Delia Suits Up

by Amanda Aksel

Fairbanks steps over to shake his hand, but with a much more reserved, almost nonexistent smile. “I’m very well.” He acknowledges me, and his mouth turns up a little more.

  Fairbanks in the flesh. Again. My stomach tightens and I immediately check my palms for leaks. Nothing more than a slight misting.

  Just be cool, Delia. Remember you’ve already seen this guy’s underwear.

  “Todd, this is Delia Reese. She’s stepping in for Becker today,” Owen begins, and even though he’s acting all loose and easygoing, his jaw tightens after every remark.

  I reach for Fairbanks’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  He finally gives me a full-on smile. “You too, Delia. It’s good to see a woman calling some shots around this place.”

  I totally agree.

  Fairbanks’s smile fades and he tilts his head. “Hmm, that’s unusual.”

  Uh-oh. Have I turned back into Richard? I give my hands a quick glance.

  Nope. Still me.

  “What is?”

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard that name in the last two days, and I’ve never met anyone else with that name before.”

  Nothing gets past this tech genius.

  I coolly shrug it off. “Me neither.”

  “Well, unless you’re a housekeeper on the side, there’s at least two of you in the city,” he jokes with a slight chuckle.

  I let out a nervous high-pitched laugh, then immediately tone it down. Owen shoots me a knowing look. My body begins to recoil, but I shake it off and take my place at the table.

  Todd follows my lead and pulls out his chair. “Sorry to hear about Curtis.”

  “Um, yes, thank you, Todd.” Owen returns his attention to Fairbanks. “He’s doing better. I’m sure he’ll pull through just fine.”

  Todd nods slowly and silently, as if paying his respects to Becker’s heart attack. Then, his expression completely shifts. “Wasn’t there supposed to be someone here from the Zurich office?”

  My partner and I exchange glances. “Unfortunately, he needed to return to Switzerland this morning.” I squirm a little in my seat at Owen’s lie. “Would you like anything else before we start?” he asks, pointing to Fairbanks’s full glass bottle.

  “No, thanks. I’m good with this.” Todd leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I do want to say that up until yesterday, I had no intention of letting Monty Fuhrmann work on this offering. And while I wish that Curtis hadn’t suffered a heart attack, I’m somewhat relieved that he’s not here.”

  I look for Owen’s reaction, but he and Fairbanks are completely focused on each other.

  “I know that this firm has bent over backward for me in the past,” he continues, “so it was difficult to make the decision to exclude you, understanding what that might mean for your firm’s reputation. But I want you to know that it’s very unlikely you’ll be able to propose a deal that I’m comfortable with. I don’t know if that changes your pitch, but I just wanted to put it out there. No bullshit.”

  “Mr. Fairbanks,” I start before Owen can utter a single syllable.

  “Call me Todd.”

  I smile politely and set my hands on the table, fingers interlaced, palms mist free. “Todd. We’re well aware of why you have doubts about working with us. I believe that during this conversation you’ll find we understand you and Ezeus better than you realize. This is an important milestone in your business. We agree: no games, no bullshit.”

  The tech mogul narrows his eyes and folds his arms as he rests back in his chair. After a few seconds, he nods as if we’ve come to an understanding, a level playing field. “So, Owen, Delia, whatcha got for me?”

  I glance at Owen on my left and he sends me a subtle wink. He grabs his notepad, and I pull out three freshly printed pitchbooks. They seem to sparkle in the light-filled conference room. Fairbanks asks a ton of questions as we go through the document, interrupting at every turn, but Owen and I maintain our equanimity. After his opening statement, I expected Fairbanks to remain guarded throughout the full presentation. But with every response we give, he seems more and more receptive. Satisfied even. I’m completely engrossed in the pitch, yet underneath that focus I hear a bit of a whoo girl cheering me on. This is the best day of my life. I’m finally where I belong.

  Fairbanks’s questions stall, so I sneak a quick glimpse at my watch. It’s been an hour and a half since we sat down, and I was sure he’d give us less than forty-five minutes.

