The Sexy Boss - Sedition: Book Two

by Z. L. Arkadie

  I’m soon sitting in my car with my new cell phone. For some reason, the wheels of my car come to mind. What if I started the engine, put my wheels on the road, and let them roll, and roll, and roll until I end up at the starting line of my real life? Maybe Nolan Patrick wasn’t my end-all, be-all. He could’ve been put in my life to wake me up.

  I worked as an intern at the Kennedy Art Museum my last two years of college. During my senior year, I was in charge of curating exhibits for local high schools and up-and-coming artists. I received accolades and praise for public response and the sheer depth and quality of my exhibits. After I graduated, I wanted to return home to Minneapolis. I sent my resume, applying for a position as a curator assistant, to just about every art museum in the city. Then I applied for the job at North Star Holdings, since a lot of the job duties complemented my skill set. I never thought North Star Holdings would take me seriously, but they did. Liza called me in for an interview. We clicked on a personal level. Plus the pay she offered was the kind of salary I thought I would have to work forever to obtain. So I started working for North Star Holdings, and when I started receiving interview requests from all the art museums, I declined their offers. That was two and a half years ago. Truth be told, I was still confused about how to answer the question “What next?” after graduating college. At this very moment, I feel as if I’m sitting in that space and time once again.

  “What next?”

  I know the answer lies in the contact list of my cell phone. I go down the list of names and stop on Kimmy.

  “Abby, are you truly ready?” I whisper.

  I take a long, calming sigh and press my finger on her name to call her.

  I take more deep breaths as I wait for her to answer.

  “Abby!” she says. I love how excited she always is to hear my voice.

  “Hi, Kimmy. How are you?”

  “Fantastic and in love.”

  I picture her smiling so broadly that I can see just about all of her teeth. “That’s great!”

  She laughs. “You’re so full of crap, Abby. I know you think I’m crazy.”

  “No, I think you’re Kimmy, and I love you and respect you just the way you are.”

  Kimmy falls silent.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  She clears her throat. “Um, just, what you said took me by surprise. I love you, too. Just the way that you are.”

  I smile, and I’m sure she’s doing the same.

  “Okay, so you didn’t call to tell me how you much you love me. What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Oh, hey…” I’m hesitant to say what I want to ask. This one question, this one move, will change my entire future. Am I ready to give up on Nolan? Yes. I have no choice. “Greg, your cousin—he’s a curator at the Art Institute of Chicago, isn’t he?”

  Kimmy screams as if she just won the lottery. “You want a job? You want to leave that humdrum job of yours to do what you were made to do, don’t you?”

  “Well kind of, yeah.”

  “I’m calling him right now! There’s no way in hell he’s not going to find a position for you! So get your bags packed. You’re moving to Chicago!”

  9

  How ironic—four months ago today, I packed my things and left Minneapolis for Chicago. I found a renter for my house in record time. My renters are a husband and wife who have a newborn. So with the rent money that I receive each month, plus money I had saved up and the salary I make as a curator’s assistant, I was able to move downtown Chicago in a one-bedroom, one-bath high-rise apartment with spectacular views of the city and Navy Pier, and where I live is not too far away from the Art Institute where I work. Also, the job as a curator assistant required an MA in Art History. Greg only hired me after I agreed to apply for the graduate program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I applied, and now on top of my job duties, I’m a graduate student. I love both my job and my school. Brian has expressed how proud he is of me. And I thanked him profusely for giving me that ticket to climb that mountain.

  “So, Abby, I can’t express how happy we are that you’re here with us,” Greg Dodson, Kimmy’s cousin, says.

  Before I started working here, I met Greg once. I never understood why Kimmy thought he was obsessed with me. It’s been four months, and he hasn’t flirted with me once. He treats me with the same quality of respect that he does everyone else. I like him as a person.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m happy you gave me a chance.”

  “Your work on the Comparison and Contrast Contemporary and Master Impressionists Exhibit was above and beyond what was required.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I say.

  I wait for Greg to say something else, but he’s just staring at me with a giddy expression that I haven’t seen from him before.

  “So is that it?” I ask, needing to speed this along.

  Greg coughs to clear his throat. “Um, no.” He sounds out of breath. “Sorry, I’ve got a sinus thing.”

  I lift a hand. “No problem.”

  He smiles big. “I called you into my office because I want to offer you a raise and a one-year fellowship for contemporary impressionist art.”

  I touch my chest. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Me? A fellowship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “All I’ll need is for you to submit a statement of one thousand words about how you’ll plan to use the fellowship at this point in your career.”

  The sound of what he just said is music to my ears. I guess I am finally building a career.

  “That’s only if you’re ready for the responsibility,” he says.

  “Oh, I’m ready,” I say with such enthusiasm that I catch myself off guard. I compose myself. “I mean, yes, I’m ready.”

  He laughs. “I like the way you said it the first time.”

  I return to my desk, shut down my computer, freshen my makeup for the evening, and walk to the museum exit on Randolph Street with a certain bounce in my step.

