Chapter Eleven
I spent the weekend working with my parents at their store, which took my mind off the way I’d run out on Bryan, and the way he hadn’t seemed to care. I prepped with my mom for her online deal, and helped my dad sort through some overdue bills. I even slipped one from a vendor into my purse. I’d pay that bill myself thanks to an order for ten necklaces that had been placed online over the weekend from a shop on the Upper West Side.
My parents took me to the train station on Sunday night, and walked me to the tracks. My mom still had a visible limp from the car accident and probably always would, but she kept up.
“I know why you came out this weekend, my Katerina.” My mom was the only one I let use my full name.
“I came here to see you guys,” I said, trying to dodge and dart.
She gave me a sharp, stern look, the kind only moms can give. “You’re worried about us. But we’re going to be fine. The store is going to be fine.”
“Yes, you need to focus on finishing school, not checking up on us,” my dad said.
“I took care of My Favorite Mistakes in the evenings and I did homework when there weren’t any customers,” I said, then winced. I shouldn’t have brought up the obvious. But then, maybe I should. The sagging store was the elephant in the room and they were trying to deny it. I was struck by the realization of how very alike we were. The three of us trafficked in everything-is-fine here attitudes, but inside we were trying to stiff-upper-lip it through life’s challenges.
“And that’s what you should focus on, Kat.” My dad pulled me in for a goodbye hug.
I hugged my mom next as my train pulled into the station. But before I boarded, I looked back at them, gathered up my courage, and said, “I know times are hard for you guys. I’m going to help. I promise. I have a plan.”
Then I hopped on the train, and waved. I didn’t want to give them the space to fashion a no.
*****
The next few weeks raced by in a blur of classes and homework for my Innovation & Design class and my Management course. I took copious laptop notes during school hours, and turned those notes and research into reports and projects. I filled many other hours perusing the latest European design blogs, bringing custom orders to the boutiques around the city that carried my line, and tending to online sales. I was wearing a tread on the sidewalk from my apartment to the nearest post office from the number of times I went there to ship orders. I stayed up late and woke up early, and I was exhausted, but I couldn’t complain because I was on track for a strong quarter, and I would be able to peel off a little bit to help my parents. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. I didn’t hear from Claire Oliver, but I kept checking email and my phone, hoping for some sort of update from my professor’s wife.
All things considered, the work and the business were the easiest parts of those weeks.
The real challenge, and I hoped to earn an A for avoidance, was steering clear of one-on-time with Bryan when I went to his midtown offices as part of the mentorship. The first time there, I attended a meeting as the design team presented the new additions to the holiday line for his approval. I left the conference room quickly when it ended, but he followed me down the hall, calling out to me.
“Hey Kat,” he said.
I stopped, turned around, and adopted a how-can-I-help-you look?
“Um, I’d love to know what you thought about the new additions?” he asked, but he didn’t sound like the same guy who’d just signed off on a new series of cufflinks. He sounded nervous.
“They’re just great,” I said, then gave him a double thumbs up, like a politician.
“Do you want to sit down and talk some more? I’d really love your detailed feedback.”
I looked at my watch for effect. “Oh. Darn. I would, but I have an evening lecture I need to get to in twenty minutes. I have to go.”
Then I marched off to the elevators, hoping the last words were not lost on him.
He tried again the next week when I ran into him at the water cooler, and he awkwardly asked me to check out copy for an ad slated to run in GQ.
“You’re reviewing ad copy now?” I asked in a questioning tone. I’d never known CEOs to be involved at the level of ad copy. A CEO’s role in marketing was more at a budget and branding level.
“Yeah. Sure. I always do,” he said, but his cheeks turned red, as if it were simply an excuse. I followed him to his office, but stood in the doorway, forcing him to bring the ad sample to me.
“Maybe just move the tagline over here,” I said crisply, and pointed to the left hand corner of the photo. “I have to go meet with Nicole now.”
Then I dashed off to see Nicole Blazer, a smart and stylish pint-sized redhead. She was one of Bryan’s early business advisors on the design side, and also served on the company’s board. She had the kind of gravelly voice that you think comes from smoking. When we first met, she shook my hand and said, “I don’t smoke. Never have. Was just blessed with this kind of huskiness.”
