Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket

by Lily Flowers

  Trey laughed.

  “Patience, Helena, patience,” he urged, holding his hands up in mock defensiveness before him. “The cover is created a little farther along in the production process-but, once the galleys come on, you as an editor will have a say in the overall appearance of the cover,” he paused here, adding with a shrug, “You even might have some say as to which particular young man makes the cover of the books you edit.”

  OK, that was it. Pitching her head back and opening her mouth wide, Helena let loose with a spirited verse of The Hallelujah Chorus; one that drew some equally spirited applause from her guffawing employer.

  “She edits! She makes really clever if occasionally somewhat corny jokes! She sings!” Trey declared, adding as he made a grand gesture down the length of her fully made form, “Is there anything that Helena Vance can’t do?”

  Helena chuckled, but only briefly.

  “My apologies,” she offered, shaking her head from side to side. “That little musical outburst, like most of my actions and overall behavior today, was highly unprofessional.”

  “And it was completely delightful,” Trey praised, adding with a wink, “We were in great need of an office clown around here—and you more than fit the bill. We also need your honest opinions and your strong skills—which is why I’d like to slightly increase your workload for the remainder of the week.”

  With this her editor stepped aside, revealing a shiny steel cart filled to the brim with ivory white paper packs, computer discs, and file folders.

  “This represents a slight increase?” Helena gritted her teeth. “Dude, that’s the size of cart that you get when you go to Wal-Mart to pick up a Christmas tree and a gallon of milk—mayhap one of those donkey carts you see at Carnivale style street fairs…”

  “We pay double time,” Trey interrupted her.

  “HELLO work load for the rest of the week,” Helena affirmed with a nod, jumping up from her seat and descending upon her newly acquired work cart with a joyful whoop.

  A chuckling Trey shook his head and turned for her office door.

  “Have fun, Helena,” he urged her. “And welcome.”

  Chapter Three

  One week later

  2 a.m.

  The already really messy confines of Helena Vance’s cubbyhole office.

  Straining her eyes as she focused on her luminous computer screen, Helena finally edged away from her desk and heaved a heavy sigh; relaxing back in her swivel chair as she shut her eyes tight.

  Trying to block out the text of the Victorian bodice ripper she’d just spent two hours editing, she instead focused on the events of this past work; her first as a loyal—if admittedly damned cocky—employee at Elmhurst Publishing.

  Overall, the quality of the manuscripts she’d reviewed thus far varied wildly on her personal scale; a scale that, as opposed to being numerical in nature, was measured in terms of reactionary explanations that ranged from “Ooooh, gag me with a stainless steel utensil” ( a favorite hold over from the 1980s) to “Meh” (which pretty much meant, well, meh) to “Not bad a’tall” (a phrase she applied to works that were written with some relative degree of literary skill) to “Awwwright!” (a word she gifted to that rare work that a. was written with some relative degree of literary skill and b. featured some really, really smoking hot sex scenes, as acted out by a painfully, gorgeous to the point of genetic improbability hunk and a—oh, she could care less what the heroine looked like—she only imagined herself in the chick’s place).

  Yet despite the varying quality of the books she reviewed, she had to admit that she really loved being able to read books for a living.

  “OK, so this is not officially the first time that I’ve read books for a living,” she mused, folding her tired arms on her desk and laying her head atop them. “I sometimes was able to sneak a paperback under the counter, for slow days at Murphy’s Wiener Mecca. And my college roommate bribed me with a fiver to read and heap effusive praise on her new age postmodern novel with some from beyond the grave influence courtesy of good ol’ Leo Tolstoy and Ayn Rand.”

  Yet here, she mused with an approving—if fatigue stricken—nod, she was actually supposed to read on the job—and, although she only admitted this to a select few people, she was quickly learning to love her job.

  Of course, she mused further, it didn’t hurt that she had a boss that heaped praise on every assignment she completed—and he even was starting to ask for her input on new submissions.

