as I stepped aside to let Cynthia pass. I needed to get back to my office and vent. I didn't like the side of me that was letting that cheap punch at the end be the one thing my brain clung to. However, I let on too much and Cynthia smelled a chance of gossip.

"I know my wardrobe, clad with a custom child puke stain on the inside of my collar is worth the envy, but I wouldn't worry so much about it."

"Sorry, it's just been a long day. I should..."

"It's only 1:00pm."

"Is it really..."

"Jeez, Lex, what's eating you?" Despite her hunger for all things secretive, the woman was still a mother and I caught a tinge of concern on her hardened face. A face that I then realized had seen many different departments in the company. Including the administrative assistant pool on the executive floor.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, I wasn't kidding about going down to the graphics department. It's really not worth the energy. There's this woman there, Fran, whose son is going to my girl's school and she has been trying to hook the two up because, supposedly, her son is really interested in another girl whose mother had an affair with Fran's husband. Obviously, she doesn't want any reason to get near that family again so she's trying to use her connections with me to..."

"Anyway," I said, stopping her before I actually found myself interested in what she had to say, "when you worked the administrative pool, did you get to know anyone named Tamara Hudson?"

I expected her eyes to light with glee at an open invitation to share shocking rumors and tantalizing secrets, but instead, her face darkened and her shoulders squared.

"Why are you asking about her?"

"It's just, we ran into each other on the elevator..."

"Commented on your suits."

"Among other things."

"Listen Lex, stay away from that woman." She then reached out to the elevator call button and illuminated the down arrow.

"Okay, why?" I didn't normally have to work this hard for information from Cynthia and if possible, I actually became even more afraid of the intimidating aide.

"She's got to have her nose in everything and not in the way I do." At least Cynthia never shied away from admitting to her vices. "I just listen, she meddles. If there's drama, there's probably Tamara attached to it somewhere. Don't let her get her claws in you. She's done enough to this department already."

Before I could get her to clarify, the elevator doors opened and she slipped in. Not a word of goodbye or a "talk to you later," she just ended on that note and disappeared behind the metal doors, carrying — for the first time in the years I'd known her — a silent secret on her lips.

***

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