Reverie

by Shain Rose

  “Jesus. No one went to the lengths you did for a damn costume. Can’t we just say you won?”

  That was all the compliment I needed from him. I pushed off the wall and spun slowly. I knew my corset shimmered and the leaves over my ass and boobs swayed as I rocked my hips to the music. “I’m freaking happy and proud of my Tinker Bell, Jett.”

  “And half the room is damn happy you wore it too.”

  I winked at him. “Which half?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know it's the male half. It’s completely inappropriate for work.”

  “Exactly!” I exclaimed and clapped my hands. “This isn’t work! That’s the point.”

  “You should have kept my jacket on.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Do you honestly care that much who’s looking?”

  “More than I want to, Pix. A lot more than I want to.”

  I licked my lips and quivered with his admission. “I’m not too happy about the way your date looks at you either.”

  “Ah, at least I get one honest response from you tonight.”

  “I’m always honest.”

  “You’re always happy, Victory. Even when you’re not. You never let the raw side of you breathe and it's suffocating in there.” He sighed and pulled at one of my pink strands. “Let’s get this voting going, shall we?”

  His words twisted my insides. My throat constricted, my chest tightened, my mind short circuited. Feelings, ominous and wretched, curdled in me. Fears I worked so hard to suppress clawed at the walls I’d built around them.

  Would all this be good enough? Would I be happy with my life if I took a turn for the worse the very next day?

  I swallowed the questions down and buried them deep where they belonged. If I was suffocating the raw part of me, I hoped I would snuff it out completely.

  I went through the motions of emceeing the costume contest, and Jett sat there smiling as person after person showed off their attire.

  My mind was on his words though. Had I adopted a positive attitude to the point of my own detriment? Was I losing my grip on reality by denying what I truly felt?

  I yelled into the microphone, “I think that’s everyone. Let me go talk to the Phantom.”

  Brey in her Catwoman suit sidled up to take the microphone. “Oh, no. Ms. Blakely, you will do your walk in your outfit. You do not get to opt out just because you emceed.”

  “Girl,”—I whispered—“this isn’t for me.”

  She covered the mic. “I know. It’s for Stonewood Enterprises. Look at them. They want to see you, Vick.”

  My fellow employees erupted as I walked over to the runway they’d outlined with their bodies in front of Jett. He sat there, subdued and smiling.

  Brey cut to a favorite song of mine. I twirled and swayed to the deep beat of the bass. I rolled my hips a little and got a few hoots and hollers from the crowd. Jett’s eyes burned into me, goading me to end my walk as quickly as possible. Instead, I backed up and dropped low to the floor, running my hands down my body and back up to my glittering wings. I waved a pretend wand, and just as the tempo picked up, random employees threw green glitter into the air above me. Brey held out a bag of it, letting people grab more.

  Everyone was laughing, the lights were shining, my heart was beating.

  The Phantom was watching.

  I made my way to him, leaned over, and gripped the arms of his chair. Glitter fell over both of us as I whispered, “I just think of a happy little thing.”

  “Pix,” he grumbled, jaw clenched.

  “It’s the same as having wings.”

  “Clip your wings, woman. Fall back to the ground where the rest of us are.”

  “I don’t need them, Jett. I can already fly.”

  His blue eyes held mine as he barked at the crowd, “Tinker Bell wins.” Then he whispered, “Monday, we come back from Neverland, Pix.”

  I grinned at him and shook my head of pink locks. “Not a chance, Phantom. We belong here.”

  22

  Vick

  My head pounded as Miranda Lambert belted out her song from my phone.

  It was a distinct reminder that I hadn’t followed any part of my health regimen the night before. I’d drunk alcohol, consumed sugary hot apple cider, and ignored all my vitamins and pills.

  Again.

  The nutritionist my mother hired years ago would have said I was feeding the cancer that lived deep in my bones still. His warning used to haunt me.

  Now, I shoved the thought aside along with my sheets to stretch on my bed. I rolled over to grab my phone and silence it, but hit a wall of man.

  I recoiled fast.

  Oh, no. Jett had looked so good last night. How would I explain myself to everyone? I went home with the boss, I slept with him again, and Steven would … Oh, Jesus. Steven. We were going to be over. He would never talk to me again.

  For some reason, the idea came as a sort of relief.

  I lifted the sheets to wake up my Phantom and saw green tights.

  My stomach dropped.

  Green tights traveled up to a green shirt and a symmetrical face with blond hair.

  Steven had come home with me.

  I glanced down and took inventory. I was still in my costume.

  I’d blacked out.

  Our first time together wasn’t forgotten because it never happened.

  We were still definitely together, and I needed a freaking mind reset.

  Jett probably went home with Gloria. I rewound the night. I’d danced for the crowd, won the contest, had more drinks. Brey and Jax left shortly after. Bastian arrived.

  Bastian Armanelli—he’d come with Cade and Katie. They’d dressed as grim reapers. If they’d come earlier, I would have crowned them winners; their costumes killed it.

  We drank so much. I remember climbing onto a banquet table at one point to bottle feed shots down people’s throats.

  I winced at that. Steven got me down from the table and must have stuck by my side the rest of the night.

