CHAPTER 1
A tendril of curly brown hair came loose from my ponytail. I pushed the hair out of my eyes, wiped the sweat off of my brow, and stood to view the masterpiece before me. Well, it wasn’t really a masterpiece – it was a supermarket end cap. Plain and simple.
“Excellent work, Krys!”
I looked up to see my portly boss, Walter Roberts, walking towards me.
“Thanks, Mr. Roberts,” I replied absently. I wiped the dust off of my hands with my apron and scrutinized the display that I had built.
God, I hate planograms.
“Oh, come now. Don’t look like that,” my boss said, taking note of the obvious irritation that was written all over my face. “I know that you don’t like to build displays that are just copied from a diagram.”
“I don’t like the way the sides stick out into the aisle like this,” I complained, pointing to the outsides of the end cap. “The display is okay, considering the fact that it’s only a bunch of canned green beans and cream of mushroom soup. It’s the racking that bothers me. I think that this upside down pyramid design is a hazard.”
“You know that if it were any other day, I would let you run away with your creativity. I just can’t allow it today,” Mr. Roberts said, vehemently shaking his head. Worry lines spread across his round face. “The potential investors will be here at one o’clock and everything must be perfect. I have to play this by the book, Krys. I’m sorry, but there’s too much at stake.”
He placed a patient hand on my shoulder for reassurance and I couldn’t help but to soften my sour disposition. I really liked Mr. Roberts and I didn’t want to give him a hard time, especially considering all the stress he was under.
It was no secret that Wally’s Grocery Store was in financial trouble. After the stock market hit bottom a few years back, most of the smaller grocers had to close their doors for good, leaving Duane Reade as the only real competitor. Wally’s had managed to stay afloat, but they would need a strong investor if they hoped to stay open much longer. If I wanted a job, I needed to stick to the planograms – at least for today.
“I suppose you’re right,” I conceded.
“That’s better!” he said after seeing my change in demeanor. He gave me a sharp pat on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, Krys. You’ll be a manager before you know it!”
And with that, he was off to harass the employees in the next department.
I laughed to myself as I cleaned up my work area. Mr. Roberts was always cracking comments about promoting me, even though he was fully aware that I would never take a management job here.
I enjoyed working at Wally’s for the most part. My coworkers were great and I got along well with my boss. I had given careful consideration to the numerous management offers that Mr. Roberts had presented to me over the past few months. However, a manager position at Wally’s just wasn’t for me. And it certainly wasn’t going to pay my bills. My college graduation six months ago didn’t just mark the beginning of a new future; it was a reminder that my student loan bills would be coming due any day now. Unfortunately, my salary at Wally’s wouldn’t even begin to put a dent in them.
While the job had suited me well during my college years, it was starting to become monotonous. Build a display, take it down. Build another, take it down – the same repetitive duties, day in and day out. I longed to utilize my degree in marketing, wanting my passion for sales to make an impact in the world of advertising. It wanted a real job – one that gave me satisfaction. And one that gave me a fatter paycheck. I couldn’t continue to accept my stepfather’s support, but the job opportunities in New York had been slim to none. When the stock market took a tank, it didn’t only affect grocery stores. It impacted the entire world of business.
I sighed to myself as I made my way back to the break room to gather my belongings. It didn’t do me any good to dwell on the fact that jobs were scarce. I just needed to keep looking. But not today. I hadn’t had an afternoon free in what seemed like ages, and I was looking forward to some quiet time. It was a beautiful day, unusually warm for the beginning of October, and I wanted to take advantage of the early shift. An afternoon in Central Park, reading a book amidst the changing foliage, was just what I needed to unwind.
Thoughts of sunshine and autumn leaves played in my mind as I stepped up to my locker and began spinning the combination lock.
“Hey, Krys!” said an all too familiar voice.
I glanced up and caught the eye of Jim McNamara. I groaned inwardly as I tossed the contents of my locker into my oversized purse.
“Hi, Jim,” I greeted with forced politeness. I knew what was bound to come next and a knot of dread formed in my stomach. Jim was forever asking me out and I didn’t want to deal with his wounded puppy dog eyes when I turned him down – again. I was tired from a long shift and I just wanted to get out of there. I prayed that perhaps it would be my lucky day and he’d leave me alone for once.
“Do you have any plans for tonight? How about joining me for a bite to eat?” he asked, always the tireless optimistic.
So predictable.
Apparently, lady luck wasn’t going to cooperate with me.
Maybe if I don’t answer him, he’ll take the hint.
I turned back to my locker, pretending not to hear his invitation for dinner.
“So, what do you say? Dinner at the new taco joint down the street?” he eagerly asked, failing to acknowledge the fact that I had been ignoring the invite.
I should know Jim better by now.
“Actually, I already have plans. I’m sorry,” I apologized half-heartedly, pushing my locker door closed.
A part of me felt guilty for thinking of Jim as nothing but a nuisance. He was a nice guy, decent looking with sandy blond hair and that boy-next-door sort of face. Jim and I worked together at Wally’s over the past three years, and I think he asked me out everyday of the last two. He might have been a good catch if I had any interest in dating. Unfortunately, Jim never understood any of the subtle clues that I threw his way and I didn’t have the heart to be outright nasty to him. I’m usually really good at avoiding him, so I cursed myself for not hearing him come into the break room in the first place.
