Bedazzled (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 1)

by Madison Michael

  `

  BEDAZZLED

  by

  Madison Michael

  BEDAZZLED by Madison Michael

  Copyright 2016 Madison Michael

  Second Edition 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior permission of the author/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to three of the infamous Four Girls - you know who you are - without whom this book wouldn’t have made it to print. To the eldest for introducing me to romance novels, and to the middle two for agreeing that trudging to class in winter was a bad idea.

  And to Barbara Ann who provided me with inspiration, confidence, gorgeous jewelry and one-liners.

  A pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances suffice to subdue a man; to enslave him, and enflame him; to make him even forget; they dazzle him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him; and he so prizes them that he would give all his life to possess 'em.

  William Makepeace Thackeray

  Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightnings,--a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss.

  Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

  He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

  Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter23

  Chapter24

  Chapter25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “We’ll miss you so much Keeli, but I am green with envy.”

  “I wish I was as brave as you are, Keeli. Your life is going to be so glamorous and exciting. Lucky you.”

  “Yeah, and no more Weinberg telling you what to sell. You can finally be your own boss, selling your own designs.”

  “And making some decent money.”

  The hugs and good wishes from Amelia and Sharon caught Keeli by surprise. So did their confidence in her ability to succeed. She could not remember the last time someone – other than herself – had believed in her talent.

  Assuming she had never really fit in, Keeli was surprised by Amelia, Sharon, Keith and Steve’s generosity and good wishes. Because Keeli never bothered to share more than a “Hi, how’s it going?” with them, she was particularly touched by their kindness now.

  It wasn’t that she was unfriendly. Keeli just tried to stay focused on her work, head bent low over her workbench or on her feet assisting with clients. She had put in ten-hour days, trying to get ahead and make enough in commissions to stay afloat. She carefully avoided office gossip and water-cooler chitchat but by doing so she forfeited the opportunity to connect with any of her colleagues. At this last minute, she regretted that she never made more of an effort. They might have been wonderful friends.

  Too late now, I guess, but learn your lesson here. Yep, I will try to open up and let people in a bit more. It would be very good for me.

  The women reached out to give Keeli a farewell hug and after a moment of awkwardness, Keeli slid a battered shoebox onto an uncluttered bit of countertop, freeing her arms to return their affection. The box contained the smattering of personal items that were a sad reflection of her time at Weinberg and Sons. The small box held the precious jewelry tools she had amassed over her brief career and a hastily rinsed coffee mug with a small chip in the handle. The red mug with the saying “I’m a jewelry lady. See me bling” was wrapped in a rumpled scarf she forgot to wear home last Friday, the tools slid safely into that one warm glove; the other she lost weeks ago. She hoped the fabric would protect her few possessions if she were jostled on the train.

  She tucked the envelope containing the Target gift card and congratulations card into the box under her tools for safety and replaced the box lid. The small group understood that things might get tough for Keeli, recognized how much more valuable a practical gift card would be than a spa certificate. They had given her the cards during a hastily thrown farewell party – cake and coffee in the break room just a few short minutes ago.

  How embarrassing that they are right about the Target card. It will be much more useful. Did they know when they bought it that it might mean the difference between groceries and hunger? Stop that. Think positive. It will not come to that.

  After a few minutes of good luck wishes and laughter, Mr. Weinberg joined them, cutting himself a huge slice of cake and dropping bright pink frosting on the dress shirt straining over his bulging belly. His presence quickly altered the mood of the festivities, bringing them to an abrupt end. The awkward silence was a sure sign to Keeli that it was time to hit the road.

  “Thanks again for the party, and the gift certificate. It was so generous. You guys are the best. I’ll stay in touch and let you know as soon as I know how you can reach me.”

  Keeli meant it when she said it, although she never stayed in touch with prior colleagues for some reason. She was not a Facebook user, which would have been an easy way to stay connected, but she hated people knowing her business. That would change now that she was starting her own company. She had ordered a new phone line and accompanying Internet address for work, but she knew by the time both were installed she would have moved on with her life, leaving this group behind.

  Disentangling from one final, group hug, Keeli found tears gathering behind her eyes and, knowing her voice would reveal her sudden emotion, Keeli settled for nodding farewell to the group. Standing straight and tall, she pasted a determined look on her face, slid her small parcel under her right arm, hoisted her raincoat and oversized purse over her left shoulder and used a hip-bump to push open the heavy glass door.