  “And I guess it doesn’t hurt that he’s smoking hot, either.” The stray thought struck her psyche as she drifted off to sleep.

  As all conscious thought fled quickly and conveniently from the confines of her mind, Helena slipped into a light slumber; one that quickly swept her into the planes of a lush, ethereal dreamscape. Soon she found herself roaming in a fragrant garden brimming with a myriad of lustrous floral gems: dew-glistened roses red and gold, pearl pink carnations, pure ivory orchids and lovely lavender violets.

  “Cha, this is one helluva place,” she sniffed—and loud. “Too bad I have major allergies to most forms of flora and fauna.”

  As Helena leaned forward to let loose with an amplified sneeze, she noticed that somewhere along the line she had traded in her sensible plaid pantsuit for a beautiful, billowing full skirted gown; an exquisite work of azure satin with a high lace collar that flattered her full-figured form.

  “Of course, this bloody mummification device strapped to my spine is probably responsible for the flattering fit—it would just be nice if it was a comfortable fit as well,” she mused with a cringe, doing her blasted best to stand up straight. “This is my dream, dammit—couldn’t I go without a corset?”

  Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sound of a rustling in the grasses beside her. Turning her head in the direction of the sound, her eyes flew wide as she saw a familiar—and very gorgeous—face.

  “Boss?” she squinted, immediately recognizing the azure blue eyes, thick dark hair and chiseled carved face of her editor, Trey Lawrence.

  Only on a general basis, she mused, Trey generally didn’t wear sleek V-necked ivory shirts and tight ebony pantaloons to work. A pity, that, considering how very smoking hawt they made him look—even more smoking hawt than usual, and that was no small feat.

  Nor was he often prone to falling to his knees before her in glowing, fragrant garden spaces and presenting her with a radiant red rose.

  “My lady Helena,” he announced, pressing the blossom into her palm as he seared her with a very sensual, narrow eyed gaze. “I offer this small floral gift as a token of my endless devotion to you, the queen of my heart. Know that I think of you every day, with only the fondest and truest adoration.”

  “Um, for real?” Helena shook her head, overwhelmed by the gentleman’s attentions.

  Surging to his feet, Trey took both of her hands in his and stared deep into her eyes.

  “Yes, milady,” he whispered, raising a strong but tender hand to stroke her fair cheek. “For real. Know also that your beautiful vision haunts my dreams each and every night.”

  Helena snorted.

  “Yeah, well, I think it’s fair to guess that you’ve been visiting my dreams as well,” she admitted. “As a matter of fact, um, Lord Trey, I do believe that’s what you’re doing right now.”

  She took in her breath as her besotted seducer swept her up in his arms; holding her closer than close as he erased all distance between them.

  “It fills my heart with such great joy to know that you—the beautiful, ethereal, totally smokin’ hot Lady Helena—feels even half the passion that I feel for her,” he gasped out, clenching her waist with passionate hands.

  Trembling in spite of herself, Helena wrapped her arms around his sturdy shoulders and leaned upward to stare into his eyes.

  “Half the passion? I’d say that’s a low estimate,” she sighed, lifting some adoring fingers to trace the lines of his bronzed, sculpted face. “I say that we go for three q
uarters…”

  Immediately rising to the challenge, Trey swept her up in his arms and angled his head downward; touching her poised lips with sweet baby kisses as he murmured her name.

  “Helena,” he sighed against her lips, all the while kissing and licking their pearl pink surface. “Helena….Helena! Helena!!!!”

  Jolting upright in her seat, a startled Helena opened her eyes wide as her heavenly dream came to a rough, abrupt end; giving away to a reality that was downright humiliating.

  Standing before her in her office cubbyhole was the dashing figure of her Victorian lord. Only now he was wearing jeans and a sea blue shirt more reminiscent of Miami Vice’s Sonny Crockett than Jane Austen’s Lord Darcy.

  And, as an added bonus, the handsome lord of her Victorian dreams brought a pizza.

