Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista

by Aven Ellis

  Suddenly the elevator doors chime open. I open my eyes and see Deke waiting for me in the lobby. Except I’m so stunned that I can’t move.

  Deke’s in a navy suit, one that fits his body to perfection. The suit jacket is open, and he’s wearing a whisper-blue dress shirt underneath it. There’s no tie, and the shirt is casually unbuttoned at the neck, revealing his bronzed skin.

  Oh. My. God. He’s more than Drop Dead Gorgeous. He’s the sexiest, hottest, most breathtaking man in a suit ever.

  The elevator doors start to close on me. I quickly hit the button to open them back up, blushing furiously as they do. Deke’s studying me with a furrowed brow, no doubt wondering why I’m staring at him in a stupor instead of getting off the elevator.

  I head toward him, and despite my vow not to think of him as a romantic interest, I do. I want to be with this man. I want to hold him and kiss him and explore this romantic city with his hand in mine.

  I swallow hard. I want to be with Deke so badly that my heart hurts inside my chest.

  “Avery,” he says softly as I approach. “You look so beautiful.”

  I stop breathing. Deke really thinks I’m beautiful?

  But then I remember that my dad tells me I’m beautiful, too. It’s just a nice thing for a gentleman to say when a woman is dressed up, that’s all.

  “Thank you,” I say, wishing with all my heart that Deke meant “beautiful” in the way I want him to. “You clean up rather nicely yourself, Deacon Ryan.”

  “You probably didn’t think I even owned a suit, did you, Fashionista?” he teases as we approach the door.

  “Of course I thought you had a suit,” I say. Okay, so I thought he’d have one charcoal gray suit for funerals and weddings, but he doesn’t need to know that, does he?

  I clear my throat. “So where are we going?” I ask. That would be fun.

  “Across the street.”

  I stop walking, disappointed. It’s my first night in San Francisco, and I’m only going across the street?

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  A doorman opens the door for us, and Deke urges me to go outside. I step outside into the chilly air and shiver.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, slipping out of his suit jacket and gently draping it around me. “You’ll see the whole city from across the street, I promise.”

  Intrigued, I hold his jacket to me and follow him to the InterContinental Hotel. We step inside another gorgeous hotel lobby and head over to the elevators.

  “Okay, we’re at the hotel,” I say. “So where exactly are we going?”

  “We,” Deke explains, “are going to the Top of The Mark. A legendary bar in San Francisco.”

  I smile flirtatiously at him. “Legendary. Would you care to expand on that?”

  He flashes me a blinding smile as we step into the elevator. “I’d be happy to. First of all, the bar is famous for the view. You can see the city and the bay and watch the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge, which I thought you might like.”

  I nod as the elevator begins to climb toward the 19th floor, thinking the view will be amazing from that height.

  “Secondly, during World War II, soldiers would come to the Top of The Mark to toast the Golden Gate Bridge before shipping out to the Pacific. They thought the bridge was good luck, you see. So that’s part of the historical legend.”

  Suddenly a whole movie is running through my head. I see sailors and their girlfriends dancing to 1940’s tunes and raising their glasses in a final toast before going off to war. And the historical significance of the bar instantly hits me.

  “And thirdly, and this is the main reason why I’m taking you here tonight, is that they have menu with 100 different kinds of martinis on it. That’s also legendary.”

  The movie about the 1940’s sailors stops running in my head. I gaze up at Deke, fascinated by that last tidbit he just dropped.

  “They have 100 different types of martinis?” I echo, delighted at this news.

  He laughs and my spine tingles in response. “Yeah. So you can’t have the standard appletini or cherry martini. You need to pick an exotic drink tonight.”

  I begin wondering how in the world there can be 100 different kinds of martinis. I thought an extensive martini menu consisted of ten different kinds. How can they have 100?

  Suddenly the elevator doors open to the 19th floor. And as they do, I’m transported to a different world.

  The view is breathtaking. I see that the sun is beginning to set over the bay, melting into the pinkish-orange horizon. The city sweeps around us, and I know as soon as the sun disappears, the city lights will twinkle like diamonds.

  And as I view the Golden Gate Bridge, I think of the servicemen who raised a glass here all those years ago, hoping they would make it back to see the bridge again.

  I continue to look around, soaking up the atmosphere. A woman is singing sultry jazz music with a live band behind her. Some people are even dancing.

  “What do you think?” Deke asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  I turn and gaze up at him, and I don’t need a mirror to know my face is beaming.

  “This is beyond fabulous,” I say in delight.

  He grins. “Beyond fabulous. That’s a first.”

  We make our way to a table. Deke pulls out my chair for me, just as though we were on a real date. I slip out of his suit jacket and he hangs it on the back of my chair. Then he takes the seat across from me and flips open a menu.

  I don’t even open mine yet. I can’t help but think of how special this evening is. I’m in a legendary bar, gazing at the sun setting on the bay, in one of the most romantic cities in the world.