  “So what do you think?” Owen asks.

  Our potential client sits back and has his first drink of the bottled water. And it’s a long one. He swallows and takes in a deep breath. Then says . . . nothing. My mind starts to race, debating if that’s all this meeting will amount to, contemplating what move I can make to change his mind if he says no. But right now, I just really want him to say something. Anything.

  Fairbanks clears his throat and stands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . . I think we have a deal.” He grins and extends his hand to Owen.

  Owen jumps to his feet. “That’s great!” he says, pumping the handshake harder than seems necessary.

  I join them, resisting every urge to spring onto the conference table and scream, “I’m queen of the jungle!” while pounding my fists against my chest. But instead of shouting at the top of my lungs, I’m cheesing so hard my cheeks hurt.

  “Great job, Delia. I’m really looking forward to working with you,” Todd says, giving me his hand.

  “Thank you,” I say, hoping that Owen heard that last part. But even if he doesn’t give me a permanent position on this, I’ll always know that I was the one who created Monty Fuhrmann’s plan for the Ezeus IPO, and I helped seal the deal. And that feels pretty damn good.

  We walk Todd out to the elevators, confirming our next meeting, and tossing mock apologies for delaying his weekend at the beach. As soon as the steel doors close, I turn on my heel to face Owen, smiling so much that I’ll need to book a face massage. “That was incredible!”

  He looks pleased and breathes a sigh of relief. “I have to say, it was better than I expected.”

  “I knew it would work,” I say with wide eyes, and he wrinkles his brow. “I mean, when Richard told me about it, I knew it was the right plan.”

  His pleased expression returns. “You kicked ass in there, Delia. It’s not something I can forget easily.”

  “So what’s next for me?” I ask, clenching my hands together.

  “You impressed Todd Fairbanks, gave him confidence in the firm. We can’t let you go. What do you think about working for us? It’s got to be better than cleaning his apartment, right?”

  My jaw drops and my face heats up like a July afternoon in Boca. “I . . . um . . .”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You think you’re the only sharp knife in the drawer around here?”

  “Well, I certainly hope not,” I say, not meeting his eye.

  “Delia, it doesn’t matter.” He places a hand on my shoulder in a fatherly way. “You’re exactly what this team needs. We could use more upper-level female perspectives around here.”

  I finally look at him. Upper level?

  His kind smile turns into his serious-negotiator stare. “And it looks like we have a VP position that just opened up. Why don’t you start there, and we’ll see how you do.”

  VP? Did he just say he’ll start me as VP?

  Hell yeah!

  Finally, someone in charge sees my potential. “Thank you, sir.” I reach for a handshake. Now I’m the one pumping it more than necessary.

  “C’mon, let’s go tell the others.” He motions for me to follow him, but my feet remain planted.

  “Wait,” I say, and he turns back around. “Are you hiring me just because of my female perspective?”

  “No. I’m hiring you because you nailed it in there. The perspective�
�s just a bonus.” True. I did nail it, and I didn’t need a dick to do it. “Now, I’ve had enough questions for today. Let’s celebrate!”

  As we head back down the hall to the conference room, Nicole zips by. “Hey, Nicole!” Owen catches her. She turns back, sporting a pair of hot pink frames in the same style as yesterday. “Would you mind calling the team into the conference room and getting us all some champagne?”

  She stares at him over the rims of her glasses. “Does that mean . . . ?”

  “Yes, it does. We closed Fairbanks.” Owen pats her on the shoulder, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Ah, that’s great news!” she says, shifting her eyes my way.

  “Nicole, I’d like you to meet Delia Reese. She’s our new VP.”

  I extend my hand like an olive branch. “Hi, Nicole.”

  She takes it, her expression totally transforming from Who the hell are you? to You go, girl! “Good to meet you, Ms. Reese. Nice blouse.”

  “Nice glasses.” I smile. “And call me Delia.”

  “I’ll get the guys.” She nods before heading off, no eye roll necessary this time, and Owen excuses himself for a minute.

