by Aven Ellis
Either way, I’ll be dammed if Deke is going to find out about my night of hell.
“It was fabulous,” I chirp, trying to sound extra bubbly and buoyant. “I had so much fun with my friends, and Sullivan finally kissed me, so everything is great.”
I hold the phone tightly to my ear, waiting for his response. Now I’m the one engaged in a game. One like tennis. I just hit the ball over the net to Deke, and I’m waiting to see if he backhands it to me or crashes the ball into the net instead.
He doesn’t respond at first. There’s a long pause, and as the seconds tick, my heart holds still.
Finally he clears his throat. “Well, I know you’re interested in Sullivan, so that’s great news, Avery.”
Slam! Deke’s backhanded one right past me and scored a point. My heart crashes into my stomach. And I instantly have the urge to go to the freezer and polish off the rest of the Cool Whip.
“It is great news,” I lie, refusing to let Deke know he’s been on my mind for even a second. “Sullivan’s perfect for me.”
There’s another pause from his end of the line. And all I can hear is the thud-thud-thudding of my heart.
“Well, if that’s what you want—”
“I do,” I say defiantly, interrupting him.
“Then I’m happy for you,” Deke says. “But there’s a reason why I’m calling. Other than to hear how successful the party was last night.”
“Oh?”
“I want to apologize to you. For what happened at the park yesterday. You’re right. I was stereotyping you. And that’s not fair.” Deke is silent for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry that I offended you. Because you aren’t like everyone else.”
“I . . . I’m not?” I ask quietly, completely surprised by this admission from him.
“No, you’re not,” he says, his raspy-tinged voice going soft. “You are the most unique person I’ve ever met. You have a different spirit, Avery. You really do.”
My breath catches in my throat as I soak up his sweet words. Warmth radiates down my spine. My stomach is floaty, and Deke’s words roll deliciously around in my head.
He’s talking about my soul, I think with amazement. The real me, the inside core. Deke has noticed my spirit.
And it’s the most beautiful compliment I’ve ever received.
A million questions instantly flip through my head, like they were on flash cards. What makes him say that? What does he find unique about me? What—?
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Deke says, interrupting my thoughts. “I just wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you,” I say, sinking back into the stack of pillows propped against my headboard. “It’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received,” I say quietly.
“It’s true,” Deke says. Then he quickly clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. I know you’re busy—”
“So how was your date last night?” I blurt without thinking. I instantly know I need to dial that back a bit. “Uh, I mean, since you were nice enough to ask about mine, I should ask about yours.”
Then I cringe. Oh God. Maybe I really do have the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old.
But despite that, I anxiously bite down on my lower lip, tasting my flavored Lush lip balm, and pray with all my heart that Deke’s date was as big of a disaster as mine.
“Also fabulous, as you would say. I took Isabel—that’s her name—out for sushi. She’s pretty cool. And since she’s from Madrid, we conversed in Spanish. I like that, because it helps keep the rust off, you know?”
Suddenly everything comes crashing down around me. All of the wonderful feelings I have come to a screeching halt, replaced by a sharp, cold, pressing feeling on my chest.
Right over my heart.
“Well, that’s great,” I force myself to say, once again trying to sound light and happy. “Good for you.”
Silence falls between us. I swallow hard, thinking that while I was getting slobbered on by Stupid Sullivan, Deke was off with some exotic Spanish beauty, conversing in a second language over a romantic sushi dinner for two.
Oh God. Suddenly I feel really, really sick.
“I’ll let you go,” he says, breaking the silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow. But don’t work too hard tonight. It’s still the weekend, after all.”
“Right,” I say, nodding to myself. And to be honest, I’m so busy thinking about Deke and Isabel and I can’t focus enough to say anything else.
“Goodnight, Avery.”
“Goodnight,” I say softly, hanging up the phone.
I draw a deep breath of air and stare blankly at my laptop, the cursor blinking back at me from where I left it. Before Deke called and turned everything in my life upside down.
I quickly close my eyes and shake my head. This is beyond stupid, the way I’m feeling. Why does the idea of him being on a date upset me so much? It’s not like Deke and I shared anything other than a few stories and coffee.
But you know why, the little voice inside me whispers. You want to be the one having sushi with him. You don’t want him to be with Isabel.
I want him to be with me.
The sharp pain in my heart hasn’t lessened. But despite the fact that I’m starting to have feelings for him, Deke has none for me. He likes some exotic woman named Isabel, not a fashionista from Lincoln Park.
I shake thoughts of Deke from my head and focus on my work. I clear my throat and quickly begin scrolling through my notes again. I start to read what I’ve written:
Rosemary or citrus would be refreshing notes
for morning spa toiletries, to revive and rejuvenate
passengers—
I wonder if Isabel is an exotic Spanish beauty.
No, no, no, no! I can’t think about this. I can’t care. It was one coffee at Starbucks and now I’m acting like a crazy woman.
