Chapter Fifteen
“Paris, Mom! She wants to send me to Paris. And it’s a requirement.”
I was on the steps of the museum, my hand cupped over my mouth even though I wasn’t truly trying to keep my voice down. How could I?
“That is so wonderful.”
“She’s like a fairy godmother. And she’s making me, Mom, making me, go to Paris as part of the investment. To find vendors to expand my designs. Can you please just pinch me now because I must be dreaming!”
A group of school kids chattered noisily as they raced down the sprawling steps to the hot dog carts and pretzel vendors on Fifth Avenue. A curly-haired guy in sunglasses gave me the once-over as he walked past me. I shifted away from him, but then tensed all over, thinking he was Wilco. I scanned for him quickly, but he was already pushing through the revolving doors. I hadn’t gotten a good look, but what were the chances the guy was Wilco anyway? Besides, for a big city, New York was the smallest of towns and you bumped into people you knew all the time. Or, as the case may be, people who simply looked like people you were avoiding.
I pushed him out of my mind and returned my focus to the call. “I’m going to use some of the investment for the trip and to buy the supplies. But if the buyers pick up my designs, then I’ll ramp up the business quickly and I can help pay off your loan for Mystic Landing with my revenues.”
“Katerina, I’ve told you to stop worrying about us.”
“Mom. I want to do this. Just let me help. I mean, I know I don’t have the money yet, but I will soon. And nothing could make me happier than helping you guys.”
“Pssh. Enough. Tell me more about your trip to Paris. That’s what I really want to hear.”
I shared more of the details, told her I’d come out to visit before I left, and then said goodbye. I looked around at all the people streaming in and out of the museum, then up at the darkening sky. I shook my head in amazement. I was still giddy, and didn’t think I’d come down from this high for a long time, nor did I want to. I wanted to share it with someone else. Someone special.
Bryan answered on the second ring. “Hey,” he said in a sweet voice he used just for me.
“I have amazing news. Where are you right now?”
“Just finished up a meeting on the Upper East Side.”
“I’m at the Met right now. About to do some work on a new expansion project for My Favorite Mistakes, and I thought perhaps my mentor might want to join me for a few minutes. It’s a business meeting, of course.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
*****
The morning light reflected off Monet’s waterlilies. The brushstrokes from the Impressionist master made me think about shapes, colors and new ways of looking.
“So I’m thinking I should totally add a line of waterlily charms to My Favorite Mistakes.”
Bryan played along as we strolled past paintings. “While you’re at it, why not throw in some haystacks too?” He tipped his forehead to another Monet. “Your favorite painting, right?”
My eyes went wide with the realization that he hadn’t forgotten the last time we were here five years ago. From the caramel macchiatos to Hello Kitty to haystacks, he’d held onto so many details of me. My heart felt bigger and fuller. “You remember?”
He shot me a smile, then nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
I wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss him, but I resisted. “Maybe I should even get some of those melty clocks from a Dali.”
“Or, how about just a bunch of drip mark charms from a Pollock? Because I would have to think drip marks would qualify as a favorite mistake.”
We stopped to sit on a blond hardwood bench in the middle of the gallery, keeping necessary space between us. Bryan wore slate gray pants and a green and white checked shirt with recycled bike chain cufflinks. A tie that I longed to unknot completed the look. He rested a hand on the bench; I did the same. Six more inches and we could have been holding hands. I glanced at his fingers, and restrained every impulse to lace them through mine. This beautiful place had the bars I needed. We simply couldn’t do a thing here. There were too many people around us, tourists and school kids, couples and families.
“So when do you think you’ll go to Paris?”
“Claire and I talked about it and even looked up flights during our chat. I think in two weeks. Over Veteran’s Day weekend. So I won’t have to miss too many classes.”
He lowered his voice, but looked straight ahead. “Speaking of missing. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
My stomach flipped. I wanted to brush my lips against his, to run my hand over his arm. To let him tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. Tenderly. He would do it tenderly. “Same here,” I said.
“Kat.”
There was something new in his voice. Something softer, more vulnerable. Something like love, perhaps? My heart trembled with hope at the possibility. I ached for him to feel the same way. I was falling for him again, and I couldn’t bear the thought that I would be smacked hard with the I have to go again. Of course, I hadn’t uttered a word about feelings this time around, and I supposed I could walk away from this strange us with some shred of dignity. I could protect myself from feeling that kind of hurt again. But at this point, even without the contact, even with the rules, I was all in.
