It's Not a Date

by Heather Blackmore

  Kade hadn’t closed the door behind her, and something within Jen had stirred, willfully translating the gesture as an invitation. She hadn’t meant to descend on Kade, but she felt a burning need to touch her. And so she’d followed her.

  Now, as she stared at Kade’s body through the outline of her clothes, Jen recalled every touch her fingers had once trailed across those curves, every glorious hitch in Kade’s breath, every lift of her chin and angling of her neck made in encouragement of Jen’s advances. The rise and fall of her chest was as scintillating now as then.

  “Jen? Jen, you okay?”

  Jen’s world tilted back on its axis, and the present swung into focus. Kade was frowning, concern etched across her beautiful face.

  “Cute color.” Kade hadn’t followed Jen’s gaze, and her concern lingered. Jen pointed to Kade’s feet. “Your toenail polish. I like it.” Cute color? Who says that to her boss? Jen might as well have been wearing a hat with dork written in all caps.

  Kade looked down briefly and shifted one foot behind the other, as if hiding her feet from Jen’s view. “Sorry. I wanted to fit in a shower before we got down to business. Please come in.”

  “Oh, here,” Jen said as she entered and held out a bottle of wine. “I don’t know if it’s proper protocol, and there’s no pressure to drink this, but it felt weird to come empty-handed.”

  Kade accepted the bottle with a smile. “Polite as always.”

  Okay, that certainly seemed like an acknowledgment of Maui. Were they really going to go there?

  “We’ll set up over here.” Kade led the way to a room that could have been in any office building. She did have an actual conference room here. In her home. Where she lived. Who did that?

  Jen set down her purse and laptop bag.

  “Would you like a tour?” Kade asked.

  “Oh, no, thank you. I’m good.” Jen didn’t want to see Kade’s bedroom or catch sight of photographs of her in the arms of a lover. She did notice a number of clocks adorning the wall, with placards of major cities in the time zones represented: San Francisco, London, Dubai, Shanghai, Moscow, and Sydney.

  Kade’s smile vanished. She set the wine on the table, opened a drawer from a wall cabinet, and placed a number of takeout menus in front of Jen. “Take your pick. They’re all good.”

  Jen wasn’t hungry but understood this to be part of the evening’s agenda, so she fanned through the options. They settled on Mediterranean. While Kade placed the order, Jen pulled up a slide deck on her laptop.

  Kade took the seat next to Jen. “You’ve given our conversation some thought?”

  Jen nodded. “I have. You were right. Our burn was too high. We were also taking on too much, so we’ve restructured and refocused. The developers are cranking on the mobile app, and I’m working to get as many caregivers on the platform as possible ASAP. Which is where you come in.”

  “When you say ‘restructured and refocused,’ do you mean you’ve already taken action?”

  Did Kade think she’d done nothing these past two weeks? “Yes. We laid off two people, and most of us are deferring a portion of our salaries until we’ve secured funding. It extends our runway by at least six weeks.”

  “I would have appreciated hearing those plans prior to execution.”

  “You suggested we terminate our VP of sales. We did.”

  “And had you not abruptly ended our discussion, we might have covered other topics as well. Topics just as critical.”

  “Noted,” Jen said, her ire rising. As CEO, she could hire and fire as she saw fit. She didn’t need to run such decisions by the board. Did Kade micromanage all her portfolio companies? If so, no wonder she hadn’t had a day off for years leading up to the Women in Tech conference, when she’d had one foisted upon her. She was an unprecedented control freak. A few choice words entered Jen’s consciousness, but she let them lap at the shore of her mind, choosing not to cement them as labels for this woman.

  Jen watched as Kade stood and began pacing the room. Apparently the dissatisfaction over the conversation was mutual.

  “Follow me,” Kade said, seemingly having arrived at some decision. She led Jen past a formal dining room and into a den. “Sit,” she said, pointing to a couch. Jen did as instructed. As Kade strode to a large wet bar that occupied over two-thirds of the wall and busied herself behind its counter, Jen scanned the room. It seemed devoid of personality or, at least, absent any personal touches. It was functional, serving the purpose of mixing drinks but not being a friendly place in which to consume them.

