More luxury. An antique credenza held a huge exotic floral arrangement and an assortment of beverages. A long mahogany conference table and high-back leather chairs stretched across the expanse of the room. Nate’s executive management team was lean in number and wholly disproportionate to the size of this table. Even though I was bathed in all the external trappings of executive leadership, inside I felt like a freshman on the first day of high school. This would be my first Executive Committee meeting. I was pretty sure there was a certain protocol and I didn’t want to run afoul of it. Where should I sit? How did Nate conduct the meeting? I’d craved a place in the executive suite for so long. Now that I’d made it, I wasn’t sure how to behave.
Willow strolled in shortly after me. “Hey, Ellice, honey,” she said, southern drawl dripping. “Your hair sure looks pretty that way.”
“Thanks.” White women usually complimented me on my hair when I wore it straight and Black women complimented me when it was coiled. I’m sure there was a philosophical conversation in there waiting to be unpacked. Since my promotion to the executive suite, I just wore my hair flat-ironed. Another compromise and one less battle to fight. I tried wearing it coiled when I worked in the Legal Department. But it always stirred up an awkward comment, or heaven forbid someone asking to touch it. I envied other women who wore their hair unapologetically natural—coils, curls, kinks, locs—whatever. Women who dared their colleagues to judge them by their worth instead of their crown.
“So I guess we’re it for now,” I said. Willow didn’t acknowledge my comment.
She crossed the room and stood in front of me leaning against the conference table. “Ellice, honey, can I give you a little piece of advice I wish someone had given me when I started up here?”
“Sure.”
“Dealing with these guys can be a delicate dance.”
“What does that mean?” A few seconds later, we heard voices approaching.
She tapped my arm gently and whispered, “Let’s just talk later.”
Jonathan and Max strolled into the room. I noticed Jonathan tap Max’s lapel pin. “Why so formal today, Maxie? Maybe you should take that off.” Jonathan glanced at me and moved toward an empty chair without another word. Max rubbed the pin nervously and took a seat. I lingered near the credenza at the end of the room, fussing over a bottle of Voss and giving everyone else a chance to plant themselves in their usual spots around the conference table. With everyone seated, I slid into an empty chair next to Willow.
Jonathan piped up. “Hey, Ellice. Welcome to the heartbeat of Houghton.”
I nodded in Jonathan’s direction then turned to Max. “Good morning, Max,” I said with a lilt in my voice. He nodded and turned away. I didn’t care whether he liked me or not, but he would have to contend with the fact that I was his equal colleague now. Some people need to remember you long after you’ve left a room. Especially the people who didn’t think you deserved to be there in the first place.
Nate was the last one to enter. He sat at the head of the table with the rest of us tucked around him, side by side, forming a tight little clump at one end of the conference table.
“Let’s get started,” Nate said. He nodded in my direction. “First, let’s all welcome our newest member of the Executive Committee. We’re so pleased that you’re joinin’ my team to keep us on the straight and narrow. When it comes to legal advice, we’ll be sticking to you like a piece of hair on a grilled cheese sandwich.” Someone, I wasn’t exactly sure who, let out a quiet, impatient sigh. “We’re gonna miss Michael, but I’m glad you’re here. Welcome, Ellice.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Now let’s get after it.” Nate peered down at his notes. “A couple follow-up items from the last meeting before we get into the agenda. First up, the protesters. The crowds have started to pick up again ever since the news cameras showed up after Sayles’s death. So what are we gonna to do about it?”
Max responded first. “Since our crackerjack security team can’t manage to think their way out of a paper bag, much less handle a bunch of thugs in front of the building, I suggest we call in a private security firm.”
Thugs.
“That’s a bit of overkill, Maxie,” Jonathan said. Jonathan grinned then removed his horn-rimmed glasses and tapped one end against his chin like he was mulling through the solution for all Houghton’s problems. “We should just wait them out. Maybe things will slow down like they did before the holidays.”