Making the First Move

by Reese Ryan

  A yummy array of pastries from Cream-N-Sugar Bakery is the highlight. The assorted fruit tarts in apricot, raspberry, blackberry and apple and flaky mini puff pastries are configured in the shape of an edible flower. A fragrant assortment of tea from Teavana is lined up on the counter, against the wall. Next to it, the coffeemaker is brewing an aromatic Hawaiian Kona coffee.

  I’m impressed with Leslie’s presentation. I hope M.B. will be impressed with mine.

  “Everything looks great.” I nod approvingly. “You’re brilliant. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She smiles broadly. “Thank you.” She looks at me, squinting, then reaches out and yanks something from my hair. She examines it for a moment then raises an eyebrow and smirks at me. “You’ve got little pieces of carpet in the back of your hair.”

  “Oh my God.” My cheeks flush. I rush to the mirror in my office. Leslie follows me.

  “Don’t be embarrassed.” She picks beige carpet fibers out of my hair. “We’ve all been there. Me and Rick couldn’t keep our hands off each other before the kids were born. We went for a morning roll in the hay on the regular. I wore a hair net to work then, so it was all good.” She pauses for a moment before broaching the subject we’re both avoiding. “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone. Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s not your ex, Jaxson, is it?” She holds her breath as she asks the question.

  “No. God, no.”

  Leslie lets out a sigh of relief. “Well, whatever else, and whomever else, you’re doing is none of my business.” She smiles reassuringly, then pats my hair and tucks a stray piece behind my ear. “There. All done. Go get ’im, tiger. You’re on a roll.”

  Leslie’s right. We’ve kicked ass these past few weeks. Damien was extremely pleased with the progress of the Great Lakes branch during our recent weekly phone conference. He suggested it might be time to bring on an account manager to service current clients while I focus on acquiring new ones.

  I could use the help, but I’m reluctant to add someone else to our team. Leslie and I have a great working relationship. Another person might upset the balance.

  The door opens, and M.B. enters the reception area, bringing the distinct scent of cigars and Old Spice with him. He smells like my grandfather but has none of his endearing qualities. Leslie greets M.B., helps him remove his coat and ushers him into the meeting room.

  I take another look in the mirror and compose myself before joining them in the conference room. I extend my hand to M.B. A menacing grin spreads across his face. Following his leer, I discover I haven’t buttoned my jacket up as far as I intended.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I push all unsettling thoughts out of mind and focus on my goal. I want this deal and I’m determined to get a signed contract from M.B. Hawthorne. Today. Even if it takes a little cleavage to get the job done.

  I sit down across from M.B., and we begin “the dance.” I smile and launch into my presentation. He tells me he’s impressed with J&G and me, but concerned we won’t be able to manage an account of this size in our small office.

  “I understand your concerns,” I say immediately. “It won’t be a problem. We’re bringing on an account manager for just this reason.”

  “Sooner rather than later, I hope,” he says, one eyebrow raised.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then you’ve got a deal.” M.B. sticks out his large, jelly-smeared, crumb-coated hand. I shake it firmly then hand him a pen before he changes his mind or tries to peer down my blouse again on the pretense of getting his fourth Danish.

  Afterward I call Damien to share the good news and to tell him I need to move forward with hiring an account manager. I’ll begin my search as soon as I get through all the meetings I have lined up over the next few weeks.

  “I don’t want you to worry about that right now,” he says. “I have just the person in mind.”

  A stone drops to the pit of my stomach. “Who?”

  Damien pauses before he responds. I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.

  “Ms. Cohen would be an excellent help to you,” he says. My only response is rapid, shallow breathing. “It would only be until you find someone permanent—someone completely of your choosing.”

  “Priscilla is very capable.” I twirl the phone cord around a trembling finger. “Our styles are quite different. I’m concerned about the negative impact that might have on the progress we’re making.”

  “You’re both professionals.” Damien’s tone makes it clear this isn’t up for discussion. “You’re adept at working with...difficult personalities. This time you’ll have a decided advantage—you’re her superior. Make that clear from the outset.”

  I’m silent, brooding like a teenager who’s just been told she has to go to the prom with her cousin.

  “This won’t be a problem, will it?” Damien presses. Subdued irritation laces his words.

  I exhale and force a smile, hoping it’s reflected in my voice rather than the immense anger I’m feeling. “Of course not. Besides, I could use the immediate help.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Damien’s tone is lighter. “Hold on for a moment. I’ll get Jane and Ms. Cohen on the line.”

  Damien is gone before I can respond. A few minutes later he announces we’re on a conference call and names all the players.

  “Hello, Damien. Hello, Jane,” Priscilla says brightly. “Hey, Gordon. Keeping warm out there?” she adds in a decidedly flat tone that barely disguises her attempt at mockery.

  My mouth twists. The knot in my stomach constricts. “Priscilla.”

  An uncomfortable pause follows.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Damien says. “Ms. Gordon is doing a phenomenal job with the Great Lakes branch. If things continue to go well there, we’ll move forward with our plans to open a Pacific Northwest Branch in Seattle.”

