Bryan jumped in. “I can’t underestimate the value of this input, Professor. For instance, Ms. Harper’s swift and well-researched recommendation for a new vendor single-handedly allowed us to stay on track with one of our key accounts.”
Professor Oliver beamed, then asked more questions, which we took turns answering. When the meeting was done, Bryan and I left together, exchanging a high five like we had pulled off some kind of caper, when all we’d done was told the truth—and omitted the part where we’d dreamed of each other at night.
As we reached the street, Bryan’s phone buzzed. “It’s Caldwell—one of our board members. I just need to take this quickly.”
He stepped a few feet away, and as I reached for my phone to check my messages, I nearly bumped into a middle-aged man with a graying flattop.
“Sorry!” I said, and the man continued on his way without acknowledging the bump or my apology. Too busy on his phone to walk properly maybe.
But something made me stop and watch him go. He seemed familiar. I just couldn’t place it.
“Everything okay?” Bryan asked when his call ended and he came over to me.
“Yeah. I saw someone who I thought I recognized. But I can’t think from where.”
He looked down the street and then back at me. “It’s a big city full of a lot of people. Some of them are bound to look familiar.”
We’d definitely gotten into a habit. I wasn’t sure I could sleep half as well without our nightly phone calls.
“Confession time,” Bryan said. “What were you thinking during the meeting today?”
I’d just put a second coat of scarlet polish on my toes and was feeling a little scarlet myself. “Honestly?” I asked.
“Always.”
“I was thinking about crawling under the table.”
He choked like I’d caught him when he was drinking. “You naughty girl,” he growled.
I said as sweetly as I could, “Well, there was a paper clip, you see. I didn’t want to just leave it there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I wouldn’t want the cleaning crew to vacuum it up and damage their equipment.”
“Sure. You were just thinking it would be a quick cleanup job.”
I gasped. “You think it was another kind of job?”
“God, I hope it was another kind of job.”
“What kind of job did you have in mind?” I purred.
“I think you know.”
“Do I?”
“You wouldn’t say it in that sex-kitten voice if you didn’t know.”
I smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll turn it around and ask you what you were thinking about.”
“I believe I just told you.”
“Good thing I’m always ready to pitch in and do the dirty work.”
19
Bryan
Five Years Ago
On her visits to New York after I started work there, Kat and I explored the city together. I’d lived there while in college and grad school, but it was different with Kat, treading the sidewalks and weaving ourselves into the fabric of the city. We wandered through the Metropolitan Museum, kissed in front of the fountain at Lincoln Center, and held hands as we meandered in and out of Manhattan’s neighborhoods.
I wanted more than kisses, so much more, and so did she, but we’d agreed to wait till she moved to the city and was ready to start college. But there was something electric about anticipation too. Knowing you’re not going there—yet—but both of you knowing it’s within arm’s reach.
As we strolled along a tree-lined street in the Village one weekend, I subtly guided her in the direction I wanted to go, without making it look like I was steering her. When we got near, though, I told her I had a surprise.
She arched an eyebrow, but her eyes sparkled. “What kind of surprise?”
“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, now will it? We’re almost there.”
“Oh!” She stopped in her tracks. “I forgot. I have exciting news.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a little boutique owner in Mystic who likes my necklaces. She asked me to join her at an upcoming festival in town and try selling some at a booth,” she said, bouncing with excitement.
“How could you forget to tell me that? That’s huge, Kat. I’m so happy for you.” I pulled her in close for a hug. “You haven’t even started school yet, and you’re already on your way to being a star.”
“I’m hardly a star,” she said, then planted a quick kiss on my lips. “But it’s a start.”
I reached for her hand. “It’s the start of amazing things for you.”
Soon we reached a tiny vintage shop, everything slightly rustic, slightly pastel, very French. I’d stumbled upon this place a while ago, but forgot about it, since it wasn’t really my thing. Then I’d remembered it because of Kat, knowing it was perfect for her. “This is your surprise.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You want me to become a consignment clothing fan? I’m not opposed. Just surprised you’d take such an interest in my style.”
“I’m not trying to change your style. Just go in. You’ll see.”
Once inside, she was the proverbial kid in the candy store, wide-eyed and slack-jawed when she saw the display of Paris-themed jewelry, bracelets, and necklaces. She loved all things Paris, and I’d had a hunch she’d be taken in by the Eiffel Tower, beret, and baguette charms.
I smiled as I watched her take it all in. Seeing her happy was like a drug. I’d do whatever I could to get this reaction from my girl. “I thought you might get a kick out of it. Especially now that you’re getting requests for your necklaces.”
She reached for me and wrapped her hand around my arm. “I love it. Paris and I, we have a lifelong kind of thing going on.”
