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“No more Weinberg telling you what to sell. You will finally be your own boss.”
“And you’ll make decent money.”
Your mouth to God’s ears.
“I wish I was as brave as you are, Keeli. Your life is going to be so glamorous and exciting. Lucky you.”
Brave? I don’t feel brave. I feel nauseous. What the hell am I doing?
“We’ll miss you so much Keeli. I am green with envy.”
The hugs and good wishes from Amelia and Sharon caught Keeli by surprise. So did their belief in her abilities. She could not remember the last time someone supported her talent.
Keeli was unprepared for her colleague’s generosity and good wishes. Feeling she didn’t fit in, Keeli hadn’t bothered to share more than a “Hi, how’s it going?” with them, leaving her particularly touched by their kindness now.
It wasn’t that she was unfriendly. Keeli just focused on her work, head bent low over her workbench or on her feet assisting with customers. She put in ten-hour days, trying to get ahead and make enough in commissions to stay afloat. She avoided office gossip and water-cooler chitchat but in doing so forfeited opportunities to connect with the group. At this last minute, she regretted not making the effort. They might have been wonderful friends.
Too late now. Next time, try to be open and let people in a bit more.
After a moment of awkwardness, Keeli slid a box onto the countertop, freeing her arms to share a final hug. The box contained the requisite work shoes she had traded for her boots and the smattering of personal items that were a sad reflection of her time at Weinberg and Sons: a hastily rinsed red coffee mug with a chip in the handle and her precious jewelers tools. They were wrapped in the rumpled scarf she forgot to wear home last Friday, padded by one warm glove, the other lost weeks ago She hoped the fabrics would protect her few possessions if she were jostled on the train.
Her coworkers handed her a Target gift card, which Kelli tucked into the box for safety. If things didn’t go as planned, the gift card, might mean the different between groceries and hunger.
After good luck wishes and laughter, and a small cake in the break room, Mr. Weinberg joined them, cutting himself a huge slice of cake, then dripping bright pink frosting on the shirt straining over his bulging belly. His presence altered the mood of the festivities, bringing them to an abrupt end. The awkward silence was a sure sign to Keeli that it was time to hit the road.
“Thanks again for the party, and the gift certificate. It was so generous. You guys are the best. I’ll get in touch and let you know how you can reach me.”
Keeli meant what she said, although she never connected with prior colleagues for some reason. She was not a Facebook or Instagram user, which would have been an easy way to communicate, but she hated people knowing her business. That would change now that she was starting her own company. She had ordered a new phone line and accompanying Internet address for work, but she knew by the time both were installed she would have moved on with her life, leaving this group behind.
Keeli nodded farewell, hiding the sudden emotion clogging her throat and tears gathering behind her eyes Standing straight and tall, she pasted a determined look on her face, slid her small parcel under one arm, hoisted her coat and oversized purse over her other shoulder and used a hip-bump to push open the heavy glass door.
Heels echoing on the faded, mosaic floor, Keeli strode away from her past and toward the elevators without a backward glance. For a brief moment, she was reminded of “The Devil Wears Prada,” the fashionistas dubbed ‘clackers’. This floor was perfect for amplifying every step. Keeli imagined herself as Anne Hathaway, dressed in Chanel, makeup and hair perfect, and for a moment, she allowed humor to edge out her fear.
As if.
The image faded, and Keeli’s trepidation hit her like a ton of bricks. Her straight back sagged against the cool marble wall as she waited for the elevator, terror making her legs weak. She just quit her third job in five years. True, each change had allowed her to move up in her profession, but it was still a lot of turmoil.
I should have been content with what I had.
Keeli battled with herself as she had for days. She was aware that she achieved more than enough success for most people with her background and education. She worked in Chicago’s prestigious jewelry district, mentored by skilled, experienced designers every day. She had been able to interact with the wealthy clientele that were her target market.
But Keeli had never been content selling someone else’s jewelry; she was a designer eager to show the world her own contemporary and unique style. Mr. Weinberg insisted she push his traditional, more expensive pieces. It was his business. He was certainly allowed to call the shots. Still, Mr. Weinberg had promised Keeli an opportunity for growth when she joined his firm and she had waited as long as she could for that opportunity to materialize.
