“There you are.” She gave me the once over. “It will have to do. You’re going to be the death of me,” she scolded. “Come on; they’re waiting.”
Ignoring her command, I turned to Ziggy. “I’m really sorry. I have to go. Thank you so much for your help picking my outfit, and, again, I’m sorry about…” I glanced down the front of him, indicating the coffee spill. “I hope it hasn’t messed up your day.”
“Quite the opposite,” he smiled, clutching his notebook. His other hand rested on the front of his bag, and he pulled a face, peeling his hand away from the sticky surface.
“Oh god.” I looked to Melanie. “Mel, this is Ziggy; can you take him and help him clean his bag while I go and face the music?”
“Yes, now go!” she snapped.
“Sorry,” I mouthed to him and then turned and headed for my fate in the conference room.
Chapter Four
For the first twenty minutes, it went pretty well. They knew I wasn’t looking for a buyout. To be fair to them, they knew they were up against resistance. They sure talked the talk, and I knew then, if they were going to make an offer, it was going to be one which would be hard to turn down.
I’d put together a presentation to show our growth and expenditure, and I was relieved to be hitting play so that I could take a breath for a few minutes.
“Bea?” Melanie hissed as I set the PowerPoint going. I frowned at her in the doorway. She was the one who stressed and re-stressed the importance of no interruptions during this meeting. I was the one silently willing anyone who dared to stand up and shout like an objector at a wedding, or damn it, pull the fire alarm—I didn’t care! She beckoned me over with a nod, and I replied with my own nod toward the serious business men she had forced me to entertain. Like, what do you want from me, woman? Jeez!
She widened her eyes, a silent demand, and I sighed and walked over to her.
“There’s a…um…” she whispered, trailing off.
I tapped my foot impatiently.
“Starman waiting…” she trailed off again, realising the comic irony of her word choice. I almost wished I could sing the ending to shake off some of my tension.
Instead, I scolded her. “Really, Mel? Now isn’t the time for silly jokes.”
“No,” she shout-whispered. “He’s here! He’s waiting in your office.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Do you think this is something I would joke about? Now isn’t the time, Bea,” she turned my words back on me with a serious look.
“Shit.” I turned to look at the four horsemen of the apocalypse who were engrossed in the presentation. “Ask him if he can wait.” My heart raced at the circumstances. Shit, shit, shit. This was just my luck. I chased the guy; well, I’d assumed he was a guy, but nobody really knew. He was like the Banksy of digital media. Anyway, I chased him for a year and got nothing, and then he comes and finds me on the day the window could close. Really?
“I really think you should come, Bea.”
“I can’t,” I hissed. “Ask him to wait.”
She didn’t move. She just stared me down. I sometimes wondered who was in charge of whom here. It only felt like me when bills needed to be paid. She raised her eyebrows. The internationally accepted silent signal for, WELL?
“Ugh,” I huffed and turned to the room. “If you would just excuse me, gentlemen, I need to take care of something quickly.” They all nodded and continued watching and making notes. I stepped around Melanie and left her to supervise in my absence. Once the door closed behind me, I drew in a deep breath. Holy shit that felt good. I hadn’t had a decent one of those since I shook their hands half an hour before. Now all I needed was to summon the balls to walk over to my office. Then I could get back in there, and be closer to having this whole ordeal over.
My feet slowed as I turned into my open office area, slightly obscured from the main studio by a double-sided bookcase. I don’t like to be cut off from the rest of the studio, but I sometimes needed a little privacy to handle phone calls, so the bookcase was a compromise. Better than a glass wall.
I took a deep breath. This was a turning point. I could feel it, and I hadn’t even met him yet.
As my full space came into view, I froze. He looked up from where he was scanning the books on my shelves, and the corner of his mouth pulled up.
“You?” I gasped.
“Surprise.” He shrugged, running his fingers through his thick brown hair. Lewis’ Pearl Jam T-shirt rode up slightly on his lean frame.
“I don’t understand.” I frowned, walking over to my desk with my hand pressed against my forehead. Nope, no fever.
“Neither do I,” he admitted.
“We’ve tried so many ways to contact you.”
“I know.”
“You got the messages?”
“Yeah,” he turned towards me. “I wasn’t interested. You want something I don’t have to give.”
My brows pulled together and my eyes searched his face. “I want you to work here, that’s all.”
“For you?”
“With us,” I corrected. I would never be completely comfortable with being captain. This was a team.
“But for just you.”
I nodded. “Of course. The kind of talent you have, I don’t want to escape this room ever again. I’d lock the doors right now if it wasn’t against fire regs.”
He laughed, and his smile brightened his slightly serious face. “That’s kidnapping.”
“Not if I pay you well enough,” I returned.
His second laugh turned sour. “Look, it’s a nice offer.” His hand came up and rubbed the back of his neck like he was battling with himself a little. I’d take a little. A little was better than the brick wall of silence I’d had until then. “Flattering, really. But I can’t do a nine-to-five.”
“Fine then,” I grinned, feeling oddly as if I could play with this stranger. “Eight to seven and that’s my final offer.”