  I have a date with Lance this evening. He called me last week, said he will be in Chicago for business, and asked if I would have dinner with him. He’s cute, nice, and persistent, so I accepted his invitation. I walk out into the early evening. It’s lukewarm tonight, which is appropriate for the black leather moto-jacket that I’m wearing with a white A-line skirt and white ribbed tank top. When I dressed myself this morning, I was thinking specifically about this date. Lance doesn’t make my heart go pitter-patter like Nolan did, but I can’t pine after a lost cause. I have to get back in the saddle, take the bull by the horns, and the rest of those clichés when it comes to matters of the heart. Two guys walk past me, and they both give me admiring looks. That’s a great sign that I look attractive enough for my date.

  I check my watch. Lance has eight minutes to get here. I dig my phone out of my purse to call Kimmy and let her know that I’m finally going to spend some time with the opposite sex. However, my phone rings in my hand. I answer it, thinking that it’s Lance calling to confirm that he’s going to be late.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Hi, Abby. It’s me, Liza!”

  I’m suddenly struck with so many emotions and thoughts. Wow, how ironic it is that I’m hearing from Nolan’s sister before going on the first real date I’ve had in a long time. Regardless of how Nolan treated me, his actions have no bearing on Liza’s and my relationship. Heck, she’s still one of my best Facebook friends!

  “Liza, it’s so good to hear from you. How’s the baby?”

  “Oh, he’s great. We’re on a yacht in Sardinia,” she says. “And John isn’t with us. I divorced him.”

  “Oh,” I say. That’s something she did not publish on Facebook. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You win some and lose some,” she says. Her tone is indifferent. “So you’re in Chicago these days?”

  “Yes! Are you planning on visiting?”

  “Not any time soon.”

  I see Lance wal
king on the other side of the street, about to cross Randolph. “Hey, Liza, I have to go. Can I call you later?”

  “Sure… hey, on your Facebook page, you say you work at the Art Institute.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  The light turns green. Lance crosses the street. He’s wearing a nice white shirt, dark trendy jeans, and Italian-style brown loafers. What a sight for sore eyes he is. He waves, and I wave back.

  “Abby, are you still there?” she asks.

  “Um, yes, but I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Huh?” What strange questions she’s asking. I’m almost reluctant to answer. For some odd reason, I don’t want the fact that I have a date with Lance to get back to Nolan. “Um, on a date.”

  “A date?” she says as if I just slapped her in the face.

  “Yes, and he’s only a few steps away.”

  “Okay, but where is he taking you?”

  I frown. “Liza…”

  “Come on—where, Abby?”

  “Tavern at the Park. Why?”

  “No reason. Enjoy your dinner. And yes, please call me when you get a chance. Okay?” All the urgency has faded from her tone.

  “Sure. Talk later.”

  “Later,” she says and ends the call.

  That was one hundred percent weird. Regardless, I stuff my phone back into my purse and smile at Lance.

  His arms are open, ready to receive a hug. “Hi, Abby. You look stunning.”

  We hug.

  “You, too,” I say.

  Lance hasn’t let go of me yet. The long hug feels just as odd as Liza’s phone call.

  I’m the one who initiates the release. “So are you hungry? I’m starving.”

  I can feel the intensity in the way his eyes look deeply into mine. “I am starving.”

  I can’t help but pick up the double meaning in his response. I smile, making it as platonic as possible. “Good, then we should go eat. Did you make the reservations?”

  “Absolutely.” Jeez, he hasn’t lost that intense look in his eyes.

  “Okay. Let’s go!” I say.

  Lance sweeps my hand into his, and now we’re walking back across Randolph and past Columbus Avenue toward Michigan, holding hands. Part of me is happy to be so close to a man again. The other part of me fears Lance may think we’re more of an item than we are.

  “Oh, excuse me.” I take my hand from his to zip up my purse. Leaving my purse open was a stroke of luck. I fold my arms across my chest as we walk the rest of the way, making sure that the handholding doesn’t resume.

  “So how was work?” he asks.

  I smile. “Better than I expected.”

  “Oh?” He sounds intrigued.

  I contain my excitement. “I was offered a fellowship, that’s all.”

  “Sounds pretty major.”

  “It is.”

  We arrive at the restaurant, and Lance opens the door for me.

  “Then congratulations,” he says.

  “Thank you.” Our gazes connect, and we share a brief moment.

  I study Lance as he stands at the hostess booth. He’s gotten better looking since I last saw him—even the hostess thinks so! I just saw her flex her eyebrows at him. Can I see myself with this guy for an extended period of time? He lives four hundred miles away!

  The hostess checks me out before she grabs two menus. “This way,” she says. I guess she wanted to see what sort of taste Lance has in women. I don’t know why he’s been so persistent with me. He’s good-looking enough to get just about any woman he wants. Perhaps it’s the thrill of the chase.

  “Do you still prefer the patio seat that you requested?” the hostess asks.

  “Yes, please.” Lance turns to me. “Unless you prefer to sit inside.”

  “Patio seating will be fine,” I say.

  The hostess watches as Lance puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me to our table. She gives us our menus and tells us that our waiter will be here shortly.

  “So…” Lance says as soon as she’s gone. “How do you like Chicago?”