  I nudged him. “Steven?”

  He groaned and cracked an eye open. “Morning.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  “Probably about as good as you’re feeling.”

  “Right.” I stood up from the bed and wiggled my corset around so I could breathe. “I’d love for us to get breakfast or something but you’re still in costume, and I have a killer headache.”

  “Agreed.” He got up and grabbed his things off my nightstand. “Rain check?”

  The man was cutting and running out of my house faster than I could kick him out. “Sure.” I shrugged because I didn’t know if either of us wanted one. “Uh, tell your family I say hi. I’ll see you at work.”

  “Right. Right. See you there.” Just when I thought he was about to leave, he French kissed the hell out of my face, morning breath and all. “I think the party went well. The Stonewoods seem to love you.” He paused. “And me too.”

  He turned on his heel and strutted out my front door.

  I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, grabbed my vitamins and pills from the kitchen, and went to brush my teeth. I peeled off my costume and studied what was left of me in the mirror. Glitter stuck in my matted pink hair, and my milky skin sagged. Dehydrated. I leaned on the counter where the vitamins and pills for Saturday and Sunday sat.

  “I hate you,” I whispered. Then I popped the cases and downed everything except the medication. My heart medication. A little red pill that was supposed to be mandatory and for that very reason it was the hardest to swallow.

  Literally and metaphorically.

  I was better. I was living. I was enjoying life. And the life I’d mapped out was coming together. I had an impressive job, exceptional friends, a banging body (if I said so myself), and not one damn scar from the cancer.

  The pain and turmoil were where they should be—packed away and hidden.

  And I planned to be in a committed rela
tionship, marry, and have kids. Steven was a step in the right direction. He’d commit, he’d try, and maybe he’d tackle the hurdles with me.

  I gripped the counter, glowering at the pill. I’d paved my way through the chemo, through traveling to Chicago, to this job, to freaking Hawaii.

  I swiped the pill over the edge of the counter, into the toilet bowl, and flushed it away.

  I didn’t need that reminder. I was sure there would be millions of other little reminders in my life.

  I took the rest of the day to prepare for Monday, the day of our meeting. I wanted everyone primed with Levvetor information and happy to serve it up to Jett.

  Video chatting with Gloria and Brey regarding tactics and PowerPoints helped ease my worries.

  * * *

  On Monday morning, I slid on my Louboutin black stilettos. The red soles matched the fierce red dress I zipped up. Commuting on the L, I rehearsed my points again. Everyone had received an updated version of the PowerPoint and files to review before the meeting at 1 p.m.

  I scoped out the workplace when I arrived. Nothing seemed much different. Josie handed me a coffee and smiled at me as I sat down. “Everyone is still talking about the weekend.”

  “Oh, great,” I replied and lifted my cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Sure. Also, I pulled a few notes on our marketing efforts for the meeting later. I think if we discussed merging one of our other pharmaceutical company’s branding with Levvetor’s and consulted the finance team regarding what we could afford, the Levvetor acquisition would be beneficial.”

  “Great idea.” I pulled up a file on my computer to make note of her suggestions. “Thanks so much for looking into it. I wasn’t sure anyone would have the time to review any of this before the meeting.”

  Josie patted my shoulder. “We’re all part of Stonewood Enterprises, Vick. If we don’t have time, we make it. I think it will be a great work session. See you later.”

  Gloria popped up out of nowhere to repeat Josie’s description. “‘Work session’? I saw that in the meeting reminder you sent this morning. Nice touch.”

  I groaned and tapped a red manicured nail on the desk. I’d painted my acrylic nails the night before to match my look. “I thought it might help but now it seems silly.”

  “It’ll help. Everyone here is competitive. They’ll all try to one up each other.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Brey whispered as she stopped at my desk. Steven glared over his computer at us like we might get him in trouble.

  “We’re talking about the meeting later, Steven.”

  “Oh. That’s great. It’s just, we’re right in front of Jett’s office. I don’t want him to think we’re just …” He shrugged like his thought was obvious.

  I dropped my eyes to make sure I didn’t roll them dramatically. Gloria pivoted to face his desk. “You think my boss would ever believe I’m …” She shrugged as if to shake off Steven’s ridiculous comment and turned her red lips down. “Please. Go back to work.”

  Both Brey and I stared at each other with eyes wide as an owl’s in complete shock. Steven opened and closed his mouth like a guppy before turning back to his computer.

  Gloria continued as if we were discussing the weather. “I’ll go set up the conference area for later. Do not be afraid. Jett smells fear. Brey, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  She walked off before I could respond. “I’m more than a little frightened now.”

  “At least she’s on our side,” Brey reassured me.

  “The deal is ours to lose.”

  “And you’ve never lost a thing, Vick,” Brey said, each word pronounced like she had everlasting belief in me.

  If only she knew.

  My friends would never know though. I wasn’t there to present my sob story to them, and I’d never willingly share that I had beat my first round of cancer.

  Because that’s all it was. The first round.

  I didn’t need them looking at me differently, like I was a poor little thing who’d barely survived. I didn’t need them worrying that I’d somehow get cancer again either. I didn’t want to be stuck in the padded room my friends would definitely build for me if they knew.

