Pure Abandon Page 7

She continues. “And never underestimate people in this business. Everyone sleeps with everyone. That’s how they get ahead.”

  I wonder what Malory means by that. Correction: I know what Malory means by that, but is there an underlying meaning? Is that how Malory got to be Vice President? She has come a long way in the two years I’ve been out of work. Then again, she lives and breathes this business. This is New York. It’s no surprise a woman would hold a high title in her thirties. We’re breaking the metaphoric glass ceiling.

  But how many people could she have slept with to get where she is today? I’m not naïve. I guess I just have higher expectations for those around me. And I choose to believe Malory is where she is because of hard work.

  Malory pays the bill, as she always does, and we head back to the office.

  Exiting the elevator, I see the display of white roses taunting me, reminding me of Alexander Asher. They are still thick and blossoming, yet more plush and rich.

  Walking over to them, I put my nose to their soft white petals. They smell delicious. My eyes widen at the scent… tobacco and vanilla.

  The hair on the back of neck stands on edge.

  He’s here.

  My spine stiffens at the thought of seeing him again but I turn around to confront the man who has me on pins and needles. Looking about the space of white and mahogany I see there is no one seated in the waiting area and Trish isn’t at her desk. She’s probably in Heather’s office.

  Malory has gone straight down the hallway, heading to a meeting, so it’s just me alone in the lobby. Asher is nowhere in sight.

  Continuing to look around the room, I follow the scent back to its original location. The flowers. The scent is on the flowers. They smell like him in the most bizarre way.

  It is quite possible I am going insane.

  Gabriel and I made plans to go to the exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art on Wednesday since he’ll be working this weekend and traveling the next. We hope he’ll be able to sneak out of the office at a reasonable hour.

  We haven’t had a date night in months. Any free time he has is always spent with Jackson. I get it. Gabriel’s top priority is his little boy. I love that about him.

  We had a great weekend despite my meddling mother being there, but I’m excited to spend some alone time with him.

  Holding my phone up to my ear, I talk to Carmen to check on Jackson, when there is a soft rap at the door. I peer up to see Trish wearing an orange-and-blue striped skirt with a schoolboy shirt buttoned to the neck. Her hair is fastened into an adorable fishtail braid that cascades down the side of her head. She’s holding two coffee cups in her hands.

  “Coffee break?” Trish asks, and I motion for her to come on in as I hang up the phone.

  Today, I dressed in a blue, cap-sleeved wrap dress and nude heels. Dressing up makes me feel like another woman. Much nicer than the ripped jeans I wore this weekend.

  Trish places one of the coffee cups on my desk directly in front of me. It’s black. She remembered. And then I remember she was front and center last week for my Asher incident.

  Tucking one leg underneath her butt, Trish takes a seat in the chair in front of me, making sure her skirt doesn’t ride up.

  “You spoil me,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. If Trish wants to deliver coffee to me every day, I won’t discourage it. The brew is delicious. When you drink it black like I do, the quality of the bean really counts. Gabriel could drink gas station coffee, while I’m a Starbucks girl. I like my coffee strong, not any of that watered-down nonsense. Trish has gotten the blend just right.

  “Anytime!” Trish has an energy about her you can’t help but want to match. “There’s a commercial-grade coffee machine down the hall. It takes seconds. Anytime you want a jolt, just holler.” She’s swinging her free leg back and forth, her back straight at attention. Her free hand plays with the tail of her braid.

  “How much coffee have you had this morning?” I ask, questioning her boisterous mood.

  She relaxes her shoulders, trying to appear more composed. “Sorry, I’m a naturally fidgety person.” She raises her cup toward me. “This is my first one.”

  My shoulders rise as I let out a chuckle. The kid is funny. I guess I could call her a kid. She’s only a few years younger than me, but I feel as if I’m much older. The adult in the room.

  “Feel free to enter with cups of Joe anytime,” I say.

