Praise but No Raise

This week has been going smoothly until I was suddenly called into my boss’s office first thing Wednesday morning.  While I often have meetings with Melinda, my manager, and other higher-ups in the company, I have never spoken with my boss for more than five or ten minutes at a time.  I wasn’t even hired by my boss. 

            His name is Kent, and he’s so fashionable it hurts.  You have to be to work for a company like Creative Fashion Consultants.  I occasionally see him slinking through the office, in between cubicles, but he disappears after a few moments.  CFC isn’t a large company, but Kent is always swamped with work, it seems. 

            I stand nervously outside his closed office door.  I’ve been there for a few seconds, unsure if I should knock or if he’s expecting me.  I smooth down my patterned pencil skirt and make sure the back of my white blouse is tucked in.  It’s a good thing that I washed my hair this morning. 

            Finally, I rap my knuckles on the wood three quick times.  Immediately I hear “come in” in a deep voice. 

            I open the door and walk inside, my footsteps light.  “Hello.”

            Kent is seated at a wide, clean desk.  He’s not looking at any paperwork, which I’m sure means that I will have his undivided attention.  I almost wish he was preoccupied. 

            “Hello, Ryan.”  Kent smiles, his teeth celebrity-white.  He’s wearing a pinstriped button-up under a sport coat, and his hair is neatly combed.  When he waves me over I spot a gorgeous black leather watch on his wrist.  “Come sit down.”

            Once I’m seated, Kent starts talking about his day.  He tells me about the paperwork he’s completed and how he’s made phone calls to the fashion editor at Marie Claire, name-dropping like it’s nothing.  I nod and smile at all the right points, but wonder why exactly I was called in. 

            After a few minutes of this, Kent locks eyes with me.  His are a pale blue, an odd color that makes me wonder if he’s wearing colored contacts.  “So, Ryan, you’ve been here over a year now, yes?”

            I swallow to ease my dry throat.  “Yes.”

            “I just thought it was time we chatted for a bit,” he tells me.  “Abby and I talked last week, and I’ve been trying to get you at a moment when you’re free… but you always seem so busy.  Always doing something.”

            “Yes,” I say again, feeling panic swirl in my stomach.  “I always get all of my work done, but it’s a busy job.  Always something to do!”  I add cheerily.  “I stay on top of everything, though.”

            “Yes you do.  I’ve noticed that you have some of the most consistent work here.  Excellent writing, strong perspective.  Your articles are never too short or too long.  Always on time—never missed a deadline, have you?”

            I shake my head, wondering where this is going.  Have I been taking too long with my assignments? 

            “Are there any problems here?  Do you feel overwhelmed or stressed?”

            “No, not really,” I say truthfully.  “Sometimes it’s a lot of work—especially during fashion weeks—but that’s what I signed up for.  I love what I do, and it’s not always the best time of my life, but I know I’m a good writer and I keep up with all the latest trends.”  I hope my rambling tendency hasn’t taken over. 

            Kent is nodding.  He hasn’t looked away from my eyes this whole time, and I’m itching to glance away for just a second.  “I just wanted to congratulate you on your work ethic and timeliness.  I’m very impressed with everything you’ve done.”

            My ears perk up and finally, I start to get a sense of what’s going on.  Am I about to get a raise?!  My first raise, ever!

            “Thank you,” I tell Kent, smiling out of excitement and maybe just a tiny bit of relief that I’m not about to get fired.  I sit there, waiting for a response, but Kent doesn’t say anything.  For the first time, he breaks eye contact.  I watch as he reaches into his desk drawer and brings out some papers.  He glances back up at me, seeming to realize that I’m still here.

            “Anything you’d like to ask me?” he says politely. 

            “Oh, um, no, is that it?” I sound like an idiot. 

            Kent nods.  “Oh yes.  I just wanted to tell you what a great job you’ve been doing.”  He flashes a smile.  “Keep it up.”  With that, it’s clear that I’m dismissed.

            I walk out of Kent’s office fuming, and surprised at how upset I am.  My first real conversation with my boss, and it meant nothing.  Not that I expected anything more than a check-in and a quick conversation, but Kent had made it seem big.  Like I’d really exceeded expectations and was on track for a bonus or something.  But instead, nothing. 

            As soon as I’m off work—and the rest of the day, my highly-praised work ethic was definitely off—I call my mom and tell her everything. 

            “Doesn’t that sound like I deserve a raise?  I mean, not to sound greedy or anything, but I’ve been here for a year,” I tell her.  The more I’ve thought about it, the more frustrated I’ve become. 

            “It is odd, honey, but give it a little more time.”  I can hear her flipping paper, probably magazine pages, in the background.  Since it’s so closely-related to her job, she’s always reading a magazine.  “But in the near future you should be getting a raise.  He’s acknowledged your work ethic and the content you produce, and good things will come.  I promise.  Did you ask Abby what he said to her in their meeting?”