He shifted gears. Back to banter. “So, you’re going to Paris, you’re going to find new designs, and make more necklaces and be a superstar, right? That’s the plan? And I can say I knew you when?”
“Ha. I honestly just want to make enough money from My Favorite Mistakes to help out my parents. Mystic Landing isn’t doing well.”
“I didn’t know that. You hadn’t mentioned that.”
I shrugged. “I’m pretty good at keeping some things buttoned up.”
“Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help. I do know a thing or two about running a business.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space.
I gave him the rundown, then said, “They’ve been trying everything to drive more traffic to the store. And, frankly, I just want to help them pay off the loan so they can have some breathing room, you know? Things have got to pick up soon. I just want to buy them some time.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
He stared at a Monet again, but he wasn’t looking at the painting. He was simply gazing off in the distance and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He looked back at me. “It might not be a traffic issue.”
“But there aren’t as many customers.”
“Right. But maybe the solution isn’t in driving more traffic. Sometimes it’s something else.”
“Well, let me know when you figure out what that is.”
“Would it be okay with you if I visited the store?”
I furrowed my brow. He couldn’t be serious. “You would do that?”
“Of course. I’d love to just take a look around, and see if I can come up with an idea. Their daughter Kat is my protege after all. It seems the right thing to do,” he said, and leaned a tiny bit closer to me without touching.
“That would be above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Consider it done, Kat.” Then he said my name again as if it were a strange object he’d never seen. “Kat. What’s the story with Kat? Your parents didn’t actually name you Kat, did they?”
“Like that’s so implausible?”
“It’s like a writer’s name. A made-up name. It has to be short for something.”
“Didn’t my brother ever tell you?”
“Never.”
“Never ever?”
“I swear.”
“So guess then.”
“Ah, so it is short for something.”
I nodded.
“Here’s what I think. I think people guess first that it’s short for Katherine, or Kathleen. Or even Kathy.”
“They do.”
“And then, they guess Katie, or Kaitlin or even Katalina.”
“Those are next.”
“And then the slightly more adventuresome guess Katrina or Katya.”
“Katya? You do your homework.”
The gold flecks in his forest green eyes shimmered with playfulness. “But, I don’t think any of those are right.”
“They’re not.”
He leaned his shoulder closer to me. “You’re Katerina.”
He pulled away to gauge my reaction. My eyes were big and wide and sparkling. They said everything.
He pumped his fist in victory. “Damn. I impress myself.”
“You should be since I’ve never told anyone the name and haven’t used it.”
“Why not?”
“My mom always wanted me to be Kat. My dad said I needed a real name, so they named me Katerina. But no one ever called me that. So I’ve always been Kat. Funny, because now my mom calls me Katerina.”
“Kat is a perfect name for you. But so is Katerina. Did you ever think about using it?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I got used to Kat. Once you’ve had a weird name, you just don’t give it up when you’re older. It becomes a badge of honor. Like you made it through life with people saying ‘Here, kitty, kitty’ or ‘Cat got your tongue?’”
Bryan laughed once. “Tongue.”
“Tongue?”
He leaned closer without touching. “So many things I want to do with my tongue.”
I smiled knowingly at him. “Like what?”
He downshifted his volume. “Like taste you.”
I lowered my eyes, as if that small act would hide the way sparks flew inside me.
“Right here? At the museum?”
“Here. There. Anywhere. I think about tasting you all the time.”
“You do?” The sparks became fireworks, crackling and zinging.
“Sometimes when I’m in a meeting I have to force myself to focus because I’m thinking about burying my face between your legs.”
“I guess our minds are never really on the meetings.”
“I’ll sometimes imagine everyone else is gone, and I’m in a conference room just with you, and you’re in a chair. Maybe even the power chair. And you spin around. You’re wearing a tight white blouse and a short skirt and you call me over, and all you do is point to the edge of your skirt.”
“And what do you do then?”
“I get down on my knees and push up your skirt and go down on you.”
“I bet that makes it really hard to focus at meetings.”
“Incredibly hard.” I raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze to his pants. I wanted to press a hand against him.
“What if I put my computer bag on your lap right now as a shield? Would you touch yourself?”
“Right here? On the bench in the middle of the Impressionist Gallery?”
He nodded, and lifted his computer bag, holding it above my legs.
“Are you serious?”
“If you want me to be serious.”
