When Staci Takes Charge

by Calista Fox

  “Absolutely,” Staci concurred as she paced alongside the conference table where her top brass was assembled for the weekly session. “Tap those golden databases of yours. Contact friends, relatives, friends of friends, relatives of relatives, anybody, and everybody to see what might be coming on the market that we can buy or rent. We’re not seeing enough opportunity through public listings right now, so we need to know who’s holding out for a private sale.”

  Maxi nodded. “We’ll take every lead we can get so that we don’t end up with another production bottleneck down the road.”

  “Securing a second facility is just one more thing that will solidify our sustainability in this industry,” Staci said. “Thank you, everyone. Have a good evening.”

  Staci adjourned the meeting, and the group dispersed. Maxi collected the leftover packets of documentation that contained charts and graphs Ryan had assembled. Staci closed her notebook and capped her pen as Maxi kicked off her heels and plopped into a chair.

  The VP said, “I wish like hell I knew of someone looking to lease or unload a building suitable for our needs.” She crossed her long legs, rotating her ankle as though it ached.

  “Something will turn up.” Staci eyed the woman who was one of her highest ranking execs. She frowned as Maxi continued to work the kinks in her ankle. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately. In fact, you were limping just a tiny bit earlier. You didn’t actually hurt yourself on the runway and were afraid to tell me?”

  “Absolutely not. It’s nothing to worry about,” Maxi assured her.

  “Yeah, right. Spill already,” Staci ordered.

  They’d been through thick and thin together. Maxi had been one of Staci’s first employees when she’d established operations six years ago. They’d been sorority sisters at the University of Baltimore. At twenty-seven, Staci was two years older than Maxi, who had joined the startup company in her sophomore term.

  Staci had studied fashion design, and she loved everything bold and daring, be it contemporary flare, avant-garde chic, retro panache, or vintage fun. Creating her own business had been a natural progression for her, and she’d been grateful that the talented Maxi Shayne had jumped on her bandwagon.

  “Come on, girlfriend,” Staci coaxed. “This is me you’re talking to.”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” Maxi explained. “Just that we’ve all been nonstop action since the crisis hit in December, and I’ve recently realized that I’m not used to working ten- to twelve-hour days in five- or six-inch heels. Even if I am sitting in meetings or behind my desk most of the time.”

  “That’s completely understandable. However,” Staci said with a pointed look, “we do have a line of gorgeous flats to choose from.”

  “Yes,” Maxi agreed. “But I’m a tall-heel girl, like you. I like the altitude they give me. And the fact that they drive Ryan nuts in the absolute best way, so…” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m perfectly willing to suck it up.”

  “Maxi,” Staci gently scolded her, “loving the shoes is no reason to be in pain all day.”

  “Ah, but Stace…” she said on a dreamy sigh. “Ryan gives me foot massages at night that are pretty much to die for. He might stop offering if I begin wearing sensible flats.”

  Staci laughed softly. “You will do anything to get that man’s hands on your body.”

  “You’ve got that right, sister.”

  “Still…” The corner of Staci’s mouth dipped. “This is a serious consideration.”

  “Kev the evil ex used to say ‘Beauty is pain.’ My motto is that he was the real pain in my life.”

  “So glad you came to your senses with that one. Total asshole.”

  “Lying, cheating asshole,” Maxi corrected. “I certainly kissed my fair share of toads before I found the right man.”

  Staci nodded. “You and Ryan are fantastic together.”

  “And not just here at work.” Maxi winked.

  “Please, don’t remind me of what I’m not getting. It’s been many moons since anyone has rubbed my feet.”

  “Stace, you’ve been focused twenty-four-seven on corporate matters—you haven’t had time for anything else.”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true,” she confessed. She hadn’t told Maxi or Lola about her Four Seasons hallway encounter. There wasn’t much point to mentioning her one-night stand, she mentally contended. Despite constantly thinking about Nick. Their instant attraction and hot hookup was still playing in her mind like a looping video clip. Keeping her body thrumming with the electric current he’d sparked.

