Let Me Go

by Lily Foster

  “I think your parents are going to be ok with it.”

  “They’re going to have to be.”

  I teased, wide-eyed, “Little Kasia is going to defy Mama and Tata?”

  She punched my arm, lightly. “I’ll persuade them, not defy them.”

  “I’d be lonely for you if you didn’t come; ten days a month is a lot.”

  “I think,” she made a pinched face and exaggerated the words, “CeeCee would be more than happy to keep your bed warm.”

  She was perceptive, I’ll give her that. “Well, I only want you to keep me warm, Kasia.”

  “Be careful with her, Dylan.”

  I felt my throat constricting. “What do you mean?”

  She looked out the window as she quietly repeated, “Just be careful.”

  I lifted her hand and kissed it. I told myself that no one was a threat to us, that I wanted no one but Kasia. A mocking voice in my head reminded me, though, that I had already cheated on Kasia with Cecilia. After just three months together—fuck—I’d cheated on her. I’d gone six months since then without so much as a passing desire to be with anyone else but I understood that I was not the poster boy for monogamy.

  Chapter Seven

  Kasia

  “I just came from my meeting with Luke and Kate. The plans look so good!”

  “That’s great, Kasia. When can they get started? How soon will the permits be approved?”

  “Do you know that I didn’t even take that into account? I was just thinking that they could start work right away. Me of all people, with what my father does for a living?”

  “You’re just excited. How long did they say?”

  “Best case, two months, worst case, five months.”

  Dylan nodded reassuringly. “The waiting period could be good for you.”

  “How?”

  “You’ve got to start thinking bigger. You need to hook up with a manufacturer for your designs. Say the word…the meetings will be set.”

  “I love you and I love that you want to do that for me but—”

  He put up his hand. “I know, I know.”

  It would be easy to let him do it. It would be easy to let him take me on as a project, a subsidiary, whatever. I needed to do this on my own.

  I worked the rest of the summer sewing, filling my orders from the website and working on new designs. Even with the meager number of orders coming in, it was a struggle to get the work done. It hardly felt like there were enough hours in the day. One night, as Dylan and I were chatting on-line, he sighed watching me as I didn’t stop working on a pleat the entire time we spoke. “You need an employee, Kasia.”

  “I don’t feel ready.”

  “You love your phrases so let me put this so that you’ll understand. You have to spend money to make money, expand or die, what other adage can I come up with here?”

  “I know. I feel like I’m working around the clock, Dylan. I’ve been sleeping like four hours a night but I don’t feel tired, I feel so energetic.”

  “But you can’t just spin your wheels. Someone needs to be managing the orders, doing the shipping, and doing the damn sewing, so that you can create and market the brand.”

  “I know you’re right.”

  “You know this is my selfish side talking too, right? I’m away now but, Kasia, when I get home I need my woman.”

  I dropped the fabric from my hands then and smiled. “I can’t wait to be your woman when you get home, Dylan.”

  “Three more days and you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours.”

  The summer was just about over and it had been rough, these weeks apart. I’d spent Dylan’s first stretch in Chicago working furiously with only one day’s break down at the beach with Darcy and her friends. We had almost two weeks together and then Dylan was away again for the entire second half of August. I buried myself in my work again. I was busy and so was he. He bounced ideas and dilemmas off me and I hoped he found me to be helpful. I definitely felt like he was a great sounding board for me. We spoke every night and I felt like we were ok—better than ok. Despite the distance, we were close.

  September brought him back to me. We fell back into a routine but I always knew it was temporary. I started becoming very acquainted with his calendar. This month I had fifteen days until he was gone again; a week in Stockholm, one day in New York, and then another week in Chicago. I finally made it out there that month. My parents weren’t thrilled but they didn’t protest. I think even Tata knew that keeping us apart, especially when Dylan was working so hard, was not right.

  Dylan’s apartment there was as posh as the one in New York. I knew he was happy to have me with him and I needed to be with him. I loved the city too.

  That first weekend we met up with Trish and Brian. They seemed so different together, so established. Dylan told me later that night that Brian was planning to propose to Trish that Christmas. He wanted to know if I thought it was too soon. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure. I told Dylan that if they felt it was right then it was right but I knew, for me, any kind of commitment like that would be too much, too soon. If Dylan asked me that right now…just the thought of it frightened me. Dylan sensed my reaction and then laughed to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, Kasia. I wasn’t about to get down on one knee but—good to know—if I did, you would probably faint.” His laughter barely masked his confused and hurt expression.

  “Who wouldn’t want to marry you, Cole?” I teased before I leaned up to kiss him. “Margot and Vince would freak, though, right?”

  “Margot and Vince would freak if we got married at twenty-two, I guess. So when do you see yourself getting married, Kasia?”

  “It’s not so much about age—a specific number—as it is about being established. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet first. How about you?”

  “I really hadn’t given it much thought. I’ve thought about the person but not the timeline.” When I didn’t comment he took my wineglass and placed it on the table before slowly laying me back onto the couch. “Don’t freak like you just did, Kasia, but I can only think of one person I’d want to spend my life with.”

