by Alexa Davis
"It wasn't me!" I protested. "She's an impossible woman!"
"Linc, you are an equally impossible man," he laughed. "Just please tell me that you didn't do anything that's going to get us skewered in the paper tomorrow. Please?"
"I don't think so," I admitted, unsure of whether I had pissed Olivia off enough for her to write a negative article about me or the company, but I quickly rejected the notion. "No, she's a professional. She'll be fair, no matter how pissed she is at me."
"You'd better hope so, buddy," Brant said shaking his head. "We can't afford to lose this entire deal because you lost your cool with a stubborn reporter. Keep in mind that your ability to get out of this business is based on your ability to land this contract. What's up with her, anyway?"
"Not a clue," I said, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous ground. I wasn't ready to admit my attraction to Olivia to Brant – hell, I wasn't ready to admit it to myself. "What's up with the contracts? You get a hold of anyone?"
"I've talked with a few people, but nothing concrete yet," he said, turning his attention to the stack of files on his desk. "I'm still concerned about the Chinese and their stipulations. You hear anything from Bangor about the votes?"
"Nothing yet, but I'm supposed to talk with him tomorrow morning," I said. "I'll keep you posted. I'm off."
"Say hi to Mo for me," Brant grinned. "Tell her I expect her to ditch the boyfriend and dance with me at some point tomorrow night."
"Do I look like your own personal Cyrano? Tell her yourself, man," I laughed.
"You're cruel, Linc," Brant sighed dramatically. "The one woman I think I could spend the rest of my life with and you won't help a friend out."
"You're insane, she's got a..." I trailed off. "What do we call those guys, anyway?"
"Gigolos," Brant said dryly.
"C'mon, Mo seems happy with this latest guy," I said. "Can't you be happy for her?"
"Not until she's pledging her eternal devotion to me and only me," he said, shaking his head. "Until then, they're all disposable."
"You are certifiable, you know that, don't you?" I asked as I turned and headed for the door. I was followed all the way down the hall by the sound of Brant's laughter.
#
Thirty minutes later, I was climbing the front steps of the National Art Gallery. The building's pink marble was lit by the fading afternoon sunlight, and I could see the evening lights beginning to shine around the edges of the steps and over the entrance. I smiled when I saw that pots of Virginia Fraser fir trees lined the outer edges of the staircase. They were being decorated by an efficient young woman wearing a carpenter’s apron, and I stood and watched as she extracted each ornament from a box, attached a hanger, and then carefully placed them equidistant from the previous one. Mo knew how to pick her helpers.
Inside the rotunda, I found Mo barking out orders to another group of similarly clad helpers. I stood back and watched as she directed the action without moving a step. At sixty-five, Mo had more energy than most people I hung out with thanks to her genes and an intense workout schedule that involved swimming and yoga at ungodly hours. She claimed it was due to the fact that she dated younger men, which was why Brant was obsessed with her.
What I appreciated most about Mo was the way she had single-handedly stepped in and become the center of my world without displacing my parents. Every Christmas, we had a special celebration for just the two of us where we remembered my mom and dad, and I didn't expect this year to be any different.
"Lincoln, my dearest boy!" she called as she caught sight of me watching her from the corner. "What are you doing standing over there in a dark corner? Come here and give me a hug!"
"Mo." I smiled as I walked toward her with my arms outstretched. She gathered me in her arms and hugged me tightly. She was wearing a black cashmere wrap over black pants and, as always, looked like the epitome of elegance. Half the town would have killed to look like her, and the other half would have killed to sleep with her.
"I'm so glad you could make it," she whispered as she kissed my cheek and patted my back. "I've missed you!"
"I've missed you, too," I smiled as I returned the hug and inhaled the familiar scent of the expensive French perfume she wore according to the season. It was December, so it had to be Shalimar. "How are the preparations coming along?"
"It'll be ready on time, but it's going to take me cracking the whip for the next forty-eight hours!" she declared as she turned and caught one of the staff putting an enormous glass vase in the wrong place. "Hey! That goes over on the pedestal like the other fifteen of them! Sheesh. What do I have to do to get people to pay attention?"