“Huskiness rules,” I said, and grinned. I had a feeling we’d get along fine.
Today, as I stepped into her office, she gestured to an array of tie clips and money holders on her desk. “Prototypes for a new line. Today, your job is to be a fresh pair of eyes and tell me what sucks and what doesn’t suck.”
She was direct and I liked it. There were no mixed messages or awkward questions with Nicole Blazer. I pointed to a gold money holder. “I have this theory that gold is becoming passé.”
“Gold passé? How’s that frigging possible?”
“Well, not gold as in the only thing that actually keeps its value. But gold jewelry. Rose gold is all the rage.”
“Right. Of course.”
“But what if you were to try the next thing after rose gold?”
“What would that be?”
I flashed back to the Impressionist art I loved so much, to the way the painters played with light and shadow to show different times of day. “What if it were possible to make a sort of sunset gold? Or morning light gold? Rose gold is basically just a tinting. Maybe the same could be done with your tie clips and money holders, but the gold almost looks as if it’s reflecting the time of day.”
She nodded appreciatively. “Damn, girl. I like that idea.”
I also spent time with the operational team. I’d weighed in on some challenges with suppliers they were facing, suggesting strategies to spur along some of the more difficult ones. John Walker, head of operations, had even implemented some of my ideas. But a new wrinkle in the supply chain woes emerged later that week.
“The Silversmith in Brooklyn said they’re not going to be able to meet the timeline with bike chain parts,” John said during a meeting. “We need to come up with a replacement within a week.”
Bryan’s features tightened and he rubbed his hand over his chin. His green eyes were hard and intense. He didn’t look at me once, and that was fine with me.
The meeting continued on like that for another hour, and when it ended without a clear resolution from anyone, Bryan said he was going for run. I took that as a cue to leave. Besides, I needed time and space away to try to research possible replacements for Silversmith. I stopped in the temporary office to grab my bag, and then headed for the elevator banks. I sucked in a breath when I saw Bryan there, wearing a gray tee-shirt and running shorts. He pressed the down button.
“Hey.” His jaw was still tight. The stress of the meeting and the supply complications was taking its toll.
“Going for a run?” I said, then wanted to kick myself. Not only was it patently obvious he was about to exercise, he’d also announced it.
“Running helps me think. I swear I do my best problem solving on the trails and bike paths.”
“I find I do a great job keeping track of how much I never want to run again when I’m running.”
Bryan’s features softened and I saw the sliver of a smile form. “That’s right. You’re all about walking.”
The elevator arrived and he held out his hand. I stepped in first and stood in the opposite corner. “I’ve been known to traverse the city on foot. I dare anyone to take me on in a walkathon.”
“Quite a dare. I’d love to take you on.”
I looked away.
He drummed his fingers against the elevator bar as the car descended. “So does walking help you think? What do you do to blow off steam or escape or whatever?”
“I go to the movies.”
The elevator reached the first floor. As the door opened, he said my name in that smoky voice. “Kat.”
There was a pang of remorse in his tone. Instinctively, I took a step closer, all my self-preservation falling away.
“What is it?” I asked softly.
“Nothing.” He was ice again. He repeated the word as he walked out of his building, and started running the second he hit the sidewalk.
*****
The cinema around the corner was showing the newest Emma Stone movie, but I couldn’t stomach romance now. I bought a ticket for a Ryan Gosling action flick. I needed improbable car chases and ridiculously implausible getaways. I slinked down into a seat in the back, leaving the looming pile of homework, necklace orders and the supply chain issues untouched for the next two hours.
There were only a few other people in the theater for the mid-afternoon showing on a Thursday. Some solo movie goers had snagged seats near the front, and there were two pairs of friends in the middle rows. Maybe they were blowing off steam too.
As the hero hacked into a laptop, an idea flashed before me. I’d once made a custom necklace for a computer programmer-turned-bestselling author and had scoured the city for the charms she wanted — floppy disks and motherboards I cut down to size. The vendor I’d hooked up with had started expanding into other recycled materials, including old tires and worn-out bike chains.
I made a mental note to track down the name later, and then returned my focus to the screen.