  Looking over the files on my desk, I know I have a lot to get started on. Where last week I was at a standstill waiting for Heather’s cooperation, this week I can get started on my event. I need Erik’s permission, of course, but now I can actually get to production. No more sitting around and waiting. Once the musical guests are booked and the network requirements come in, I’ll be slammed. There are so many aspects of the event I can work on now.

  And luckily, I feel more in control of the situation. I have my head wrapped around the task at hand. I can do this.

  At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  “So,” I ask Trish, “how’s day one working with Heather?” I wanted to refer to Heather as “the ice queen,” but I think better of it.

  Trish nods her head enthusiastically. “It’s great.” Her voice squeaks a little. “It’s actually day four. Friday, after you left, Heather called me in.” She looks down and puckers her brow as if recalling the memory. “Just as I was about to leave, in fact. My boyfriend and I were going to a concert, but I had to cancel on him last minute.” Her mouth turns into the slightest of frowns before she lifts her head quickly and waves off the notion. “But that was fine. I mean this is my big break, you know.” Her eyes are opened so wide I can see the whites.

  “Sounds like you have a great work ethic.” I raise my coffee in the air in a cheers motion. There’s no way I would have stayed on Friday night. There couldn’t have been enough for Heather to do to have to keep Trish.

  Placing her braid in her mouth, Trish nibbles on it for a second and drops it down on her shoulder. “I hope she recognizes that. I was here all weekend, working, compiling lists of music schools around the country and calling up the families of musical savants. I also went through hundreds of YouTube videos of kids playing instruments and made a file for Heather to review. That’s what she’s doing right now. Watching my videos.”

  I respect Trish’s go-getter attitude. It’s inspirational.

  I cross my legs and swivel my chair to open my desk drawer to grab my notepad. She just reminded me about my idea from last week. I should present it to Erik this afternoon. Or am I supposed to bring it to Asher?

  Shaking my head, I shake the idea away. I’ll go to Erik. Asher doesn’t want to be bombarded with every silly idea I have. More importantly, I have no desire to work with the man directly.

  Work first, worry later.

  “I’m so happy you said that, because you just reminded me of something.” I flip the notepad over to a clean page and grab a pen to jot down some ideas.

  Trish continues. “Awesome. Glad I’m here to help!” She’s holding on to her coffee mug with both hands, as if trying to keep warm. While I write, Trish continues with her story, rambling a little. “It’s a pretty awesome project Heather has me working on. She is going to have children, like really young kids who are these incredible piano players and guitar players and drummers, play onstage with each musical guest.”

  I must have pushed down hard on the pen because it runs away from me on the page, making a deep blue gash across the paper.

  That bitch.

  Not Trish. She’s lovely. She’s just doing what she was told to do.

  Heather.

  She stole my idea and she is going to take all the credit! Last week she pretty much told me my idea was crap. No sooner does she separate from me as co-producer and goes ahead and decides the idea is awesome… which it is… and moves ahead on it. She didn’t even wait a minute before setting the wheels in motion. I have to talk to Erik about this. I have to tell him.

 
Listen to me. I sound like a child. What am I going to do, stomp into his office and temper tantrum? Erik is the last person who would want to hear that kind of nonsense. He’s a “we’re all a team” kinda guy.

  Taking a moment, I think for a second.

  It was a good idea. A freaking awesome idea, and I’m happy it’s getting done. And let’s face it; it’s more appropriate for the Central Park event anyway. The talent will be bigger and there will be more opportunities to showcase the kids. The exposure at that event will be greater as well. We can’t do the same thing at both events, so as much as I’d love to do it at the gala, the park is going to be a concert of epic proportions. I’ll just have to come up with something new.

  And who knows? Maybe Heather was going to give me credit for the idea.

  Yeah, right, I know.

  I discuss the idea with Trish, not acting bitter in any way, and even give her some pointers. If someone is going to get credit, then I’d prefer it’s Trish. Like she said, this is her big break. Malory would have done the same thing for me a few years ago if the opportunity arose.

