by M. Malone
“Exactly.” Casey points at the outfit the model is wearing. “I also can’t see you wearing that so casually. You’re just not a casual sort of man. This needs to be more elegant, more refined. The type of party where they serve champagne instead of beer.”
“Like Saturday night, hmm?” I keep my voice low so the others don’t hear.
Casey narrows her eyes and whispers, “Do not tease me about that. It should have never happened.”
There’s a sharp, pointed sound of someone clearing a throat. She peeks over her shoulder and then bites her lip. “It’s just my opinion. Like I said, I don’t know anything about advertising.”
I decide to put her out of her misery. “We’ve made good progress today. Let’s reconvene in one week’s time.”
The room immediately erupts into sound. Milo and Mya launch into a barrage of questions. James looks like he needs an antacid.
Surprisingly, in the midst of all the chaos, James’s assistant, Anya is the one who takes control. “So, we’re meeting next week again? What day will you be flying in?” She grips a small yellow legal pad, hand poised to jot down the date.
My eyes cut over to Casey quickly. “I won’t be flying in.”
All the air in the room seems to dry up as I hold her gaze. She shakes her head slightly. “Oh no,” she whispers.
“I don’t plan on going back to Italy until this is resolved.” With that bombshell, I lean over to Casey and whisper, “I’m picking you up after work. Meet me outside or I’m coming in to get you.”
The minute hand on my watch has barely passed five o’clock when the doors to the Madison building fly open and Casey comes storming out. Her eyes roam over everyone walking past before they land on me. The look on her face can only be described as rage.
Someone is definitely not happy to see me.
“What was that up there?”
I shake my head. “Somehow I don’t think you really want to have this conversation in front of your building. Come on.”
She follows as I lead her down the sidewalk, her legs working double time to keep up. “Where are we going?”
I don’t respond other than to take her arm and guide her around the corner to a small café I found while waiting for her. It’s a cute little French place with a green and white striped awning.
She looks around with interest. “I’ve seen this place before but never had time to stop.”
“Well, today we are making time.” I hold out a chair for her at one of the small wrought iron tables. “I’m in the mood for beignets.”
“I’ve had those before. Anya brings them to work sometimes.”
A waitress appears then, smiling flirtatiously before asking what we’d like to drink. Casey rolls her eyes as the simpering blonde writes down our order with a series of unnecessary hair flips.
Once she’s gone, Casey slumps back in her chair. “I’m sure your cup of coffee will come with her phone number scrawled across the bottom.”
I shrug. “And it will end up in the trash. She's not my type.”
“Yeah I’ve seen your type. Your Instagram page is fascinating.”
“It should be. I pay a whole team of people to make it that way.”
She looks away. “So, you’re saying that’s not accurate? You don’t really spend all your time lounging on yachts feeding grapes to supermodels?”
Dio, that mouth. Has fighting with a woman ever been so stimulating?
“Oh no. I only feed grapes to supermodels on special occasions.”
Fed up, Casey finally meets my eyes directly. “What are we doing here?”
Before I can answer the waitress returns with a basket of steaming hot beignets and our drinks, a small cappuccino for her and an espresso for me. Once we’re alone again, I take an appreciative sip of my espresso, enjoying the ability to just relax for a moment. That’s what Casey does for me. With her, I feel no pressure to perform or be interesting or impressive. I can just… exist.
Casey bangs her fists on the table suddenly. “What does all this mean? You can’t just put me on the spot in front of everyone like you did today! I can’t afford to lose this job.” Her voice breaks a little on the last words.
“Cara mia, you will not lose your job.” I put my cup down and lean across the table. “I apologize. I should have explained right away. Mr. Lawson mentioned you’ve been assisting the designers. I already requested the agency assign you to work on my account. Welcome to the team.”
She sits back, stunned. “I don’t understand any of this. And just because we have this…attraction… between us, doesn’t mean you should lie and say this is about work. Somehow I doubt James will let me anywhere near this campaign after what I said today.”
“I will do many things but I rarely lie. An intelligent man doesn’t need to. You will be working on my account. For what I’m paying this agency, they’d assign the janitor to work on the account if I asked them to.”
Casey laughs. Other diners turn to stare and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle it. “You really have gone mad. I am the last person you should want working on this. You saw what happened in that meeting today. James was furious. I’m lucky if I still have a job after this.”
I scoot my chair closer to hers. “Casey, you are the only one who understands what I’m about. You saw those campaigns the others designed for me. They do great work but it wasn’t right for me.” I tap the tip of her nose gently. “On their own, they seem to have no idea what appeals to me. You’re the only one who gets it. You can at least tell the designers if they’re on the right track.”
She seems to be thinking about it. This close, I can see every emotion on her face. I’m not sure if she knows how easily she telegraphs her thoughts.
Finally, she takes a small sip of coffee. “No funny business, right? I mean, it’s all professional?”