  She said, “I’ve had a little fun along the way. But, yes, I’ve been pretty hardcore for six years getting this entire organization up and running. This is my dream, my true passion. I wasn’t finding the specific styles I wanted for a reasonable price, so I invented Staci Kay Shoes and filled my own closet.”

  “And eventually millions of other women’s closets,” Maxi said.

  “We’re all kindred spirits.”

  Christ. That made her think of Nick. Again.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Maxi told her, “I agree. However, now that the fires are mostly out at work, perhaps you ought to think about reigniting them in your bedroom.”

  Staci’s body flamed. No stopping it. No getting her breathing under control, either. She confessed, “I do have an itch for someone who’s ready, willing, and able to sin.”

  The sexy man who’d lit her up had left an indelible impression. She could still feel his strong yet supple hands on her legs, her ass, her breasts. Could still feel his lips blazing a trail over her skin. Could still feel his cock buried deep within her, stroking fully and confidently.

  He’d been quite the dream come true—and she hadn’t been the one presumably sleepwalking.

  Maxi eyed her curiously. “Anyone I know?”

  Staci blew out a puff of air. “No. Not anyone I know, actually. Not technically.”

  Her friend’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not following.”

  “I know. Sorry.” Staci debated whether she wanted to let the cat out of the bag. But she sort of figured, What’s the point? She didn’t know her mystery lover’s true identity. Nor did she have time to go tracking him down. She certainly didn’t have time to start something up with him, even if she could find out who the hell he was. Her company was in the midst of hypergrowth to rival Nordstrom’s and In-N-Out Burger’s corporate explosions near the turn of the millennium. No room for error or dropping any balls.

  So all she said about her scorching encounter with Nick was, “It’s just a fantasy.” She waved a dismissive hand and fought the lonesome feeling that was creeping in on her once more. The sensation she’d experienced in her room before the great lockout. The sensation Nick had chased away with sizzling kisses.

  She added, “I’ve really got to concentrate on this facilities issue.”

  Maxi stood and stretched, then slipped back into her heels. “At least take a break for the evening. Come over to my condo for dinner tonight. Ryan’s making osso buco. There’s always plenty of food when he cooks.”

  “Jesus, you two are like newlyweds.”

  “Don’t rush us down the aisle just yet,” Maxi chided. “We still have Lola’s wedding to get through. Now that her marketing campaign is in full swing, and we’re getting our operational troubles under control, you and I need to plan the bridal shower and think about all that other girlie-girl stuff that goes along with being bridesmaids.”

  “It was really very sweet that she included me in the bridal party before we’d gotten to know each other well,” Staci said. “When she worked here in Baltimore with us, she always seemed a bit terrified of me. Then I showed up in the Scottsdale office for her ad campaign presentation and I thought she’d hit the floor, she was so shocked to see me.”

  “She admires how fierce you are,” Maxi told her. “We all bow down to you, Goddess of Shoes.”

  “Cute.” Staci snickered. “And, hey, thanks for the dinner
offer. Always appreciated. But I’m still a bit swamped.”

  “The invite remains a standing one,” Maxi told her with a smile.

  “I know. However, in addition to shoe biz, I have to make a decision on my plans for Valentine’s Day. It’s only two weeks away. Yikes! I need to get on it in order to make travel arrangements.”

  “What are your options this year?”

  “Sooo,” Staci said on a long breath—this was yet another dilemma to work through. “It’s either visit my perfect sister Jen who had a perfect meltdown when her perfect husband came out of the closet last Valentine’s—I’m still reeling from that drama, by the way—or join my parents on the Caribbean cruise they’ve already booked for themselves, and invited Jen and I along for. Or just curl up in front of a fire and marathon-stream whatever is all the rage on Netflix.”