  Living with the secret of having had cancer was lonely. It was lonely when you had it, and it was lonely if you survived it. I worried about it coming back more than enough for everyone; I didn’t want them worrying too. Sure, it would be lonely if I had to go through it again, maybe not surviving this time. Dying slowly.

  Yes, I hadn’t lost a thing by keeping it to myself. Not yet.

  But I worried every single day that I would.

  23

  Jett

  She wore red. Not a dark red either. It was a blood-smeared-on-the-walls red, a fighting red, a bold, bright mockery of my recommendation to tone down the color.

  Fine.

  She wanted war. This was a battle to her. It was just business to me. I straightened my tie and tugged down my shirt cuffs.

  Our conference room overlooked the lake, providing a calming atmosphere before the storm of each meeting. A large crystal chandelier hung above, and the brown wood mixed with glass and touches of gold on the seating gave the room a lavish look.

  I witnessed Gloria align with Brey and Vick as they each presented points on Levvetor to the top people on my team. Every single person listened like lives depended on it.

  And they absolutely did depend on it, but we couldn’t save everyone.

  After they wrapped up the presentation, Vick stepped forward with some colorful Post-it notes because she couldn’t possibly have used plain old white ones.

  “I’m hoping you can each write down a question or concern you may have in regard to backing Levvetor on the pink Post-it. On the blue, let us know a reason you think it may be a good idea. Then, let’s go through them.”

  Brey passed around the pads along with pens. Gloria told the team they could work together if they wanted to. That opened up conversation.

  I didn’t normally take this approach in meetings. We discussed it as adults; we didn’t write it down. Yet, here I was following their orders because Brey pointedly put the pads in front of me before she sat down at my side.

  * * *

  On the pink Post-it, I wrote:

  SAVE LIVES

  * * *

  On the blue, I wrote:

  BURN OUT

  Gloria collected everyone’s ideas and stuck them up on the whiteboard. And one by painstakingly one, we went through them. I put my chin in my hand and let the team duke it out. Quite frankly, I was surprised by their enthusiastic responses.

  I raised my eyebrows when Jon, someone who prided himself on being monochromatic, jumped up to exclaim that he knew how to solve one of the problems.

  Vick glanced at me when Bob high fived him and said he knew Jon was the man to do it after his dance-off on Saturday.

  “Great.” I clapped my hands when Vick took the last Post-it and stuck it over to the resolved side of her whiteboard. She folded her crimson nails over her hands and waited for me to continue. “It seems we have a lot of great ideas on how to make the Levvetor acquisition work. So, are we all in agreement that we should invest a significant amount of our quarterly budget in this company, even knowing that the FDA may rule against it?” I pushed a finger into my temple, trying to hold in the frustration. “The CEO of their biggest competitor is on that board of advisors.”

  The balloon of enthusiasm that was surely the same red as Vick’s outfit deflated.

  Gloria stepped forward to take me on. She would too. She’d told me she would come in guns blazing, but Vick held up a hand.

  “Do you think we can’t handle it?” Vick asked.

  “I’ve never taken on a venture we were incapable of handling, Ms. Blakely.”

  “And yet you’re hesitating on this one. I realize that the FDA is a very large government entity. But Stonewood Enterprises doesn’t have a limit, right?”

  “While limits a
re made to be broken, they also serve as a reminder to evaluate the options. I’m not questioning my team’s capabilities because I want to. I’m questioning them because I have to.”

  “If you’re risk averse on this, then tell the Armanellis we can’t handle it. Someone else will, and they’ll do it carelessly. Our team is methodical, dependable, and innovative enough to manage it. Without us, lives will be lost and this company will most likely not stay afloat. That’ll be on you.”

  And wasn’t it always on me?

  My team would go to the very brink to save a company. Our mission was to turn them into profitable enterprises. I had the greatest minds on my team, working in tandem to make the machine more than well-oiled.

  Yet, at the end of each meeting, each phone conference, each day, I made the call. When to say yes and when to say no. My father had handed over the gavel because he’d had enough of the stress of playing God, of choosing whether to back massive industries or let their flame die out. That choice sometimes meant thousands of workers would lose their jobs, meant they might not be able to feed their families.

  The ripple effect was astronomical every single time.

  The weight, the guilt, the pressure often proved to be too much. Most people weren’t cutthroat enough to handle it.

  I was. I had to be.

  My team had to be also.

  It didn’t mean they should shoulder the burden every time though.

  “Victory, you proved a very good point this weekend when we all let off a little steam. We do better with a workload we don’t have to push ourselves to handle.” I held up my blue Post-it. “If we’re overworked, we burn out. We need time to unwind so we can come back refreshed like we did after the party. Right, everyone?”

  Most of the team nodded and quietly agreed.

  “My father built this tower and company only by putting together the hardest working teams he could find. We all know that my father lost his wife for a very long time because he sacrificed putting her first. The company was his love, and he mulled over every single decision he made like it was his child. Every time you go in hard, you risk everything else coming second. But”—I held up the pink Post-it and looked at Vick—“we’ll save lives.”