He sits down in the empty chair in front of my desk, looking so at ease as if we are old friends and he’s been here hundreds of times.
“Ms. Cole. It is a pleasure to meet you, first off. May I call you Abri?”
He can call me whatever he wants, I think and narrowly miss saying aloud. “Sure, but I’m a little confused. My assistant tells me that we know each other?”
Luke leans back in the chair and rests one foot on his knee. “We haven’t met formally, but I know you.”
Well that was vague and stalkeriffic. I hardly consider two trips in an elevator together knowing one another. I try not to shift in my chair, revealing my uneasiness. I start to close up again inside. I am vulnerable, although I don’t know to what exactly.
“Please don’t be frightened. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
I’m not sure there is another way to take that, actually. His face looks pained, as if he is really sorry for what he said but can’t find the words to repair it. I relax a little. He is vulnerable too. I refuse to ask him about being in the elevator with me, though I know it’s true. So I try to refocus our conversation. “What type of family law matter are you here for?”
“I’m not,” he answers.
This is going to be harder than I thought. “Okay, listen Luke—Mr. O’Reilly, I only practice family law. So what is it that you feel I can help you with? My assistant said you urgently needed to meet with me and that we knew each other, which, by your own admission, we have now established that I do not.”
“Abri, I’m sorry. This isn’t turning out like I thought.” He uncrosses his legs and moves forward in the chair, leaning his elbows on the edge of my desk. His proximity takes my breath away. His blue eyes look into me again and I have trouble remembering why it is I am upset with him. “I guess I really mean I know who you are. I’ve seen you before. I rode up in the elevator with you and your friend yesterday and with you this morning.”
I pinch myself under the desk to see if I am still in dreaming. There is no way this is happening. The air around me seems to snap with an electricity I cannot see.
“Right, so why you are here?” I’m too stunned to be anything but blunt now. “Surely, it’s not to thank me again for holding the elevator this morning and I already apologized for stepping on your foot yesterday. I have business to attend to you know, I just can't spend all day chatting in circles with good looking stra—.” Now I’ve gone and done it. “—with strangers.” Seriously, has it been that long since I talked to a man? I will my face not to blush, but it doesn’t obey. There is a bead of sweat breaking on my brow.
“There is plenty of time for that, love.” He winks a little when he says that and I struggle to understand what he means. The flutter of my heart has to be visible at this point. I glance down at my chest to check. When I look back, Lucan O’Reilly is gone.
“Max! Get in here!” I scream into the intercom once I’ve recovered a little. I’m still palming the receiver when Max appears in my doorway. His face is white because I am not a screamer. “Did that really just happen?” I ask. “You saw that man, right? He was real?”
“Yeah, I saw him. Why are you so fired up?”
Fired up? On fire is more like it. I can still feel the electricity in the air crackling against my skin. Whatever has been restless inside me is now wide-awake and desperate for more. “Holy shit,” is all I can think to say.
“Check your inbox,” Max offers.
How is Max suddenly so calm? When I don’t move Max walks over and opens it for me, the results of his Google search pop up. The first link is to an article from a local society page website. “Mr. Lucan O’Reilly, sole benefactor of the Ward Street Hospital…generous gift from the O’Reilly Foundation…New York’s most eligible bachelor…”
So Luke is rich and single. I scan the other three or four links and they are all basically the same. I can see why Max is excited about him, but it doesn’t give me a clue as to who Lucan O’Reilly really is or why he was just in my office. All it proves is that we don’t run in the same social circles.
The extent of my charitable giving is an occasion bag of old clothes to the women’s shelter and I never patronize the arts. I have lived in New York for almost six years and never visited the MOMA or the Guggenheim. I took my mom to see the Lion King once; I guess that might count for something. The only thing I have in common with Like O’Reilly is that we are both single.
I am still mumbling to myself when Max walks back in, I didn’t notice him leave. “Max, all I can find out is that he’s rich, single, and gives away money to charities and the arts. That describes hundreds of people in this city.”