“Good. Pick anything you like.” Fine, it wasn’t Tiffany’s, and I wasn’t some loaded hedge fund manager with the money to shop at Tiffany’s. But judging from the way Kat’s brown eyes seemed to twinkle, I might as well have brought her to Aladdin’s cave, full of gems and rubies. I ran my hand along her lower back, unable to resist touching her. She sighed and inched closer to me as she checked out necklaces and rings. She held up a ring with a fleur-de-lis that she liked, showing it to me.
“Cute,” I murmured as I brushed my lips against her neck. I slipped my hand under the back of her shirt, tracing her soft skin. “You feel so good,” I whispered.
“You’re distracting me,” she said, but she moved closer too. I wanted to tug her into my arms, thread my fingers through her hair, and kiss her deeply right in the store.
The woman behind the counter cleared her throat, and that was my cue to keep it PG. Kat picked out a fleur-de-lis charm lined with purple stones to make it sparkle.
“Wait for me outside,” I told her, then went to the register to pay for the gifts.
A minute later I left the store, tucking a tiny white bag into my wallet. I’d save what was inside for the next time I saw her, but I had the Eiffel Tower necklace I’d picked out in my hand and asked Kat to turn around. She lifted up her hair, and I kissed her lightly on her neck, savoring that sweet, sexy moment when she shivered under my touch. “I could do this all day,” I said as I fastened the necklace.
“Put jewelry on me?” she teased.
“No. Kiss you,” I said, then kissed my way to her ear as she pressed her body against me. “I love kissing you. I’m so crazy for you. And I know this is just a little necklace, but I wanted you to have something from me. Something you liked.”
She turned around, looping her arms around my neck. “I love it, Bryan. I totally love it.”
That word burrowed into my heart, and I wanted to say it, to tell her all that I felt for her. But I kept it back for now. She had the world ahead of her, and I didn’t want to rush a thing.
“Let’s go walk around NYU. You’re going to be there in just a few weeks.”
We wandered over to campus, and she peered in the bui
ldings, checking out dorms and classrooms, vibrating with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m going to be here soon. It’s going to be amazing. Did you love it here?”
“Absolutely. Every second of it,” I said. “College is everything they say it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the time when you find yourself. When you figure out what you want.”
“Sounds intimidating.” Her grin made me doubt that anything intimidated her.
“Intimidating and a hell of a lot of fun if you find the right balance.”
“I can’t wait to start.”
As we reached the campus bookstore, my phone chimed with an email. When I slid my finger across the screen and saw who it was from, I held up my finger and signaled to Kat, saying, “I’ll be right back. I need to see what my boss wants. I’ll meet you in the store.”
I clicked open the email, and the subject line read Paris. That was some weird synchronicity, considering where we’d just been shopping.
Looks like there might be an opening soon in our Paris office. You’re fluent, right? Let’s talk Monday about this.
20
Kat
Present Day
After a caffeine-fueled night of studying, I powered through a brutal, caffeine-fueled test in one of my courses. When I filed the exam at the end of the class, submitting it from my laptop, I felt good about how I’d done. I was less worried about my marks than I was about proving what I’d learned. Maybe someday I could turn My Favorite Mistakes into a business like Made Here, with a board, stockholders, employees, and revenues with many, many zeros.
Optimistic about my prospects, I headed down the wide wooden staircase to the first floor and pushed open the door into the late-October air.
Fall had coasted into Manhattan, bringing with it the crisp air and short splash of gold and red leaves on the trees in the parks. I looped my orange scarf with white stars around my neck and pushed on a pair of champagne-colored sunglasses to block the bright midday rays. My brown boots clicked against the sidewalk as I checked the time on my phone. I had a meeting with Claire Oliver in an hour. She’d finally reached back out to me and asked me to meet her at the café at the Met, adding that since she and her husband were avid supporters of the museum, she had other meetings there too.
On the subway I checked my phone for messages. It was habit any time I stayed in one place long enough, because Bryan and I had become regular texters.
To my delight I found a message waiting from him.
Bryan: Breakfast of champions.
He’d sent me a photo of French toast.
Kat: Whoa. That is some Instagram-level breakfast photography. Is there nothing you can’t do?
Bryan: Shh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s my fallback profession.
Kat: A breakfast food influencer? Depends on what magic you can work with an avocado and poached egg.
A few seconds later, an image popped up of just that, but the angle was more odd than artistic.
Kat: The idea that you are somewhere in this city surreptitiously capturing a snap of someone else’s breakfast delights me.
I was rewarded with a shot of home fries.
Bryan: I can’t stop! I’ve gone down the food photo rabbit hole.
Kat: More, more! Show me some . . . blueberries.
A minute later, that was the image that landed on my phone.
Bryan: See? I can do commissions too. Impressive, isn’t it?
Kat: So impressive I can hardly believe I know you. You’ve got skills.
Bryan: Sadly, I also have a food craving now. I want blueberries.