He found the humour and laughed quietly, looking out across the studio as he did. I could tell he was trying to picture himself here.
“I think you could fit in.”
“I don’t really fit in anywhere, Sparkles.” He smiled regretfully. “That’s the problem.”
Sparkles? The name sent a tingle through me. It had been years since I’d known anyone well enough to be given a pet name, and I’d known this guy for what? An hour? “We’re all square pegs here, Ziggy,” I replied. “This might be the place you do fit. You can’t know unless you try.” I tried to stay optimistic. This was not the time to falter. I wanted him to be here, not just for his incredible talent, but because I liked him already, and I wanted him around. I would be beyond disappointed to come this close and have him slip through my fingers.
He blew out a long breath. “I’ve had so many offers, you don’t even know, but I have my reasons for staying underground. And besides, I get really bored when I’m tied down, and I can’t handle what that does to me creatively. I like my own space, and I like to pick my projects, vary my workload.”
“So why break cover now?” I heard what he was saying. It was what I already knew. So why didn’t he carry on with the brick-wall effect? It had worked. I had given up. I was about to move on.
“Because I like you, Sparkles. And you look sad today. You look like you’re letting go of something it seems to me you want to keep.”
I pressed my lips together and offered him a tight smile of recognition. How could a stranger see what everyone around me was missing? Then I realised it didn’t add up. “So, you let me cover you with boiling hot coffee so you could get the tour? I’m confused.”
“No, the coffee was a freakish coincidence. I had no idea where I was until just now when your assistant happened to mention who those guys are you’re meeting with, and I asked a few questions.” He stepped forward and touched my elbow, looking deep into my eyes for a long moment. “Don’t give your dream away if it’s not what you want to do.”
/> I loved that he got it, but he didn’t really get it at all. “It’s not that simple. We either sink into the abyss or accept the helping hand from the fancy yacht that just came by. I don’t know which is worse.” I studied my feet, feeling helpless.
“Have you tried swimming?” he nudged me.
“That’s kind of where you come in.”
His shoulders fell, but he took the weight of it with good grace and shook his head, slightly amused. “No pressure then.”
“You could have walked away,” I poked, feeling hopeful.
“I would have felt guilty. I hate feeling guilty.”
“So, you’ll consider my offer?” My eyes lit up.
He stepped back, holding out his hands in protest. “I didn’t say that.”
I took my chance, stepping forward and claiming the space he’d retreated from. I fluttered my eyelashes shamelessly and smirked. “Won’t you feel twice as guilty now you know the full story?”
“Yes! Damn you.” He scoffed and turned away so that I couldn’t pull at his conscience any more.
“Say you’ll think about it,” I pleaded.
“Say you’ll tell them to take a hike,” he returned. “It’s not what you want, and you should only do what makes you happy. For better or for worse.”
“Fine, I’ll tell them to poke their millions where the sun don’t shine,” I laughed, sounding falsely enthusiastic.
“Millions?” he lit up, acting like that changed things.
“Possibly billions,” I laughed, knowing full well it could be if the last buyout of this type was anything to go by. That was why no one understood. I’d rather have something small scale and truly special than a ten-figure bank balance and not much else.
Life was damn short, and I knew it all too well. We had to follow our dreams or what was the point of any of it?
Ziggy looked out of my window watching the street below. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he told me quietly.
Chapter Five
Beautiful Bea,
Just wondering if you’re ever going to call me?
Jonathan.
I suppressed an eye roll while simultaneously swallowing a giggle and examined the flowers on my desk. Very over the top, just what you’d expect from a man like him. Setting the card down, I lifted my phone. I couldn’t believe I was entertaining this. What really was the point of talking to a guy like him? I had no interest in dating him. No capacity to date was the real truth. I just didn’t have it in me. And clearly, he was the flirting-in-coffee-shops-and-going-on-dates type. So, it wasn’t fair to him, was it?
Then again, things felt a little different since the events of the day before. Whether it was Jonathan’s silly flirting, which at the time I thought had no effect, or Ziggy’s familiarity, which was still weirding me out a little, I didn’t know. Something had loosened me up a little. Maybe it was because I felt like we finally had a chance of getting the creative director I’d fantasised about for the last five years.
The one they call Starman.
Ziggy bloody Jones. It was bizarre to think that I was the only one who knew that. It was slightly ridiculous, if you asked me. The guy was a legend, but instead of owning it and claiming the limelight like he should, he’d made himself more a legend of the urban variety. No one had ever seen his face. Rumours were rife over who he might be. So many possibilities and so many false leads. There was only one email address to contact him, and if he liked the look of the job, he would submit for it. If he didn’t want to consider your job, you’d never hear from him. That was it. He’d done projects for all of our major competitors, and some would say, if I was smart, I would have just offered some freelance work. But I wanted him. I wanted to work with him, not mail-order work from him.
Ever since I’d first laid eyes on graphics he had done for an app, I felt so strongly that he was the one. I wanted to create with him. I was drawn to his style.
