Caught Up In Us

by Lauren Blakely

  He moved up, and I was tipsy, buzzed from the most delicious drink ever — the way he knew me, the way the secret treasure map to my body had been his to follow. He looked satisfied with his work as he began to unbuckle his pants. I sat up to help. I was dying to see him fully naked. He stepped back from the bed, letting his pants fall down, then I pulled down his boxer briefs. God, he was beautiful, and carved, and hard as steel. My hand had a mind of its own and reached for him. He pressed his teeth against his lip, and cursed quietly in pleasure as I touched him.

  Then he reached for a condom.

  He hovered over me, and teased me with his kisses, keeping me on my back, brushing his lips across my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids, even the tip of my nose. I was startled that even a kiss on the nose felt good from him. Then again, everything felt good with Bryan. I sighed as he kissed my neck and then threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling me close.

  I lifted my hips to him.

  “Tell me what you want, Kat. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  I didn’t know if he knew how big a deal it was for me to say those words. I never said “make love” to anyone before. Not to any other guy. I’d never known what it was like to truly make love because Bryan was the only person I’d ever loved, and I’d never been with him like this, like the way it seems on the silver screen, with the big love of your life. When young love and passion turn to smoldering tenderness in the sheets. The waiting, the wanting, the longing as bodies come together, skin against skin, nothing held back, no distance, no time, no pretending. It had always seemed so perfect, so epic, so out of this world.

  Now, here I was, feeling more than I’d ever imagined.

  I placed my hands on his firm, toned chest, tracing his skin, his muscles, searing them into my memory now that I finally could, now that I finally knew what he felt like. He parted my legs and entered me. I moaned as he filled me up. Who said it was supposed to feel this good? But it did. Beyond any and all reason.

  “You,” he said, softly, looking at me. “You.”

  He buried himself in me, and I was in another world, in another time. I was drowning in pleasure, swallowed whole by desire. I was all the air I’d ever breathed. I was the edge of reason, and nothing else existed but the feeling of him moving deep inside of me, his body touching mine at last. Heat rose in my chest, a fire radiating from the center of my gut to the tips of my fingers, the far reaches of my eyelashes, and through to the inside and out of my heart, as if it might burst with all the feelings — love, lust, want, and then, most of all, ecstatic and utter happiness. Completeness. All-ness. I was lost, and then I was found, and I was suddenly aware of every sensation in my body. Of how he placed a hand on my hip, how his breath tasted good, how the soft little never shaven hairs on the backs of my thighs stood on end. I’d gone to heaven, only I was alive, and everything felt ravishing, as he plunged in me, gripped my wrists, and brought me there again.

  And when it ended, when we lay there sated in bed, I outlined his body with my fingertips, planting little kisses across the hard planes of his belly, the firm muscles of his arms, the breadth of his chest that felt like home. We were silent for another moment, then I felt his hand slip into mine.

  It was the laughter, it was the movies, it was Paris, it was the hero holding a boom box in the rain. I knew at this moment that a thing could be more perfect. I had always wanted to believe you could have love like in the movies. Now, I knew you could. It’s not just Hollywood.

  I could have this man for the rest of my life and never want for anything more.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Something isn’t working.”

  Charms and trinkets were spread out on the tray table. I’d aligned them along one of the silver chains I always kept with me. But they didn’t look right. I thought of my mom setting up displays in her store. She’d arrange some picture frames, then mugs, then perhaps a bracelet or too. Inevitably, she took one away.

  “It’s what Coco Chanel has always said. Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and remove one accessory,” my mother had said to me, quoting the fashion icon.

  Bryan looked up from the book he was reading on his tablet. We were on the same flight home, and he’d used miles again to upgrade me.

  “There’s too much going on,” I said. “They need to be simpler.”

  He grinned and returned to his book. I liked that we could talk constantly, or not at all.

  Playing around with the design a bit more, I narrowed down the piece to a star, a key and a sun. I tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I like it better. The question is when you get this big order from Elizabeth’s, how are you going to make them all?”

  “Yeah. There is that.” I’d been so focused on the designs and assembling the perfect prototype that I hadn’t started to address the nuts and bolts. Soon, I’d have to. “I’ve always just made them myself.”

  “You could keep doing that. If there were ten or twenty of you and several machines to help out as well.”

  “Oh, ha ha.”

  “No, I’m serious. You can’t be grassroots much longer, Kat.”

  “I have to land the deal first.” I moved a star trinket to another position on the strand. But it still didn’t look right. “Crap.”

  Bryan placed his hand gently on mine. “Hey.”

  My agitation started to fade with his touch.

  “You know, Kat. I happen to know this guy who runs a similar business. Makes gift items. Some hand-crafted, some machine-assisted. The products get rave reviews, and the business is growing like crazy. He knows how to manufacture something at scale and still make sure it’s beautiful and has a personal touch. Perhaps, I could see if he’d be willing to accommodate your new line of necklaces at his factory?”