“Oh, come on, Krys! You’re always busy,” he complained. When I turned to look at him, there it was – the sad puppy face. I had to force back the urge to roll my eyes.
Be nice.
“Another time maybe,” I said, trying to wiggle my way out of the corner I was backed into. And I was, quite literally, backed into a corner. With a wall at my back, a row of lockers to my left, and a table to my right, I was essentially trapped. Jim stood in front of me, making a perfect box, blocking the way out of the break room.
“I’ll tell you what – how about you pick the date and the time? I promise to make it worth your while,” he said with a wink.
“I’ll check my calendar and let you know,” I lied.
I was suddenly reminded of a cartoon that I saw as a kid, the one with the dog that had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel was lecturing me and shaking her finger in disapproval.
You shouldn’t lead him on, Krystina. Why don’t you just agree to have dinner with the nice boy?
I ignored the angel, slipped my way past Jim, and walked hastily towards the break room door. I knew I should have been straight with Jim a long time ago. Any other guy would have received a blunt, if not rude, refusal on their first attempt at asking me out, deterring any thoughts of asking me again. Jim just made it so hard – he was almost too nice of a guy.
“Check your schedule and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Jim cheerily called out to me.
I was sure that he would, too.
Guilt gnawed at my
conscience. Perhaps I was handling the situation with Jim entirely wrong, but in my heart I knew it was for the best. He didn’t know about my past, and it was better that he didn’t. The last thing I wanted was his pity.
Jim deserves a nice girl, not someone bitter like me.
“I’ll catch you later, Jim.”
I threw a dismissive wave over my shoulder and hurried out of the break room towards the front entrance of Wally’s. I needed to get away quickly before he could pressure me any further.
As soon as I stepped out onto the streets of New York, I took a deep breath. The smell of hot dog vendors and car exhaust permeated the air, while the noise of the passing traffic and people filled my ears. A siren from a police car sounded shrilly in the distance, adding to the constant rush of the city’s organized chaos.
I stretched out my arms and shoulders, muscles stiff and sore from lugging canned vegetables all day. Fatigue began to set in as I walked away from Wally’s. Working the early shift was great because I got to enjoy the afternoons. However, the early shift also meant a four in the morning wake up call. My body screamed for caffeine. A stop at Café La Biga was definitely needed, especially if I wanted to stay awake long enough to enjoy the heat wave that the city was experiencing so late in the year. I took my iPod from my purse, plugged the little ear buds into my ears, and began the short walk up 57th Street to my favorite coffee shop.
There was some minor construction up ahead on the sidewalk and I had to move off the curb to avoid it. A few men in neon orange hard hats nodded appreciatively my way, then followed up with obnoxious wolf whistles. They reminded me of a news article that I once read about the staggering number of times the average woman gets harassed when walking through the city.
I scowled at the men and resisted the urge to throw them an obscene hand gesture.
Pigs.
I quickly sidestepped the construction, turned up the volume of my iPod and hummed along to a song by Tokyo Police Club. It was an upbeat tune that added a little spring to my step, quickly warding off the irritation that I felt over the city workers.
Feeling more relaxed, I began to do what I always do when I walked the streets of New York – I took in the sights around me. Since moving here over four years ago, I had yet to tire of the constant changes and the little surprises that my city held in store for me each and every day. The sounds, the smells, and the energy could not compare to anyplace else.
While it’s mere size may have been intimidating to me initially, I had quickly grown accustomed to the busy hustle and bustle, and adapted accordingly. New York was its own living being. It had its own pulse, a different beat than the rest of the world, and I loved living here more than I ever imagined possible.
I smelled the aroma of espresso and fresh pastries before I even rounded the corner onto 8th Avenue. Café La Biga was opened thirty-five years ago by an Italian couple, Maria and Angelo Gianfranco. The café was small, with a simple interior that the owners said was modeled after the original Café La Biga in Rome, Italy. Angelo frequently boasted that the café was the only place in New York where you could get a true Italian espresso. Whether that was true or not, I didn’t know. That was not why I had become a regular of the cozy little coffee shop. I came because La Biga was an experience in itself.
I opened the door to the café and heard the familiar sound of espresso beans being ground. Every one of the little two person tables were occupied, the local chatter almost drowning out the voice of Dean Martin that was playing over the speakers. Angelo was whistling behind the counter, tamping espresso grounds into a portafilter. He stopped to give me a huge smile when he saw me walk up.
“Krys! Ciao, bella! Where have you been? We have not seen you in a long time!”
“It’s only been two days, Angelo!” I laughed lightheartedly.
“Two days is too long to go without seeing your beautiful face,” he joked in broken English. Angelo began to prepare my favorite drink without my asking – a cappuccino with two packets of raw sugar. The aging Italian had the memory of an elephant.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with work and sending out résumés to different advertising companies. Plus, I worked the early shift yesterday and today. Unfortunately, you’re not open at four in the morning,” I pointed out with a regretful shrug of my shoulders. “Besides, don’t feel too bad about not seeing me. I haven’t seen my roommate in three days, and she lives with me!”