I tried everything. Every contact I had, every lead, and all I found was white noise. There was nothing to go off when we were getting the silent treatment; messages unanswered told me nothing about how my offers had been received. Was he laughing at us? Were we too small for him to bother? Or was I simply asking too much?
Seeing him consider it yesterday, though, I understood better why he didn’t want a full-time job. He was so in demand, he could choose exactly how and when he worked, for how much and for how long.
I was asking a lot. Money wasn’t the issue, though. That was a level we understood each other on. What drove him was freedom, same as me.
It was scary how in tune we were. I’d discovered that while he stood in my bedroom yesterday, a stranger to me and yet as familiar as my own reflection.
In tune or not, his freedom was exactly what I wanted to take away. I knew how significant that was, more than ever now that I’d had a face-to-face with him. I’m no fool. I left him with a lot to think over, so I would give him some time; but he promised to give me an answer, and he also promised to answer my emails in future.
I had forced myself into a dress and a situation that were all wrong on me, caught the attention of a guy who looked like he meant business, found a connection with another human being that felt like it had the potential to burst the sacred bubble…but it wasn’t a total loss. I met Starman. So, as bad days went, it was pretty good.
Now to deal with this one problem. I glanced again at the number printed on the business card, which was tucked into the flowers with the message. The same business card I’m certain that he’d slipped between my hand and my coffee cup yesterday. I never got to see; it went in the bin with my empty cup without a second thought.
It was a simple card with his name and number embossed in classic Copperplate font. There was no hint of his profession, for all I knew it was just the card he gave out to would-be dates. In fact, when I thought it through, that was absolutely what it was. A man dressed like him would have his company and title emblazoned on his legitimate card, unless he was a spy of course, but I doubted spies went to the same Starbucks on Oxford Street every morning. It’s hardly covert behavior.
The business card also meant that he’d gone and arranged these flowers in person, which told me he was determined. I had foolishly thought I could simply get changed out of that damned dress and return to my usual routine, and this would be a non-issue, but I was going to have to deal with him before I started stressing about running into him at Starbucks.
I sent a text to the number on the card. I didn’t particularly want him to have my mobile number as well as whatever other information he seemed to have on me. I could have called him from my office number, which I’m sure, if he knew where I worked, he would have already, but that would mean actual conversation. It was better to let him down by text. Easier.
Me: How did you find me?
I placed my phone on my desk and stood to move the flowers. They couldn’t stay on my desk, I wouldn’t be able to function, so I lifted the heavy vase they came in and looked around for a spot. I decided on the coffee table in the lounge area that no one ever used. It was right across from my desk. Melanie had made the area so that my office was ‘buffered from the main studio but has a welcoming feel.’ Of course, no one ever used it because right under your boss’ nose was the worst place to chill. I used it occasionally for small meetings, but mostly it just collected old magazines and dust.
When I returned to my desk, I found a reply from Jonathan and my stomach tightened.
Jonathan: Beautiful? Is that you?
Me: It’s Bea.
Jonathan: Did you like the flowers?
Me: They’re lovely, thank you. But how did you find me?
Jonathan: I was waiting for my Uber after I met you yesterday, and I happened to look up to see you going into your office building. Again, I’m not an arsehole. I wasn’t stalking you, I promise.
Hmmm.
Me: How did you know I didn’t just have an appointment in that building?
There was a
long pause before I saw him typing again.
Jonathan: I Googled the address, checked out the companies and saw your name listed as director of one of them. So, unless there were two beautiful Beas in your building yesterday, I’d say I have my girl.
Oh god. His girl? My bubble tightened around me. I needed to play this carefully. I tried for humour.
Me: That’s some fine “not stalking” you did there, arsehole.
Jonathan: We live in the age of information. It’s not considered stalking if it takes less than five mins to obtain the facts.
Me: There’s a five min rule? I was not aware of this.
Jonathan: Yes. The five min ruling clears me. It’s official. You can’t call me an arsehole.
Me: So, what about these flowers? It probably took you longer than five minutes to buy these.
Jonathan: Ah, but under section two, the rule states that information obtained within the five min window may be used to shower gifts as the obtainer sees fit.
I couldn’t help but giggle. Whatever had happened in the universe yesterday, I think it’s clear it dented the bubble hard. This guy was okay. I wasn’t interested, but he was okay.
Jonathan: Come to lunch with me.
Jesus. It wasn’t even a question. Arrogant much? I sighed aloud. This was why the bubble was so useful. Trust it to glitch when I needed it most.
Me: I’m sorry, but I don’t date.
Jonathan: Don’t date men?
Me: Don’t date, full stop.
Jonathan: You do eat lunch, though?
Me: Most days.
Jonathan: So eat your lunch in the same place I eat my lunch sometime.
Me: I don’t think it’s a good idea.
Even if I did want to see him again, I definitely didn’t think I could handle eating a meal with all that sex fog in the air.
Jonathan: That’s where you’re wrong; it’s a great idea. We like the same coffee. Fate has decided.
Me: There is no such thing as fate, only coincidence.
I wasn’t about to tell him that the Bea he met yesterday was only a stand in, and that everything about her, right down to the fateful flat white, was a facade.
Lucky Scars Page 3