When Ryan Gosling scaled an impossibly high ledge, I caught a flicker of movement at the back of the theater. I turned to look, and I froze when I saw Bryan. He was still in his workout clothes, and even in the dark I could see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and his tee-shirt. He scanned the aisles, and when he spotted me, he didn’t look happy. His jaw was tense again as he walked across the aisle. His eyes were lined with anger, and his fists were clenched. He sat down, turned to me, and placed a hand on my cheek so I was looking at him.
“You’re making me crazy,” he whispered in a hard voice.
“I am? Why?”
“You act like nothing happened.”
“What are you talking about?”
“How can you just be like this? Like it was nothing what happened?”
“How can you?”
“I called you that day. I emailed you that afternoon. You totally blew me off, and I’ve been looking for every chance to talk to you.”
“You haven’t been trying that hard.”
“Bullshit, Kat. I’ve tried to talk to you every time you’ve been by and you know it.”
One of the guys a few rows ahead turned around and gave us a dirty look as Ryan Gosling smashed open a door with his elbow.
Bryan lowered his voice further. “Do you have any idea what I’m going through at work?”
“No. Why would I?”
The guy looked back again. “Keep it down, okay?”
I tipped my forehead to the exit. Bryan took me by the elbow and guided us out. As the door to the theater swung shut, we were alone in the dark hallway.
“I’m doing everything to keep it quiet, and you can’t say a word. Promise me you won’t say a word.” His voice was laced with equal parts stress and fear.
“I promise.” I wanted to reach out and run a hand gently over his cheek. He seemed to need it, but I kept my hands to myself.
He took a deep breath. “Wilco is suing us for wrongful termination. That’s what went down the day I had to take that board call at the factory. We learned he was suing. It’s totally ridiculous because he was in the wrong. He crossed every line imaginable with the intern. But the board is pissed, and I’m pissed, and I can’t take a chance. The guy’s unhinged, Kat. He calls me at my home and hangs up. Does the same to Nicole too, and she’s also seen him skulking around near our offices. I thought I knew the guy. I thought I knew what to expect, but now everything has changed. And on top of that, my board is incredibly conservative and I have to do everything properly. I can’t have a trace of anything that isn’t 100 percent professional. Which makes it really incredibly difficult when all I want to do is finish what we started.”
Everything inside of me turned hot. “You do?”
“I have not been able to stop thinking about that afternoon. I have not been able to stop thinking about you.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Really?”
He moved closer. He was so dizzyingly near to me it was as if every nerve ending in my body was exposed. The possibility that this wasn’t one-sided made me deliriously giddy. That it was more than just a romp on the couch in his office.
“I think about you all the time. I think about how beautiful you are and how smart you are and how funny you are, and how I want nothing more than to take you out to the movies, and hold your hand and laugh at the same time. Or not even at the same time. To laugh at different things. To learn more about what you think is funny. Like, I don’t even know if you think it’s funny when people fall down stairs. Do you like pratfalls?”
His eyes were sparkling and playful.
I grinned so wide my face would hurt, but I didn’t think I could feel anything except happiness right now. “I love pratfalls. I love non-sequitur humor, and I love dark humor, and I especially love stupid humor. I laugh when I see videos of guys being pushed down hill in shopping carts, and when they slip in their socks and fall down stairs. Well, as long as they don’t really get hurt.”
“Of course not. You’re not a jerk. You just appreciate good physical comedy.”
“That I do. And what about you? What do you laugh at? I mean, besides Bucky from Get Fuzzy.”
“Ah, she remembers.”
“Of course I remember.” I punched him in the arm, and even though I wanted him to touch me all over, it meant so much more to me that he wanted to talk. That he wanted to know me. How I’d changed. How I hadn’t changed.
“I remember everything too,” he said softly, and I felt a ribbon of heat rush through my body. “To answer your question. Cartoon cats are still a yes. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but I like those silly Internet pictures with dogs saying ridiculous things. I mean, not really saying ridiculous things. Just captions. Like this one husky dog, and there was a caption that said ‘Oh you ran a marathon. How heavy was the sled?’”
“I saw that one too. I loved it. So did my roommate because she’s run five marathons.”