Stacey interrupts my rant with a knock on my open door. “Ah, that hot guy that was just here…he left this.”
She hands me a black business card. “How odd,” I marvel. There is no address, no phone number, and no email, just his name in a silver script across a red crest.
“Lemme see that.” Max snatches the card from my hand. He mutters something that sounds like ‘shit’ and all the color had drains out of his face.
“What?” I ask. How can a simple business card, well, calling card really, generate such a negative response, especially since Max already knew the guy’s name?
CHAPTER FIVE
Before Max can answer, my phone buzzes and we both jump. It’s Stacey on the intercom. “Abri, I have Mr. O’Reilly on the phone for you.” I can hear the excitement in her voice. “He sure is smitten with you, isn’t he?”
My heart skips a beat and I nearly choke. Max and I look at each other. I want him to tell me why Luke’s card is so upsetting but his face closes up and he glowers at the phone and me. “Thank you, Stacey. I’ll take the call.”
The hold button on my phone begins to flash. Max reaches for the phone but I slap his hand away.
“Too late, you missed your chance,” I hiss. “You can stay. No speaker phone though, I don’t want him to know.” I pick up the receiver. “This is Abri.”
“Hello, Abri. I trust you and Max have had a chance to Google me by now.” How did he know that? “Hello, Max.” His is voice slightly louder than before so that Max is sure to hear.
“Oh, you’re not on speaker.” I try not to stumble over my words. I feel like I have been dared to call the most popular boy in school and now I am in danger of just giggling like an idiot and hanging up.
Luke laughs. “I might not be on speaker, but I’m sure he’s in the room with you hanging on my every word.” Shit. I grab a note pad on my desk and scribble to Max to go check the hallway.
“Can you blame me for wanting to do a little research on a stranger who popped up in my office this morning, Mr. O’Reilly?” Who is this coy creature taking over my voice?
“Please, it’s Luke.”
“Luke,” I repeat. A smile creeps across my face. I can’t stay mad at this man. I have an overwhelming urge to flirt with him, to keep him on the phone anyway I can, just to hear his voice.
“And no, I can’t blame you at all. I just wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for our awkward meeting this morning. I hadn’t planned for it to seem so…stalkeriffic.” He’s using the same turn of phrase I had been thinking during our conversation.
Max comes back in with a shrug, the hallways are clear. His face is still wary however.
“Apology accepted. No harm done. I didn’t say you were stalkeriffic, specifically, did I?” I am nervous for his reply.
“No, love, you didn’t. Meet me for dinner tonight.” I can’t tell if it is a request or a demand by his tone. Either way, I am willing. Damn, I almost forgot about the happy hour at Charlie’s.
“I have a thing tonight,” I stammer. “A work thing I can’t get out of until at least nine.”
“I will pick you up at nine o' clock from Charlie’s Bar.” Luke purrs into my ear.
“Ah, okay. How did you know that?”
“Tonight at nine.” And with that, I hear the line go dead.
&
nbsp; “I have a date with Luke O’Reilly.” I say to myself, to Max, trying to make sure it’s still real.
Max just stares at me as if he wants to say something important. “Abri, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why? You were just all over excited about this hot guy being interested in me. Hell, you let him in here. What’s changed?”
Max flubs for an answer and doesn’t find one. “Just be careful, Abri,” he says, barely above a whisper. He turns to leave, placing the calling card back on my desk.
The rest of my morning is less than productive. I decide to forgo lunch in favor of running back to my apartment to find a better outfit for tonight. I run past Lindsey’s office on my way out to give my apologies for canceling lunch.
“A better outfit? For what? It’s just the same boring crowd as always. You’re not trying to impress that new guy in intellectual property, are you?” Lindsey says, confused about my sudden concern with fashion. “Good luck with that, those guys are the smart but oblivious types for the most part. You could wear a sack and they wouldn’t notice.”