  Kade brought over two shot glasses filled with amber liquid and set one in front of Jen. Without taking a seat, Kade held the other as if to toast and then slammed it. She shook from the effects of what seemed to be a high-proof alcohol. She sat at one of the bar stools, facing Jen. “Your turn.”

  Jen first eyed the beverage, then Kade. “I’m not much of a…” She stopped mid-grumble. She suspected Kade wasn’t much of a hard-alcohol drinker either, and even through the haze of irritation, she recognized the peace offering. Drink in hand, she frowned at Kade, sighed, and then swallowed half of it. Heat burst through her, jolting her as if she’d been electrocuted. She exhaled loudly and made what was certain to be a sourpuss face. “Holy…geez.”

  Kade smiled. It was an honest-to-God, joyful, relaxed expression Jen hadn’t seen since Maui. She wanted to see more of it. She lifted the glass in Kade’s direction. “You should do more of that,” she said, then swallowed the rest.

  “Drink?” Kade asked, the lovely smile still gracing her kissable mouth. Seeing it in person was infinitely more appealing than the vision imprinted in Jen’s memory, which was itself enough to arouse Jen upon recall. Perhaps it was the unwelcoming room that contrasted sharply with and brought out this more open side to Kade. The adorable painted toes hadn’t hurt. How intimidating could someone be in bare feet?

  Jen shook her head. “Smile.” She found herself wanting to say, “You’re gorgeous,” but she thought it might be the alcohol talking. Instead she opted for, “It suits you.”

  Kade sidestepped the comment. “Do you think we’re going to be able to work together?”

  Jen returned Kade’s smile, though she knew hers wasn’t as radiant. “Is ‘work together’ a euphemism for my having to agree to everything you say?”

  “No.”

  “Then yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Kade?”

  “Yes?”

  “You do know that we’ve…met before, right?”

  Kade smiled in a deliciously mischievous way and cocked her head to the side. “Met?”

  Jen wanted to squirm. Was Kade really going to make her elaborate? She nodded.

  “Yes, Jen. I remember. Did you really think I could forget?”

  “I think…I think you’ve probably met a lot of people.”

  “Few as special as you.” Kade extended her hand back toward the hallway. “Shall we?”

  Jen didn’t budge. “Why did you say that?”

  Kade had said it in stride but seemed to backpedal when Jen didn’t move. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t I have?”

  “That’s a very disarming thing to say.”

  Kade took some time with Jen’s statement, as if not wanting to scare away their fragile truce. “I thought you asked if I remembered you because you remembered me. Fondly? Or did I misread that?”

  “Yes. Fondly.”

  “And I remember you fondly.” Kade said the word hesitantly, as if uncertain Jen would find it acceptable.

  “I’m glad.”

  Kade chewed her bottom lip briefly, seemingly afraid to say the wrong thing. “I remember our time together as special, Jen. I thought that’s what you wanted me to acknowledge, and I do. Readily. There’s nothing more or less to it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  Kade seemed so forthcoming, so responsive to what Jen had asked, had needed to know, that Jen wasn’t sure why she found it lacking somehow.
Kade had been entirely emotionally present during the conversation and obviously concerned about Jen’s feelings. So why did Jen feel short-changed?

  Jen smiled. “Yes, okay. Thank you for saying that.”

  “Can I say one other thing?” Kade asked.

  Jen nodded uncertainly.

  “You look…more tired since I last saw you. Are you getting enough sleep?”

  In the same way that Kade’s earlier response was oddly unsatisfying, this, too, grated on Jen. Half of her delighted in the fact that Kade was showing concern for her well-being. The other half felt like yelling at Kade, calling her out on her hypocrisy. Kade was one of those “successful” businesswomen who worked more hours than anyone ought, dragging all women along with her impractical, superhuman work ethic. Women unfairly felt like they had to compete with that level of work/life imbalance because of people like Kade. Of course Jen felt like hell—and apparently looked as well as she felt. Women like Kadrienne Davenport, however unconsciously, demanded it of her.