I try to go back to reading my notes, but I can’t focus to save my life. I click on the save icon, close down my laptop, and put it back on my desk. Then I flip back the covers and crawl underneath my duvet, lost in thoughts of Deke feeding Isabel sushi with his chopsticks.
I feel sick. Depressed. Jealous.
And I have no idea how I’m going to act happy and normal around him for eight hours tomorrow at work.
I stride into the Marketing Department on Monday morning with a new sense of purpose. I thought about this all last night—as I couldn’t sleep—and I’ve decided that the only way to get past these feelings for Deke is to make the spa basket project my entire focus right now.
After all, everyone knows that being a career woman requires 100 percent dedication to furthering one’s professional future—with no time for distractions. I’ll continue working on my spa basket proposal, I’ll read all the trades (for real this time), and I’ll search for other opportunities like Deke suggested.
Okay. That was a slip. It’s not like I really have Deke on the brain or anything like that. Honestly, I don’t have the time to think about him now that I have decided to focus on my career.
I come around the corner and stop dead in my tracks. Deke is already at my cubicle, setting up his equipment. He’s down on the ground, bent over his case. I notice how broad his shoulders are in his T-shirt and how tanned his skin appears against the white fabric.
And I know I’m full of total crap if I think putting together a spa basket is going take my mind off him.
I gently clear my throat, to let him know I’m here. He turns and looks over his shoulder. The second his eyes meet mine I feel a charge of electricity jolt through me.
“Good morning,” Deke says softly, standing up.
“Hi,” I manage, noticing his eyes haven’t left my face.
My eyes, on the other hand, stray briefly to che
ck out the logo on his T-shirt. This time he’s wearing a vintage White Castle Hamburgers T-shirt. Hmmm. I wonder if he likes White Castle. Every now and then I crave a bag of sliders.
I shake the thought from my head and lift my eyes back up to Deke’s. I find that he’s smiling gently at me.
“You look good,” he says simply.
“What?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat as I put my tote bag down on the floor. “What do you mean?”
He takes his fingertips and sweeps them across the skin below his eyebrows. “Your eyebrows. They’re a lot better today.”
Oh. So that’s why he was staring at me. He noticed my bad wax job had healed. Now I feel incredibly stupid for thinking he might have been looking at me for any other reason.
“Oh. Yes, I no longer have to hide behind my Jackie O sunglasses,” I say, sliding into my desk chair. I don’t look at him as I boot up the computer. “But Sasha says I should still sue the spa for emotional trauma, as well as pain and suffering.”
Suddenly Deke cracks up. I turn and see that his eyes are crinkling up in the corners in the way that makes my spine tingle with warmth.
“Of course Sasha would say that,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s so . . .”
“Sasha?” I supply helpfully, and we both laugh again as I begin to key in my password.
“So what were you working on at home last night?” he asks, putting the mic and transmitter box on the edge of my desk for me.
I swivel around in my seat to face him. “Can I tell you when we do our one-on-one interview at the end of the day? I don’t want anyone to know about it just yet.”
Deke raises an eyebrow at me. “Sounds like a very serious career undertaking.”
“Let’s just say I’ve been inspired,” I say honestly, staring into his eyes.
“Good morning, Avery.”
I turn and find Lindsay standing in my cubicle.
I clear my throat and smile back at her. “Good morning, Lindsay. How was your weekend?”
“Fine,” Lindsay says, taking a sip of her coffee out of a ceramic Premier Airlines logo mug. “Did you see the article about Premier Airlines in the Tribune yesterday?”
Shit! What would my boss think if I told her I only read the Chicago Tribune for the fashion section, entertainment news, and advice columns?
“It was a good write up,” Deke interjects. “They really broke down how Premier Airlines was well ahead of the curve in pursuing first class, international travel as their bread and butter.”
Okay. Deke has given me enough info so I can manage to say something intelligent to Lindsay, despite the fact that I haven’t read a word of what they are talking about.
“It really shows incredible foresight, considering the state of the airline industry today,” I say, thanking God that I saw a news brief on Good Morning America about the airline industry as I was flossing my teeth this morning. “Other carriers are now trying to shift to more profitable international travel, or completely reinvent themselves as low-cost carriers—but Premier Airlines saw this niche years ago and was smart enough to make it their backbone.”
I briefly glance at Deke out of the corner of my eye, and he’s studying me intently. Then a slow grin spreads across his face, and I have no doubt that he figured out that I just pulled that out of thin air. I also have no doubt that he’ll tease me about it later.
And as my heart flutters happily inside my chest, I find myself looking forward to it when he does.
“You’re correct, Avery,” Lindsay says, drawing my attention back to her. “I’m so glad to see you are really educating yourself about the industry.”
“Of course,” I say, silently thanking someone in the ABC News department for making that a story this morning.
“Now to the business at hand. I’m afraid I have a boring task for you today, but it really needs to be done,” Lindsay says.