  When I smiled up at him, he kissed me tenderly and loved me in a way that made me think that I’d happily spend the rest of my life with this man.

  In October I pushed my luck with my parents and tacked two extra days onto the weekend. I spent Monday checking out the shops in Ukranian Village and Oak Street and then met up with Darcy’s college roommate, Caitlyn. She was doing an MBA at Northwestern and had launched a retail site focusing on up and coming designers that had already generated some buzz. She wanted a few of my key pieces available on the site. I really loved Caitlin’s passion and her self-assurance. From the start, I had a strong sense that we would be working together for years to come.

  On Tuesday I popped by Dylan’s office. We were meeting for dinner and then I would be flying back first thing in the morning. Waking up together on Monday and Tuesday mornings this week had been surreal; a peek into what the future could hold. Dylan, up early, dressed in his suit looking hot, kissing me as he went off to work. It felt very…married and grown-up. I liked it.

  I took care dressing before I went to his office. If I was being one hundred percent honest, it was because I was being territorial. I wasn’t part of his life here. I wanted the people—the women—he worked with to know he was taken. Pathetic? Oh yeah.

  I was happy to see a kindly, older-looking woman sitting behind the desk outside of the office I was directed back to. Cole Industries’ offices were impressive in New York and here in Chicago as well. I was in a foyer with staggeringly high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Michigan Avenue. I looked around, momentarily distracted by the view before she brought me back down to earth. “Can I help you, dear?”

  “Yes, I’m here to see Dylan Cole. I’m Kasia.”

  “He’s in a meeting right now. Is he expecting you?”

  I smiled apologetically. “Not exactly.”r />
  She gestured to a chair. “Sit tight for a minute. I think they’re almost done but if it’s more than five minutes, I’ll let him know.”

  “I don’t want to disrupt anything.” She didn’t respond but just smiled and went back to whatever task she was working on. After exactly five minutes she picked up her telephone and said, “There is a Kasia here to see you, Mr. Cole.”

  Less than a minute later Dylan came out, smiling broadly at me. “Hey, I was hoping you’d surprise me with a visit.” He held me and gave me a quick kiss before introducing me to his secretary, Mrs. Wilde. At that moment another woman left his office with several leather-bound files in her arms. She was beautiful and wore an air of unflappable confidence. Her make-up was impeccable and she wore clothes that showed off her figure; a pencil skirt that hugged her lower body and a blouse that, I thought, had one button too many undone.

  It was like she knew, and was pleased, that I was sizing her up. “I’d shake your hand but, as you can see, my hands are full with what Mr. Cole lays on me. I’m Gwen.”

  I smiled broadly, ignoring the reference to Dylan and “lay” in the same sentence. “I’m Kasia. It’s nice to meet you, Gwen.”

  “It’s great to finally meet you too. He talks about you all the time.” She looked to him then and said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get to work on these, Mr. Cole.”

  “Thank you, Gwen,” he said, meeting her eyes and then returning to mine, smiling, “Come on in.”

  There was nothing about his reaction that was unnatural and I had to remind myself that conjuring up negative scenarios out of nowhere was immature, ridiculous, and just downright tragic. I would not be jealous. I had decided, though, that while I liked Mrs. Wilde, I was not so crazy about Gwen.

  Dylan

  Twelve times.

  I thought when I got to double digits I’d stop counting but I hadn’t.

  I’d just had Gwen in my office again.

  I couldn’t stop.

  The first time we met, in July, we didn’t hit it off. I think she was under the false—albeit amusing—impression that since I was young and new to this office, that she wasn’t my subordinate, someone under my complete and utter control. We got that cleared up rather quickly.

  She had all but barged right into my office as I was sitting at my desk settling in that first morning. She thrust her outstretched hand into my face to shake, and said, matter-of-factly, “Gwen Ward. You’ll be clearing room on your calendar for me during your visits. We’ll be working closely for the next few months.”

  My initial thought was, who the fuck does she think she is? I didn’t take her hand purposefully—I wanted her to feel foolish. As I stood to my full height I looked down on her and said, haughtily, “Who are you?”

  She visibly shrank but, to her credit, it was barely perceptible. She lowered her hand and took a short step back. Her tone changed to one that was markedly more dutiful. “I’ll be your direct liaison working on the labor union issues, Mr. Cole.” I didn’t respond and a moment later she continued, “I apologize for bursting in,” she smiled contritely, “I’m typically pretty forward.”

  I never let anyone feel like they had the upper hand with me. If they thought my youth was a handicap, they were soon disabused of the notion. I sat back down and took her in. Nice body, good face. “Have Mrs. Wilde set aside some time for you after lunch today so that you can bring me up to speed.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mr. Cole.”

  That was another thing. I was always “Mr. Cole” to all employees. Didn’t matter if they were pushing retirement age—I was their boss and was addressed as such.

  That first morning after we met, I imagined Gwen with her skirt hiked up, bent over my desk, begging as she screamed, “More, Mr. Cole!” Then I laughed to myself and she was no sooner out of my mind as I was reviewing my agenda for the day.