  “I like it. I like it a lot,” I say enthusiastically.

  “You’re never moving back to Minneapolis, are you?”

  “I’d never say never, but I don’t think so.”

  Lance opens his menu and nods. “That’s too bad. Minneapolis is missing you as we speak.”

  I chuckle as I open my menu. “And I miss it.”

  He tilts his head curiously. “But not enough to come back?”

  “Only for visits!”

  We smile at each other, then my gaze revisits the menu. Everything looks good. I learned a long time ago to never be modest when a man takes me to dinner. I don’t have to order the costliest item on the menu, but I don’t have to be afraid to order what I want.

  “I’ll have the ribeye,” he says then looks at me. His expression says he’s waiting for my order.

  “I’ll have the salmon.”

  He smiles. “Good choice.”

  I fold my menu and set it on the table. “So, Lance, how does a good-looking, nice, and, proven by the price of dinner, rich guy like you stay single in Minneapolis?”

  He chuckles. “I can ask you the same.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Oh no, I’m not rich.”

  “Does a woman have to be rich?”

  “Depends on the woman.”

  We share a laugh, and the conversation between us continues to flow easily even after our food arrives. Time speeds by. We’re an hour and a half into the date, and I’ve been relaxed by a glass of Merlot.

  “That night of the Christmas party,” Lance says.

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “I saw that you left with Nolan Patrick.”

  Whoa. That came out of left field. “You did?” I ask, trying to gather where he’s going with this line of questioning.

  He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

  My gaze falls across the street. It feels if we’re being watched, but I don’t see anything but a bunch of nighttime tourists walking up the sidewalk. So I focus on the waiter approaching our table. We’ve been sitting here way too long, and the place is packed like it usually is on Friday nights. A few thoughts are competing in my head. Is he insinuating that there’s something going on between Nolan and me? Could he have gone to all the trouble of landing a date with me just so that he could inquire about Nolan?

  Lance follows my line of sight to the waiter and turns just in time to receive the bill.

  “Thank you,” Lance says to the waiter. He digs his wallet out of his pocket.

  The last question he asked still hangs in the air between us. I stare at the traffic shooting up and down Randolph. I still feel as if I’m being watched, but I’m so ready to go home.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to make things awkward,” Lance says.

  I set my eyes on him. He moves closer.

  “I only asked because it’s hard to compete with a guy like Nolan Patrick, and I like you.”

  I look at him as if that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. “Like me? You don’t even know me.”

  He slides his credit card into the bill holder. “I’d like to get to know you.”

  The waiter is back at our table to collect the check. I wait until he’s gone.

  “I’d like that, too, but you live four hundred miles away.”

  He smiles. “There are planes, trains, and automobiles.”

  I smile, but it’s half-hearted. “Right, but that would mean agreeing to a long-distance relationship, and I’m way too busy here in town for that.”

  The waiter is back to return Lance’s credit card.

  “Thank you, and have a good night,” the waiter says. He’s definitely trying to rush us. There’s a line of hungry diners out the door.

  Lance puts his card back into his wallet. “We didn’t have dessert. You want to go out and get some?”

  I twist my mouth thoughtfully. I’d rather just go home and call it
a night.

  “I just want to spend a little more time with you, if I can,” he says.

  He looks so desperate for me to say yes that I can’t help but give in. We walk to Michigan Avenue then along the river down Wacker. We stop at McDonald’s, order two chocolate sundaes, then eat them as we stroll along the river and toward my apartment building.

  “It’s a nice night,” Lance says.

  “Indeed it is.” I’m sort of glad I chose to extend our date. The air is nice tonight, and the sweet ice cream in my mouth keeps me from thinking about that strange phone call I got from Liza.

  “Hey, you never told me your plans for the future,” Lance says.

  The wine, the air, and the sugar have my head feeling as if it’s floating. “I don’t know, I was thinking about going for my PhD in Fine Art.”

  “Right,” he says dismissively. “I mean your plans plans.”

  “Those are my plans plans.”

  “No children? Marriage?”

  “Oh, those kinds of plans…” I sigh as we make it to a set of steps that takes us back to Upper Wacker. “Let’s go up here.”

  “One second.” Lance eats the last remains of his ice cream sundae, throws the cup in the trash, and puts his arm around my waist as we walk up the stairs.

  I let him take such liberties only because I truly had a good time tonight, even though we had that little hiccup where he asked me about Nolan. Tonight reminds me that I like dating.

  We make it up the stairs. Lance looks at me, and I look at him. We laugh because we’re both winded. Thank goodness there’s a red light, which gives us time to catch our breaths.

  “You never answered my question,” Lance says.

  I draw quotes. “The one about plans?” My tone is sarcastic.

  He chuckles. “I’m not saying studying for your degree in Fine Art isn’t a major plan. Sure it is!”

  “Actually, I said PhD—that’s not just an ordinary degree. That’s the big one.”

  The light turns green, and we walk.

  “Yeah, but so is love and family—at least I think so.”

  “I think so, too, but all that will come in time.”

  He presses his hand on his chest. “Ah, a beautiful woman who trusts fate. Be still, my heart.”