  Maxi shot her a wry look. “The latter is so not you. Come on, Stace. You’re not content unless you’re shaking things up. I say take the cruise. Teach those dance instructors on the promenade deck how to burn up the floorboards with a sassy salsa or a tantalizing tango.”

  “Hmm, yes, that does sound tempting.”

  “It’d be good for you. You love dancing, your parents are a riot, and, let’s face it, you could use some fresh air, Miss Workaholic. Drag your sister on board with you. Jen could use a wild week at sea as well.”

  Staci couldn’t disagree with any of that, but said, “We’ll have to see how things shape up here this week before I commit to anything.” She was fearful of any corporate walls that had just been rebuilt crumbling.

  “Everything’s fine here, Stace. Go have some fun.”

  She certainly needed some time off to relax and decompress. But Staci surmised that the reason she couldn’t make any decisions in her personal life was that she was still caught up in all the hoopla around the office. This was her lifeblood, after all. She couldn’t take any risks with severing it because she was off doing the lambada on the Love Boat.

  Yet she told her friend, “I’ll put some thought into the cruise. Enjoy dinner.”

  They collected their laptops and walked out of the conference room together.

  Maxi said, “Don’t work too hard or too late, huh?”

  “I promise. And thanks for worrying about me.”

  “It’s what friends do.”

  They parted ways near the elevator, Maxi taking the car down to her floor and Staci flashing her access badge over the electronic reader and stepping through the tall glass doors of the executive wing.

  Her spacious corner office boasted dark hardwood floors, retro chandeliers set on dimmers, and plush furniture in various artistic designs with sensuous curves. Her sofas were scarlet, the accent chairs a dark mustard, and the toss pillows had a collection of famous faces stamped on them in vibrant colors.

  Bold artwork adorned the walls, and several gorgeous floral arrangements sat on end tables, the coffee table, and the two credenzas. Fresh bouquets she’d received from friends who’d congratulated her on the company’s incredible marketing boost and Saturday night’s debut.

  Rather unexpectedly, it occurred to Staci that she secretly wished there was an additional bouquet—from Nick. To thank her for, or remind her of, or commemorate with her their night together.

  Major wishful thinking. Something Staci didn’t have the luxury to indulge in.

  She crossed to her glass-topped desk with its sleek, arching, brushed stainless steel legs that crisscrossed on the sides, and sank into her velvety, royal-blue chair. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of two abutting walls and featured the Baltimore skyline. The city lights glowed as sunset faded into twilight and captured the gentle fall of fat snowflakes.

  Staci removed her stilettos and dug her toes into the thick, white shag rug at her feet. She couldn’t help but fixate on Maxi’s comment about the side effects of spending all day in six-inch heels. Staci considered taking her own advice about wearing flats at least half of the day while she was at the office.

  But damn, she loved her high heels. Staci was five eight without them on, and that extra surge of height always made her feel a bit more authoritative, and certainly made her more eye-to-eye with the men who worked for her and those she dealt with outside of the company.

  Her mind drifted to Nick. It was literally impossible to keep him out of her thoughts. He easily crested six three. She’d found his stature a sexy part of his commanding presence. And she felt a little tickle of feminine empowerment over the fantasy of running into him when she was sporting her heels—and how it would almost put her on par with his tall, devilish self.

  But Staci doubted she’d ever see him again. Chances were good he didn’t even live in Baltimore. So she tried not to get lost in these errant thoughts of him and instead remained focused on business—in particular, this new conundrum Maxi had inadvertently brought to her attention. She wasn’t above admitting that Staci Kay shoes could be more comfortable. Possibly designed with some sort of improved, high tech insole that massaged the foot all day or cushioned it in a pillow of gel or some other material.

  Hmm…An interesting notion to ponder.

  The inserts she’d tried in the past never worked the way they were purported to, and more often than not, she found herself accidentally stepping out of her shoes because of them, particularly when she picked up her pace. A definite hazard.