  I wander to the conference room by myself and gaze out the window overlooking the city. I’m literally on top of my world. My dad’s never going to believe this, but I hope in time he’ll see that pink deserves respect. I breathe a sigh of gratitude that something in my life changed. Besides my genitals.

  I made it.

  Nicole pops in carrying a chilled bottle of bubbly and pulls a set of flutes from a cabinet behind the conference table. Is that Dom Pérignon? The guys appear, one after the other. I glance around behind Brian, Mike, and the others. Where’s Eric?

  Owen saunters in, practically floating on air. He grabs the bottle of Dom from the table and peels back the black foil paper.

  “Are we celebrating?” Mike asks.

  “We’re celebrating,” Owen says, twisting the tiny metal cage loose. “We closed the Ezeus deal!”

  The guys shoot curious glances my way as they hoot and cheer, dodging the flying cork that nearly takes out a ceiling tile. I applaud with them, though not as boisterously. Owen pours the foamy spirits into each flute, and Nicole disperses the glasses around to everyone, keeping one for herself.

  “I’d like to propose a toast.” Owen raises his glass and we follow. “To Richard Allen, wherever he is, that crazy son of a bitch.” I’m trying my best not to laugh my ass off. “It’s because of him we saved this deal, and with our newest VP. Please welcome Delia Reese!”

  The guys raise their glasses, cheering and smiling as they shoot the thin flutes of champagne. One by one, the guys approach, congratulating me on my position even though none of them know who I am. The welcomes are warm and I thank them, wanting to relish the moment. I sip from my glass, glancing at the door for Eric. He’s the one I really want to celebrate with.

  “Would you excuse me for a bit? There’s something I need to take care of,” I tell Owen.

  He tilts his glass to me. “Of course!”

  “Thanks.”

  I dash out of the room to call Eric. After three rings I’m convinced he’s not going to answer. Has something happened to him? Just as I think it’s going to voice mail, he picks up.

  “Hey, where are you?” I ask.

  “I had to run to another meeting. I’m about to pull up to the tower.” He sounds as eager as I feel.

  “Don’t move,” I say. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  Before he can say another word, I hang up and take the elevator down to the lobby. I pull my hair free and check my makeup in the reflective doors. The instant they slide open I fly out of there so fast, feeling so light on my feet that my heels hardly touch the ground. A taxi pulls up to the building just as I approach the entrance. Eric steps out with another gentleman in a suit. The guy says something to him before leaving him on the sidewalk.

  My man is waiting for me. I take in a deep breath and push through the glass doors. The butterflies in my stomach come alive again, but this time I’m not nervous. I’m confident.

  Eric sees me now, his smile widening as our distance closes.

  “Hey, Sinatra.” It’s all I can manage to say. I want to talk about everything—what happened yesterday, what he said to Richard, the pitch we just landed with Todd-freaking-Fairbanks. All those things I wanted to shout from the rooftops yesterday, and now nothing comes out. All I can do is stand here looking at him, looking at me, Delia.

  “Hey.” His eyes sparkle as they take me in. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Neither can I.” I lock onto his gaze. My hair dances on the breeze, and I tuck it behind my ear. “Honestly, you have no idea.”

  As if in a trance, neither one of us can turn our eyes away. I lower my hand and he finds it, tracing his thumb over the tops of my delicate fingers. His touch sends an electrifying tingle throughout my entire body, and I’m completely transfixed by the way he’s looking at me. It’s the same way he adored the photo of us on his phone last night.

  “Delia . . .”

  Hearing my name roll off his tongue sounds even better than before.

  He pulls me so close, his suede cologne replaces the scent of the city. “I’m crazy about you.”

  Finally. I close my eyes and press my lips to his. His mouth is more delicious than all the Sassicaia in the world. His hands grip my waist as my body, my Delia-body, melts into him. An intoxicating wave floods my brain as his kiss pulls me in deeper and deeper.