“No, I have an appointment afterwards,” I lie badly. “I’ll be back in an hour.” I call over my shoulder before she has a chance to ask more questions.
I sprint to the elevator and hop on. I lean against the back wall and think about the last time I was in here… with Luke, and not plunging elevator cars. When the doors open, I smile. Maybe I am too excited to be afraid or maybe I am not afraid anymore. Lucan O’Reilly, it seems, has had a profound effect on my elevator issues. I hail a cab in record time for midday Manhattan and mentally scan through my closet for something to wear. What does one wear to meet up with mysterious elevator men? Maybe I should just buy something new.
“Excuse me,” I call through the cab’s vent to the driver. “Can you just drop me off at Macy’s?” He nods and sticks his head out the window to yell at the car next to him instead of just signaling to change lanes. When the driver in the next lane doesn’t accommodate his demand, he begins with the horn. I shrink down in my seat.
I shove my money into the slot in the divider and jump out in front of Macy’s. I have about forty-five minutes to shop and get back to the office though the chances of me actually finding a killer outfit in that time are minimal. As I ride the escalator up to the women’s department, I think about my options. Nothing too “Hello, I just went and bought this at lunch to impress you.”
Never mind that he’s already seen what I 'm wearing this morning and will know I changed for our date. I have a flashback to the Working Girl Barbie I had when I was eight. She could go from pink business suit to sequined halter-top and mini skirt just by taking off her jacket and turning her skirt wrong side out. Now why didn’t I have something like that?
“Can I help you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I smile and keep looking. I don’t need a sales clerk slowing me down. Before she can make a second attempt, a satiny emerald green dress catches my eye. It’s knee length, low cut but not slutty. It’s perfect. I grab a few size selections and head to the dressing room. How can this be so easy? I try on the size 6. It fits perfectly as if it was made for me; the girls look perfect, my ass looks perfect. I don’t even need a pair of Spanx. Thank God, I remembered to shave my legs this morning.
Maybe I should see if this thing comes in other colors and buy them all. It can’t get any better than this so I throw my tired khakis and scuffed shoes back on and step out to pay. A glance in the mirror leaves me wondering why Luke has asked me out on a date after seeing me looking like this.
“Oh, I love this dress!” exclaims the sales clerk I blew off minutes before. “It looks awesome on everyone!”
“No kidding. It’s like it was made for me.” She completes the last part of my sentence and we laugh. I must be in some parallel universe. Shopping is never this easy or fun. Shoes. I need shoes! “Where is the shoe department?”
“You must have a hot date tonight?” she asks. Kelly. I read her nametag as she hands me the dress draped in a plastic bag.
“Something like that,” I beam back, hardly able to contain my excitement or my nerves. I have never done anything like this in my life. My restless soul stirs with approval.
“Follow me. I know just the shoes for this.” We talk about men and dating as Kelly walks me to the shoe department. She bypasses the store brand shoes that I am so typically fond of and goes straight to the designer labels. I didn’t even look at the receipt for the dress when she handed it to me. I steel a glance at it. $45.73. It had been on sale too. This is a parallel universe.
“Here.” Kelly holds up a pair of black peep-toe heels with silver stars studded on them. Jimmy Choo I read on the insole. I am in love. Never mind that heels are generally a disaster for me and that these are exceptionally tall and thin, I need them. They are edgy and cool, something so contrary to my own persona and definitely requisite of a mystery date with a hottie. Now, I wonder, how did Kelly suppose I was in the market for eight hundred dollar shoes after purchasing a forty-five dollar dress?
I can’t think of a better way to spend the last of the Christmas cash from my absentee father. Fifteen hundred dollars every Christmas like clockwork. It equates to one month’s child support that he should have paid to my mother each month until I was eighteen but didn’t. At this rate, he might be caught up by the time I am in a nursing home.
“If they have them in an eight and a half, they’re mine.”