“That’s impressive. And I like late-night talk shows. I like politics, so I especially enjoy political humor and the late-night guys are the best.”
“What about movies? What are your favorite movies?”
“Well just in case the guys committee is listening I’ll tell you The Fast and The Furious. Or The Hangover.” Then he lowered his voice and whispered. “But I’ll admit to you, only you, that it’s actually Casablanca.”
Pinch me now, I thought. Wake me up from this dream. Because right then, I closed my eyes and watched that perfect film unfurl in front of me, a romance that left you breathless no matter how many times you’d seen it. I could feel myself sinking into that heady state, like I was under a spell, transfixed, and I could touch the scenes, feel every sensation the characters felt zip through me. They’d always have Paris.
I felt wobbly, and I swayed toward him. He caught me, and wrapped his arms around me, tucking me close to him. He pressed his chin against my head. “Kat.”
I melted into him, savoring the feel of his chest, even under his sweaty tee-shirt, against me. Here with him, I didn’t have a care in the world. Even though being with him was the riskiest thing in the world. I closed my eyes and flashed back to my parents, to the store, to my plans. Then to Professor Oliver, and his wife, and my business. Everything else was so much more important than a mere feeling. I knew that. I really did. But yet, I didn’t want anything more in my life right now than this moment, this closeness, this man.
“I’m dying to kiss you. I want to take you out to dinner, and walk around the city, and talk about anything and everything.”
I could barely feel myself anymore. My whole body was edgy, floating. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. I felt light-headed, like I’d just taken a painkiller and gotten that warm flush where it kicks in and spreads throughout your chest and belly. The little hairs on my arms were standing on end.
“But I can’t,” he said.
“Why?”
“I can’t risk it. The Wilco thing…”
“But she was a high school student. Wasn’t she seventeen?”
“Yeah, but still. He’s hunting out dirt. He’s hunting out anything right now.”
“I’m twenty-three. I’m not an intern. I’m just a…”
“A protege. At a school where we endowed the new wing of the library. It’s too close. No one has said anything to me, but this is my choice. This is how I have to be. I have to be above reproach. I don’t want anything to look bad for Made Here, and I don’t want anything to look bad for the school. That’s why I couldn’t even email you anymore. I can’t have a trace of impropriety.”
I half wanted to add that I had to be a good girl too, but what was the point? I didn’t need to dole out my stakes as well. There needn’t be any one upsmanship.
I nodded into his chest. I didn’t like these rules, but I understood them.
He placed a hand under my chin and lifted my face so I was looking at him. His lips were so close to me. “But maybe I can call you?”
“Of course.”
“Can I call you tonight?”
I was a pinball machine, buzzing and humming, saying yes, yes, yes. Then I remembered the name of the vendor.
“I would love that. And, you may want to try Geeking Out in the Red Hook neighborhood of Brooklyn. Great guys, and super speedy with parts.”
He shook his head appreciatively. “Do you have any idea how hot it is that you are so damn business savvy?”
“No. Are we talking broiling, boiling, or scorching?”
“Smoking.” Then he pulled me against him for a moment, and I could tell exactly how hot I’d made him.
We left the theater a few minutes later, and when we turned the corner Bryan bumped into a balding man wearing a pinstriped suit that reeked of old money.
“Hello, Mr. Caldwell,” Bryan said. I noticed this was the first time Bryan had addressed someone by the honorific Mr.
Mr. Caldwell gave him a strange look. “Seeing a movie?”
I tensed, and Bryan straightened his spine too. Crap. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid.
“Actually, I just finished a run, and bumped into Kat outside the theater. Kat, this is James Caldwell, who’s on our board.” His eyes widened as he said the last few words, but he didn’t need to worry – I got it.
I shook hands with James Caldwell and assumed a most proper and poised look, as I said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Mr. Caldwell, Kat is working with Made Here through NYU this semester.”
Caldwell raised a thick gray eyebrow. “NYU?”
“She’s in the graduate business school,” Bryan added quickly.
What? Did I look seventeen like the intern?
Caldwell nodded. “Glad to hear this is all business.”
Seventeen or twenty-three, the message was clear. There was to be no hanky-panky.