Prettiest Girl in the Room

"And by the way, Brian thinks you're hot."

"Pardon?"

"Brian, he thinks you're "a smoking hot black babe" is how he put it.

Candice suddenly felt both exhilarated yet degraded at the same time. "How would you know that? Did he say that to you?"

"Heavens no. Around here men only confide in other men. He mentioned it to Mr. Doherty, my boss, and Mr. Doherty mentioned it to me in passing."

"And now you're telling me?"

"Yup. That's what I mean about us women having to stick together. Men are so stupid they would never guess in a million years that we rat them out constantly and continually."

"Unless, of course, it's all done by design?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if they plan it that way?"

"Conspiracy theories for men that can barely find their way to the washroom even with a map and a flashlight? They're not smart enough, especially in this place. Believe me, I know."

Candice became nervous, glancing over Mable's shoulder and beginning to feel a little uneasy.

Mable stared at her more intently. "You sick or something?"

Candice sighed, then shrugged, then walked around Mable and shut her office door. "I'm not sick, just a little nervous about the things we're saying about our male bosses. What if they overhear us?"

"Rumor is that old man Doherty already has all the offices bugged, and can listen in any time he wants. Simply shutting doors aren't going to keep these dweebs from knowing what we're talking about. Believe me, I know that as well."

"Wow, bugging is illegal. Next thing you'll be telling me is that the creep has a camera in the ladies room."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

"Hmm, I'll try to remember that. But surely his assistant Brian is not so inclined?"

"You mean sneaky and snoopy? Probably not, but don't you dare get lost in his mag cover looks and super buff body."

"He's already got a girl?

"He might be dating, although in his case it is more likely to be from meeting someone in the men's room. Some claim, but without any proof of course, that Brian goes both ways. But you never heard it from me. Anyways, the coffee's in this bag, along with cream and sugar."

She sat it on her desk.

"Thanks. Maybe I can buy you next time?"

"No, that's okay. I take it out of the petty cash. Always lots of loose change hanging around."

"Okay, thanks again."

"Don't mention it, and oh, if you're going for that so called working business lunch with Brian today, make sure you bring a life jacket."

"Excuse me?"

"Honey, if you're going swimming with the sharks then you have to at least keep your head above water."

"You're saying Brian is a shark? I thought you were suspicious he might go both ways and have a passion for guys?"

Mable sighed and looked heavenward, shaking her head from side to side. "The operative phrase is both ways. Can you tell me what man isn't a shark? They all ride up to you with shiny white armor ready to carry you off into the sunset just before biting you on the ass. They're sharks. Live and learn."

"I'll take your word for it and put on my imaginary bum protector when I'm out with Brian today."

"You do that. Oh shit. Time's really moving. Doherty can be extra grouchy in the morning before he's had a chance to drink some spirited lunch cocktails. Got to go. See you later."

"Sure, later."

Candice watched as the door shut and she was left virtually alone. She wrestled the large coffee out of the small bag, wrenched off the lid, then tossed in a cream and a sugar. She then took a well-deserved sip and slipped into her comfortable chair, starting to relax.

If silence and solitude were golden, then Candice was surely in a glorious place. Peace, and being alone at long last, and a whole two hours more to sort out her feelings before the long awaited and now dreaded 'working lunch' with the shark Brian was to take place.

She checked her surroundings once more. The room did seem rather drab, but she supposed they had made it that way on purpose. The less personalized and snazzy, the more businesslike and conforming to company policy it was going to be. She surmised that a few nick-knacks here and there would brighten things up quite a bit. She made a mental note that tomorrow she would bring her second university degree, and a really nice full length photo of herself, not to mention a calendar and the plaque she'd been awarded for some volunteer work she'd done.

She heard footsteps approaching her shut door, and anticipated a knock, but the footsteps kept on going past. She felt jittery. It was a very busy upscale bank where she knew she could expect the unexpected. Still, she was gratified that she was at least starting to get her feet wet. One thing that troubled her, though, was the way in which employees seemed to be chatting non-stop about each other, almost as if it were some kind of sport. She made a mental note not to participate if at all possible, although she knew she could do nothing about 'hearing' such slanders, only about passing them along.