  I looked at him, wide-eyed and open-jawed. “You’d do that? How much would it cost me?”

  He laughed. “First of all, of course I’d do it. Why would I not? Second, don’t worry about the cost.”

  “You can’t just give me something for free because…” I let my voice trail off.

  “Because? Because we’re back to not seeing each other for another four weeks starting in — “ he looked at his watch “—three hours when we land?”

  “Not that.”

  He put the tip of his index finger on the star trinket and pushed the star aside. He moved the other charms too. Then he pushed the mini skeleton key to the center of the chain.

  “Not for free. I have a proposition for you.”

  He told me his idea.

  I nodded appreciatively. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  *****

  Bryan grabbed my suitcases from the luggage carousel.

  “So I’ll see you in a month.”

  “So this is it.”

  We’d decided not to share a car back into Manhattan. That would be too tempting. He reached out to give me a hug, and I pulled in close to him, lingering in the crook of his neck, wishing I could smother him in kisses, and go home with him and do more than kiss. Do everything, again and again, all night long. Then, I spotted someone I knew at the next carousel. A dapper man. A sharp-dressed woman. Waiting for luggage.

  No way.

  There was no way my professor and his wife were here at the same time. But she’d said they were going on a trip. Theirs was an international flight as well.

  Bryan’s arms were wrapped around me in a warm embrace, but I didn’t feel reassured. I’d gone too far and I knew it. I could see my world crashing around me, all the things I’d worked so hard for, breaking into pieces at my feet. I wasn’t supposed to get caught.

  No hanky-panky or else an F.

  Then, the professor turned and he wasn’t my professor after all. He was just a man who looked like him.

  I relaxed momentarily.

  But later that night, as I worked on my designs for Claire, using the curved-nose pliers on a key, I didn’t feel like I’d just ret
urned home from a romantic trip to Paris. I didn’t feel like I was such a smart business woman. I felt like someone trying to get away with trickery. Someone trying to pull the wool over shareholder’s eyes, to fool the public, to get off scot-free.

  Like a liar.

  That’s precisely who I was now.

  But that wasn’t me. That wasn’t who I wanted to be.

  I had a choice. I had my future in front of me. It had to be a future I could live with. I had to be the me I could live with.

  *****

  My stomach twisted into knots, and I took a deep breath as I knocked on my professor’s door. It was open, and he was waiting for me. I’d called earlier to request the meeting so I wouldn’t back down when I arrived.

  He gestured for me to come in. My boots clacked loudly on the tiled floor of the office.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Harper. Good to see you. I trust you had a productive time in Paris?”

  “I did. It was a great trip.”

  “Fantastic. And how is everything going this semester with Made Here? We only have a few more weeks left, but the reports have been good, so I’m pleased.”

  I gathered up all my courage. My shoulders rose and fell, and then I started. “I wanted to let you know that during the course of the semester and the time with Made Here, I have fallen in love with Bryan Leighton. Well, I suppose you could say I’ve fallen in deeper with him because I was already in love with him five years ago and didn’t stop.”

  Professor Oliver looked at me quizzically and narrowed his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  I steeled myself to say the words without tripping on them. I was clinical and business-like as I laid my confession bare. “I was involved with him when I was younger, and I’m also involved with him now. I could tell you that we tried to stop. That we tried to deny it. That we tried not to see each other. That we tried to wait until the mentorship was over. I could tell you how important this class is to me. I could tell you how badly I want to graduate. I could tell you how much Bryan values his company’s relationship with the school. Those would all be true. But what’s also true is that I broke your rule about being involved with your mentor. And because of that I don’t think he should be my mentor anymore.”

  He nodded several times with pursed lips that formed a scowl. “I see.”

  He picked up a pencil from his desk and began twirling it. Thumb to forefinger. Thumb to forefinger. Again and again. After several perfectly executed twirls, he put the pencil down, and looked at me.

  “It would seem you have a problem then, Ms. Harper. You no longer have a mentor. Without a mentor, you cannot pass this class. Without this class, you cannot graduate.”

  *****

  Claire adored my designs. They exceeded her expectations, she declared over espresso and chocolate biscuits. But her admiration felt like a Pyrrhic victory. She’d detailed the conditions of her investment, and I’d made a conscious choice to violate them. I wouldn’t be able to finish my degree, and that broke the deal.

  She held up the slim silver chain with the vintage key on it, shaking her head with pride. We were at a cafe on the Upper East Side. “This? Yes. I can tell you right now Elizabeth’s will carry it.”

  I gave her a curious look. How could she make such a guarantee? But it didn’t matter. She could say all she wanted about Elizabeth’s, but she’d be taking it all back when I broke the news.

  “I’m glad you like it. Really, truly, I am. But there’s a problem,” I said and then told her everything, including how her husband had the no hanky-panky warning posted on his Web site.

  She cackled when she heard that. “I had no idea. Really? It says no hanky panky?”

  I grabbed my phone, and tapped in his URL, showing her the screen.

