Because Beards
Page 12
I want to ask his name. I want his number. I want to take him home and make mad love to him. I want to forget my stress in his arms, lose myself in his glorious eyes. But I hesitate. I’m afraid to ask, because what if he says no? It would be embarrassing, horrible. I turn to the door.
“Wait –” he says, but I don’t. Better to leave it this way, a fantasy. Besides, I’m on a mission. I race into the store, breathless, and soon I’m back at my shop, ready to make more fortune cookies.
“We did it!” I grab Myler into a hug, do a short victory jig, and lean theatrically onto the counter. “Our biggest order yet and it’s done. One thousand, three hundred and twenty five custom fortune cookies are now on their way to the Carter Hudson Analysts annual gala, full of the most inspirational and uplifting phrases about success and leadership ever uttered.”
Myler claps and points. “Lao Tzu, Steve Jobs, and you.”
I blow out my breath in a long exhale of pure relief. “I wasn’t sure we’d pull it off until I loaded the last box into Jitter’s ride. The back of his VW van has never been a more beautiful sight.” I bite my lip as anxiety bubbles up. “What if he broke down on the way? Or lost his GPS signal? I better text him to make sure he got there okay.”
I send a quick message to my delivery guy, Maxwell “Jitters” Jones, who works part time at the coffee shop next door, spends a lot of hours playing guitar out front for dollar bills in his bucket, and also drives my orders around. You might think he’s irresponsible, especially with a nickname like Jitters, but he’s the most reliable driver I’ve ever hired.
“Arie, Jitters is a traffic guru and he has magic in his pants.” Myler smiles. “When he’s on the prowl, legs and cars part in front of him, like the Red Sea.”
It’s true. He can work his way through any traffic jam, and drop any panties he wants – mine and Myler’s excluded, of course. She’s with someone, and I’m, well, it would be unprofessional, for one. He’s hot, but I’m waiting for someone who can commit to more than a night of quick passion. His vehicular prowess, however? That I will sign up for any day, no question.
I get a reply.
No worries. Just dropped off the boxes at the service entrance and got sig on paperwk. Hding back now.
“He did it.” I rub my eyes. “Now I can have some wine. Want some wine? You and Bree can come to my place to celebrate.”
“Sorry, wish I could, but we’re going to her mom’s for a family dinner. I have to jet and get ready.” Myler puts away the last shiny baking tray and swipes her hands together. “Look, perfectly clean and ready. It’s like the kitchen is just waiting for our genius hands to arrive again tomorrow and bake up another batch of pure fortune perfection.”
“Yeah.” I smile as I look around my silver and marble domain. “Ever since I opened last fall, business has just kept increasing.”
Myler picks up her purse and jacket. “I’m too hot to even put this on. The cold air outside will feel so good. And yeah, you make the most delicious baked goods in all of Chicago. This, I’m certain about. Plus, custom fortune cookies are hot these days. You get more orders for those than all the cakes and cupcakes combined.”
“Mmm.” I take another deep breath. The kitchen smells fresh, like lemony cleaner, but under it is the ever-present lure of vanilla and baked crumbs, caramelized sugar spun from my dreams. It’s a good mix.
Myler hesitates, touches my arm. “I really think you need to consider hiring more helpers than just me, Arie. Today we barely squeaked by. And that final flurry when you were racing to the van to get the last boxes in with Jitters? My heart almost exploded.”
I bite my lip. “Yeah, I know. But I only tripped a little. Didn’t spill the box of cookies. And we got it all baked in time.”
“It was close.” Myler narrows her eyes. “I know you want to do it all alone, but you have to reach out and trust more people. Honestly, and I hate to say it, but we got lucky today. It could easily have blown up in our faces. I know you have a hard time delegating, but – be bold. You even have it here.”
She picks up a long strip of white paper from the box of extra fortunes on the counter. “You can do anything, but not everything. David Allen. Or this one. Don’t be afraid to give up the good to go for the great. John D. Rockefeller. Or, The world cracks open for those willing to take a risk. Frances Mayes.”