The coffee seemed to hit the spot, and the edge on her nerves began to dissipate.

Her phone rang. Line six. The front desk.

She pressed 'speaker phone.'

"Got another client to see you."

"Fine, send him or her in."

A knock soon followed, and she rose from her desk, walking over to the door and opening it.

A tall muscular black man stopped short of entering her office, waiting to be introduced by a woman with him who was not Sandra. Apparently Rachel had come back from break.

"Hi Candice, I'm Rachel, the front desk lady."

"I thought Sandra had that job?"

Rachel laughed. "She wishes. She only covers for me at breaks."

The two women shook hands and immediately Candice took a shine to her. She somehow seemed warm and genuine, and her instincts told her she was not gossipy like the others, although, just like everything else around the place, it would be far too early to tell for sure.

"Hear you're going for lunch with Brian. Your first day here? The man moves fast."

"I guess he doesn't believe in letting the grass grow under his feet," Candice shot back playfully, liking Rachel instantly. She wished she had more time to chat with her.

"Maybe later sometime I can show you around?" Rachel asked.

"I think Brian said he was going to do that," Candice answered.

Rachel smiled. "The only thing Brian will be showing you is himself."

Rachel then widened the opening by swinging the door all the way. It was time to eliminate the small talk and get down to business. "This is Mr. Gerald Dalton, looking for a retail business loan. Here is his file. He already has a checking account with us, as well as a savings and some foreign currency accounts."

Candice smiled and shook Gerald's outstretched hand.

Then he turned to Rachel and said "thank-you," liking what he saw in Candice and hinting he wanted to immediately get rid of the front desk girl. He could speak for himself.

Rachel took the hint. "Later," she said, turning and scurrying out the door, closing it behind her.

Candice stared at him for a moment. Definitely hunk number three, only black for a change. Still, regardless of color, you would have thought that at least one of the first three men to step into her office wouldn't be a cross between the world's greatest porn star, and a verifiable Greek God. Three for three in the 'super-hot' department and she had only been there for an hour.

"Well, Gerald, I-"

"You're not going to call me by my last name?" he said, signalling he was going to be combative. Obviously he liked Candice, but he also liked to have the upper hand with women, and his male chauvinism had no problem shining through. He felt that grovelling at some female's feet for money was beneath him, especially if those feet were black like his.

"Sorry, Mr. Dalton."

"Hmm, you seem to be the token black."

"Pardon?"

"You're the only black woman working in this entire bank. All the tellers and other loan officers are white."

Candice shrugged, trying to walk a tight rope over being cordial and looking unoffended. She had already banished the wannabe romance novelist Eric with her condescending, skeptical attitude. She was now being backed into a corner by the 'woman hating' Gerald, and her boss, Mr. Doherty was no doubt still fuming over her snagging his parking spot. When she tossed in the fact that she had so uncharacteristically allowed Brian to talk her into having lunch with him, she knew she had to dig down deep for some resilience and fortitude. She was batting four for four where dealing with difficult men were concerned. She now focused on trying to emerge further unscathed from her insipid loan meeting with this new creep Gerald.

She decided to cut to the chase and take control of the meeting. She wasn't going to win making small talk with even smaller minds.

"Well, Gerald, I mean Mr. Dalton."

"It's okay. Call me Gerald."

His spit out words threw her off. Was he being stupid and contrary on purpose?

"Fine, Gerald. So you're looking for a loan for?"

"I want to open a submarine shop just down the street from here. There are a few vacant commercial spaces at the corner of Maple and Vodden Avenue."

She let his words rattle around her brain for a minute before answering.

"I know that corner well," she said. "Very busy, especially around lunch time, from noon till about two. A perfect place to have a restaurant or little take out place, but they already have a Mr. Submarine in that intersection, across the street, as well as a Subway sandwich shop just around the corner."

He mulled over her words. She was not at all what he thought she'd be, but rather somewhat knowledgeable of the area with definite street smarts. Instead of him having to lead her through his project, she was leading him.