"Do you need any help?" I asked as I surveyed the scene.
"I could use a good, stiff drink." She grinned as she took my hand and led me to the gallery where the staff was setting up an enormous drink service station. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses then nodded toward the other end of the building and I followed. We sat down on a bench inside the 15th Century Italian gallery and she poured us both a drink. "What's going on, kiddo?"
"Just working on the votes needed to get the bill passed," I said as I sipped. Mo knew all about the struggle we'd had garnering votes, and at one point, she'd even offered to buy them if that's what it would take. I'd laughed it off, but I knew Mo well enough that if I asked, she'd do it. "After the shooting last weekend, I'm not sure we have enough to get it past the initial stage."
"That was definitely the work of Russo," she said as she took a drink of the amber liquid and swallowed. "He's an ass. Always has been."
"We can't prove he had anything to do with it," I sighed. "He didn't know the guy and he had no connection to him."
"Well, I'd bet money that he knew something was up," she said. "That man has been a thorn in the butt of humanity for as long as I've known him. No one likes him, by the way."
"How do you know that?" I laughed. I knew that Mo had known Russo for a long time, but she'd never shared the circumstances of it and I knew her well enough to know that if she didn't share it, I shouldn't ask.
"Because if I dislike him, you know that more reasonable people loathe him," she grinned. Then, she looked at me seriously and said, "Be careful of that man, Lincoln. He's got a lot of cards up his sleeve and he's not opposed to cheating if it gives him the advantage."
"I'll keep an eye out," I nodded. "How's the boy toy?"
"You're so bad!" she laughed as she swatted my arm. "He's a grown man and I think he's pretty wonderful."
"You're breaking Brant's heart, you know that, right?" I grinned.
"That little pup has a lot to learn before he can play with the big dogs," she laughed.
"Dance with him tomorrow night and make his year, will you?" I asked, knowing that she would have done that without asking. Mo had a soft spot for Brant, who followed her around like a little puppy dog anytime he was near her.
"What about you, mister?" she smiled. "When are you going to meet a nice girl and settle down?"
"Who? Me?" I asked. "Give me a break, Mo. I've got business to take care of and I don't have time to be fooling around with a relationship."
"Who is she?" Mo asked as she watched me out of the corner of her eye.
"Huh?"
"You heard me. Who is she?" she repeated as she poured a second round for the both of us.
"I don't know," I admitted. "There's no one!"
"You sure?" she said with a knowing grin.
"No, I'm just frustrated because this afternoon I had a run in with a reporter who got my dander up. She's so stubborn, Mo!" I said. The liquid in my glass sloshed as I quickly stood and then turned around to look at Mo. She had an amused smile on her face as she sipped, but she didn't say anything. "She ran into me, but she says I ran into her, and she's so blunt!"
"Wait, the reporter ran into you?"
"She's a reporter for the Sentinel," I said. "She came by my office to interview me today for an article that might help get the vo
tes we need for the bill, but she ended up pissed off at me and I have no idea why!"
"It's probably all your fault," Mo remarked into her glass. She looked up at me, smiled, and then stood so that she was facing me. She reached out and cupped my chin in her free hand and said, "My dear, dear boy, I can tell already that you have it bad for this woman."
"I can't stand her!" I protested. "Besides, I've got bigger fish to fry. I need to get the votes to pass the bill; if I don't, the Chinese are going to back out of the deal and we're screwed."
"Ah yes, young love, I remember it well," she sighed. Now I was irritated with her, too.
"I'm not in love," I grumbled. "I don't even like this woman! She's annoying as hell, and besides, she hates me, too. Focus, Mo, on the work!"
"Alright, you keep telling yourself that," she said. "I can already tell that you both like each other, but one of you is going to have to relax and find a way to lower their guard. This is the one thing you men seem simply incapable of doing without coaching."
"What are you talking about?" I said. I was confused, but I knew Mo was telling me something important – something that my parents would have told me had they still been alive. So, I listened.