  “How soon?” Priscilla jumps in with the eagerness of a salivating wolf peering through the window of an unguarded henhouse. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “In the next eighteen months or so,” Damien says. His displeasure at being interrupted sharpens each word. “And yes, we do have someone in mind. I was just getting to that.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry,” Priscilla says with excited anticipation.

  “You’ve made it quite clear you feel you’re ready for this opportunity. You’re talented and ambitious. Still, Jane and I share some concerns about your ability to lead your own team.”

  “Concerns?” Priscilla’s voice sounds small and deflated.

  “Before you can be a good team leader, you have to be a good team player,” Jane says firmly. “That’s your Achilles’ heel and your opportunity for improvement.”

  “I contribute considerably to my team’s monthly goals,” Priscilla says a bit too smugly.

  Jane lets out a bitter snort. It occurs to me that she’s probably as eager to send Miss Prissy across the country as I was to leave her behind.

  “Perhaps we have a fundamental difference of opinion on what it means to be a team player,” Damien says sternly. “I certainly hope that isn’t the case.”

  “It’s not,” Priscilla says quickly then begins to backtrack. “You’re both right. It’s an area in which I can improve. What can I do to show you I am a team player? I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Jane says. I envision her sporting an evil grin and rubbing her hands together like the villain in an old black-and-white movie. “Because we have the perfect assignment in mind.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m on it!” Priscilla sounds uncharacteristically desperate.

  A sardonic smile creeps across my face. Suddenly I’m enjoying this.

  “Excellent,” Damie
n says. “As I mentioned, things are going quite well at the Great Lakes branch. So much so that Ms. Gordon is in need of an account manager ASAP.” We all ignore Miss Prissy’s muffled gasp of horror. Damien continues. “She’ll begin her search soon, but I don’t want her to lose focus on business development right now. We’d like you to go to Cleveland and take on the role of the Great Lakes account manager until a permanent replacement is found.”

  “You want me to go to Cleveland?”

  “Yes,” Damien says.

  “Ohio?”

  “Yes!” Jane’s voice bears the distinct irritation of a mother responding to the tenth successive “Why?” from her small child. “You say you’re a team player? Prove it.”

  “You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Ms. Cohen?” Damien’s words smack of a taunt.

  “No! Of course not.” Priscilla forces a nervous laugh. “I was just clarifying, that’s all.” She clears her throat. “So, when would I need to leave?”

  “I did mention we need someone to step in right away,” Damien says brusquely.

  “Right. Well, I just need the weekend to pack. I can fly out on Sunday night.”

  “Perfect.” Damien says. “Marilyn will make your travel arrangements. Again, this is only until Ms. Gordon finds a permanent replacement. Let’s say ninety days. You’re welcome to fly home on weekends or stay there. It’s up to you. Any questions?”

  “So...as the account manager I’ll—”

  “You’ll manage the staffing needs of our clients, as assigned,” I interject, adding with great satisfaction, “and you’ll report directly to me.”

  “Absolutely,” Damien says. He seems proud I’ve taken his advice. “That won’t be a problem, will it, Ms. Cohen?”

  “Why would it be a problem?” Priscilla says. “It’ll be great to see Gordon again. And snow. I haven’t seen snow since college.”

  I sigh with disappointment. I’d hoped she would refuse the assignment. “Then I look forward to seeing you on Monday,” I say.

  “Bet on it,” Priscilla says, buoyed by my discontentment.

  I close my eyes and picture the two of us in a boxing ring, touching gloves before the bell rings. I just hope I’m not the one lying flat on my back before the end of the first round.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Ready for a night on the town?” Raine holds my clutch while I lock the door and returns it when I’m done.

  “Absolutely!” I smooth the skirt of the sleeveless, black shift I’m wearing. My answer to the little black dress. I can’t wait to see what he has in store for us tonight.

  “Good.” He grips my hand and escorts me downstairs to a waiting cab. We slide into the backseat.

  I laugh. “Are you serious? A cab? In Cleveland?”

  The cab driver shoots me a hurt look in the rearview mirror.

  “Sorry,” I tell the handsome, young man. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Lowering my voice, I turn to Raine. “I’ve lived in Cleveland most of my life and I’ve never taken a cab here.”

  “So I’ve introduced you to a new experience.”

  “Guess you have.” I settle into the seat and hope gum, or something worse, isn’t embedded in the fabric.

  “Good. Here’s another...” His mischievous grin makes him even more enticing, a feat I didn’t think possible. He pulls a piece of silky black cloth out of his coat pocket. “Put this on.”

  “What is it?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He chuckles softly. “A blindfold, of course.”

  “Can’t I just keep my eyes closed? I won’t peek. I promise.”

  “Everything will be fine. Trust me. You’re going to love this.”

  I let him put the blindfold on. Raine puts his arm around me and squeezes my hand. I sink into the warmth and comfort of his body.

  The cab comes to a stop after we’ve driven what seems like just a few short blocks. He pays the driver and helps me onto the sidewalk. He grips my waist as we walk across the pavement.

  Raine greets two men, and we walk down a short hallway with a concrete floor. We go through what must be a kitchen. Plates and dishes clang. Orders are being called out. I inhale the delicious aroma of a variety of foods and try to identify the scent. The food seems spicy. Cajun, maybe?