Patiently waiting for the opportunity that never came, Keeli found going into work became more difficult. It was more than the shorter days and dark mornings that made Keeli hit the snooze button. One ten-minute delay last month had grown to two this month. Keeli felt the dread mushrooming until she couldn’t breathe. Her commute, which she had previously enjoyed, was suddenly unbearable. Keeli’s heart was no longer in it. She had lost her enthusiasm for the job – again.
“Leave, stay, leave, stay.” It had been an endless loop in her brain. Two weeks ago, right after the Black Friday rush she listened to the nagging voice and handed in her notice. Mr. Weinberg made a half-hearted attempt to retain her but they both recognized that she was no longer a good fit at Weinberg and Sons.
So here she stood, going solo to build Keeli Larsen Designs. From this moment forward she was financier, designer, manufacturer, saleswoman and grunt. No colleagues, no steady paycheck, no safety net.
She had so many doubts and few friends or business associates. There was no mentor to dispense advice at this critical juncture, no cheering squad to support her dreams. Half her friends and family believed she was making a brave and brilliant move, the other half thought she could not hold down a steady job.
Shoving her hair back from her pale face, Keeli released an exasperated sigh. Now that it was too late, she once more questioned her decision. Keeli was not naïve. She knew she was undercapitalized, with an undeveloped professional network and no connections. Beginning now, she would have to churn out product and pound the pavement, find time to balance the need to design, create and market, keep books, save for taxes. Assuming she made any money.
Keeli believed she could do it. If she hadn’t she would have stayed in her job as she had been forced to do many times before. But from now on, no doubt about it, every penny mattered more than it had before.
She hoped a boutique would pick up her work; otherwise she would rely on a good summer working the art fair circuit. The fairs had supplemented her income for the previous two years. Despite her hopes to be noticed and boosted by the venues, nothing had happened yet. She would devote the next five months to creating a spectacular collection that might springboard her new career.
That meant surviving at least that long on her small nest egg. Six months to get her business off the ground. If it took any longer, she would be in big trouble. She would be completely out of money, nothing for rent or supplies. Dead in the water. Just thinking about it made Keeli feel nauseous.
Where was the elevator? Even for this old building, it was taking longer than usual. As an artist, Keeli appreciated the craftsmanship of the vintage building the elegant brass-work surrounding the elevator doors no longer operated by young men in livery. But right now, she craved modern efficiency. Keeli could hear the faint mechanism of the old car as it moved closer, then the ding of the old fashioned bell as the doors eased open.
No wonder it took so long to arrive. The elevator was as full as Macy’s at Christmas. It must have stopped on every floor. Clustered to one side of the large space were Hassidic Jews heading home for their Sabbath. Barely looking at her,
they retreated into their black coats and hats, conversing in rapid-fire Hebrew. The newer merchants, who were predominantly Indian, filled most of the remaining space. The two groups receded tightly toward the walls, creating an opening between them.
The chatter in the elevator lightened her mood immediately, reminding Keeli of all the people who had started with only a few dollars and a dream. In many cases, they had made it without knowing the language or customs of their adopted country. By comparison, she had many advantages and instantly felt better about her choice, more confident about moving forward on her own. Mr. Weinberg let her take many of her pieces with her when she left his employ. There had been no severance check, of course, but the ready inventory was a gift. Keeli let the renewed confidence surge through her body, standing straight and looking ahead. Watching her step, careful not to bump anyone with her parcel, Keeli stepped into the divide and moved toward the back.
That was the moment she saw HIM. He was the best thing – by far – about working in this building. She was standing face to face with the virile, gorgeous, sexy man she saw in the elevator regularly. Well, almost face-to-face since he was at least 4 or 5 inches taller than her statuesque 5’10”.
He was what she would miss most about this job – these random opportunities to ride the elevator and watch him, getting to stand close, allowing her imagination to run wild with fantasies – all starring him, of course.
Most of the time, he hid mysteriously behind a pair of Wayfarers, but the rain today afforded Keeli a chance to admire the intelligence and concentration in his azure eyes. He stood with his shoulders back, head towering over everyone’s Looking up, Keeli locked eyes with his, his mouth lifting in a half smile. Keeli shyly dropped her head as a blush rose to her cheeks and her heart sped up. She knew the smile was just politeness. She wanted so much more. She wanted him to notice her the way she noticed him, feel about her as she did about him.