"Lincoln, you are used to being alone in the world," she said gently. "You have your own walls that, right now, are so very high, but if you decide that you want this woman to find her way past them, you're going to have to find a way to lower your walls so she knows it's safe to lower hers, too. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to live your life alone, and your father would have been both impressed and appalled by your relentless work ethic. Your work is not the only reason you're alive, you know? You need to shape a life outside of the company, or else what's the purpose?"
I nodded and smiled as I listened and she spoke about my parents. Mo rarely gave me dating advice, probably because she didn't think it was necessary. I knew that she was trying to stand in for my parents at a crucial moment and that this was information that would change things if I listened to her and put it to use. "Lower the walls?" I repeated. "Don't work so hard?"
"Yep, and when you do," she said as she tipped the glass and drained the last of the whiskey in it. "When you do, holy moly, my boy. It's a wonderful thing, indeed!"
With that, Mo turned and headed back toward the rotunda. At the doorway she stopped, turned around, and said, "I love you, sweet boy," before she winked and disappeared.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Olivia
The next afternoon, I stood at Bix's door at precisely one o'clock and rang the bell. Bix answered with a smile and a plate containing a sandwich, carrot sticks, and apple slices. She held the plate out as she said, "Eat. I know you haven't yet, and you're going to need to preserve your strength because this is going to be grueling."
"Bix," I protested as I took the plate. It was one of Bix's famous BLT sandwiches to which she always added thin slices of Parmesan. I walked into the kitchen and sat down on a stool before I grabbed half of the sandwich and took a huge bite. "Mmmmm, mrph moo."
"Don't talk with your mouth full, sweetie," Bix said and then giggled. "Oops, sorry. I'm used to talking with small people all day. Sometimes it spills over."
"Oh, please, you meant it," I laughed as I covered my mouth and continued chewing. "You've never mistakenly scolded anyone in your life."
Bix shrugged and grinned as she gathered her things and made a pile on the counter. She was wearing a cranberry-colored cardigan with a crewneck sweater in the same color underneath and a pair of black pants. On her feet was her holiday wardrobe statement, a pair of black patent flats with cranberry-colored bows covered in Swarovski crystals. I, on the other hand, was wearing an olive-colored army jacked with a waffle thermal underneath, a pair of jeans that at one time were indigo but had faded over time, and a pair of brown biker boots with my jeans tucked into the tops. I guessed that if we got any assistance while shopping, it would be because Bix looked like she knew what she was doing.
"Alright, while you eat, I'm going to tell you about today's itinerary," Bix announced as she consulted her tablet and tapped the screen several times. "We're going to start at Murphy's, then we'll move to Lowman’s, and then Nordstrom's"
"Wait, we're going to go to more than one place?" I said with a look of surprise. "I thought we were just going to hit one shop and then be done with it. Maybe go to a shoe store if we couldn't find what we needed at the mall."
"Olivia Jane Moore, you disappoint me," Bix said disapprovingly. "This is the Washington Christmas Gala, not some high school mixer! Of course, we're going to go to more than one place. Now, I've marked a few styles that I think would look lovely on you. This will not only improve our odds of success, but it will also cut down on the amount of time you spend trying on dresses. I hope you wore proper undergarments."
"When have you to ever known me to wear proper undergarments?” I asked as I popped a slice of apple into my mouth and chewed loudly just to annoy her. Then I grumbled, "I don't even want to go to this thing, you know."
"Good point," she said as she tapped her screen a few more times and then looked up. "Alright, I've added Lacy Lady as our first stop And, not going is not an option. End of discussion."
"Oh God, no, please," I protested. "Can't we just drop by Target and pick up a new bra and underwear?"
The look Bix gave me told me it was wise to I eat the rest of my lunch in silence. Bix proceeded to break down the shopping into a manageable flow chart of activity in which she did most of the work and I simply fulfilled the role of human Barbie. I had let Bix boss me around most of our lives, so this wasn't anything different, but I was resentful that I didn't really get to have a say in what I'd be trying on. I sighed and then gave in; I knew it would be easier if I didn't fight because in the end, Bix would win.
