Carlyle handed her a sheaf of papers.
“All of these correlate to an area of environmental sensitivity,” he said. “I want you to start outlining strategies to mitigate impact, and if impact cannot be mitigated, ways to grease the wheels of anybody who can help.”
“Okay.”
She had practically no idea where to start on any of that, but she wasn’t going to tell Mr. Carlyle that she was incompetent as well as tardy.
“This is Ellen Islington. She’ll help you get set up.”
Ellen was a tiny woman with perpetually pursed lips. She looked to be somewhere near her eighties, or maybe even older. She did not seem impressed by Sophie. Unlike Mr. Carlyle, Ellen did have time to lecture her for being late.
“If you intend on being late, you can intend on losing your position here,” Ellen said. “In my day, a girl who arrived after her shift began would have been dismissed immediately.”
“Fortunately, it’s not your day,” Sophie smiled frostily.
She knew she was in the wrong, but she was also very much not in the mood to be lectured by someone speaking to her like she was a 1950’s secretary. This wasn’t Mad Men. Women were supposed to have each other’s backs. Or at least not be outright bitches.
“You really shouldn’t antagonize Ellen. She knows where the bodies are buried. She put them there.” Someone behind her giggled the suggestion while Ellen gave Sophie what could only be described as a death stare.
Sophie turned around to see a full-figured smiling redhead giving her a cheerful look. Now this girl was more her speed. Much closer to her in age.
“I’m Sandy,” she said offering her hand. “I work in Compliance, Collections, and Consequences.”
“Sophie. I’m the new Environmental Manager for the northeast.”
“Oh. Nice. Good for you,” Sandy beamed. “This is your first day, right?”
“It is.”
“Okay. I thought so. I wasn’t here last week so maybe you could have started on Friday or something. Or Thursday. Or really, any day last week. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to the fifth floor. It's the best floor.”
“Is it? Why?”
“Floors one through four are grunt work. Floors six through thirteen are management hell. The fifth floor is in the middle of it all. A little grunting, a little managing, but not the competition you get on six, seven, and oh my god, eight. Eight might be the worst. It’s right on the cusp of nine. And you know niners, they’re…” Sandy made a puffing expression with her cheeks and somehow made her face turn red by sheer will.
Sophie was sure she’d understand what Sandy meant one of these days. For the moment, she wanted to get started on her work and show Mr. Carlyle that she was actually competent.
"This is your office,” Ellen said, emerging from a small windowless room.
“Really? I get an office?”
“You do. I would recommend leaving the door open. The previous occupant used to complain about headaches due to lack of oxygen.”
Sophie couldn’t tell if Ellen was joking or not. She came to the conclusion probably not.
“My desk is just over here,” Sandy said, pointing to a desk full of photo frames and merchandise from reality television shows. “If you need any help, let me know. I know how scary this place can be.”
“Thank you,” Sophie smiled. She was already starting to feel a little better. After a rough start, if she could get into one of these cases and actually make a difference, she might be able to impress Mr. Carlyle instead of coming across like a mess.
“I’lll help you set up your office computer. It’s technically Ellen’s job, but…”
“Yes, please. Thank you,” Sophie said quickly. She really didn’t want any more interaction with the Ellen woman than was absolutely necessary.
Her mind drifted while Sandy helped her, back to the man she’d barged into outside. Alex Roth. Basically the boss of the world, depending on who you asked. She’d actually spoken to him — and made a complete fool of herself in the process.
“Fuck,” she murmured under her breath.
“It’s not really as hard as it looks,” Sandy smiled. “I know there’s like thirty logons, but they’re all linked to your thumbprint, so as long as you keep your hand on your arm, you’ll be fine. Oh, and don't let anybody take any sneaky James Bond-style casts of it either.”
Sophie looked at her, surprised, then laughed. “Right. Okay. I’ll make sure I don’t get caught up in any conspiracies or anything.”
“We don’t use the C word here.” That judgmental voice cut in.
Sophie spun around to look into the dry features of the office manager, Ellen. “Excuse me?”
“Conspiracy. You will not use that word here if you want to maintain good relationships with your superiors.”
It would have been rude to point out that Ellen was not actually her superior, even if she was acting like it, so Sophie didn’t.