I nodded my assent, and he laid his bag gently across my thighs. I glanced around. Museumgoers were preoccupied with still lifes and landscapes. I overheard snippets of conversations, but they were all static noise to me. All I could process were Bryan’s words, as he moved his mouth perilously close to my ear. “Pretend you’re reaching inside the bag, and instead slide your hand up your skirt.”
I’d like to say I was nervous or cautious, but the truth was I was a live wire and I craved only one thing right now — touch. So I followed his order.
“Are you touching yourself?”
I nodded. I was afraid if I spoke I’d cry out.
“Are you wet for me?”
Another nod.
“How much?”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“Yes.”
“One hundred.”
He breathed out hard. “God, I want to taste you right now.”
I flipped through my mental rolodex of bathroom locations in the Met. “Basement level. There’s a two-stall bathroom off in a far corner.”
“Let’s go.”
I adjusted my skirt as he stood up. I handed him his computer bag and he positioned it strategically as we walked quickly past seascapes and portraits, then Egyptian relics and stone horses, until we reached the white marble stairwell at one end of the wing. I turned down the steps to the basement level, and he followed, and soon I found the quiet bathroom. I opened the door first, and peered around. It was empty.
“Coast is clear.” I pulled him inside, then into a stall. I shut the door and as I was sliding the lock in place, Bryan’s hands were in my hair, and his mouth was on my neck.
Then he moved to my lips. “This is what I’m going to do to you.” He pressed his lips on mine gently, and slid his tongue across them, licking once, twice, three times in a lingering and hungry way, simulating what he planned to do next. My knees wobbled. I was aching for him to touch me. I’d never been so turned on in my life, let alone in a fantasy. He dropped down to his knees, lifted my skirt, and pulled down my panties. Within seconds, his mouth was on me, and I gasped. “Bryan.”
Then I grabbed his hair, bringing him closer. I pressed my back against the wall, and gave in to the feeling of him tasting me for the first time. My god, he knew what to do with his tongue. He knew where I wanted him, and how to touch me in just the right way to send me spiraling. My hands dived into his hair as he explored me like a starving man, and I was the one thing that he needed. I’d never felt so desired; I’d never felt so wanted as when he placed his hands on the back of my thighs and brought me closer to his mouth. Then he made the sexiest sound, a breathy groan as he ran his tongue across me. It was enough to take me to the edge, knowing how turned on he was by doing this to me. I said his name as quietly as I could, but inside I was screaming out, feeling the sweet rhapsody across every square inch of my body, as if the world itself had been shattered into diamonds and starlight, brilliant and perfect as I stood there, awash in a dazzling sort of pleasure from the tips of my toes to the end of my hair.
He rose, and planted a gentle kiss on my neck.
“My turn,” I said, and he grinned in reply.
I kneeled, unzipped his pants and tasted him for the first time. He groaned quietly and said my name as he ran his hands in my hair. I took him all the way into my throat, drinking in the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him as he grabbed hold of my hair and I moved my lips and tongue up and down. Soon, he inhaled sharply as he came.
I stood up, and I was sure we both looked drunk and happy. He pulled me into a quick embrace and tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever known and I am totally —”
The door opened with a loud creak. I placed a finger on my lips. He stopped speaking. Someone went into the stall next to us. When the stall door closed, I motioned for Bryan to sneak out. He left quickly, and I adjusted my clothes, left the stall, washed my hands, and walked out.
I found him down the hall, and he had a goofy smile on his face. He started to reach for my hand, and I near about melted. Even after what we’d just done, the fact that he wanted to hold my hand meant so much to me. He didn’t though, remembering we had to be careful in public.
“I am going to sleep well tonight,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I’m going to sleep well.”
We walked up the steps to the main floor, when I saw a flurry of quick movement in one of the gallery doorways. Bryan jerked his head, then tensed. That same curly-haired guy in the sunglasses was dashing off again.
Bryan swore under his breath. “Be right back.”
Then he was off on some sort of search. A few minutes later he returned, agitated. He rubbed a palm over his chin, what I’d come to recognize as his tell when he was stressed. “I think I know who that was. I’m not sure because he was gone when I looked around. But I think that was Wilco.”
I flashed back to an hour ago when the same man looked at me on the steps. Then back to the other week when I’d bumped into him at NYU and written it off as a look-alike. Had he seen us go downstairs? Did he know where we were or what we were doing? Was Bryan the hypocrite he was ranting about on Facebook?
“I think he’s following me,” Bryan said in between gritted teeth.
I shook my head as fear snaked over me. “No. He’s following us.”