It was bad enough that at every station, the momentum from the train stopping threw me up against him. He might not be a big man, but he was solid and sturdy. "Now I remember why I usually walk to and from work," I said after one particularly abrupt stop. "It's much less violent."
We finally reached the City Hall station and left the train together. Owen wasn't particularly tall, but he walked quickly enough that I had to work to keep up with him as he went through the park. He crossed Park Row against the light and away from the crosswalk, but there wasn't any traffic at the time. I wondered if that was a fluke or something he did. In spite of all his bashfulness, I began to get the impression that he was a very powerful person who cleared a path for himself through all of life's little inconveniences without even a second thought. The contrast was disconcerting.
Summoning subway cars and making coffee appear out of thin air seemed rather benign, almost like the parlor tricks one of my uncles liked to do at family gatherings, only much more useful. But this was a business, and apparently a rather large one, so I knew there had to be more to magic than that. It had to affect your way of looking at the world to know that you could control the elements like that. Would you expect to have that kind of control over everything? I decided I'd be safer if I focused on the impression of power instead of the bash-fulness when I dealt with Owen. If I only let myself see the cute, shy guy, I'd underestimate him, possibly even to a dangerous degree. It was like dealing with the sales reps who used to come to our store. The nicest, most friendly good ole boys were the ones you really had to look out for.
As if reinforcing my mental lecture, as soon as Owen stepped through the doorway into the building he almost became another person, very confident and professional and matching that impression of power I'd just had from him. "Good morning, Hughes," he said to the lobby's security guard. "You remember that Miss Chandler is joining us?"
"Of course, sir. Welcome, Miss Chandler."
"Katie, please," I insisted.
"I'll take her up to Personnel," Owen said.
"Very good, sir. Have a good day, sir, Katie."
"You, too," I called over my shoulder as Owen led me toward the stairs.
"Rod will take care of your orientation," he explained, winding his way through corridors. I wished I'd thought to bring some bread crumbs so I wouldn't get lost, but I didn't have time to worry about that now. Everyone we passed greeted him with some deference. Now I couldn't help but wonder just who this guy was. He couldn't be much more than thirty, yet they treated him like he was the top brass. I should see past any illusion he used to make himself look younger. Maybe he wasn't human at all and was some human-looking species that lived a very long time, so he could still look around thirty while actually being three hundred.
We reached a doorway and he came to a stop. "This is Rod's office," he said. "I'll leave you to him, but I'm sure I'll see you around."
"Thanks for leading the way."
He turned a little bit pink, looked like he was about to say something, then turned and went back down the hallway. I steeled myself before stepping through the doorway into what appeared to be an outer office. The largest woman I'd ever seen sat at a desk with the newest model of iMac, along with a crystal ball thingy like the one on the desk in the lobby and an ordinary office phone. She wasn't fat, just big all around. She could play linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys. Before I could open my mouth
to say who I was and what my business was, she stood up, towering over me, and gave me a huge smile. "Katie! Sweetheart! You're here!"
I had relatives who didn't greet me that warmly at family reunions, and I'd never met this woman before in my life. "Hi," I said. "Apparently I'm supposed to meet with Rod Gwaltney here."
"Of course you are. Rod's not in yet, but I expect him soon. Please, have a seat.
Can I get you some coffee? A bagel?" Somehow, I'd expected something stranger than this, but this was the way I'd expect to be treated at any particularly friendly firm. "Some coffee would be nice," I said, sitting down in one of the room's overstuffed chairs.
"Cream and sugar, right?" she asked.
"Yes, please."
When the coffee mug appeared in my hand, I remembered that this wasn't just any firm. "Oh!" I gasped, then tried to steady myself before I spilled coffee all over myself.
"Sorry about that," the woman said. "I should have warned you if you're not used to this sort of thing."