  “Trey!” Running some soothing hands through the lengths of her mussy blonde hair, Helena adjusted her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and blinked her bleary eyes in his direction. “What are you doing here? I mean, you are the boss and everything, you can technically come here at any time for any reason I suppose….”

  Trey chuckled.

  “I’m beginning to think, Helena, that you should be the boss here,” he told her, setting his plaid patterned pizza box before her and taking a seat beside her desk. “I’m impressed with myself if I stay past 6 p.m. at the office—then when I’m out clubbing this evening, I happen to see the light on in your office; and I figure, either my favorite employee forget to kill the lights on her rush to get out the door, or she’s still at work. Assuming the latter, I stopped by Maria’s Pizza Palace and picked up a little snack for her.”

  Helena nodded.

  “Good thing,” she heaved a mock sigh of relief. “I thought that maybe the publishing company was going south, and you had to take on a second gig as a pizza delivery man. Seriously, though, Trey, I really appreciate this. So much, in fact, that I’d like to split my pie with you.”

  Geesh, Vance, she added silently. Could you perhaps say something that sounds a bit MORE like an obscene double entendre?

  In spite of her employee’s unintentional vulgarity, Trey nonetheless consented to split her pie with her; and soon the two were laughing and joking over a steamy pepperoni pizza.

  “Delicious!” Helena exclaimed between bites, gifting her boss with a grateful beam.

  Trey shrugged.

  “It’s the very least I can do,” he told her, adding with his own broad smile, “I hate to sound like a broken record, Helena, but you’re really doing an amazing job here. Every day I’m just more inspired by your hard work, your creativity,” he paused here, his azure eyes coming aglow with his intense admiration. “You know, Helena, as a publisher I’ve always been more invested in the numbers side of the business—but through your eyes I’m now looking at our books in a totally different way. I’m beginning to think I might have a creative bone myself in here, somewhere.”

  Helena beamed.

  “Aw, thanks,” she nodded, adding through gritted teeth, “Of course, you probably were just a mite less amazed and inspired when you came in to spot your favorite employee fast asleep on her desk…although,” she added quickly, “What you didn’t realize was that, by laying my head on my source manuscript, I’m actually just soaking in the sum total of all its ideas and concepts. And that singular maneuver, dear boss, is the true key to my success as an editor.”

  Trey nodded.

  “Hope you enjoyed your little nap, Helena,” he deadpanned, adding in a softer voice, “And I could tell that you were enjoying it very much indeed, judging by the big smile on your face. May I ask what you were dreaming about?”

  Helena shrugged.

  “Oh, nothing much,” she mumbled, shifting in her seat. “It was the craziest dream, really—and it stood as evidence that I’ve been editing a few too many Victorian romances lately.”

  She blanched then as her editor fixed her with a soft, intense gaze; his voice lowering to a succulent purr as he said, “Oh, so it was a romantic dream. I see. And may I ask the identity of your leading man in this nocturnal romp?”

  Again Helena shrugged; this time running a self-conscious hand through the lengths of her unruly hair.

  “Nocturnal romp,” she snorted finally. “You, Boss, have been spending too much time writing back cover copy for our torrid little tomes.”

  “You’re avoiding the question, Helena,” Trey grinned.

  “Am I ever?” Helena declared, thrusting a triumphant fist for emphasis. “Well, if you must know, the star of my little Victorian dream was…” she paused here, adding in a single hurried breath, “Either you or the amazing Henry Cavill, star of the 2013 blockbuster Man of Steel. I mean, you do kind of favor each other.”

  At this point she stuffed her mouth with an inordinately large bite of pepperoni supreme, seeking to halt any further unfortunate outbursts and heated revelations.

  “Trey, please ignore me,” she sputtered between bites. “It’s the middle of the night, I’ve been working too hard, and I think I read somewhere that spiced pepperoni doubles as a truth serum….”

