Meritocracy: the idea that anyone can rise up to the top based on their skills.
Everyone preaches it, but nothing could be further from the truth. Sure, an incompetent, bumbling worker isn't going to get promoted, but merit is just the pre-requisite. What you need to have just so you won't get waved off like an annoying fly.
The rest is connections. The higher the better, as they pull you up the ladder, with no one able to argue with their decision. You become part of their sphere, untouchable so long as you remain their favorite. It's the simplest way to rise.
It's also the one you have no control over.
Because once an exec picks you, you become theirs. It's the first rule of management: Take what you want.
I had just finished my presentation when I noticed him. A streak of grey in his hair, intense sky-blue eyes, impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit while everyone else (sans me) wore business casual, and an air of authority. Dante Rhodes, Executive Vice President of Strategy and Development and next in line to be CEO, was a commanding presence in any scenario, and when he stood up at his full 6 foot 4 inches, he towered over others.
He rose from his seat.
"Ken, thank you for your hard work." His words rippled across the conference room, and I glanced back at my slide to remind myself where I was. Right. Presenting the results of a two-month analysis on a market we'd failed twice to penetrate. I bowed my head in thanks and wrapped up with "I would be happy to answer anyone's questions."
Fifteen minutes of discussion followed, where I allayed the various concerns that the Strategy, Operations, and Finance teams had.
Yes, partnering with domestic firms would gain us a foothold into the Asia-Pacific markets. We could guarantee a recovery of expenses before the partner firm made a profit, and milestone profit sharing margins would guarantee their commitment to promoting the joint venture. If our branding was in equal prominence on the joint product, we could measure an increased name recognition and wind down the partnership...
To be fair, all good questions, but having spent four days preparing for this talk, it was too easy.
All while a pair of stunning blue eyes were burning a hole in my suit.
The presentation that I started 11:30 didn't finish discussion until nearly 1pm, and the questions died off just as much because of hunger as because I already had the answers. After a round of thank-yous, the conference room cleared out, and I packed up my briefcase before following them.
"Heading off to lunch?" Dante Rhodes smirked as I exited the meeting room. "Great presentation, by the way. Perhaps we'll finally get some decent market share in China."
I smiled back. "Thank you, Sir. I really appreciate that, coming from you." I looked up at his infectious grin. At 6'1", I'm hardly short, but somehow the few inches made a world of difference. I stuck out my hand. "I don't know if we've formally met yet, but I'm Ken Hayashi, a Financial Associate." After two years of slaving away, I'd finally gotten the promotion from Analyst, and I was damn proud of the new title.
Mr. Rhodes shot out his hand to grab mine, crushing it in his grip. "Dante Rhodes, and I think you already know my title," he winked. "Are you on your way to lunch," he queried.
"Yes, I was just about to head out."
His grin widened. "Come with me. I had plans to meet someone at The Grid, but he bailed, and I've still got the reservations." His arm sneaked around my shoulders as he led me to the elevators and pressed for the ground floor.
The Grid was the premier business lunch and dinner restaurant in the financial district, having been founded some years prior by a banking executive who retired early to pursue his culinary passion. As the story went, coworkers at his former firm made it an unofficial policy to bring all their clients there, and it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. The Grid was the premier restaurant because people went there, and people went there because it had the premier reputation. Additional chefs were hired to round out the menu, and so the restaurant acquired the quality necessary to stay on top. Reservations had to be made two weeks in advance, though if one was suddenly cancelled, the right connections could snag it.
Dante Rhodes was exactly that kind of connection. The maître d' bowed to him in recognition as we entered through the doors, and a twenty-something waitress, clearly fashion model material, led us to our table. Rumor had it that the restaurant only hired attractive Ivy League graduates who either wanted to get a break from work or to gain connections to The Grid's assortment of patrons. After handing out the menus, the waitress gave an unsubtle once-over to Mr. Rhodes and then left us.
I looked up from my menu to meet Mr. Rhodes's stare, liquid blue orbs trapping me in place. "So Ken, tell me about yourself. How long have you been with the firm?"
"Two years as of July." It was September now. "I joined right after graduation."
"Where from?"
"U Chicago."
"Really? You strike me as a Harvard-type kid."
"I visited, but I didn't get the sense that it was for me." I cocked my head.
"So instead you went to the college where fun goes to die," Dante cracked a smirk at his own joke, and I could do nothing but respond in kind. "They graded us on being buzzkills."
Mr. Rhodes whipped his head back and let rip a hearty laugh. "We'll see if we can train that out of you!" He winked. "Clearly you're still capable of taking a joke, so we've got something to start with."
My face reddens. "Of course, Mr. Rhodes."
He leans over and gives me a serious look. "Honestly, Ken, you have a lot of potential, and it would be a shame not to see you thrive. What you presented today tells me that you already have the technical skills down, and you're definitely capable of learning the communications and management skills to rise up. I'd love to guide you there."
The waitress makes an ill-timed appearance to serve our drinks. She gives another slow once-over to Mr. Rhodes, but he quirks an eyebrow and waves her off after she's taken our orders.
I return to his question. "I...I would be honored, Mr. Rhodes. You have no idea how much I'd appreciate it." My cheeks are burning red, and judging from the grin on Rhodes's face, he knows it.
"I'm glad to hear it, Ken. Just realize that this will be an all-encompassing guidance, even outside the office. We need to have a strong relationship for this to work. Understood?" I nodded. "Of course."
He clapped. "Wonderful! Then your first lesson is to call me Dante. I may be your senior, kiddo, but I'm not
that
old." It was true. For all that he'd reached the highest pinnacle of the corporate hierarchy, Dante Rhodes was still barely pushing 40. His streak of gray hair was genetic, according to the office gossip, and he relentlessly stayed in shape, keeping a young body that filled out his suits well. Office ladies spared no details, and Ken had the misfortune of having his desk surrounded by them.
As he raised an eyebrow, I realized that I was staring aimlessly and snapped out of it. "Sure thing, Dante." I tried the name out. The name rolled off my tongue, infused with power and authority.
The waitress returned again with out entrees, this time barely giving Dante a glance and instead angling her cleavage in front of my face as she set my plate down. With a flirty glance, she sauntered off, and I gave Dante a
save me
look.
The bastard just laughed. "You do know why the servers choose to work here, right?" I didn't respond quickly enough, and he continued: "they need to find an in for a company, so they try to attract their patrons' attention for a less
professional