"So you're saying you like the idea of a place to eat, but not just a submarine place?"

"Exactly," Candice said. "I mean don't get me wrong. I know from my college days, when I used to work at the twin towers in the summer, between semesters, that the lineups at lunch at Subways were huge. But there is not a West Indian Food place in the entire town."

A light bulb suddenly went off in his head. He hadn't thought of that. But he decided to be cold to the idea and play devil's advocate instead.

"A West Indian Food place? There aren't many blacks in this town," he countered. "Maybe ten percent of the population. That's it."

"That may be true, but most of your clientele would be white. They would relish having some place exotic to eat for a change. As long as your prices were reasonable, you could probably make a small fortune each week. The rent might be high, but then again, you wouldn't need that much space, just a small kitchen, perhaps five tables, with a shelf along the wall and a dozen stools. Even if rental by square footage was high, since you needed so little, you could swing it with big rewards, but that is just my thought."

"You seem to know quite a bit about that intersection."

She nodded her pretty head up and down. "Even a few minutes ago, one of my colleagues was mentioning taking me to lunch, telling me to be sure we left early cause there is a twenty minute wait just to get a table. Something like that, it leaves a definite impression on you."

"So you'd be interested in making such a loan then?"

Candice smiled. Gone from her adversary were the sharpness and combativeness he'd been spewing earlier. She seemed to know her stuff, and had a vision for what might be quite a profitable venture.

"Look at it this way," she explained. "At the very worst you would at least break even plus make a decent living. But can you imagine how much you could sell a place like that for? If you had long term lease options on the place, you could make huge profits selling the place to someone else if the hours and work got too hard."

"Glad to know you'd be interested in something like that."

"How much were you looking for?"

"About a hundred and fifty thousand, I guess."

He guessed? She tried not to frown. Business ventures where lots of capital was being raised and risked was not something you guessed about.

"What costings have you done?" she asked.

"As in?"

"Ovens, stoves, cookware, tables, décor, dishes, supplies, emergency generator, state, municipal and federal taxes, freezers, fridges, renovations, initial food costs."

"A lot to think about, I know, but I've delved into all that and more, and that figure of a hundred and fifty is pretty rock solid. I could do it for less, maybe, but I'd want a backup."

"A back up is very prudent. Especially if there is a problem with cash flow. Have you thought about pursuing a liquor license?"

"Well, to be frank, I have, but the wait and the expense of-"

"A liquor license can triple your profits. I know it is a real pain to acquire, but there is lots of money to be made hawking single bottles of beer and wine."

"Yes, it would swell profits considerably, I suppose."

"And then there are other incidentals to consider, such as an accountant who can pay employees and manage your books."

Gerald stared at her intently. She certainly knew a lot about what was needed to make his business run, and also what might help make it even more profitable that he thought it'd be. He also had to admit to himself that she was a really hot looking lady. He had spent his life looking on women as mere objects for sexual gratification, and had used them whenever he could. For the first time in his life, however, he was beginning to look on a woman differently. Candice was supremely intelligent, having obvious street smarts in addition to her academic prowess.

Candice waited for him to answer, and when he didn't, she took the initiative again.

"I could see, with a decent written proposal, our bank putting up matching funds, Mr. Dalton."

"Please, call me Gerald."

She stayed calm and collected. He had already earlier asked her to disregard his earlier request that she call him by his last name. Then he'd switched it. Now, she decided to have a little fun with it. "Are you sure about that?" she said, smiling and trying not to act too smug. She hadn't dated black a man in a while, but noted he was a very nice looking guy, although a bit too full of himself for her subtle tastes. Still, all was fair in love and war.

He picked up a business card from her desk and slipped it into his shirt pocket. If he was reading her right, she was laying down a gauntlet that he would have to very carefully tread across. Matching funds? Was she saying that for him to squeeze a hundred and fifty grand from the bank, he would first have to put up and hundred and fifty of his own? Or, was she saying that if he had seventy five grand of his own money to invest, that the bank would loan him seventy-five more so that he could reach the one hundred and fifty grand that way?

