Man of Her Dreams

by Tina Martin

  “No, it isn’t. It’s brilliant, and it will work.”

  “Well, I need a few days to think about it.”

  “What’s there to think about? All you have to do is—”

  “Ask her out on a date. I’m not slow, Priscilla. I just think this is morally wrong.”

  “Why? Don’t tell me you have a girlfriend.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Wife?”

  “No. I have a conscience. I don’t know your friend, but I don’t want to hurt her by playing this game.”

  Priscilla smiled. “I admire your decency, Trevor, but it’ll be fine. No one knows Elsie better than me.”

  “Not even her parents?”

  “Well, she’s estranged from her parents, so yes, not even her parents. Look, no one is going to get hurt. I need an answer in the form of a signature now. Are you in or are you out?”

  Dang, he didn’t want to do it. The voice in the back of his mind told him not to, but the businessman in him wouldn’t let an opportunity like EBN walk. “Pen,” Trevor said, holding his hand open. When Priscilla gave him the pen, he signed and dated the document and then asked, “Where am I supposed to meet your friend?”

  “It’s all going down at Baconville. I’ll have to talk her into going out to breakfast with me and you should already be there.”

  “When?”

  “Saturday.”

  His eyes widened. “Saturday? Like two days from now Saturday?”

  Priscilla smiled. Those eyes. Goodness. “Yes, at the Baconville in Concord. There’s only one, so you should be able to find the address.”

  “What time?”

  “Let’s say around eleven-ish. It’s going to take me some time to pry Elsie out of her apartment. I literally have to pull her out of here. Oh, and don’t be shocked by how she looks. She’s not a morning person, and she never wears makeup. She’s just bleh. I tried to get her out of that, too, but no luck.” Priscilla took a sip of coffee.

  “Okay, let me make sure I’m following you. You want me to be at Baconville at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday morning?”

  “Yeppers. Any more questions?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t have any questions.”

  “Good,” Priscilla said, taking the contract and hiding it between the pages of her notebook. She extended a hand to Trevor for a shake, and when he grasped her hand, she said, “Nice doing business with you, Trev.”

  It would’ve been nice if he didn’t feel like he’d just made a deal with the devil. But what was done was done and as long as nobody got hurt, he could live with himself.

  Chapter 1

  Elsie

  [Introvert (noun): a shy, reticent person]

  The first time I tried to be one of those assertive women – you know the kind who held their heads up high, sashayed their perfectly round, cellulite-free bottoms and went for what they wanted like boss chicks – I fell flat on my face. I was after a man, a cute guy who works in my building. That day was the day I wasn’t going to let him walk by me without striking up a conversation. I’d done it too many times before, hid in my tortoise-shell whenever I saw a guy I liked or thought was cute, but not this time. This time, I was going to say something. And why shouldn’t I? Every time I saw him he offered me a smile, so I knew he was friendly and I was as equally as friendly, although most people thought I was stuck up because I didn’t talk to people unless I knew them or it was absolutely necessary. It had nothing to do with me being stuck up or mean. I just don’t talk to people. I’m more comfortable saying absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. But that infamous day, for some reason, I was determined to take a risk.

  I got that opportunity to have a conversation with him when I was leaving work for the day, taking the elevator down from the eighth floor. Before the doors could meet, an arm sliced between them, forcing them to automatically reopen and guess who hopped aboard.

  The guy.

  The universe was practically handing him to me on a silver platter, and he even spoke to me when he stepped on. However, I didn’t say a word in reply. Not only was my throat too tight to respond, but I was having a moment, daydreaming about the elevator breaking down and being trapped in this claustrophobic metal box with him. What were the odds?