  I take a breath and draw back, knees so weak it’s a miracle I’m standing. “I . . . I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” he asks with the same ache from time wasted.

  I shake my head slowly and lower my eyes. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

  “Delia.” He leans in, lifting my chin. “I’ve always wanted you to.”

  He kisses me again like I’m all he craves. If we weren’t standing on the front sidewalk of Monty Fuhrmann Tower while bankers and cabs bustle by on Broadway, I’d yank off his tie.

  And mine too.

  Eric rests his forehead on mine, tickling the tip of my nose with his. “When I got your text yesterday, I thought I might never see you again. That I’d missed my chance to be with you.”

  If only I could bottle up his words, his kiss, the way it feels when his body is pressed against mine. I’d drink it on my living room floor every time I missed him.

  I let out a small laugh. “Well, luckily you’ll be seeing a lot more of me now.”

  “Mmm, sounds good to me.” His hands gently stroke my sides, until he catches my expression. He raises an eyebrow as a smirk tugs at the edge of his sexy mouth. “Wait, does that mean . . . ?”

  I beam as bright as the sunlight atop the city. “We just closed the Ezeus deal.”

  “Are you serious?” Eric’s jaw falls for a moment before he embraces me in a tight squeeze. “Oh my god! That’s amazing! I knew you could do it!”

  “Oh, and . . . they just offered me a job.”

  He pulls away, eyes wide and gleaming. “I’m so proud of you, Delia.”

  I bat my lashes. “I’m proud of me too.”

  He smiles, caressing my cheek with his fingertips, and gives me another sweet kiss. “Then I guess this means you’re staying in New York.”

  “Of course. There’s no place I’d rather be.” A lightness swirls in my chest, and I find myself grinning for all that’s happened and all that’s yet to come.

  Eric’s arm slinks around my waist, pulling me in again. “You know, I’ve got some time for lunch, and my place isn’t far from here.”

  I let out a wispy breath. “You read my mind.”

  “I’ll get us a ride.” He takes my hand and we walk side by side off the edge of the curb. Holding
me close with one arm and signaling for a cab with the other, he lands soft kisses on the top of my head. My eyes close as I sink farther into him. This moment is more satisfying than a Brooklyn blackout cupcake. Now I’ve really made it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After an incredible . . . um . . . lunch with Eric and some paperwork at Monty Fuhrmann Tower, both having been long overdue, I head home to my apartment. Along the way, I stop by my favorite little wine shop. Sure enough, they have a top-shelf bottle of Sassicaia. All is as it should be. I can’t wait to celebrate with my roommates tonight. Drinking on the floor will never be the same. I shoot them a quick text.

  DELIA: I got the good stuff. Meet you in the living room in twenty minutes.

  REGINA: Hell yeah! I’m dying to hear EVERYTHING!

  FRANKIE: Is it that wine from Il Vezzo? I’ve been dreaming about it since yesterday.

  As I open the door to our apartment, Regina saunters by with a bowl of hummus in one hand and three wineglasses in the other.

  “Hey, girl,” she says, setting everything down on the center of the coffee table. That’s right—I am a girl. A proud one with a real boyfriend and a hella real salary!

  “Hola, chica.” Frankie sets a corkscrew on the table before taking my hand and twirling me around like I’m his little ballerina. He grabs the wine bottle from me. “Yes! Where did you find this?”

  “In the high-dollar section we never venture into.”

  His eyes narrow and drop to my waist. “Are you wearing my good paisley tie as a belt?”

  “Yes,” I say, protecting it with my hands. “Can I keep it? Pleeeease!”

  His nostrils flare and I can tell he wants to snatch it off my waist, but then he glances at the bottle of Sassicaia and his expression softens. “Sure, but you’re buying me a new one. And they’re not cheap.”

  Regina walks in again from the kitchen, carrying a tray of pita chips, grapes, and brie. “She can afford it now. Can’t you, Delia?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  I really can.

  “Can you also afford to take my suit to the dry cleaner’s? I need it for my date with Martino next week.”