  On the heels of the crazy startup hours Jen already put in for Creative Care on a routine basis, she’d just spent two of the worst weeks to date coming up with plans to save her company because this woman had scared the living bejesus out of her!

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” Jen shut down further discussion on the topic by returning to the conference room. With every step she took, she worked to tamp down her anger and flush it into the shadows. It wasn’t Kade’s fault that women were held to unreasonable standards, having to prove themselves in the workplace time and again while consistently bearing the brunt of family and household responsibilities.

  “Water? Wine?” Kade asked before joining Jen at the table.

  Jen surprised herself. “Wine, please.” There was a saying about drinking something before or after “liquor, never sicker,” but she didn’t know it offhand, and whatever amber liquid Kade had served wasn’t doing enough to take the edge off.

  Kade snatched the bottle Jen had brought and tilted her head in silent invitation for Jen to join her. Kade led them into a kitchen, which Jen found wonderfully cozy. White cabinets, pewter fixtures, chopping-block-style wood countertops, a vintage Wedgewood stove, an old-fashioned wood-burning heater topped with an antique kettle, and skylights combined for an open, inviting space completely at odds with the modern conference room and den. Which of the rooms did Kade feel most comfortable in?

  “This is nice,” Jen said, as Kade worked the bottle opener.

  “You didn’t want the tour.”

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to open your home to me merely because we work together.”

  “You didn’t previously strike me as someone in the habit of second-guessing people. Have you changed, or am I one of the lucky few?”

  “Second-guessing?”

  Kade poured wine into two glasses. “Deciding that my offer was out of obligation.”

  “I hadn’t concluded that it was. I just don’t want it to be.”

  “It isn’t.” Kade handed a glass to Jen and backed against the counter. “Are we always going to walk on eggshells around each other?”

  Jen exhaled, sending strands of hair momentarily skyward. Usually even-keeled and good-natured, she was frustrated by Kade in a way few people in her life could manage. Kade made her feel off-balance, and she wasn’t used to it. But they’d squared away their touchy past, and it was time to move firmly into the present. Perhaps she could even benefit from having seen a side of Kade she had acknowledged at the time as being atypical for her to reveal, because Jen wasn’t intimidated by Kade as she imagined others would be. And she appreciated that Kade hadn’t tried to correct her for using her nickname, which felt natural to her. “No. But can we acknowledge this is a little weird?”

  Kade smiled. “Agreed. But manageable.” She inclined her head toward the direction of the conference room. “Now let’s see what you’ve got for me, hmm?”

  * * *

  Once Jen got Kade up to speed on the changes she and Jeremy had made over the past couple of weeks, she jotted down notes to take back to Jeremy, refinements that brainstorming with Kade helped solidify. Kade was very much an equal partner in the discussion, asking questions, listening carefully, offering suggestions, talking out ideas. Kade had the perfect segue to the reason for Jen’s visit in the first place.

  “Where do I come in?”

  “I was hoping you might have a contact or two in some of the Bay Area hospitals.”

  “To what end?”

  “To convince them it’s in their best interest to partner with Creative Care. If they refer us to family members who need to find caregivers for someone being discharged, then it’s not their reputation on the line in recommending a particular individual. Family members themselves are searching for and rating those caregivers on our platform. Plus, the hospital is providing value-added customer service by recommending options for families struggling to find care, which hospitals themselves are rated on. And we’re not competing for resources against the hospitals the way we are with assisted-living facilities.”

  Kade seemed intrigued. “With hospitals providing referrals, the speed with which patients register on the platform could significantly increase. But I don’t see how it accelerates getting caregivers to register. You’re bringing in only half of the equation needed for an online match between patients and caregivers.”

  “I know people who work part-time for the University of California who are held to a maximum number of hours per week so the UC isn’t forced to cover their benefits. So these people are stuck looking for supplemental work. We can provide that work, with no downside to the university. In fact, they might incur lower employee turnover because we make it easier for their part-timers to find additional work that allows them to stay in the area.”