  “Helena,” Trey’s sweet, soothing tones served to succor her addled mind—even if her heart beat just a little bit faster. “It’s OK. It’s perfectly all right to say that you might have just a casual interest in me—because, as it turns out, I might have just a bit of an interest in you as well. I’ve just been a bit afraid to admit it—seeing as how we do work together and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to date the boss.”

  He leaned across the desk, fixing her with a serious stare.

  “If you say no to me, Helena, please know that your answer will have absolutely no bearing on your position here,” he assured her, adding with a smile, “Just know, though, that I would very much like to go out with you sometime.”

  Helena blinked hard.

  “As in, a date?” she sputtered. “And not just a business date or a friendly date mind you, but a date date?”

  Trey chuckled.

  “Yes, Helena,” he affirmed. “I am indeed referencing an experience that would be very much like a ‘date date.’”

  Helena nodded.

  “Would you at all be willing to say that into a tape recorder,” she queried, “Just so you can’t go back on it later?”

  Now Trey Laughed. Hard.

  “Indeed I would, Helena,” he affirmed with a nod. “And I repeat—I would very much like to take you out sometime. And for a date date.”

  Absolutely and totally stunned at this news, Helena promptly choked on the piece of pepperoni that was making its way down her throat.

  “Helena! Are you all right?”

  Helena let loose with a rough cough, doubling over as Trey jumped from his seat and pounded her on the back.

  Her mouth flying open to release a singularly decapitated piece of pepperoni, the addled Helena collapsed in Trey’s arms as he held her closely to him.”

  “You’re fine,” he soothed her, running two comforting hands down the length of her fully made back. “Relax, darling—you’re OK.”

  For just a moment Helena relaxed; sinking in Trey’s arms as she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “And so a regurgitated pepperoni sets into motion the romance of a lifetime,” she giggled, nearly hysterical at this point. “Of course, in saying that I just might be jumping ahead a few chapters or so.”

  Trey shrugged.

  “Well these days, Helena, it’s difficult to promise someone the romance of a lifetime,” he admitted, adding as he squeezed her to him, “Would you like to start with lunch sometime?”

  Helena thought a moment, then nodded.

  “That works,” she agreed, adding as she nudged his shoulder, “Only, in seeking out the location of our first lunch date, we may want to avoid any and all pizza parlors.”

  Chapter Four

  Two weeks later

  Helena Vance poured over yet another Victorian romance manuscript; and at this point, she swore that
if she read about one more heaving bosom or clandestine meeting, she’d hurl—again.

  “Oh who am I kidding?” she sighed, rolling her chair back from her computer screen and shaking her head from side to side. “My work is not the full and true source of my rampant grouchiness—though, if one really thinks about it, the true source can be traced back to my boss.”

  Indeed, two weeks after promising that they would go to lunch “sometime,” Trey had yet to specify the specific date and place of this alleged lunch date—and Helena, for her part, was getting good and cranky in awaitance of that information.

  Of course, she couldn’t exactly complain about the treatment she received in the workplace. Trey continued to heap praise upon her work, to ask her advice on incoming submissions, and to sneak her little looks and smiles throughout the course of the typical working day.

  “What he isn’t giving me is the time and place of our first, um, what would he call it, in a somewhat pompous manner?—luncheon engagement,” she mused, now sitting up straight as the subject of her consternation now strolled into her office.

  “Top job on the novella edit this morning, Ms. Vance,” Trey praised her, coming to stand stock still before her desk. “You did such a good job, in fact, that I would quite like your advice on the rest of the series that the author has planned for us.”

  Helena nodded.

  “I must admit that the novella was very well-written,” she told him. “The storyline was strong and I loved the characters—I do indeed have some good ideas for this story, starting with…”

  “Now hold on a minute Helena,” Trey interrupted her, raising his hands before him, “I didn’t tell you just where I’d like to conduct this little brainstorming session. And, as it turns out, I would very much like to discuss this book today at lunch, if you’d care to join me.”

  Again Helena nodded—this time with a renewed vigor that made her cranium shake with an audible creak.