  At the end of our coffee break, I bid Trish good-bye without giving her the slightest inclination I’m upset. She seems to enjoy working for Heather, and I don’t want to make any enemies.

  I already made one of those with Asher.

  I’ve only been working again for a minute, but I’m exhausted. I race home from work every day in order to make it home to do something with Jackson before he has to go to bed. The sun is out longer this time of year, but the last few days I’ve been home in time to take our walk. To be honest, I’ve been keeping him up much later just so we can have extra snuggle time. By the time I get him in bed, I have just enough time to watch my shows on DVR and take care of any household chores. No matter how busy you are, clothes need to be washed and floors need to be mopped.

  How come working dads get away with skirting from errands and chores while women have to be the holy trinity—career woman, wife, and mother?

  I shake my head and move on from the idea. Even if I let Gabriel do the dishes, he’d probably stack the dishwasher wrong and I’d have to reorganize it myself.

  As exhausted as I am, I can’t sleep. I hit the hay at midnight and stare at the ceiling attempting to count sheep or what ever it is you’re supposed to do when you can’t sleep. Gabriel is laying beside me, sleeping heavy, while my mind races a mile a minute. I have so many thoughts going through my mind, starting with my job.

  I feel like I have so much on my plate. While I have an idea of what needs to be done, I’m anxious to do a good job. What if the announcer says someone’s name wrong because I didn’t provide him with the proper copy written phonetically? What if I accidentally book a vendor for the wrong day or misread Gretchen’s celebrity riders and give the candy dish of green M&Ms to a diabetic guest or a meat and cheese platter to the vegan pop star? What if we forget to put a microphone on a guest or her name is misspelled on the television screen? I know there is an entire team of people who are there to create the production. It’s not all on me. But it feels like it is.

  I also can’t sleep, because every time my eyes start to drift shut, I think I hear Jackson. He still wakes up once every night and I have to go to him. Most kids are sleeping through the night before they’re six months old. Not my kid. He needs to be rocked, and I’m a glutton for that little guy.

  But the real reason, the biggest reason I can’t sleep, is because I’m afraid I’ll dream. Not a nightmare. No. Far from it. I’m afraid I’ll dream of Alexander Asher.

  I’ve only met the man once, and he pissed me off beyond belief. But that dream was without a doubt the sexiest dream I have ever had in my entire life. It doesn’t so much frighten me that I had the dream. I’m more frightened by the fact I didn’t want to wake up.

  Today, Gabriel and I are supposed to have our date night. Part of me doesn’t even want to go to this art exhibit because I need the sleep. I should be able to take a nap on the train home, but if you accidentally miss your stop, it’s a nightmare to get back home.

  So, here I am, in a meeting, drinking large quantities of coffee to keep my energy up. Erik is seated at the head of the conference table, going over the vendor list I have for the event. We’re hiring a design production company to decorate the red carpet area, but we have to tell them exactly what we want and agree on costs. Malory has already approved the proposal, but since it’s over budget, Erik wants to weigh in. At the last meeting, Asher said he would be working closely on the project, but I haven’t seen nor heard from him or anyone in his office on the matter.

  I’m grateful for that.

  “You’re gonna have to cut this down. There is no way we’re spending this kind of money on flowers.” Erik looks over the itemized list. “And the step and repeat needs to be half the size. All the celebrities will be at Central Park. This is just to make the donors feel like big shots.”

  The step and repeat is the red carpet. It’s where celebrities stop, get interviewed, have their picture taken, and then move on two feet to the next reporter, where they repeat the process.

  “You’re absolutely right.” I nod and then add a note to my long list of things I need to get done. “That amount is there from when we were having the larger event at Lincoln Center. I will fix that.” There is no worse feeling than making a stupid mistake. I should have seen that myself.

  Malory has a copy of the same document in her hands. She must have missed that item as well. She nods in agreement with Erik and turns to me. “Where are we with transportation costs?”