He let the two thoughts roll around in his head for a moment. Either way, she was signalling that he would have to prove he really didn't need a loan to get a loan. Banks! All so damn typical, and yet so equally predictable. And as an extra slap in the face, it was a woman they were using to deliver the news to him. Although, he had to admit to himself that the woman seated across from him was unlike any other woman he had ever met. She intrigued him. He was also smart enough to know that if she was really gung ho over his restaurant proposal, then she might be willing to bend the rules where coughing up matching funds were concerned. But he also surmised that she might need a lot of work to come around to his way of thinking.

"An interesting proposal you raise," he admitted. "I'd like to discuss it further. Perhaps you would care to have dinner with me sometime and we can talk it over some more?"

His words rattled around in her head for a few moments as she tried to decipher his intent. She seemed to attract men's offers for dates the way a magnet attracted loose metals, and yet, it was so hard to know what any of them were after, except of course, for the obvious. And she had already made up her mind years ago that she wasn't going to cave in to any man's desires without carefully thinking things through first, especially when so many of her friends had had their hearts broken and their bellies swollen with children who were born with missing fathers. Many men told lies to get what they wanted, and she wasn't about to be sucked into being any man's flavor of the month.

Still, the offer of dinner, if not tantalizing on the surface of it, did perhaps hold some value in examining the mind of a Neanderthal. And the chauvinistic Gerald was just about as close to a hair grabbing caveman as you could possibly get. He was also dreamboat number three in today's surprisingly buff men's department. Or was it dreamboat number four? She had lost count.

"If you're asking about tonight, then yes, a working business dinner is fine, if you're buying," Candice replied, adding, "I don't do Dutch."

Gerald eyed her with a suspicious level of mirth. Just like most women, she was all about equal rights except when it came to putting her money where her mouth was.

"Of course I'm buying. That's what I meant. What time are you off?"

"No, I'd rather not have you swing by the bank to pick me up after work. I parked in the boss's spot today by mistake, and come five sharp I'll be extricating myself from there. But I'll meet you at Mario's over on Crawford. They have the never ending pasta bowl on this week."

Her choice surprised him. Normally, when you let a young lady know you were giving her a blank check at eateries, she'd be assigning the dinner hour to a place that specialized in high priced lobster and mountains of crab legs.

"I'll be there at five to snare us a table," he said, readily agreeing to her frugal choice of eateries.

"You'll want to bring a list of all your financial assets," she said.

Her request left him looking puzzled.

"No need to be alarmed," She clarified. "The bank needs the proposal to look strong so as not to be rejected by head office. They're not visionaries, but rather a collection of strict bean counters. Wayward accountants really, who can't make it on their own, which is why they work at a bank."

"You work at a bank," he said, willing to playfully turn the tables on her.

She smiled. "Yes, and I have the whole fourteen dollars an hour to start to prove it."

"That's all they pay a loan officer to start?" he asked incredulously, knowing they usually asked their new recruits to have either an MBA, or a master's degree in finance.

XXX

Candice spent the next sixty minutes entertaining requests for loans from a pair of students looking to set up their own summer painting business, and a well-meaning penniless woman looking for funds to keep a doomed pet shelter open.

So far, the only loan that might possibly pass the smell test where head office was concerned, was the sharp witted restaurant plan belonging to a very hunky and very black Gerald Dalton.

She had expected Brian would come by early for lunch, especially with the long table wait, but not this early. A whole hour? It was only eleven.

Early or not, Brian seemed agitated as he came through her door. He explained to her that his boss, Mr. Doherty, was awaiting a big name client any moment now, and had sent out a second round of memos requesting he be alerted the moment the big name client stepped into the bank. Apparently the guy was looking for ten million, and was a personal friend to the bank president downtown. Mr. Doherty was in the habit of not pissing off bank presidents who signed his mid six figure yearly paycheck.

Brian wanted to take his lunch at the same time Doherty took his. After that, his boss would undoubtedly want him to keep a heads up for the all-important mystery client.