Kelly emerges from the back with a little hot pink box held ceremoniously over her head exclaiming they are the last pair. I plunk down my debit card and silently thank dad for his better-late-than-never-but-still-not-enough gift. My watch says only twenty-two minutes have elapsed since I left the cab.
“Kelly, thank you,” I bubble. “You rock!”
“You’re welcome,” she replies handing me back my card and receipt. “I usually work in bridal couture, come see me when he pops the question.”
I giggle. “It’s only a first date and maybe not even a date.”
“I know.” She winks.
I am back at work with just enough time to grab a sandwich before heading upstairs. I call Lindsey to see if she wants anything but she doesn’t answer, probably having lunch with the guys in litigation. She has a thing for one of them but I can’t keep them straight. They all wear the same navy blue Brooks Brothers’ suit and red power tie for their daily trips to court.
I have timed my arrival to the elevator bank with about twenty other lunchers. Feeling adventurous, I get on and concentrate on keeping everyone’s lunch leftovers off my plastic wrapped miracle dress instead of impending doom. My stomach tenses a little, but I actually manage to breathe through it. I leave the elevator with a smile and practically skip to my office.
I buzz Linds to see if she’s back from lunch yet. “Hey,” she yells into the speaker.
“Hey. Come look at what I got to wear to the happy hour tonight.” I refuse to admit it is for Luke.
“Okay, give me a second.” I hear a masked giggle and the connection ends. I don’t want to know what she is up to in there.
“Lemme see,” she says as she comes through the door. I lift the plastic cover from the dress. “Holy cow, Abri, that’s not a dress for an appointment. You have a date.” Lindsey is raising an eyebrow at me, daring me to deny it.
“No, I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I am not convincing her or myself. “I do have an appointment.” I repeat my earlier line.
“Abri, a family law attorney does not meet prospective clients at nine o’clock at night looking like that!” Damn. Okay. Well, it’s not as if Lindsey is stupid.
“Okay, okay. I’m meeting a guy I met. He’s picking me up from Charlie’s after the happy hour. I have no idea what we are going to do, but…”
Max walks in and cuts me off, “I could venture a few guesses.” He is scowling at the dress and me. I decide not to show them the pricy Jimmy Choos least he come completely unglued. I want to ask him
again about his sudden change in attitude but I know better than to push him when he’s mad. He’ll get over it and tell me eventually.
“Highly unlikely, Max. Highly. Unlikely,” I cut back at him.
“You never know Abri. These things just happen.” Lindsey absentmindedly adjusts her top and smoothes her hair. I am shocked that she doesn’t ask who my mystery date is given that Max seems so hell bent against him.
“What did you do for lunch today?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Uh, I went down stairs for a sandwich.” She does not look convincing.
“Oh really, what was the special today?”
“Tuna.”
“Wrong,” Max exclaims. “It was roast beef.” I nod in agreement; glad Max’s attention has turned from my social calendar.
Lindsey punches him in the arm and walks to the door. “Whatever,” she laughs and sticks out her tongue. “You’ll meet him tonight.”
“Keep that in your mouth young lady!” I warn as she turns around.
CHAPTER SIX
Happy hour days are a nice break. Things start to wind down around four thirty in anticipation of making our way across the street to Charlie’s. The partners promptly make their obligatory “good job team” speech and leave us for more important pursuits in the private dining room beyond the bar. Max is always more than a little agitated that he is not invited to the associate’s happy hour but he does his best to contain it. Today is no different.
“Dude, just come anyways. Not invited is not the same as not allowed.” I say the same thing to him every month and every month he pouts but refuses to join us.
“Don’t call me dude like I’m well, some dude,” he quips.
“Seriously, of all the nights, I know you want to come to this one and see if Luke O’Reilly really shows back up.” I wince as the heat from the flat iron gets a little too close to my face. Max’s previous incarnation was as a stylist so I roped him into doing my hair and make-up in anticipation of the evening. I don’t question why he has a flat iron or a makeup kit readily available in his desk.
42nd & Lex Page 3