“I need to get more of a financial cushion before I do that.” But when I see her face, I worry that maybe she’ll quit or something. I am lucky to have someone so talented and hard-working as my number one assistant. I don’t want to lose her, so I amend it with, “But I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“Coolness.” Myler gives me a quick one-armed hug. “Great job, A. See you next week!”
When she leaves for her Prius down the street, it’s just me and the aromatic silence, pressing thick on me like humid air in the summer. The lights are bright and pure in the kitchen and the freezer hums, a low soothing purr. Outside are faint honks and engine revs that create the constant flow of Chicago traffic, punctuated by calls of pedestrians on their way to parties and bars.
I run my fingers over a smooth counter: Mine. It’s cool to the touch but warms up as I lay my hand there, absorbing my heat. I think this whole endeavor has been like that: I started with something cold, empty, and warmed it up with the beat of my own heart and the power of my imagination. All my life I’ve dreamt of owning my own bakery, creating custom pastries to tempt tongues and entice interest from people all over the city.
Before I started, I thought it would be easy. Now I know better. It’s back-aching, soul-searing work, and less than I’d like is actual baking. Marketing is just as critical; it’s more than critical; it’s the life-blood of the place. Half of the time, my veins flow not with sugar and vanilla but with ad-space content and vendor outreach plans, thousands of words and papers and emails bursting out of my computer with vehemence and ardor.
It’s a little scary, knowing that my baking talent alone is nowhere near enough, not even a fraction enough to succeed long term in this city. It would be nice to have a partner.
I think about Myler’s comments. She’s probably right, it’s just – this is my baby, my prize. It’s hard for me to trust Myler with things, and she’s been my assistant from the beginning. I know the saying, You have to spend money to make money. But taking chances on the unknown isn’t easy yet; no matter how many times I do it, even calculated risks make me cold in the stomach. Unknown things are like having to do a tumbling routine in the middle of a marathon.
A knock on the door flips me out of my reverie, and I turn the lock. “Jitters! You did it.”
He gives me his cocky grin that melts hearts all over town. “Smooth ride, A. They’ve got a fancy set-up there. I helped the, uh, girl, bring all the boxes into the prep room.”
“Of course you did.” I make a face at him and smile.
He laughs. “It would have been ungentlemanly to let her carry those boxes by herself.” He raises one eyebrow. “Plus, I needed a little more airtime to get her number.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Get the number.”
“Oh, I got more than the number.” He smirks. “I got pure unadulterated passion in the form of an eye-fucking. We’re getting together later when she’s done catering.”
“You’re such a whore.” But my voice is affectionate. I like Jitters; he’s funny and kind, even though he sleeps around. He never leads his women on, that much I can say. He’s clear up front that he’s not going to stick, and he doesn’t leave a path of shattered hearts. His exes seem to still love him. Now that takes skill.
Speaking of eye fucking, I can’t help but think about the handsome man at the store today, and a rush of regret hits me.
Jitters is eager to tell me more about his latest exploit-in-progress. “When she signed the acceptance form, she wrote her number on my hand. But then I just told her to program it into my phone anyway. She’s into Cros
s Fit like I am, did you know that?” There’s a note of something extra in his voice, a tone I don’t usually hear when he talks about his dates.
He shows me both palms, one of them with smudged marks, and I shake my head. “Well, thanks for delivering, as always.” I hand him the wad of cash waiting on the counter. “Here’s your tip, Romeo.”
“Want me to give you some tip?” He gives me such a dirty look that I have to roll my eyes. “Or more than the tip, if you think you can handle it, that is.” He wiggles his eyebrows. But he doesn’t mean it.
“Ugh. Go away and have fun with your catering kitty.”
A hint of red stains his jawbone, and I look twice. Interesting. Must be something about this one that makes her stand out.
“See you later, A.” He hesitates. “You’re not staying here too late, right? Want me to hang out and walk you to your car?”