  The main problem she encountered was that the insoles she preferred—expensive ones she ordered from England—took up a little too much space in her shoes. Staci was a solid eight. If she went up half a size to accommodate the inserts, her feet sloshed around. But if she stuck to the eights, her toes got pinched. So she’d recently been bypassing comfort for style.

  Not exactly wise. But, like Maxi, she loved her shoes.

  Yet there ought to be a reasonable solution.

  Finding this new issue important enough to put further thought into, Staci turned on her computer and accessed the network drive shared by Sales, PR, and Marketing. All three divisions were located in Scottsdale. A spur-of-the-moment decision she’d made when starting up the company.

  Two football-player friends from college, unfortunately not destined for pro ball, were opening a PR firm in Scottsdale and had offered Staci six months of free work because they needed more projects and clients for their portfolio.

  The success of that quick venture had led Staci to hire the firm. From there, they’d merged businesses, and the guys had also built the Sales and Marketing teams while Staci concentrated primarily on the Baltimore Operations hub. Manny and Dave technically worked for her, since Staci had absorbed their firm when she offered them more money than they were projected to make on their own in the first three years. But she really relied on them to run the Scottsdale conglomerate.

  She recalled Manny discussing recent focus groups he’d set up with Staci Kay consumers, along with other beta testers who’d never tried the brand before. Staci was suddenly curious about the results, not having the time of late to dedicate to that end of the business while struggling with the production woes.

  Clicking her way through folders, she found what she was looking for—the most recent focus group statistics and findings. She scanned the reports and immediately deduced that Maxi really had hit upon a serious problem facing the stiletto wearers of the world.

  While Staci Kay Shoes rated off the charts for style and variety, they scored notably low in the comfort zone.

  Closing out of the drive, Staci brought up the Internet and extensively Googled the matter of women and their pumps.

  Apparently, it was a rampant concern in the world of podiatry. In fact, she discovered one stat that claimed over a hundred-thousand high heel-related injuries had occurred in the past year.

  Staci frowned. She’d spent half of her life in high heels. Had gotten used to three and four inchers early on, so that they didn’t really cause much trouble or pain. But she’d fallen in love with the taller shoes. And suffered from the obsession.


  She and Maxi weren’t the only ones.

  So…what to do about it?

  Staci’s main objectives had always been on the design of her shoes from a fashion standpoint, not the comfort or even the safety aspects.

  Suddenly, she felt that was irresponsible on her part. Of course she cared about the health of her customers’ feet. And with skyscraping heels being bestsellers now, it was her duty to put as much thought and effort into a design that protected the feet as she put into the look of the shoes.

  A new quest.

  One she happily latched onto. Maybe it’d keep her night with Nick out of her mind.

  She continued her research into the evening, ordering in dinner. Around eight o’clock, she came to the concrete conclusion that she needed an expert on her side.

  And, aha! There he was!

  Dr. Evan Hart.

  A renowned podiatrist and quite revered, according to the net. Podiatric surgeon extraordinaire. Currently on staff at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City.

  Perfect!

  She found his Wikipedia page and perused it, his complicated professional accreditations going well over her head.

  A horrible candid shot accompanied all the articles he’d written—and which had been written about him, especially when he was honored with this or that award for his stellar work.

  The photo had been shot from across the room, making it difficult to really discern the man’s features. He was somewhat nerdy looking, with thick-lensed glasses so that she couldn’t even tell what color his eyes were. He wore a dress shirt and tie, and a white lab coat that was a size too big. He had cropped, tamed hair. He didn’t smile.

  His bio said he was thirty-five this year. In actuality, he didn’t look that age. Rather, he looked more around mid to late twenties, which made her wonder how old the picture was. She guessed he wasn’t the type to update his images—especially since there weren’t any others available online that zoomed in on him.

  But none of that really mattered. It didn’t even matter that he was on the stuffy side.

  All Staci thought of was that Dr. Evan Hart could be a saving grace.