            “No,” I say.  “That seemed nosy.”

            My mom titters in agreement.  “Well, let me know if anything comes up.  I’ve got to run, but I’m so happy you called.  I’m proud of you!” 

            Maybe I am overreacting.  I’m still the newest person on the CFC team besides the intern, Caroline.  Patience is essential, I tell myself. 

            After I hang up with my mom, I stop in Starbucks for a quick coffee (what can I say, the afternoon sleepies were hitting haaaard).  While I’m waiting for my vanilla blonde roast, I spot someone sitting down.  I squint at him, knowing I’ve seen him before but not being able to place him.  He has a straight nose, dark hair, and broad shoulders, and he’s sitting with a woman who looks exactly like him.  The barista calls out my drink and I grab it, lingering by the sugar-and-straws table to see if I can place him. 

            I have a really weird thing with faces where if I’ve seen you once, I’ll likely recognize you.  This means I never really forget someone’s face, which can be flattering or creepy depending on the way you look at it.  Recognizing someone’s face, however, does not mean that I recall their name, and that has caused many an uncomfortable scenario when I call someone over and then realize I have no idea what their name is.  But I know I’ve seen this guy, and recently. 

            By now I’ve fiddled with lids for far too long and still haven’t placed this guy.  I decide to just give up and live with the frustration of not knowing; maybe I’ll even see him again someday, and then I’ll be able to ask who he is.  Just then, however, the woman he’s with stands up, and they hug.  The guy lightly slaps her on the back, which seems odd to me.  I’m still standing there, holding my scalding coffee in one hand, when she breezes by me, and stops. 

            “Your skirt is amazing,” she says to me, looking at it in admiration.  “I love the pattern.” 

            “Thanks!” I say, beaming.  Before she can walk away, the guy comes up, and that’s when I see his pretty gray eyes and know exactly where I’ve seen him before. 

            “Ready to go, Laura?”  He glances at me a second too long while he talks to the girl, Laura. 

            “Hey,” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve, “I’m sorry if this is super bizarre, but I think I recognize you from somewhere… I just can’t place it though.” 

            The guy looks at me for a second, as if willing himself to remember.  Then he raises his eyebrows triumphantly.  “That club, this weekend,” he says, a hint of excitement in his voice.  “I’m Ben.”

            It all comes back to me—Marie’s girl’s night, the multiple bars, talking with him for a brief moment when he saw me with two drinks and said I was double-fisting. 

            “Oh!  Right.  I’m Ryan.” 

            “Ryan!  That’s it.  Wow, small world, huh?”  He grins, showing perfectly even teeth.  Nothing like good dental work.  Ben turns to the girl next to him, the skirt-complimenter.  "This is my sister, Laura.”

            Sister!  That’s why they look so similar.  “Hi, I’m Ryan,” I say, smiling and reaching out my hand.  She shakes it while simultaneously shaking her head. 

            “Cool skirt and cool name.  I’m so jealous right now.”  She looks up at her brother.  “Please tell me you tried to hit on her and she rejected you.” 

            I’m a little startled and uncomfortable, but Ben laughs.  “Dude, I didn’t even get the chance!  We barely talked.  But you’re right, she does have a cool name.” 

            Laura shoulders her purse—talk about awesome clothing, she’s carrying a pricey Celine bag like it’s nothing.  I try not to ogle.  “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Ryan.  I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you later, bro!”  She gives him a light punch on the arm, and that’s when his back-slapping finally clicked into place in my brain.  They act so much like siblings. 

            I shift my coffee to my other hand.  “Anyway, sorry for being such a creep.  I have this thing where I recognize people even if I’ve only seen them once or twice, and I knew I’d seen you and it was driving me absolutely insane because I couldn’t place you…”  I shake my head and collect my thoughts.  “I’m glad we figured it out,” I say with a laugh. 

            Ben smiles at me.  “No worries.  I remembered you for a reason.”  Uh oh.  I think I know what’s coming next.  “Would you want to grab coffee sometime?”  He looks down at the drink in my hand.  “Maybe after you’ve finished that one?  I like my girls hyped up on caffeine.”

            I can’t help but laugh.  “Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m actually with someone right now.  It really was nice meeting you, though.” 

            Shrugging, Ben puts his hands in his pockets.  “Ah, I see.  Well, maybe we’ll run into each other some other time.  It was really nice meeting you again, Ryan.”  With that, he’s gone. 

            Kind of a strange encounter, but flattering nonetheless.  Things could have gone much worse, and I’m relieved that neither Ben nor Laura called me out for staring them down while I had been trying to figure out how I knew him.  At least he recognized me!  Of course, I’m glad things with Cam and I have been going well after this weekend—we’ve even talked about it a little more and he understands why I was upset—but it’s still nice to be hit on.  Even if it kind of was the sister who hit on me first.