  Transportation costs? If I knew I was handling that as well, I would have taken care of it. I wish she’d said something about this before our meeting with Erik.

  I don’t even know who our preferred transportation vendor is. I come up with the best excuse I can on the fly. “Once I know who the guests are and where they’re coming from, I’ll have a proposal for you.”

  Malory seems to respect that answer. Erik is still looking over the design specs.

  “Slash the floral costs in half and fix the red carpet costs before showing this to Asher.” Erik hands me the paperwork and steps out with Malory to take another meeting.

  It’s not like I made a huge mistake, but it’s discomforting. Better to have had Erik review this before Asher. I do not want him to see me as anything but an excellent choice for the job.

  I get back to my desk and make the necessary changes.

  The budget with the floral design company is easy to fix. I’ll still get my dahlias. They’ll be a mixture of black, purple, and hot pink, but they’ll mix in black daisies to fill in the holes. I want everything to look lush and full. They also opted to sprinkle them with a faint amount of glitter to get them to sparkle under the camera lights.

  I make another call to the production design team who is decorating the stage. They are also providing the black carpet for outside. I have them amend that change and ask for new copies of everything.

  When the new proposal comes in through my e-mail, I print it and drop it in an interoffice envelope along with the other documents Erik already approved. Taking the envelope, I walk it over to Trish’s desk to be sent up to the top floor. If I can avoid having to see Alexander Asher, then I will at all costs.

  Letting my hair down from my low ponytail, I brush it out to let loose a little. I’m supposed to meet Gabriel in a half hour at the Museum of Modern Art. I change from my heels to a pair of ballet flats I keep in my bag and marvel at the relief they provide. Gabriel doesn’t care if I wear heels or flats, and tonight I’m going for comfort.

  I’m just about to head out the door with my bag in hand when my cell rings.

  “Hey.” I answer after seeing Gabriel’s picture light up the caller ID. It’s a picture of him in his tux at our wedding. He looked so unbelievably beautiful that day.

  “Don’t hate me.” Yup, those are the first words out of his mouth.

  I slump my shoulders and drop my bag on my
desk. “You’re bailing on me.” It was a statement. Not a question.

  “I am so sorry. I swear if I could leave, I would, but I just got this file on my desk with affidavits and I have to file an appeal immediately.” I can picture Gabriel running his hands along his forehead and down through his hair.

  My head falls to my chest and I lean against the white wall. “You know, for someone who gave me a hard time about working because I won’t be there for our family, you are doing a damn good job at it yourself.” I feel bad throwing it in his face, but it had to be said.

  “I’m not going to argue with you.” His voice is deep and understanding. “But this job is our future, Kat. And this client is very important. If I can at least settle this case, then I’ll be made partner.”

  If he makes partner, he’ll work just as hard and long to prove himself. It’s in his nature. I know this is all a sacrifice for our family. Gabriel has it in his head this is what I want and we need. It's a grand departure from the things he used to do in life. All he ever enjoyed was sailing, and he doesn’t even do that anymore.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m tired anyway.” I am really looking forward to our bed right now. I pick up my bag and start heading for the door.

  Gabriel spends the next five minutes convincing me to go to the exhibit anyway. He says we already have a sitter and the exhibit is only on for a few more weeks. Since I already bought tickets, I concede, but only promised to go for one exhibit because I really am tired.

  The Museum of Modern Art is on 53rd street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Since it is a warm June night, I decided to walk and am extra thankful to be wearing my flats.

  I step into the building, taking a program from a curator standing at the entrance, and head straight toward the exhibit I want to see. The museum has been having an ongoing screening cycle of movies throughout the twentieth century. All the films are being looked at through the eyes of the director. It seems boring to some, but I’m the kind of girl who watches the director’s cut DVDs and the cast and crew interviews in the bonus chapters. The exhibit has been going on for quite some time, but there is a particular feature on Charlie Chaplin I want to see, and today is the last day.