Kat: Don’t deny yourself. Go for it.
Bryan: You are such an enabler.
Kat: You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Bryan: Also, you should be having breakfast with me.
Kat: Breakfast is one of my three favorite meals.
Bryan: Long slow clap.
Bryan: Also, breakfast is awesome.
Bryan: Breakfast is proof we were meant to be morning people.
Kat: Lies, vicious lies. I am a night owl, and I’ll fight anyone to prove it, as long as it’s after noon.
Bryan: My illusions are shattered. I’m not sure I can continue this conversation when we disagree on such important matters.
We couldn’t stop texting, and we kept up the volley as I left the train and walked up the steps of the museum, hoping in some ways we’d never stop.
“I showed these around to some buyers I know, and everyone is in love with your necklaces. They think they could be the next big thing,” Claire said, looking very now in a short red linen dress that I’d seen last year’s best actress winner wearing while shopping on Melrose Avenue in the pages of Us magazine.
“I’m so pleased to hear that, Mrs., er . . . Claire.” I quickly corrected myself, and she nodded in approval when I used her first name. We sat in the café, drinking afternoon tea in white china cups with a delicately painted green vine circling the rim. I set mine in its saucer and ventured forward, hoping this information was why she’d called me. “I’d love to know more about the buyers, and who they’re buying for.”
She grinned like a Cheshire cat, then mentioned two names. The first was a distributor that supplied to the trendiest independent boutiques on the East Coast, and the second worked for one of the largest and hippest department store chains in the country—Elizabeth’s. The chain was helmed by the reclusive and rarely seen Elizabeth Mortimer, whose mother, also named Elizabeth, had started the first store in Seattle many years ago, then steadily expanded across the country. Elizabeth’s taste was legendary, a cocktail of trendy and timeless. She stayed entirely out of the limelight, though, letting her stores and their displays do the talking.
I leaned back in my chair, gobsmacked. “Let me just catch my breath.”
Claire’s smile switched to a more neutral expression. “The only thing is, we’d like to see more variety.”
As a critique, it was hardly bad, but it wasn’t the compliment I’d hoped for. But I was more worried about “the only thing is,” which rarely preceded anything good.
“Did you have something in mind?” I asked cautiously.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I wondered if you’d consider moving beyond the idea of favorite mistakes to include, quite simply, favorites. We thought that might broaden your base. And we all seem most fond of your European stylings, and were hoping to see more in that vein—European Favorites.”
“There could be My Favorite Mistakes and also My Favorites?”
“I rather like the sound of that.”
“I can do that. I can definitely do that.” I started flashing back to my time in Paris, then flicking ahead to the quirky little design blogs I visited each night. I’d need to cobble together my own style, of course. But inspiration often comes from collecting ideas and transforming them into something unique. Like from art, I mused, thinking about my current setting—surrounded by one of the greatest collections of art the world has ever known. “When would you and the buyers want to see them?”
“Soon. Very soon. I think we can get your designs into their stores if we can mix up the look, and I really want to get them in for the holiday season. Which isn’t that far away. We have our holiday marketing in place already and have for months, but we’d love to find a true standout for the season. Just the right style to focus on for holiday jewelry.” She steepled her fingers together. The look drawn across her porcelain skin and fine features revealed nothing.
I nodded several times. “I better get started,” I said, and I didn’t have to feign enthusiasm. The “only thing” wasn’t that bad after all.
“Actually, Kat. I haven’t even gotten to the proposition part yet.”
“Oh. Okay.” I took a drink of my tea and waited.
She placed her hands flat on the table, her diamond ring catching the light. “Is My Favorite Mistakes open for a small seed investment?”
I nearly choked on my tea. I c
oughed a few times, and I could feel my face turning red as I hacked at the fancy table in the fancy café in the fancy museum. “Excuse me?”
“I want to be an angel investor. Think of it as expansion capital to fund the new design work.”
“Right. Yes. Of course. Absolutely. I’ll do it right now.” I was so bowled over I could barely form words.
“Is that a yes?” Claire seemed on the cusp of annoyed.
I collected myself. “I would be thrilled. I would be absolutely thrilled to have you as an investor.”
When she shared the amount, it took all I had not to jump out of my chair and victory dance. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined having an investor.
“Now, the money is to be allocated solely to the business. You can’t use it to pay your rent or anything like that.” She wagged a finger at me and narrowed her eyes. She was being playful, but she was also serious. Given her tone, I felt compelled to respond with a salute.
“Absolutely.”
“And I do have some stipulations.”
“Of course.”
“First, you need to finish your MBA. I’m a big believer in the value of education, so even if this helps your business take off, you must finish your degree. Or else I’ll need the money paid back.”
The Second Chance Plan (Caught Up In Love: The Swoony New Reboot of the Contemporary Romance Series Book 3) Page 10