  Gwen was working closely with me, as labor relations had been problematic. The most pressing problem was the workers threatening to strike at a Midwest plant that made hydraulic parts. One of our subsidiaries was the world’s largest manufacturer of construction machinery; if there was a strike there would be broad reaching ramifications. I was a quick study but her expertise in this area was indispensable to me.

  I spent two hours a day, at a minimum, working with her during my first two trips to Chicago and we were in regular contact when I was in New York or elsewhere. In September, after good faith efforts at bargaining were met with silence on the part of the union, a strike seemed imminent. The first day I was there that month, Gwen, two other senior executives and I spent it behind closed doors, strategizing. It was exciting, my first real challenge. It was the first time when I was at the helm, not my father. I touched base with him, giving him updates regularly and getting some constructive feedback, but this was my baby.

  Each night, Kasia and I checked in with one another and she was a good person to bounce ideas off of too. I was happy those nights when she just listened to me sound off but with Kasia, conversations would never be one-sided. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—I didn’t want an empty relationship where a woman hung onto my every word like a zombie—but Kasia’s ability to simply listen without sharing what was going on in Sweet Betty Threads Land was limited. I humored her, of course, but business-wise and in terms of responsibility, it was like comparing giant apples to minature oranges.

  Those first few days of my trip that month, Gwen and I often worked after hours. We got to know each better; it was impossible not to when your evenings consisted of sharing takeout while poring over documents and working on strategies. Like me, Gwen didn’t seem to mind the long hours. I teased one night after she shared with me that she was a newlywed. “You’ve only been married three months and your husband puts up with you never being home?”

  “I work late, he works late,” she laughed. “It works for us, I guess.” She went on to tell me about her husband’s fledgling career in corporate law and his need to put in long days and work on weekends if he planned to advance. “How about you, Mr. Cole? Do you have a wife or a girlfriend who has to put up with this?” she asked as she gestured towards the stacks of files that covered the desk.

  “Yes, my girlfriend. She’s back in New York.”

  She punched my arm lightly as she teased, “Does she have a name?”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about the playful tone or the familiarity of the gesture but I went along. “Kasia.”

  “Exotic name.”

  I stood to get back to work and to indicate that the conversation was over. Kasia wasn’t someone I wanted to talk about with Gwen. Why? Because the first day I’d met Gwen I’d recognized the look in her eye. The same one Melanie had. The same one Christian had. Probably the same one I had. The one that conveyed the message, “Just say the word and I’m ready to go.”

  “Your Kasia is quite the beauty.”

  It was the day after Kasia’s unexpected visit to the office. I’d dropped her off at O’Hare before coming in this morning and I’d been tense all day. Gwen arrived for our standing four o’clock meeting. After closing the door behind her, she came up close behind me and stroked her hand up the inside of my leg as she whispered, “I missed you last night.”

  I breathed in deep. “Gwen, you and I—”

  She pressed her body into mine and continued her exploration. “—are having fun, working off steam after these long, stressful days. I’m attached, you’re attached. Don’t make it more than it is. I’m not. Besides,” she chirped as she removed her hand abruptly and straightened herself, “she has no idea. Did you like the ‘he talks about you all the time’ bit? Meanwhile,” she rolled her eyes, “nothing could be further from the truth. But I guess I don’t say much about Paul either.”

  Chapter Eight

  Kasia

  The buildings department decided to impart the worst-case scenario. It was late-November when the permits were finally approved. Luke came out to the site with Kate and they reviewed the plan
s with me again. As a result of the delay, they were overbooked, as they were committed to renovating a boutique hotel in Soho right now. They asked if I was willing to have them oversee the project indirectly but have one of their people as the project manager, assuring me that he was dependable. I was disappointed but I really had no choice. Finding someone else would take time. I knew my father and brothers could do some of the work but since they had jobs of their own, I could be delayed indefinitely. After Kate assured me that he was a true craftsman who did impeccable work, I agreed.

  My father let me use the large first-floor apartment as a workspace while the renovation was going on. He agreed with me that I needed to be on-site to supervise the project.

  That next Monday I arrived at the building on Bedford and North Sixth Street. I was there by six, unloading my samples, machines, and fabric rolls. As I struggled to wrangle my portable work tables up the front steps, I fell, a table landing on top of me, elbow scraping on the stone steps. In the split-second following the fall, the table was lifted off of me, pushed aside, and I was being lifted up as if I weighed no more than a feather. Two broad, callused hands had me by each arm. “Hey, are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, just clumsy.”

  “No, look, you’re bleeding. Wait, I have something in the truck.”

  The man opened the passenger side door to a pick-up that had seen its share of miles and hauling debris. He approached again with a first-aid kit and looked to me for consent before he cleaned my elbow with a disinfectant wipe and then put a bandage on for me. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

  “I’m Kasia.”

  “Kasia Mazur?”

  “The very one.”

  He smiled warmly. “Well then I should call you Boss. I’m your new project manager.”

  “You look so young.” After I’d said that I was sorry. It was wrong to say something discrediting to the guy. I knew nothing about him and he had, after all, just done a stellar job of administering medical care to me.

  No harm done, I supposed, as he continued to smile as he said, “I have a baby face. I’m not as young as you think.”