“I think I can manage.” My voice is dry, but I appreciate his concern. There was an armed robbery a few blocks down last week, and everyone is being extra cautious.
“All right.” He peers down the street. “You got your pepper spray, right?”
“Yes, I’m fine! Go. And check the schedule on line, okay? I have a ton of jobs next week that still need drivers.”
“Will do. Not available Wednesday because that’s my calculus final, but I can do the rest.” He gives me a jaunty wave, blows a kiss, and takes off.
The silence is thicker this time, more oppressive. Being alone before was a respite from the craziness of the day, but now it’s lonely. I don’t want Jitters, but I want – someone. Myler has Bree, someone with whom to share joys and triumphs. Wine’s no fun when you drink it alone.
My mind flits back to the sexy man at the grocery store. I never got his name. I don’t even know if he was single! What if I had asked him for his number?
It’s probably better that I didn’t, though. Rich, powerful sexy men like him order directly from the Bond Girl catalogue and get some supermodel who also cures cancer in her spare time, because she’s a doctor, and who runs marathons on her way to volunteer at the homeless shelter.
I run my hand down my flour-spattered jeans. I’m pretty and fit, but I’m not ever going to be strutting on a stage in a weird lampshade gown and hurling cell phones at people who irritate me. My medical knowledge comes directly from Web MD and makes me so anxious that I need to stress-eat cupcakes whenever I google some symptom, and the closest I got to a marathon was delivering fortune cookies to a post-runners party for a client.
But as I lock up the bakery and head to my car, I still see that enigmatic smile on his lips. I wish I’d taken the chance to give him my name and to ask for his.
Carter
The chandeliers in the vast hall send shimmering sparkles of light across the marble floor and the multitude of impeccably set tables, and the string quartet – all in evening wear, are tuning up. It reminds me of a night at the opera, hearing them talk in low voices as they twist wooden knobs and run bows across string. I can already see how in-sync they are with each other, relying on more than visual cues to match tempo, tone and timber. The lead violin sways her body in a certain way and the other violin follows even though her eyes are shut. The viola player jumps in at the exact right time to run a scale over the flittering high notes. It’s amazing how a group of people can communicate without words and work like one seamless organism.
Too bad Nate and I don’t have that with our company yet. Ever since Dad died five years ago, we’ve run the investment business together. Although we’re doing well, it’s rocky – and I don’t feel like we’re in our groove yet.
Nate comes up with a smirk. “Bro times.” He slaps my back and grabs for my hand, and I twist into him, easy, the motions a routine. Feeling his strong grip and seeing his broad smile make my confidence soar. “We’re going to fucking kill it tonight.”
“As long as you don’t say fuck in front of Caroline Baker. Dad never got her to sign with him, but we can do it if we’re on point tonight. She’s my main target. Her company is huge. It would be a million dollar deal over the next five years. Can you imagine?” I can taste the money.
Nate grins. “Maybe dad was too nice to her. People say she’s stone cold mean. She’s got a backbone of steel and a pussy of–”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “One wrong word hits the wrong ears and we’re in trouble. You know how important image and perception are.” I give him my stern, older-brother glare.
He shrugs. “Carter, I love you, man, but you’re obsessed with image and numbers. There’s more to life than pure money. You need to have fun, too.” He swings at an imaginary golf ball.
“You spend too much time fucking around and not enough time actually working.”
“Ah, Kohai, but it is work. Merely a different kind. And the struggle is real for me, too. I have to match shoes to pants on a daily basis.”
“Thank you for your suffering. Dad would be so proud.” I give him the finger, even though I’m grateful he has the magic touch – he signs as many clients on the golf course as I do in the office.
He laughs. “Seriously, though. Maybe if you lightened up, you could reel her in. People respect other people with balance in their lives. Carpe Diem. Seize the day, and enjoy the pleasures of the moment without regard for the future. Someone smart said that.”
“Oh, right. Because forgetting about the future is the very best way to run a company.”
