Cathy Williams - One Night with Her Brooding Boss

She could so easily make a habit of this, Magenta mused as he strolled towards the bed, drying his wayward hair on a towel.

‘It’s time to get up.’

‘Already? ‘ she complained.

‘Work?’ Quinn reminded her.

‘Work?’ she echoed without any of her usual enthusiasm. ‘Can’t we stay here a little longer?’ For the first time in her life, there was something a lot more important than work—such as being with Quinn. Gazing up into his face, she only found it disappointingly resolute.

‘Work,’ he confirmed, turning on his heels. ‘Take a shower; there’s plenty of hot water.’

Take a shower—alone? Mageneta frowned, wishing she hadn’t heard the distant note in Quinn’s voice. After last night she had expected things to be very different between them.

She waited until she was sure he was busy dressing before creeping out of bed. Grabbing her discarded clothes, she held them in front of her. She felt self-conscious suddenly. Quinn made her feel as if she had overstayed her welcome—a sense that only grew when he asked if she wanted a lift to the office.

If? He hadn’t even turned to look at her yet.

‘I don’t want to be late,’ he explained. Stepping inside his open-plan dressing room, he started the process of selecting a tie. ‘I’ve got a lot on this morning.’

She mustn’t think the worst of him. ‘You’ve called a meeting of the team?’ she guessed hopefully.

‘Yes, I have,’ he confirmed.

If this was an opportunity to get those girls out of the typing pool, she’d forgive him anything. ‘Great. I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she promised, springing out of bed.

She had to be positive about this, Magenta told herself firmly as she stepped into a proper shower beneath steaming spray. She might have known that even in the sixties Quinn would enjoy state-of-the-art plumbing. She had to put her personal feelings to one side and recognise the meeting Quinn had called for the victory it was. And what had she imagined—that Quinn intended to progress their relationship? It was time to get real, time to come to grips with the era in which she found herself, however much that hurt.

But as they drove to the office, and she stared out of Quinn’s car window at the sixties cityscape of concrete and high-rise grey boxes, there was nothing she wanted more than a return to real time, real relationships, and an end to this confusing dream if that was what it was. She had expected to be intrigued by everything she saw. She had also expected to be set free to enjoy a whole new set of rules. What she had not expected was those rules leading her to feel so deeply about Quinn, or to find that sexual freedom came with quite such a heavy price tag.

Quinn remained aloof and unspeaking throughout the journey, while Magenta tried to persuade herself that he was mentally preparing himself for the day ahead. Whatever had happened between them, she was determined to show a bright face at the office. There was enough uncertainty there without her adding to it, and the most important thing she had to do today was to tell the girls the good news.

Magenta felt even more positive when she entered the office to discover that the partition around the typing pool had been removed; Quinn had kept his word. Even if the girls were still sitting in rows typing, at least they could see what was going on around them now. And, most importantly, they felt good about the changes, judging by the smiling faces that greeted her.

Her feelings of elation grew when Quinn invited her and the girls to join his team in the boardroom that morning. She had suspected he might, and had briefed the girls beforehand, urging them to speak out and ignore any slights the men might throw their way. ‘We have to be professional, even if they aren’t,’ she’d warned. ‘If we want Quinn to involve us in the campaign, it’s crucial that we keep emotion out of it. We have nothing to prove in there other than the fact that our ideas are better than theirs.’

‘You bet they are,’ Nancy had agreed. ‘We’re behind you all the way, Magenta.’

One of the girls still made coffee for everyone, Magenta noticed. But she told herself she mustn’t be greedy. Quinn was right in that lasting change took time to implement. One small step at a time would suit her, so long as that step was in the right direction.

She led the way into the boardroom and acknowledged Quinn as if they hadn’t spent the night in each other’s arms.

‘Magenta,’ he greeted her in much the same way. ‘Would you and your team like to sit down? ‘

‘Thank you.’

Ever the gentleman, Quinn remained standing until he and his team had seen all the women comfortably settled around the table. Quinn had clearly briefed his team in advance, as Magenta had, and she took this as a good sign. Quinn had also recognised that nothing could be achieved in an atmosphere of taunts and sneering remarks.

‘Would you care to begin?’ he said. His eyes reflected nothing more than professional interest.

She had to ignore the ache of disappointment inside her and do her job. ‘Nancy? ‘ she prompted. ‘Would you like to begin by explaining what we have here on the easels?’

Magenta had never wanted to hog the limelight, and couldn’t help but be thrilled by the audible gasp of surprise from the men when Nancy revealed the team’s first idea. Vivid, graphic imagery and clever text was a winning combination—no one could deny it, not even the men around the table. The general theme was irony, suggesting men must be catered for and even spoiled a little so that women were free to do their own thing.

‘You’re suggesting we should be pampered and cosseted so we work harder and stay out of your way?’ one of the men queried, glancing at Quinn—who had remained carefully neutral up to now—to see his reaction.

‘With more women in the work place year on year, I’m sure that’s a message that resonates with everyone,’ Magenta said, defending her team’s premise good-humouredly.

‘I think we can see that Magenta’s group is coming up with some sound ideas,’ Quinn observed. ‘Not all of them will fly,’ he added, ‘but I’m sure we can tailor them to suit our purposes. They will enrich the project—and we shouldn’t close our minds to a new approach,’ he added when there were murmurs of discontent from the men around the table.

What did Quinn mean? Magenta wondered. She didn’t want to rain on her team’s parade—the women were all excited that at last they were being taken seriously—but having their ideas ‘tailored’ to fit in with those of the men didn’t sound like the end result Magenta had been aiming for.

MAGENTA’S worst fears were soon confirmed.

‘Jackson, you take the graphics and work on them,’ Quinn instructed. ‘And Michael, you handle the fashion side of things. You’re more in touch with your feminine side than the rest of us.’

As if a dam had burst, the tension between the men at the table relaxed and they all burst out laughing; it wasn’t kind laughter. It was laughter directed at the women in their midst, as if to be a woman was somehow contrary to the laws of business.

Or at least business under Quinn, Magenta thought, feeling betrayed. She could only watch in impotent horror as one by one the ideas her team had worked so hard on were handed over to a member of Quinn’s team to progress. The good of the business had to be her only concern if everyone was going to keep their job, but how was she going to explain this to the women who had trusted her? She could feel their shock as well as their disappointment. They would become resigned soon and she couldn’t wait around for that to happen. ‘May I have a word with you—in private?’ she asked Quinn when he brought the meeting to a close.