  And I’m sharing it all with Deke.

  I happily open the menu and pour over the martini selections. I easily spot ten I want to try, but being the lightweight drinker that I am, one martini on an empty stomach will be more than enough for me.

  “Deacon,” I say as an idea comes to me, “you have to order a martini. So we can say we’ve tried two out of 100.”

  The corners of Deke’s mouth curve up in a smile. “Right. Leaving us with two days and 98 more to finish before we fly back to Chicago?”

  A giggle escapes my throat, and he flashes me a grin, one that makes his eyes crinkle up in the corners.

  “Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen, but we can have at least two martinis tonight, can’t we? If you want one, that is.”

  “Normally I’d have a beer,” Deke says slowly, leaning back in his chair in that sexy way he has, “but in honor of you completing a very long flight from Chicago to San Francisco, I’ll honor you with a martini. I’ll have a negroni. I drank negronis when I shot in Florence last summer. They’re pretty good, actually.”

  A wave of insecurity washes over me. He’s so well-traveled and full of fascinating stories that I wonder why on earth he finds me remotely interesting. I’m just a girl from suburban Chicago. And while Deke was gallivanting across Italy drinking negronis last summer, I was folding shirts at the Gap. No wonder why he’s so smitten with Isabel, I think painfully.

  “You must think I’m incredibly boring,” I say quietly. “You’ve done the most fascinating things with your life. And I’m just—”

  “Stop right there,” he interrupts firmly, closing his menu. “Avery Andrews, you are one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. You have spark. You’re effervescent. You always have a million thoughts or questions going on inside your head and you aren’t afraid to share them with people around you. And that’s fascinating to me.”

  My heart holds very still as I absorb his words. And as I stare back at Deke, I realize I’m falling in love with the one person who will never love me back.

  A cocktail waitress comes over and we order multiple appeti
zers and our drinks, with me taking Deke’s advice and going really exotic with the lychee martini. As soon as we get our cocktails, he proposes a toast.

  “To you,” he says, holding his negroni up. “First of all, for being brave enough to face your fear today.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. “But you—”

  “Nope, this is my toast to you. Don’t interrupt,” he chides.

  I laugh and he continues.

  “And here’s to locking down the spa basket idea,” he finishes. “I wish you luck on your presentation, but you don’t need it. You’ll blow them away.”

  I happily clink my glass against his.

  “Cheers,” Deke says, taking a sip.

  “Cheers,” I say, smiling. I take a sip of my martini—oh, wow, that is fabulous—and set my glass down.

  “So tell me what the schedule is for the next few days,” he says, putting his drink back on the table.

  My heart falls into my stomach. Right. Of course. It’s time to talk about business. The only reason Deke is with me tonight, really. Sure, he might think I have spark and am effervescent, but Deke is saying that as a friend. Or as a simple observation he made while shooting me.

  “Avery?”

  “Right,” I say, forcing a smile on my face. “Tomorrow will be introductory meetings and team building activities.” I pause for a moment, making a face. “And I’ll say this to you only, without a camera on, but why Premier Airlines thinks that running around with my co-workers on an elaborate scavenger hunt is going to make us work better back in Chicago is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Deke smiles and I continue with my thought.

  “Well, anyone can get along together for a few hours to play a stupid game. It doesn’t teach us anything and is a total waste of time. I just wonder why corporate America hasn’t figured that out yet.”

  He bursts out laughing this time. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  I take another sip of my martini. “It’s just as dumb as when they force us into seating arrangements at the dinner tomorrow night. Lindsay told me all about the ‘team dinner.’ I’ll sit with five people from around the country and make chitchat for a painful couple of hours. And as soon as the meetings are over, I won’t talk to these people again unless I need something from their office.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he says. “Why do you think I like being a videographer? I never have to do shit like that. So that’s Monday. What’s on Tuesday?”

  And after he asks his question, Deke holds his drink up to me. “Care to try this?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, reaching for his drink and taking a sip. “Wow. That’s delicious.”

  “Glad you like it,” he says. “Now Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday I do my presentation before the lunch break,” I say. “So I’ll either be a hit or fall flat on my face, but at least Craig is giving me the chance to try. And that’s more than I ever could have asked for.”

  “Just think. A few months ago you never would have asked for this shot, would you?”

  I stare into Deke’s eyes, thinking of how he has challenged me and pushed me and made me see things I was never supposed to see. He’s made me want things I was never supposed to want. Like a career.

  Like you, I think. You’ve made me want you, too.

  “No,” I admit quietly, “I wouldn’t have.”

  The appetizers arrive, and I dig in, as I’m ravenous now. I feast on an assortment of cheeses, Kobe sliders, and smoked duck tacos. We talk long after the sun has set, leaving a velvety-black sky and twinkling lights all around us. We extend the evening to include decaf cappuccinos and truffles, and there’s only one thing left that would make this evening perfect for me.

  A dance with Deke before we leave.