Once sufficiently fueled, Bix called for a cab and we were on our way. We were dropped off outside of Murphy's Bridal and I shot Bix a pleading look, which she completely ignored. Once inside, I was forced to admit that her approach really did work. She quickly narrowed down the gowns to a few that she thought would look flattering on me, and nixed my suggestion that a jumpsuit would be the best bet because it would show off my curves and give me pockets in which to carry my phone and keys. The saleswoman quickly dismissed me as problematic, and before long, she and Bix were discussing which shades of green would look best with my flame red hair and whether I should have beading or just go plain and let my natural beauty shine through.
"At that rate, you should probably bring me a completely bead-encrusted gown," I quipped as they exited the room after instructing me to try on their latest find. Bix shot me a withering look before shutting the door. I knew when I'd been beaten, so I shut my mouth and put the dress on. When I exited the fitting room for the ninth time, both Bix and the saleswoman became excited. The dress, an emerald green sleeveless gown, fit as if it had been made for me. It had a sweetheart neckline and clung to my hips before flowing all the way to the floor in a sweep of fabric. In the front, the dress had a slit that ran all the way up to my mid-thigh when I extended my leg, but stayed closed when I stood still. It felt like I was wearing a secret agent gown, and as I climbed onto the platform in front of the mirror, I twirled a little and the hem of the gown lifted off the floor and floated lightly in the current I'd created.
"I like this one," I said. "I think we have a winner."
"I agree, it looks gorgeous on you, Liv," Bix smiled. "With your hair, the green looks amazing. But..."
The saleswoman nodded at Bix as if they had communicated telepathically while I turned and looked at her confused. A few moments later, the saleswoman came back with a handful of garments in her hand and pulled me back to the dressing room. Once inside she unzipped the dress and handed me a strapless bra. I quickly snapped the hooks together, twisted it around, and pulled it up. The sales woman took one look at me and shook her head before she reached into the bra and scooped up a breast and situated it properly in the bra cup. And bef
ore I'd even uttered a word about how totally inappropriate this was, she'd done the same thing with the other breast and was pulling the bodice of the dress back up and zipping me in.
This time when I walked out, I was rewarded with a gasp from Bix. I turned and stepped up onto the platform again, and when I looked at myself, I inhaled sharply. The bra had turned my breasts into two, perky globes whose tops just peeked out over the edge of the neckline. I felt like a Hollywood star, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I started believing that I could look good enough to attend the ball. Up to that point, I wasn't sure a reporter who, six months ago, had been trekking through the African wilderness and sleeping in a tent could be turned into a socialite for an evening. I should have trusted Bix's magical abilities.
"I like it, Bix," I said quietly and she nodded as she grabbed the price tag and examined it. "Please do not tell me it's out of my price range. Please, please, please."
"Nope, it's all good," she said as she palmed the tag and nodded to the saleswoman, adding, "And, she'll need the bra, too."
"How much is it?" I asked as the woman went to get the new bra.
"It's not important; what's important is that it looks fantastic and you feel great in it," she said cheerfully.
"Bix," I warned. "How much?"
"It's on me," she smiled. "Look, Doug and I have more money than we know what to do with and I don't want to leave it all to the kids. It'll spoil them and they'll end up rich brats."
"Bix, I have money," I protested. "And Frank said the paper would cover the cost of my dress if it meant that I'd go to the gala."
"I don't think the paper has this in its budget, darling," Bix said as she showed me the price tag.
"Five thousand dollars for a dress I'm going to wear once?" I shouted. "I do not think so! Get your stuff, we're heading to the mall."
"Olivia, listen to me," Bix said grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me lightly. "Listen to me. This dress isn't just about the dress. This dress is also about you finding your feet. You lost a lot in Africa, and your confidence has been shaken, but it's time for you to gather yourself together and start over. You can't live behind this wall you've built forever, you know."