I struggle to put my most innocent expression on my face. “Of course. I’d like to think we can be friends.”
“You think we can be friends with everything that’s happened?”
“Why not?”
“Because, I don’t know. I’ve seen you naked.” She looks around hurriedly. “That’s not exactly a thing friends do.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m not looking for naked friends. So that means we’re just doing this marketing campaign thing.”
I nod. “That’s all. Just business. Now I’ve asked my assistant to find some time for you to meet with our social media team so you can get familiar with our corporate culture and image. Once you get a sense of what we’re about, it’ll be easier for you to make recommendations to the rest of the marketing team.”
“Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
She gapes at me. “What, right now?” After taking a final gulp of her drink, she stands too. “I thought you meant tomorrow. Or next week.”
“No time like the present. Besides, I have something I want to show you.” After I throw some money down on the table, I gesture for her to walk ahead of me.
Casey starts walking but then spins around and slaps both hands on my chest. “Remember what I said. No funny business.”
14
* * *
Half an hour later, I fold my hands nervously in front of me, scared to touch anything. One minute I was at the café agreeing to what seemed like a rational business proposal, and the next I’m twenty stories off the ground in a penthouse almost as big as the Mirage offices.
This is definitely funny business, I think as I look around. The funniest of business.
Andre disappeared immediately, telling me to make myself at home. Hah! Nothing about this is remotely like home.
I turn in a slow circle, awed by the wide expanse of space. Everything in the place is white, black or stainless steel. A wall of windows lets in tons of natural light. It’s beautiful. It’s also perfectly decorated and utterly cold.
“Come. Let’s get you comfortable.” A
ndre reappears at my elbow and leads me gently to a large, white sectional sofa.
I cross my arms. “I think I’d rather stand. Why are we here? You said you wanted me to work with your social media team.”
The man must think I am really naive. He told me he wanted to work on business and then brought me to his penthouse where we’re completely alone. Nothing in the world is going to make me comfortable except perhaps a Valium or a bottle of vodka.
“Cassandra, relax. I won’t bite you. That’s not why we’re here.” Andre sits on the other end of the sofa, reclining casually into the large cushions. “I actually want to show you something personal.”
I throw my hands up. “Seriously? Again with the innuendo.”
He doubles over laughing. “That sounded bad. Although to be fair if I wanted to show you my cock I wouldn’t be nervous. I already know you like that. I want to show you something work-related.”
I let the remark about liking his dick slide. That’s a rabbit hole I refuse to jump into. “Oh. Well, what do you want to show me here.” I look around the room. Nothing is out of place so I’m not sure what he could be referring to.
He rubs his hands together. “Actually, I’m trying to get my nerve up to bring it out. I’ve never shown anyone else.”
I sit on the edge of the couch. Honestly, seeing him nervous has made me relax. He’s so calm and in control all the time that it’s a refreshing change to see him thrown off a bit. Maybe he’s actually normal like the rest of us.
“I’m not exactly a fashion queen, remember? I’m not sure why my opinion matters.”
His head lifts and his eyes spear mine. “It matters to me.” After a moment, he stands and then disappears down a hallway across from the room we’re in. He comes back a few minutes later carrying a mannequin. He sets it carefully in the middle of the floor and I come to stand next to him. The mannequin is dressed in a pair of trousers that look like a cross between cargo pants and dress pants.
Andre runs a hand over the fabric. “The material is a combination of nylon and merino wool. It’s comfortable and light but durable enough for hiking. It will wick away moisture quickly and breathes well. But they look more like a pair of dress pants than the typical hiking gear.”
I reach out to touch the material, careful to avoid the pins sticking out of all the seams. “Wow. So it’s active wear but looks more like high fashion wear.”
His eyes sparkle at the description. “This is it, exactly. Clothes that are about more than what they look like. People have this image of who I am, cool, urbane and aloof. Lavin style has always reflected that.”
“You don’t think that’s an accurate representation?” From what I saw on his Instagram feed, his style is very similar to what he’s been wearing the past few days. Perfectly tailored suits that he wears so effortlessly they might as well be jeans.
“It’s not that it’s inaccurate. Just incomplete. I’m more than just that. I enjoy hiking, biking, running and swimming. That’s what I want to create, clothes for men that allow them to look good while truly living.“
“Sounds pretty brilliant to me.”
He doesn’t say anything but his lips turn up at the corners. “I assure you it’s considered sacrilege in some circles.”
“Well, those circles don’t sound like the ones I would want to be in. Do you have anything else?”
He holds up a finger and then disappears down the hallway again. When he comes back carrying another mannequin, I have to hold in a snort of laughter. This one is wearing a coat so puffy that I can barely see his face.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You look like the Abominable Coat Man carrying that thing.”
“The panels are meant for winter weather so each one is triple-filled. It’s also designed to zip completely closed so it can double as a sleeping bag.”