“You young people are always so busy – you never sit still!” he chided.
“Speaking of which, can you put my cap in a to-go cup? I have a date with a book in Central Park,” I added with a grin.
“Bravo, bravo! It makes me happy to hear that you are going out to enjoy this wonderful sunshine. You need to relax and enjoy life more often, bella. If I were a few years younger, I would show you how the Italians enjoy living,” he said with a devilish wink and handed me my drink.
As if on cue, Maria came out of the backroom.
“Ah, stop it you old fool! Leave the poor girl alone. She doesn’t want to be bothered with you!” Angelo’s wife quipped. Maria’s eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled at me. I walked over to the register and waited as she cashed me out.
“How are you, honey? You look thin. You are working all the time,” she scolded. “You need something to eat, yes?”
“I’m fine, Maria. No thank you,” I graciously declined.
I sighed as she packaged up pastries for me anyways.
I mentally calculated the calories going into the bag. My hips didn’t like the resulting sum. I was left with little choice but to pay for the cappuccino and the pastries that I didn’t need. As sweet as Maria was, she never understood the word ‘no’.
I said my goodbyes to Maria and Angelo and left the café. My conversation with the shop owners reminded me that I had to call Allyson, my roommate. I missed her. Our schedules had been so opposite lately and I hadn’t talked to my friend in days. It was a short walk to Central Park and I decided to give her a call along the way.
I reached into my purse for my cell phone, but had trouble locating it. After fishing around for a few minutes, I knew it wasn’t there.
Damn!
In my mad dash to avoid Jim, I must have left it in my locker at Wally’s. Frustrated over the time I would be wasting, I turned around and headed back.
When I finally reached the front doors of Wally’s, I hesitated before going in. I really didn’t want to risk another run-in with Jim. On impulse, I yanked the ponytail out of my hair and shook out my curly mop.
Head down and face hidden. Maybe he won’t see me.
I knew it was a long shot, so I superstitiously crossed my fingers before hurrying inside.
By some small miracle I managed to get to my locker, retrieve my phone, and leave the break room without being seen. As I was walking down aisle nine, I mentally congratulated myself for a successful stealth mission, even though I was still mildly aggravated that my plans had been delayed.
Hopefully, it’s not too late for the park.
I glanced down at my phone to check the time and saw that I had a missed call from Allyson. Trying to remember what my friend had planned for that night, I began typing her a quick text to ask her –
WHAM!
Pain pierced through my skull in a ferocious blast and stars dotted my vision. I grabbed my head with two hands in an attempt to stop the clanging sound of metal reverberating through my eardrums. After a moment or two, I managed to regain some sense of focus and found myself staring directly at the metal racking of an end cap – the same end cap that I had so carefully built that morning.
“Damn planogram!” I cursed.
My right eye was killing me and I could already feel it beginning to swell. I looked down at my shirt. Not only did I smack my head, but also my cappuccino had dumped all over the front of me. As my gaze traveled downward towards the floor, I saw that my cell phone laid face down in a puddle of milk and espresso. I groaned.
Please don’t let the screen be cracked!
I repeated the silent plea over and over again as I bent over to pick it up. But sure enough, the screen was shattered.
“Son of a bitch!” I swore out loud, looking at the spider web cracks on the glass.
Feeling more than just a little bit foolish, I looked around to make sure that no one had seen my klutzy mishap.
Heat began to spread up my neck to my face in embarrassment when I saw Mr. Roberts, Jim McNamara, and a man in suit standing about half way down the aisle. They were all staring at me in shock over what had transpired.
Fantastic – I have an audience.
Then I did a double take.
The third man was not just another ordinary guy in a suit. This man was attractive – very attractive. He was young too, probably not a day over thirty. He had an arresting face, perfectly chiseled with a square jaw line. He was taller than the other two men, standing over six feet. He looked absolutely magnificent in his dark gray sport coat, white shirt and solid black tie. His hair was wavy and almost black in color. It was cut longer, but not too long, with the dark ends just touching his collar.
Holy hell! No man should be allowed to look that good in suit!
The sleeping devil on my shoulder woke up to take look. I suddenly had a vision of running my hands through those silky dark waves, across the broad span of his shoulders…
“Oh, my! Are you okay?” Mr. Roberts’ voice broke me from my reverie. The three men started walking in my direction. Mr. Roberts, alarmed over what happened, was running his hands over his thinning gray hair.
I caught the gaze of the man in the suit as he strode towards me with air of confident grace. His look was intense, intimidating almost, yet lines of concern spread across his flawlessly sculpted features. Speechless and embarrassed by my clumsiness, I took a step back.
Big mistake.
I slipped on the spilled drink and went down – hard. Now my head and my ass hurt. I was mortified beyond all belief. I wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there forever.
This cannot possibly be happening. The hottest guy on the planet. Me sitting in a puddle of cappuccino. Un. Fucking. Believable.
Heart of Stone Page 1