  As the doors began to close for the second time, I looked over at him as he confirmed the ground floor button was illuminated. After he saw that it was, he faced forward. Waiting. And I’m still watching him. I’ve never had a chance to study him up close, so I take advantage of this elevator ride. He’s tall. Slender. He doesn’t look athletic, but he’s fit, probably a vegan or some crap like that. He has on a pair of khaki’s, a gray hat and a black L.L. Bean coat. Like most people who work in Uptown, myself included, he’s wearing a backpack. He’s not the man of my dreams – doesn’t have all the specs – but he’s still a man, nonetheless. And he smiled at me. Doesn’t that mean he likes me?

  A gush of blood seems to rush to my head and makes my balance a bit unsteady. It’s my nerves. They’ve always been the death of me, socially, and it didn’t help that I was stuck in the elevator with a guy. I finally get the chance to say something to him and my throat feels like it’s closing up. I’m dressed like an old church lady in a Tyler Perry movie – a polyester black skirt suit (who wears polyester anymore?) and some kitten heels. Men hate kitten heels. I know this. Kitten heels say: I’m still a woman, but not confident enough to wear real heels. And that describes me to a tee. In my defense, I usually don’t talk to men anyway, and I think kitten heels are cute darn-it.

  I adjusted my glasses, cleared my throat and even though I feel like I’m close to dying by being in such close proximity to a stranger, I was intent on not being shy, anti-small talk, overly-introverted Elsie Evans today. So I spoke back. It came like a whole two minutes late, but still, I spoke. And this stranger spoke back. Again.

  Score!

  That gave me all the confidence I needed. I felt like I could ask him anything now. So I went with, “Are you ready for this cold weather?”

  He smirked.

  In my head, I’m thinking of all the reasons why he didn’t respond to me right away. He thinks I’m a nut. Here it is the middle of December and I’m asking him if he’s ready for the cold weather. It’s been cold since November. Of course, he’s ready for the cold weather! I want to slap myself, take the question back somehow – but that’s the problem with communication. Once you spew something out, you can’t retract it. There’s no backspace key for uttered words. No magic eraser. Fearing I’d make myself look even more foolish, I remain quiet – in the Elsie safe zone where I’ve been a resident for all of my life. I don’t want to be in the safe zone, but here we go again…

  “I’m not ready for the snow,” he said.

  My eyes brightened. My heart is steadily thumping. I’m back in! He’s talking to me.

  I look at him. His mouth is moving, and as he’s yapping it up, I’m looking at his hand to see if he’s wearing a ring. My friend Priscilla once told me if a man ain’t wearing a ring, he’s as good as single and the ones who were wearing rings were questionable. I’ll take single over questionable.

  “I actually moved from Minneapolis to escape the cold,” he said. “Now, I’m right back in it. I wasn’t expecting this in North Carolina.”

  He chuckled. So did I, because I wanted him to think I’m engaged in this discussion by actually listening, but I may have gone a little too overboard with laughter because now he’s looking at me like I’m crazy before glancing up to see what floor we just passed.

  Four. On down to floor three.

  Meanwhile, I’m having an argument with myself:

  “A few more floors and you’ll be on the ground floor, Elsie. Make your move.”

  “Shut up, self. You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Actually I do, now stop being a coward and make your move. Now! Do it now!

  “No.”

  “Yes. Stop being such a scaredy cat and do it, or do you want to be single for
the rest of your kitten-heel-wearing life?”

  “Okay. Fine!”

  I adjusted my glasses since they’d fallen a little down the bridge of my nose and after making the adjustment, I look at him, noticing that somehow, I’m standing closer to him – like right beside him – like he’s my man and we’re together. How on earth did I move this close to him without realizing it?

  He takes a side step away from me. That’s not a good sign, but that’s what I get for crowding his space.

  “So, does your wife or girlfriend like it down here in Charlotte?” I asked. I don’t know why I said wife when he’s not even wearing a ring, but he could be one of those questionable ones.

  “My girlfriend loves it,” he responded. “She’s from here, actually.”

  “Oh,” I said, crushed though I try to hide it with more awkward giggles. Great, now what do you do Elsie? He’s taken!