If only he had the same visceral reaction that Keeli had to him, perhaps he would have spoken to her by now. She could not overcome her shyness to initiate a conversation, but if he longed for her as she did him...obviously, he was not interested. Now she would never see him again. Her disappointment was way out of proportion; he was a stranger. But he had this pull on her. Instead of thinking of him as a stranger, she thought of him as hers.
Hers. What a laugh. Wake up Keeli!
Everyone noticed him - man and woman alike. She saw it on elevator rides and when he traversed the lobby. Yes, he was particularly tall, a few inches over six feet. However, it was more than his height that drew the eye. He was compelling, confident, and assured. He was beyond handsome with his chiseled features, thick wavy hair and well-muscled body clad in custom suits. Keeli was drawn to him like a bee to honey. She had seen other women catch his eye, seen them smile and flirt easily. She was overwhelmingly shy when near him, preventing her from ever making him ‘hers’.
They crossed paths at the coffee kiosk or in the elevator at least once a week. She knew she was projecting her own desires, but sometimes it seemed to her that he was seeking her out. Even so, Keeli never exchanged more than a polite “hello” and he was always polite, but aloof. Although she longed for some reason to speak more than pleasantries, she was unable to move past that invisible barrier she felt between them.
Why, oh why is facing forward considered appropriate elevator etiquette? I just want to stare at him one last time. Today needs to be the day to think of something to say, some witty conversation opener. You are running out of time.
Her brain searched now for a reason to speak, knowing it was her last chance. Instead, she reluctantly turned to face the doors. He was standing so close, lazily leaning his shoulders against the back wall. She felt the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck, goose bumps travelling up her arms in response to the moist heat. She was rocked by her immediate, erotic reaction.
Reigning in her body’s response, Keeli reminded herself that the warm breath was a result of proximity, not desire. She was a non-entity to him and had been for the16 months she had worked there. His polished appearance, custom suits and elegant leather briefcase contrasted with her wild red hair, shabby jacket, scuffed boots and faded Old Navy dress. He epitomized class and privilege; she embodied shabby chic. Maybe not even chic - just shabby. She could never bridge the gulf.
Nonetheless, she was drawn to him, so she did her homework. He rode the elevator to the top - the executive floor for Lyons Howe Real Estate - the company that occupied the top four floors of the building. LHRE owned this building as well as at least 100 other buildings around the Loop, more throughout the Midwest and God only knew what else. The first time she saw him hit the button for the top floor she Googled LHRE.
There he was, his handsome face staring at her from the screen of her computer. His picture was at the top of the home page, just below an elaborate logo for the prestigious firm and a photo of his silver-haired, stern-faced father Wyatt III, the CEO and President. Wyatt’s gorgeous blue eyes stared back at her, so compelling that he could entice her with only a professional headshot. Below his picture, his title indicated he was Chief Information Officer, obviously a top member of the LHRE executive team. He looked like a younger, more handsome, and less serious version of his father.
The family resemblance continued with his brother who appeared about ten years his junior, fresh faced and innocent, but already a vice-president. The beautiful woman pictured was identified as his sister and Chief Financial Officer. She looked close in age to her brother, Wyatt, serious and aristocratic. They embodied the perfect example of a privileged family and a solid, trustworthy executive team.
Once she knew his name, Keeli devoured any information she could find about Wyatt. One of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. Wyatt Lyons Howe was the model of an American blueblood, old money, European tours, private clubs and the best schools. Heir to the massive LHRE empire, he oozed success. He moved like he owned the world, or at least a sizable chunk of it.
Besides, he was Wyatt Lyons Howe IV. Unreachable, untouchable, unavailable to someone like her. He was the sun. She was lucky to feel a tiny touch of his warmth, to orbit occasionally. She was Pluto – far, far away.
Here she was, close enough to feel that warmth. Keeli knew if she just inched back she could touch him. After all, she lusted after him, fantasized about him endlessly, dreamed of marrying him, growing old with him. He was everything she was looking for, the perfect package – intelligence, sophistication, a commanding air, sex appeal and those staggering good looks.
Oh yeah, and he had that power thing going too. He radiated power. It was such a turn on.