  I gaze longingly at the dance floor, remembering how well Deke danced in Lincoln Park. How his hand was rough against mine, how good he smelled up close.

  Then my memory skips ahead to kissing Deke. How I’ve never been kissed like that in my life, how it left me wanting more.

  “Avery, are you ready to call it a night?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts. “You should try to go to bed now, so you won’t feel tired in the morning because of the time difference.”

  I turn to him, and before I realize what I’m saying, I blurt out what is in my head.

  “Do you want to dance?” I ask quietly.

  Deke’s expression freezes. He looks completely caught off-guard by my request.

  “Uh”—he picks up his hand and rakes it through his hair, appearing very uncomfortable—“Avery, I don’t—”

  My face flames in mortification. Damn it! Why did I have to ruin everything by asking him that? Obviously it’s a line he doesn’t want to cross because of Isabel, and I can’t believe I even asked him to cross it.

  “Never mind,” I say quickly, reaching for my purse. “I never should have asked you that. I know you’re with Isabel.” I realize I’m talking at the speed of light, but all I want to do is get out of here as fast as I can. I grab the bill as a distraction.

  “I guess we can divide this out,” I ramble nervously. “We’ll both be reimbursed for this anyway, and we can get duplicates of the receipts for our expense reports.”

  As I’m fumbling through my purse, keeping my head down, I suddenly feel someone standing next to me.

  I look up and Deke has risen from the table. He’s standing next to my chair, his hand extended out to me.

  “I don’t think a visit to the Top of The Mark would be complete without a dance,” he says softly.

  My heart beats furiously as I put my hand in his. And feeling his rough, familiar skin against mine is like coming home again. To a place that’s warm and familiar and exactly where I belong.

  Neither one of us speak as we step on to the dance floor. Jazz music floats around us, and Deke’s hand slips around my back, his fingertips resting against my dress.

  And the second he holds me, I know I’m putting up a hopeless fight. I’m kidding myself if I say I’m falling in love with Deacon Ryan.

  Because I’m already in love with him.

  I look into his eyes, only to find they are already on mine. I decide to live in this moment, wanting to remember everything—how his shoulder feels under my palm, the scent of his skin, the way we move together to the sultry music.

  And nothing has ever felt as right to me in my life as this moment with Deke does.

  The music ends far too soon. His fingertips remain on my back, his other hand still clasped over mine. I search his eyes and wonder if he doesn’t want this dance to end, either.

  Suddenly he clears his throat. And with regret I feel his hand slowly release mine.

  “We should go back now,” Deke says simply.

  I swallow hard and nod, although I don’t mean it.

  We go back to our table, but Deke picks up the entire tab. I’m sure he has a bigger per diem than mine, and since I’m a client he can expense my part anyway.

  Now we’re ready to leave. But before I step on the elevator to go down, I take one final look around, wanting a mental snapshot of the place before I go.

  Because I’ll always have this night in San Francisco—even though I’ll never have Deke.

  Chapter 18

  “Thank you, Eric, for that overview on our marketing efforts for the Pacific routes,” Craig Potanski says, stepping up to the front of the room and commanding everyone’s attention.

  I fidget in my uncomfortable hotel ballroom chair, and my stomach flips with sheer nervousness. It’s Tuesday morning, and my time has finally come.

  I’m about to present my spa basket idea.

  I hold my breath as Craig pushes up the sleeve of his dress shirt and glances down at his very expen
sive watch.

  “Let’s take a fifteen-minute break, and then Avery Andrews will present her idea for in-flight spa baskets before we break for lunch.”

  I gulp as eyes in the room shift toward me in curiosity. I have been sitting here the last thirty minutes reviewing my presentation in my head—and fighting off frostbite, as the temperature in here has to be sub-zero—anxiously waiting for my moment to arrive.

  And now it has.

  I notice the Chicago marketing team is viewing me with very skeptical expressions on their faces. Probably because they thought this item was buried when they rejected it the first time, back in June.

  I take my laptop over to the front table. I boot it up, wanting to leave nothing to chance the second I head up to the podium to do my presentation.

  After my computer is up and running, I go over to the table containing coffee and teas. I’m so cold that I’m shaking, and I don’t want that to be perceived as nervousness when I do my presentation.

  Even though I’m really nervous.

  I take a calming breath. Okay. Once I get up there and start my PowerPoint presentation, everything will be fine. The nerves will settle once I start talking.

  I instinctively glance toward the back of the room, where Deke has his camera set up on a tripod. He nods at me, and I know that’s his way of telling me I’m going to lock it down, as he likes to say.

  “So, Avery, Craig is really going to let you present the spa basket idea again?”

  I turn and find Rebecca standing next to me, a suspicious look in her eyes.

  I reach for a ceramic mug and fill it with decaf coffee. “Yes, he is.”

  “Hmmm. That’s nice of him to humor you like that, considering the marketing heads in Chicago didn’t think this was a good idea when you mentioned it a month ago.”