“Dude, you don’t forget about the future forever. Jesus. Just for a while, while you’re having the fun. The point is to take time for enjoyment, and when you do, throw yourself into it utterly. Then, later on, you’re refreshed and sharp and you work better than ever.”
He’s about to say something else, but morphs into the epitome of sophistication as a client approaches us. “Jonathon Harcourt!” He gives a firm shake. “I’m glad you could make it.” They walk off together.
When I spot Melissa heading my way, I take a deep breath. She works at a different accounting firm, and I can never tell how much of her interest in me is personal and how much is financial. Her golden gown is painted onto her body and her sinuous curves pull the eyes of all the men, like cats watching a toy. She uses sex as her hook, but she’s fucking brilliant when it comes to investing, I’ll give her that.
I chuckle before I realize that I’m watching her, too, as caught up as anyone else, nearly batting at her with my useless paws, and that pisses me off. She treats it like a game, bedding high-powered men.
She’d be good in bed. But I don’t want good in bed. I don’t want leverage in bed, or manipulation, or insider gossip traded for sex. I want magnificent. When I fuck, it’s no game. I like it rough and passionate and primal. Fierce. A connection that drowns out any power either of us have or don’t have in regular life, because it’s not about business, it’s an inevitable explosion of passion that bursts out and consumes us.
If that’s what Nate is talking about? I’m already in. I just need to find the right woman.
My mind flickers back to the girl from the grocery store, the one who gave me attitude about the bike. I got the feeling she could give what I wanted – not just in bed, but out of it, too. How I could possibly know this from a one-minute interaction is impossible to say, but I’m convinced that I fucked up.
Why didn’t I follow her into the store and ask for her number? Because I was too focused on this event, that’s why. I sigh. Well, I blew that chance…there’s no way I’d find her again in this huge city. For a split second, I imagine going to that grocery every day just in case she comes back. Or maybe hacking into their computer system in case she paid with a card that can be traced back to her. I could hire a hacker. With the right connections, it’s possible to hire anyone to do anything.
“Carter!” Melissa drops an air kiss near my face, avoiding any makeup mishaps. Her eyes tell me she’d be willing to mess up her makeup later, but I keep my expression neutral as she winds her slim, toned arm around mine. “I am so g
lad to see you.”
“You too.” I nod, squeezing her shoulder. “Thank you for supporting us tonight.”
She reads the banner atop the main podium. “Charity Ball for the Fortune Family Foundation. Mentoring for underprivileged kids. Getting high school kids to college is the best way to improve our financial status in the world – by growing our youth.”
Whatever I do or don’t think of Melissa, she’s right about this.
“I love the theme,” she continues, pointing at banners around the room. “Fortune Favors the Bold. And you even put fortune cookies by each plate!”
“Yes.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I see more people meandering into the room, greeting each other with calls, handclasps, or hugs, depending on their level of person and fiscal intimacy. Some wind their way around the room, others find their seats. The chatter starts to rise, and it reminds me of the orchestral tune-up from earlier.
Melissa spots someone more important to her than I am, or perhaps – to be more accurate: someone more apt to treat her with importance. She gives an air kiss, and evaporates from my arm.
Nate is back. “Where’d you get the cookies, anyway?”
“I told my PA to hire a bakery in town to make personalized fortune cookies,” I explain. “He said that the owner created a list of quotes by famous philosophers and innovators throughout history. I hope it will impress potential clients.”
“Nice going, bro. They’ll be eating out of your hand by the end of the night. You ass-licking bastard.”
“That’s the plan.” We grin at each other. At a table nearby, small cracks, like the shattering of tiny brittle bones, let me know that people are opening the fortune cookies.
A young woman and her date compare fortunes, and their reaction is not what you’d expect. Her eyes goes wide and she claps a hand to her mouth to stifle a screech of laughter, glances around, then leans in to whisper into her boyfriend’s ear. He looks at his and laughs so loudly that his friends notice. They crack open their cookies: More guffaws. Now one of them lopes to the baskets of cookies on the center table. He takes about ten.