Oh God. Please don’t let it be anything involving math. Like statistics. Oh please, oh please—, oh—
“I need for you to take inventory in the premium room today,” Lindsay says, handing me a clipboard and a sheet of paper. “These are the upcoming events, and I need for you to see if we have enough T-shirts, polo shirts, or baseball caps requested for each one. If there’s not, I’ll need for you to place an order for new merchandise. I’m afraid it’s a mess, so I’ll need you to reorganize it as well.”
I feel myself light up inside. Now this is something I’ll be good at—ordering clothes. I do it way too frequently at home anyway—compliments of piperlime.com—but in this case, I’ll get to spend someone else’s money to shop.
“Sure,” I say, smiling brightly at Lindsay.
“You might want to take your phone in there with you,” Lindsay says. “It can be kind of boring, so it’s you can play music if you like. And, Deke, you might want to come back and shoot tomorrow, when Avery is doing something a little more interesting.”
Oh no. I glance at him and bite my lip. I don’t want him to go home. I’d rather he keep me company in the premium room. It would be opportunity for us to talk—
No. It doesn’t matter. Deke doesn’t like me like that.
“I’ll stay on schedule, Lindsay. Whatever Avery does today, I’ll do, too.”
Then he glances at me and grins, and I find myself grinning back at him. And as he stands next to me, Deke is all I’m aware of.
The day has flown by.
I study the premium room in amazement. I’ve counted, sorted, stacked, and inventoried. And I’ve made like a zillion notes on items of clothing I think Premier Airlines should invest in. Like updated polo shirts with the logo on the cuff instead of upper left chest, designed to be worn with windbreaker vests for maximum, yet stylish, logo placement.
I smile to myself as I sit down in front of the backdrop Deke has set up in the premium room, where we’ll do my one-on-one interview to tie up the day.
And what a day it’s been. Deke spent the whole day hanging out here and talking. He would shoot for periods but when he easily could have left for the day, he stayed. And while I worked, we talked—really talked. Yes, he still asked me lots of work-related questions, but then we talked about other things, too.
For example, I learned that Deke wears vintage T-shirts because they have character and are comfortable. And he only wears ones that represent something he likes, whether it’s a band or a restaurant.
“Okay,” he says, coming back into the room and interrupting my thoughts. “Let’s wrap this up.”
I bite my lip as Deke goes behind the tripod. To be honest, even though it’s been just him and me in this room today, I’m not ready to wrap it up. I feel like we’re just getting started.
“Sure,” I say, nodding at him.
“All right, we’re rolling,” Deke says after he’s turned the light on. “Avery, why don’t you tell me what you were working on over the weekend?”
I stare directly at the camera, eager to share this news with Deke. “I’m working on a plan to convince Craig Potanski to pursue the spa basket idea.”
I glance at him and notice he’s staring at me.
“Really?” he asks, looking surprised.
“Really. I’ve started researching it, and I think the idea has a lot of potential. I’m going to put together a spa basket sample for Craig, as well as a proposal of why I think this is an imperative part of Premier Airline’s spa service. I hope to get on his calendar soon to pitch it.”
I look away from the camera and directly at Deke. He’s staring at me with a blown away expression on his face. Then he smiles broadly at me.
“I’m glad you are going after it,” he says.
I beam back at him as a tingle shoots down my spine. “Me, too. And I have so much to do this week! I have to go out and buy sample product
s after work one night—”
“When are you planning to do that?” he interrupts. “That would be great footage for your story. I’d like to tag along and shoot that if I could.”
“I’m not sure,” I say, thinking aloud. “Maybe Wednesday or Friday. But not Thursday. That’s Sasha’s birthday outing.”
“Tell me about that,” Deke asks.
“Well, a group of us are going out to celebrate,” I say, wondering if maybe Deke would show up if he knew where it was. So I proceed to tell him exactly which bar and what time we’ll be there. Just as information for the documentary, of course. After all, this is real life. I’m supposed to give those kinds of details.
His eyes laser in on mine for a moment.
“Interesting plans,” he says slowly. And there’s a hint of mystery in the way he says “interesting” that makes my stomach flip upside down.
“Aren’t they?” I respond, serving the ball right back to him.
Deke studies me, as if he knows I’m playing a game now. He turns off the camera. “I think we’re finished for tonight, Avery.”
Yes, I guess we are, I think. For tonight.
I slowly unclip the mic and pluck the wire out from underneath my shirt. I take off the transmitter box and hang on to it for a second, lost in thought.
Despite the fact that Deke had a great date with Isabel, I’ve lobbed the ball back in his court. He knows exactly where I’m going to be on Thursday night.
Now it remains to be seen if he decides to return my volley—or not.
Chapter 12
By seven-thirty on Thursday night, I’m squeezed into a packed Lincoln Park pub with Sasha, Bree, and some sorority sisters from Illinois.
It’s retro night, so 80’s and 90’s tunes are blaring through the place, and tons of people are taking advantage of Thursday night drink specials. I’m sipping my sour cherry martini, half-listening to the latest gossip going around the table, and keep glancing toward the front door.