  There’s the disjointed sound of instruments playing. Guitars, drums, horns, a keyboard.

  We walk down another hall before stopping. Raine talks to a man with a deep, thunderous voice. The man asks to see his pass then opens a door and goes inside briefly. A few seconds later he returns.

  “Five minutes,” he says gruffly, then opens the door again.

  Raine guides me through the door. There is the scent of food and flowers and the sound of lots of chatter. Everyone seems to be in a hurry. I bite my lip. My spine tenses. Finally Raine removes the blindfold.

  I blink, adjusting to the light. I try to focus on the tall, thin man in front of me. He looks an awful lot like...

  “Melanie Gordon, I’d like you to meet Jace LeRoth.” Raine grins.

  “Oh my gosh!” My hands cover my mouth, choking back a blatant fan girl scream. It takes a few seconds for me compose myself enough to speak. “I’m a huge fan. It’s great to meet you, Mr. LeRoth.”

  He smiles broadly and reaches out to shake my hand. “Please, call me Jace,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Melanie.”

  “I love your music,” I gush, then try to calm myself and sound as grounded and laid-back as he is. “Your voice is incredible and your lyrics are positive and insightful. They always lift my spirits.”

  “Then I’ve accomplished my intention. I want to make music that’ll touch listeners in some way and bring joy into their lives. I hope it’s done that for you.” He nods toward Raine.

  Poor Raine, I’ve practically forgotten he’s standing here. I grab his hand and kiss him. “This is amazing. Best surprise ever. Thank you.”

  Raine smiles. “Good. That’s exactly what I was going for.” He kisses the back of my hand then turns his attention to Jace. “Thanks for taking the time to see us before the show. We really appreciate it. I know you’re busy, so we’ll get out of here. We look forward to the show tonight.”

  “You got it, man.” Jace shakes Raine’s hand firmly and slaps him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.” Jace turns to me and grasps my hand. “You got a good guy here.” He jerks his thumb in Raine’s direction. “Take good care of him.”

  I look at Raine and smile. “I will.”

  Raine ushers me out of the door. The burly security guard with arms the size of Amtrak train cars, a gleaming bald head and a variety of interesting tattoos moves aside to let us out the door. He checks his watch, perhaps to see if we’ve broken his five-minute mandate. Apparently we’re safe, because he doesn’t say anything.

  Once we’re down the hall and no one else is in sight, I push Raine against the wall and give him a long, hard kiss. “This is amazing. You came all the way out here to see me and now this.”

  Raine traces my cheekbone gently with his thumb. “I had to impress you so you’d invite me back. Is it working?”

  “Too well,” I admit. “I’m really glad you came.”

  “You’re not just saying that because I got you backstage to meet Jace LeRoth, are you?” He smiles.

  “Of course not.” I poke him in the arm. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re thoughtful and sweet. Of course, your ability to snag backstage passes to a Jace LeRoth concert has certainly helped to illuminate your finer points.” A wide grin spreads across my face. He laughs. “How do you know Jace anyway?” I slip my arm through his as we head toward the main auditorium.

  “Jace was one of the performers at the initial benefit concert for Focused for Life six years ago. He’s a big supporter of the progr
am, so we keep in touch.”

  “You didn’t think to mention this before?” I nudge him.

  “That would’ve made my surprise decidedly less dramatic.” He laughs. “Besides, I’d have missed seeing the way your face lit up in there.”

  I stop and turn to him. “You mean the way it is right now?”

  He places his hands gently on my arms and pulls me toward him. “Just like that.”

  When he kisses me, my heart does a little dance.

  * * *

  Jace’s show begins with one of my favorite songs, “The Meaning of You.” I squeal like a tween at a Jonas Brothers concert, yet I’m more laid-back than I’ve been in months—maybe years. I’m not sure what’s having the largest impact on this feeling of floating: being with Raine, Jace’s sultry voice and sexy, philosophical lyrics or the contact high I’m getting off the pervasive haze rising from the crowd.

  Whatever the reason, I’m happy and feel freer than I have in years. A girl could get used to this.

  The throng of fans standing in front of the stage is pressed together. Raine is behind me with his arm around my waist. We rock in time, dancing to the sounds of Jace’s melodic voice and his soulful band. The entire crowd seems to sway in time with us.

  Jace encourages the crowd to sing along as he sings “You’re the Only Reason.” My singing is awful, but I join in anyway, something I’ve never done on a concert date before. Tonight I don’t care. I’m in the moment. Enjoying every minute. Connecting with the music. In sync with Raine.

  * * *

  After the show, we take another cab to the Wine Bar in Rocky River. Too bad it’s winter. There’s a beautiful patio where customers can sit outside and eat.

  The restaurant isn’t super-expensive but certainly pricier than eating at a chain restaurant. I bite my lip, considering how to approach this. Raine has spent enough money on this weekend. He works for a nonprofit, for God’s sake. He’s already shelled out money for airfare and Jace LeRoth tickets. Plus, he managed to score backstage passes. I can’t let him spend another hundred dollars for dinner.