  Heels echoed on the faded, mosaic floor as she strode away from her past and toward the elevators without a backward glance. For a brief moment, Keeli was reminded of “The Devil Wears Prada,” when Anne Hathaway’s character described ‘clackers’. This floor was perfect for amplifying every step. Keeli imagined herself as Anne Hathaway, dressed in Chanel, makeup and hair perfect, and for a moment, she allowed humor to edge out her fear.

  As if.

  The image faded, allowing Keeli’s fear to hit her like a ton of bricks. Her straight back sagged against the cool marble wall as she waited for the elev
ator. Keeli felt terror wash over her. She just quit her third job in five years. True, each move had allowed her to move up in her profession, but it was still a lot of turmoil.

  I should have been content with what I had.

  Keeli had been battling herself for days. She had achieved more than enough success for most people with her background and education. She worked in Chicago’s prestigious jewelry district, getting pointers from skilled, experienced designers every day. She had been able to interact with the wealthy clientele that were her target market.

  But Keeli was who she was. She would never be ‘most people’. She could never content herself being a sales clerk; she was a designer. She was eager to show the world her contemporary and unique style, but Mr. Weinberg insisted she push the traditional, more expensive pieces. It was his business. He was certainly allowed to call the shots, but he had promised Keeli an opportunity for growth when she joined his firm and she had waited as long as she could for that opportunity to materialize. At first, he had encouraged her to create her own designs, offering to place them prominently in his display cases. She created beautiful pieces that she placed lovingly onto the velvet only to watch him remove them. Eventually he explained that her aesthetic was not his.

  After that, going into work had been harder and harder. It was more than the cold January rain and snow that made Keeli hit the snooze button every morning. One ten-minute snooze last month had grown to two this month. Keeli felt the dread mushrooming until she couldn’t breathe. Her commute, which she had previously enjoyed, was suddenly unbearable. Keeli’s heart was no longer in it. She had lost her enthusiasm for the job – again.

  “Leave, stay, leave, stay.” It had been a battling loop in her brain ever since the Christmas rush ended. Two weeks ago, listening to the nagging voice at last, she handed in her notice. Mr. Weinberg made a half-hearted attempt to keep her but they both recognized, despite her talent and hard work, that she was no longer a good fit at Weinberg and Sons.

  So here she stood, waiting for the elevator to take her to a solo life running Keeli Larsen Designs. From this moment forward she was financier, designer, manufacturer, sales woman and grunt. No colleagues, no steady paycheck, no safety net.

  She had so many doubts and almost no friends or business associates. There was no mentor to dispense advice at this critical juncture, no cheering squad to support her dreams. Her small group of friends and family fell into two camps. Half believed she was making a brave and brilliant move. Half believed she could not hold down a steady job.

  Keeli was not naïve. She had enough smarts to know she was undercapitalized, with a weak professional network and no useful connections. From today forward she would have to churn out product and pound the pavement, find time to balance the need to design, create and market, keep books, save for taxes. Assuming she made any money. Keeli believed she could do it. If she hadn’t she would have found a way to suck it up and stayed in her job as she had been forced to do many times before. But from now on, no doubt about it, every penny mattered more than it had before.

  If she had a good summer working the art fair circuit, that would help. The fairs had been helpful the previous two years with supplementing her income. She had hoped to be noticed, boosted by the venues, but nothing had happened yet and she felt she needed to devote the next four months creating an inventory that might springboard her at last.

  She would have to survive at least six months on her small nest egg. That was her estimate of how long her money would last, so that was how long she had to get her business off the ground. If it took any longer, she would be in big trouble.

  Speaking of longer, where was the elevator? Even for this old building, it was taking longer than usual. As an artist, Keeli appreciated the craftsmanship of the vintage building. She loved the elegant brass-work surrounding the doors of elevators that had once been operated by young men in livery, but right now, she wished for modern efficiency. Keeli could hear the faint mechanism of the old machinery as the car moved closer, then the ding of the old fashioned bell as the doors eased open.

  No wonder it took so long to arrive. The elevator was as full as Macy’s on Black Friday. It must have stopped at every floor. Clustered to one side of the large space were Hassidic Jews heading home for their Sabbath. Barely looking at her, they retreated under their black coats and hats, conversing in rapid-fire Hebrew. The newer merchants, who were predominantly Indian, filled the remainder of the space. The two groups clustered tightly, creating an opening in between them. Watching her step, careful not to bump anyone with her parcel, Keeli stepped into the middle and moved toward the back of the car.