  The elevators doors opened up on the ground floor and when they do, I say the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life. “Hey, maybe we can get together for a coffee sometimes.”

  So stupid. I realize that now. For one, the guy already told me he had a girlfriend, so why am I still pursuing him? Two, I asked him to get together for a coffee, like two grown people are going to show up at a coffee shop and order a single cup of coffee to share. Something is seriously wrong with me because the ridiculousness doesn’t end there. I manage to say something else equally stupid, if not worse, when I respond, “Oh, she can come, too.”

  He frowned. So did I because now, I’ve officially made myself look like a desperate psycho. The guy walks away quickly after we exit the elevator and I’m standing there, crushed after making a fool of myself.

  That was a week ago.

  A disaster that still haunts me. Now, when the guy sees me, he pretends to be interested in something on his phone or he has his white earbuds in his ear listening to music to avoid talking to me. And that is why I don’t do small talk. I’m not one of those super social people who have no problem mingling with other social people, striking up conversations and telling pointless stories and jokes about dumb stuff no one really cares about. Far from it.

  I’m the kind of girl whose idea of a Friday night is watching Shark Tank and Dateline, eating baked Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies and falling asleep on the sofa fully dressed.

  As a self-proclaimed introvert, there are certain things I love. Sleep is at the top of the list. I think about sleep constantly while I’m at my boring mailroom clerk job. All day, I sort mail for two floors at Uptown Place Business Pavilion – probably something an unpaid intern should be doing – but that’s my job. After getting a four-year degree in business, this is the job I settled for because it doesn’t involve team meetings and a bunch of corporate red tape. It’s straightforward and best of all, I don’t have to deal with people. I just drop folks mail off into their personal mailboxes and split. It’s boring, and I’m okay with that. I have no choice but to be.

  I also love sleep because of a more delightful reason, too. It’s in dreamland where I get to see him – the man of my dreams. In my dreams, it’s okay to create the man I want, who’s way out of my league. And, guess what? I don’t have to engage in awkward small talk just to meet him. He’s already there, floating in my imagination, waiting for me to close my eyes. He’s tall – like six-two or six-three. Yeah, let’s go with six-three. His skin is a beautiful warm latte color. His eyes are green. He has an impressive build with broad shoulders, a solid chest full of muscles and thick, muscly arms. The mustache he rocks amplifies his full, male lips and his hair is cut to a fade that’s always on point. And when he smiles, sweet Jesus when he smiles, angels sing. That’s my man – all the man I’ll ever need. The only man I’ll ever be brave enough to talk to again after the elevator incident.

  So what? I made him up? Big hairy deal. You gotta crawl before you can walk and that’s what I plan on doing.

  Crawling.

  Dreaming.

  Maybe one day, I’ll meet a man who gets me and my introverted ways. One who can’t stand small talk and office parties. One who doesn’t jump at a chance to be present at every party. I just need a Netflix and chill type of dude. Until then, I’ll close my eyes, dream of my man and even though it’s Thursday, I pray this weekend passes by quickly so I can return to my lackluster job on Monday to start the monotonous cycle of my life all over again.

  Chapter 2

  Trevor

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Trevor said to his longtime friend Reid. Reid had stopped by his office on the way to work to shoot the breeze as he regularly did.

  “Must be good whatever it is. You have a smile on your face.”

  “Yeah, because I still can’t believe I agreed to something so incredibly absurd. Wow! What was I thinking?” A grin escaped as he shook his head in disbelief.

  “Are you going to let me in on what you’re talking about?”

  Trevor stood up tall in a pair of black slacks and a burgundy sweater, paced the floor for a moment, then said, “Follow me for a moment. Let’s say some woman found you on social media, contacted you, then you met her at a coffee bar.”

  Reid chuckled. “Am I to surmise you met someone online because I thought you’d had enough of women blowing you up with DMs?”