As she caught a hint of his clean, outdoorsy scent, Keeli pictured him behind her; his gorgeous face, that end-of-day shadowed jaw, the slight tan he sported even during a Chicago winter. Wyatt dominated her dreams, waking and sleeping. She had fallen in love with him the first time she heard him laugh a hearty, full-bodied sound that gave her a sense that he knew how to enjoy life. He was her dream man.
So what if we have never exchanged two words? Details, details.
At that very moment, she envisioned him reaching out from behind her, slipping his arms around her and pulling her up against him. She could imagine the rough feel of his wool trousers, scratchy against her thighs, followed by the softer feel of his fingers sliding up her legs. She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as she fantasized about his lips caressing her neck, moving from there to her cheekbone as he spun her around so she was pressed against him, his mouth, descending to claim hers in a kiss. She pictured herself dizzy with desire, all feminine softness clasped against the hard power of his thighs, the length of his erection....Oh my god, she was getting damp just standing near him, letting her imagination run wild.
Keeli’s heart thumped so loudly, Keeli wondered if Wyatt could hear it above the workings of the old elevator. Was he looking at her with those piercing azure eyes? Was he flashing her his perfect smile, clear evidence of great genes or years of orthodontia? She wanted to turn around and get one last look at this beautiful man to store in her memory but she was so aroused she feared he would glimpse her flushed face and notice her rapidly hardening nipples even through layers of fabric.
Standing in front of him now, Keeli’s head just reached his shoulder despite her height. Her body itched to sway back the scant distance to rest her head upon his broad chest, feel the softness of his fine shirt, and lean her rounded contours against the hard planes of his chest.
I will have to wear heels when we date. As if I would ever have an opportunity. Who am I kidding? Damn, did I think the elevator was slow? This ride is going way too fast.
They quickly dropped from the upper levels of the building, the doors opening on the fourth floor. Two more people stepped into the already crowded space forcing Keeli to back up to accommodate them.
And it happened. In a split second, without thinking or planning, Keeli felt herself losing hold of her box and her footing. Juggling everything to one hand she reached for some kind of support, backing into Wyatt, her hand resting solidly against the front of his pants. Thank heavens he couldn’t see her face now, flaming every shade of red. He didn’t move at first, shocked perhaps, and then his large hand swiftly nudged hers away. Had she felt an erection? Wanting to die of mortification, Keeli feigned ignorance and Wyatt chose to do the same.
It was one thing to imagine feeling him, another to do it, even by mistake. She wanted to crawl in a hole and die. In moments, they were at lobby level. As the doors opened, Keeli felt the unmistakable pressure of his hand on the small of her back, warm, strong and certain. It was solidly placed, and it was electric. The sensuous touch heated her skin through her wool dress setting Keeli’s body to vibrate.
Her brain was on sensory overload, until she was alerted to the silky feel of his hand snaking its way over the curve of her hip in an unfaltering and unsubtle caress. The contact was swift but significant. He had her round derriere in the firm grasp of his large palm. He’d never looked her way, although Keeli would swear he had just quite intentionally grabbed her ass.
Am I wrong? Was this an accident? Could he really have been unaware?
The elevator was emptying as she stepped out, still feeling the erotic heat of her own musings, the memory of his body in her grasp, his breath on her neck, and his strong hand moving over her behind.
Flustered, she remained mute. He too said nothing, cool and composed as he stepped from the car. Then he was gone, moving from the elevator through the crowd with that long, easy stride, unaware of the overwhelming desire coursing through her.
He must have done it on purpose, right? He finds me desirable. Hang on, Keeli; maybe he thinks you’re a piece of meat. Who the hell does he think he is anyway? Dammit, am I supposed to be excited or offended?
Her heart pounding, her skin tingling, Keeli was hot all over from the combination of her fantasy and the very real feel of his touch. She relived the moment until the fog lifted from her brain and allowed it to reengage. She regained her composure, shoved her arms through her coat sleeves and checked to make sure it was closed. She shuffled with the crowd toward the revolving doors.
A wintry rain was falling, cold and unrelenting. Keeli pulled her inadequate coat closer and stepped away from the protection of the building. She felt the warmth of her desire slipping away as if running down the nearest storm drain, the chilling wet replacing her euphoria. She walked the short block to the “L” station, getting drenched.
With each step, the warmth of the unbelievable encounter diminished to be replaced by the sad reality of cold, wet, and broke.