  The chatter in the elevator lightened her mood immediately, reminding Keeli of all the people who had started with only a few dollars and a dream. In many cases, they had made it without knowing the language or customs of their adopted country. By comparison, she had many advantages and quickly felt better about her choice, more confident about moving forward on her own. Mr. Weinberg had let her take many of her pieces with her when she left his employ. There had been no severance check, of course, but having a ready inventory, even a small one, was a gift. Keeli let the confidence surge through her body, standing straight and looking ahead.

  That was the moment she saw HIM. He was the best thing - by far- about working in this building. She was standing face to face with the virile, gorgeous, sexy man she saw in the elevator regularly. Well, almost face-to-face since he was a good 4 or 5 inches taller than her own 5’10”. He was what she would miss most about this job - those random opportunities to ride the elevator and watch him, getting to stand close to him, allowing her imagination to run wild with fantasies (all starring him of course).

  Most of the time, he hid mysteriously behind a pair of Wayfarers, but the rain today afforded Keeli a chance to admire the intelligence and concentration in his azure eyes. He stood with his shoulders back, head towering over the bent heads of everyone else. Looking up, Keeli locked eyes with his and his mouth lifted in a half smile. Keeli shyly dropped her head as a blush rose to her cheeks and her heart sped up. She knew the smile was just because he was polite. She wanted so much more. She wanted him to notice her the way she noticed him, feel about her as she did about him.

  If only he had the same visceral response to her that Keeli had to him, perhaps he would have talked to her by now. She could not overcome her shyness to initiate a conversation, but if he longed for her as she did him, maybe something might have happened. Obviously, he was not interested. Now she would leave this job and never see him again. Her disappointment was way out of proportion for what she should feel for a stranger. But he had this pull on her. Instead of thinking of him as a stranger, she thought of him as hers.

  Hers. What a laugh. Wake up Keeli!

  Everyone watched him - man and woman alike. She had noticed it in the elevator or when he walked through the lobby. Yes, he was particularly tall, a few inches over six feet. However, it was more than his height that drew the eye. He was compelling, confident, and assured. He was beyond handsome with his chiseled features, thick wavy hair and well-muscled body clad in custom suits. Keeli was drawn to him like a bee to honey. She had seen other women catch his eye, seen them smile and flirt easily. She was overwhelmingly shy around him, preventing her from ever making him ‘hers’.

  Why, oh why is facing forward considered appropriate elevator etiquette? I just want to stare at him one last time. Today needs to be the day to think of something to say, some witty conversation opener. You are out of time, stupid.

  Over the last 16 months, they crossed paths at the coffee kiosk or in the elevator at least once a week. She knew she was projecting her own desires, but sometimes it seemed to her that he was seeking her out. Even so, Keeli never exchanged more than a polite “hello” and he was always polite, but aloof. Although she longed for some reason to speak more than pleasantries, she was unable to move past that invisible barrier she felt between them.

  Her brain sea
rched now for a reason to speak, knowing it was her last chance. Instead, she reluctantly turned to face the doors. He was standing so close. She felt the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck, goose bumps travelling up her arms in response to the moist heat. She was rocked by her immediate, erotic reaction.

  Reigning in her body’s response, Keeli reminded herself that the warm breath was just a result of proximity, not desire. She was a non-entity to him and had been for 16 months. His polished appearance, custom suits and elegant leather briefcase contrasted with her wild red hair, shabby jacket, scuffed shoes and faded Old Navy dress clearly delineated their differences. He epitomized elegance and privilege; she embodied shabby chic. Maybe not even chic - just shabby. She could never bridge the gulf.

  Besides, he was Wyatt Lyons Howe IV. Unreachable, untouchable, unavailable to someone like her. He was the sun. She was lucky to feel a tiny touch of his warmth, to orbit occasionally. She was Pluto – far, far away.

  Nonetheless, she was drawn to him, so she did her homework. He rode the elevator to the top - the executive floor for Lyons Howe Real Estate - the company that occupied the top four floors of the building. LHRE owned this building as well as at least 100 other buildings around the Loop, more throughout the Midwest and God only knew what else. The first time she saw him hit the button for the top floor she Googled LHRE.

  There he was, his handsome face staring at her from the screen of her computer. His picture was at the top of the home page, just below the elegant logo for the prestigious firm and a serious-faced photo of his silver-haired father, Wyatt III, the CEO and President. Wyatt’s gorgeous blue eyes stared back at her, so compelling that he could entice her with only a professional headshot. Below his picture, his title indicated he was Chief Information Officer, obviously a top member of the LHRE executive team. He looked like a younger, more handsome, version of his father.