  Kade began nodding slowly. “The UC system has a number of hospitals.”

  “UCSF to start, which is in our backyard and our first test market.”

  Kade snapped her fingers as if an idea had struck. “If your platform delivers on its promise of improved scheduling and reduced coverage gaps, you could offer it for free to hospitals to incentivize them to partner with you, because it would improve their patient care as well.”

  “I like how you think, Ms. Davenport.”

  The food arrived, and as Kade excused herself to retrieve it, she asked, “Do you mind if we eat in the dining room?” Jen didn’t, and so she followed Kade.

  Far more settled than when she had arrived, Jen was able to absorb her surroundings. The main features of Kade’s condo were the many timepieces adorning the walls, which were eerily silent. She also spotted a far more unexpected sight: a tiny steam train with working headlights—and, oh my gosh, smoke—that wound its way throughout the living and dining rooms on a lengthy track along the walls. Along its path were painted scenes of European towns, as well as miniature buildings, trees, and road signs. A number of complicated mechanisms performed tasks during stops along the way, such as filling cars with coal and lumber at one site, and emptying them at another. It was like stepping into a toy store from the past, and all that was missing were children who could appreciate the elaborate display.

  Jen stepped over to where Kade had opened the takeout containers and placed serving utensils in each, lending a very casual air to the dining experience. Jen opted for pita bread, hummus, stuffed grape leaves, spanakopita, and cucumber salad, much hungrier now than when she’d arrived.

  As they ate, Jen gazed at the clocks. Those with second hands were aligned to the others down to the millisecond. The pieces banded together to create a synchronicity unlike any she’d witnessed. It was the strangest dinner environment. While part of her was enjoying the simple, informal meal with Kade, another part was feeling like she had time-traveled to the rear of a clock-keeper’s shop. She didn’t have a clue as to what to say, so she ate in silence and studied her surroundings, her eyes straying to the train whenever it passed by.

  “Not your typical
dining room, I know,” Kade said after chewing a bite of bread.

  “I don’t know whether to be impressed or scared that every single timepiece seems set to the nanosecond.”

  “My OCD goes into overdrive when one of them lags behind.” Kade swept a hand in the direction of the clocks. “I used to have far more, but I couldn’t get any work done because I’d obsess about having them all aligned, which is very difficult when different manufacturers and mechanical pieces are involved. I’ve pared down to these.”

  “No cuckoo clocks?”

  Kade laughed. “Never. They terrified me as a kid. Worse than clowns.”

  “Have you always been into timepieces?” Jen forked some spanakopita, flakes of which flew across her plate.

  “Oddly enough, I wouldn’t say I’m into them, exactly. My father was a railway maintenance worker. He was meticulous about keeping a schedule, both at work and home. It was…suffocating, really, his obsession. Mom and I were constantly on pins and needles. In his world, lives were on the line.” Kade glanced around the rooms. “It’s like half of me has all this because I’m trying to make sense of it, of him, and the other half tries to understand why I failed to get it in the first place.”

  “Get it?”

  “People can get hurt if you say you’re going to do something, and you don’t.”

  Jen nodded, though she wasn’t really following. “I remember you weren’t close, but you talk about him in the past tense. Is he…?”

  Kade grimaced. “Very much alive. No, we’re not close. Mom kicked him out when I was seventeen. I see him every few years at extended-family gatherings.” Kade set her plate aside and pulled two dessert plates closer. She set a piece of baklava on each and started in, closing her eyes as she chewed. “Mmm. So good.”

  Between the tantalizing moan and the honey that glistened on Kade’s lips, Jen instantly forgot about second hands. She wanted to luxuriate in a slow-motion state of glorious anticipation while feeling warm air tingle above her mouth from Kade’s breath as she bowed ever nearer. She wanted to lick the sticky sweetness from Kade’s lips and linger there as she tasted it. Baklava shot to the top of her go-to desserts.