  She laughed even harder. “He’s one to talk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was his student. He’s such a hypocrite.”

  “Really???”

  Even as my future with her circled the drain, I couldn’t help but join her in peals of laughter that echoed around the cafe. The couple at the table next to us peered over.

  “You were his student?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t even his protege. I was his actual student fifteen years ago when I went to NYU, and he was teaching management skills. Some management skills. He fell in love with his student while he was teaching her. For him to post that about no hanky panky is incredibly amusing. But those are his rules. And I respect them. And you must abide.”

  I nodded, a heaviness in my chest. I would have liked doing business with her, but I would have to go it alone. I’d have to start over in my quest to help my parents. I pushed my chair away from the table, stood up, and offered her a hand to shake.

  She waved me off. “This is what you’ve learned at business school? This is what you’ve learned from me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re just going to give up?”

  “You made your stipulations pretty clear, Mrs. Oliver. And I respect them. I am so, so grateful that you were willing to take a chance on me, and my work, but I let you down. I’m not going to be able to finish this class. Or work with you.”

  She pointed to my chair. “Sit back down.”

  Her voice was commanding, imperious even. I immediately followed her order.

  “In business school, did you learn that there is more than one way to solve a business problem?”

  “Sure.”

  “And would you say you have a business problem?”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “Then, think about another way around this. Think about what you need, truly need, to finish your experiential learning class.”

  I needed a rewind button. I needed to have better tunnel vision. I needed to have self-restraint.

  She kept speaking. “You need a mentor.” She waved a bejeweled hand airily. I bet she could cut the glass door off in seconds with the size of that ring.

  “But that’s the problem, Mrs. Oliver. I don’t have a mentor anymore.”

  She gestured to herself. “Am I chopped liver?”

  I flinched from surprise. “What?” It came out like a stutter.

  “I’d like to think I’ve been somewhat instrumental in your hands-on business learning this semester.”

  I leaned forward, still not sure if she was truly serious, or if I could even pull this off. The class called for us to be paired with business leaders who ran actual companies. She seemed more of a benefactor, a generous angel investor. “You would do that, Mrs. Oliver? I mean, Claire.”

  She took a sip of her espresso. “You call me Claire. But I have another name as well. I don’t go by it often, and I don’t really let many people know my other name. But the reason I am sure we can get these designs into Elizabeth’s stores is because I am Elizabeth Mortimer, and as the head of Elizabeth’s I would be delighted to finish out the semester as your mentor.”

  Fairy godmother, I’d say.

  *****

  I raced back to NYU. The cab pulled up to the curb and I thrust several dollars in the driver’s hand, and pushed hard on the door. I ran up the marble steps to Professor Oliver’s office. He had office hours now, and was finishing up with another student.

  I paced as I waited for the guy to leave. I reviewed my speech in my head, still marveling that Claire Oliver was Elizabeth Mortimer, head of the luxury department store chain that wanted to carry my designs. There was only one obstacle in the way — her husband.

  The other student left, and I rushed to the door, then knocked.

  “Hello again, Ms. Harper.”

  He gestured to the same chair I’d sat in hours ago.

  “If you’ve come to convince me to bend the rules, I should warn you, I’m not known for my mercy.” He spoke the last words with a smile on his face, but he was deadly serious. His kind manner could never be mistaken for leniency.

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Instead
, I wanted to present a different solution. You said I needed a mentor to pass this class. Mentors are business leaders who are alumni. I don’t have one now, but I’ve been working closely this semester with a businesswoman named Elizabeth Mortimer. You might know her. She runs the Elizabeth’s stores. And via that relationship, I have gained two rounds of seed funding, an investment to fund design research, and a distribution deal in those department stores. Ms. Mortimer has guided me on design stylings, as well as offering insight into the best direction for my business.”

  “Elizabeth Mortimer, you say?” He seemed amused.

  “Yes. She is a very sharp businesswoman.”

  “So I’ve heard. And it sounds like she has indeed been influential in your growth and development, Ms. Harper. But part of the requirement for the class is that the proteges help the business leaders solve real-world business challenges. How have you done that?” His normally chipper voice was laced with skepticism.

  I thought of the conversation a few weeks ago when Claire, aka Elizabeth, had first presented the opportunity. “The Elizabeth’s stores need a jewelry line to focus their holiday marketing around. Elizabeth had been looking for a new style to draw attention. She loved the designs I brought back from Paris. I’ve also been able to line up a manufacturing partner to have them made in time. It’ll be a fast turnaround, but we can pull it off, and with her marketing and with my manufacturer’s savvy, I think we will have solved not only business problems, but provided an answer to the age-old question at holiday time — what do I buy for the woman I love?”

  Professor Oliver pursed his lips and nodded a few times. “And Ms. Mortimer is open to this?”

  I found it odd that we were discussing Ms. Mortimer as if she were not his wife. I supposed that was part and parcel of her veiled identity though. She wanted to be both Mrs. Claire Oliver and Ms. Elizabeth Mortimer.