  “This was different. The woman contacted me online, and I almost didn’t go to meet this lady, but something pushed me to go, anyway. So check it…I get there, she’s already waiting—a black woman—and she’s married so right away, I know she’s not there to holla at me. I’m thinking maybe she actually has some legitimate business she wants to discuss since that’s what she said when she initially contacted me. I’m hopeful that she does. You know business for me is extremely slow in January, so anything at this point will do.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, so I’m optimistic, but my optimism slowly fades when she says, and I quote: my friend would just love you.”

  “Nooo,” Reid said, chuckling. “Are you serious?”

  “Man, I was ready to go, was about to get out of there when she tells me she does have a business proposition for me. That’s when she informs me that her husband is the owner of EBN.”

  “Whoa. She’s married to Billie ‘Big-Mouth’ Dorsey?”

  Trevor grinned. “Big mouth?”

  “Yeah. That’s what they call him. The man can talk you into a coma, so I heard, but he’s about his paper, though. EBN is big-time in Charlotte. If you get your feet in the door there—”

  “I’m getting to that. So this woman, her name is Priscilla by the way, proceeds to tell me how I can get my feet in the door with EBN and that’s by asking her shy girlfriend, Elsie, out on a date.”

  “What!” Reid said. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

  “Yeah, man. She said her husband was looking for a few consultants and one of the positions is mine but only if I ask her friend out on a date. And get this—she’s guaranteed me that her friend will say no.”

  Reid looked puzzled. “Then what’s the point of asking her out?”

  “She said she wanted to prove her friend wrong. She said Elsie claims the reason she doesn’t date is because she has yet to meet the man of her dreams.”

  “Let me guess, you must be that man.”

  “Now, you’re following me. Priscilla had a notebook with a checklist of physical characteristics that were ‘must haves’ for her friend and she said I was the guy who matched all of her friends wants. And since I’m the guy, I’m supposed to ask her friend out, the friend is supposed to turn me down and then Priscilla will have proof that her friend is afraid to talk to men. Follow me?”

  “That comes across a little immature if you ask me.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Because if Priscilla knows her best friend is shy, why would she arrange for some guy—no offense—to ask her friend out and not just any guy, but pretty-boy Myerson.”

  Trevor chuckled. His friends called him pretty-boy
Myerson because whenever they’d go out, all the women would flock to Trevor before giving any other guy the time of day. He had that effect on women.

  “What are you going to do, man?”

  Trevor shrugged. “I’m considering going through with it. I don’t want to, but I may never get a chance to work with EBN if I don’t.”

  “I agree. You definitely don’t want to miss that opportunity, but dang. This is wild. Do you know anything about the friend? What’s her name again? Elsie?”

  “Yeah. Elsie.”

  “Sounds like an old lady’s name. What about a picture? Have you seen what this girl looks like at least? She could be an ugly duckling for all you know.”

  “Seriously, Reid?”

  “Yeah. You don’t want to be asking no ugly chick out on a date even if you did know well in advance that she’d decline your offer.”

  Trevor sat down in his seat. “You should never call any woman ugly no matter how unattractive you think she is. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Remember that.”

  “You remember that while you’re asking the loch ness monster out on a date.” Reid erupted in laughter, throwing his head back and all.

  Trevor grinned a little. “Priscilla showed me a picture of Elsie. She is attractive,” he said. While looks were important to him when it came to dating, what did it matter what Elsie looked like? He wasn’t going to date her. Besides, shy women were more of a turnoff to him than ones who were unattractive.

  “I’m just messin’ with you, man. Look, if her girlfriend says she’ll turn you down, then she probably will and you’ll have a new gig free and clear. I say go for it.”

  Trevor nodded, his mind inundated with back-and-forth thoughts. Should he or shouldn’t he? He still wasn’t sure about it yet. “How’s business for you?” he asked Reid. Reid worked for a wealth management firm down the street.

  “Pretty stankin’ good right now, man. My commissions are through the roof. I’ve never been better.”