I look closer and notice the extra zipper across the bottom. Suddenly I remember that he told me about this two months ago. The rush of warmth at the memory is unexpected. Apparently everything he told me wasn’t a lie.
The thought brings me more comfort than it should. Since we’re supposed to be just friends and all.
“This is what you mentioned that night. Making clothes that can help the less fortunate.”
He looks shocked. “Yes. It was only a vague idea at the time but after that night, I decided to make a sample. I figured if I could come up with a design that could make use of some of the scraps from our production process, then it would help someone while also recycling at the same time.”
I watch as he tugs at the panels on the coat. “What happened? If you made a sample, why aren’t these coats being produced.”
“Because the Board of Directors shot it down. They didn’t want Lavin fabric being used on something that was being given away. They worry about it devaluing the brand.”
Shocked, I watch him continue to fiddle with the pins. I can’t even begin to understand that logic. “Wait, so they’d rather throw all that extra fabric away than give it to someone who could use it?”
He nods sadly. “It’s very common in the fashion industry, actually. Many brands will destroy or burn their extra inventory just so it won’t be sold at a discount. They don’t want anyone they don’t deem worthy using their products.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I agree.”
I watch him messing with the panels on the coat. It hits me then that I’m probably the only person he can talk to about this. If you’d asked me just an hour ago if I thought Andre Lavin was lonely, I would have laughed. The man is rich, famous and at the top of his career. But as I watch him gaze lovingly at a puffy coat, I realize that he can be all of those things and lonely at the same time.
Maybe he feels just as trapped by his life as I do by mine sometimes.
“Well, I think it’s amazing. It’s a really creative design.”
He dips his head slightly before murmuring, “Grazie. I just wish I’d fought harder at the time for the idea.”
“Maybe you still can. This new marketing campaign can be an opportunity to try again. The board might see it differently if we can prove how beneficial a non-profit program will be to the company’s image.”
He slides his hands in his pockets. “You’re good at this. And I can see how happy this job makes you.”
“It does. Working with Mya has been so interesting. She’s really smart and has handled so many different companies. I’ve learned a lot from her already.”
“She designed a fantastic campaign for Lavin Bridal last year. I was impressed.”
Last year. Thinking of him working closely with Mya last year makes me think about what Milo said at the Preview Gala. If they were working so closely on the campaign, is that why Milo thought they were dating? Or was it something more?
“I guess you know her pretty well then.”
His enigmatic smile reveals nothing. “Are you asking as a friend?”
“Of course. I was just wondering.” I lean down and grab my handbag. “I should probably go. Ariana will be wondering where I am.”
“Let me drive you home. I didn’t mean to keep you so late. Time got away from me.”
“You don’t have to do that.” But I already know what he’s going to say.
“I want to. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you got home safely?”
His insistence on using the word seems significant. Something tells me he’s going to make me regret asking to be just friends.
It doesn’t take that long to get to my apartment but I spend the entire ride wishing I didn’t have to go home. But I know that if I stayed any later, it would be really difficult to stick to my side of the just friends bargain.
Andre is arrogant and maddening and all of those other things I complained about to Ariana. But he’s also a creative genius and incredibly attuned to me. Despite all the outrageous things he says and does, I get the feeling he’s just enjoying my honest reactions to him. From wh
at I’ve observed, that’s not something he gets to experience often.
Everyone seems to either treat him like a business or like a god. Neither of which is going to keep anyone warm at night. And even though I’m sure attempting to be his friend is probably like asking a fox to be a friend to a hen, I’m still going to attempt it.
Even if there’s the chance this will go badly, I want to be his friend. I like him. And I like how much he seems to like me.
“You’re awfully quiet over there.”
The car pulls smoothly to the side of the road. There’s rarely any parking in Adams Morgan at this time of night so we’re double-parked. Andre’s strong features are illuminated in the light from the nearby building.
“Just thinking about tonight. I was pleasantly surprised. I really didn’t think you could get through an entire night without doing something inappropriate.”
He grins. “You shouldn’t speak so soon. You’re not home yet.”
“So this is where you fall off the wagon, huh? Well, go ahead then. Get it over with so I can slap you and call it a night.”
His smile falls away as he leans closer, leaning on the center console of the car to get closer. My breath speeds up as I take in the scent of his aftershave. I close my eyes anticipating another scorching kiss like the one he gave me at the Preview Gala.
When his lips press firmly to my forehead, my eyes fly open to meet his. His finger trails over my cheek gently.
“You didn’t…”
“You asked me to respect your wishes and that is what I will do.”
Maybe he’s even more brilliant than I thought if he already has me cursing my own damn rules. Why did I have to say all that stuff about being professional? In the moment I’m finding it hard to remember all the reasons I thought getting naked again was a bad idea. And friends? What was I thinking?
The way I’m feeling toward him right now is anything but friendly.
“Since you’re being so accommodating maybe I should have asked you for a few more things while I was at it. Mirage could use a new coffeemaker for the break room, for instance.”