Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista (17 page)

“Do you want to dance?” I ask quietly.

Deke’s expression freezes. He looks completely caught off-guard by my request.

“Uh”—he picks up his hand and rakes it through his hair, appearing very uncomfortable—“Avery, I don’t—”

My face flames in mortification. Damn it! Why did I have to ruin everything by asking him that? Obviously it’s a line he doesn’t want to cross because of Isabel, and I can’t believe I even asked him to cross it.

“Never mind,” I say quickly, reaching for my purse. “I never should have asked you that. I know you’re with Isabel.” I realize I’m talking at the speed of light, but all I want to do is get out of here as fast as I can. I grab the bill as a distraction.

“I guess we can divide this out,” I ramble nervously. “We’ll both be reimbursed for this anyway, and we can get duplicates of the receipts for our expense reports.”

As I’m fumbling through my purse, keeping my head down, I suddenly feel someone standing next to me.

I look up and Deke has risen from the table. He’s standing next to my chair, his hand extended out to me.

“I don’t think a visit to the Top of The Mark would be complete without a dance,” he says softly.

My heart beats furiously as I put my hand in his. And feeling his rough, familiar skin against mine is like coming home again. To a place that’s warm and familiar and exactly where I belong.

Neither one of us speak as we step on to the dance floor. Jazz music floats around us, and Deke’s hand slips around my back, his fingertips resting against my dress.

And the second he holds me, I know I’m putting up a hopeless fight. I’m kidding myself if I say I’m falling in love with Deacon Ryan.

Because I’m already in love with him.

I look into his eyes, only to find they are already on mine. I decide to live in this moment, wanting to remember everything—how his shoulder feels under my palm, the scent of his skin, the way we move together to the sultry music.

And nothing has ever felt as right to me in my life as this moment with Deke does.

The music ends far too soon. His fingertips remain on my back, his other hand still clasped over mine. I search his eyes and wonder if he doesn’t want this dance to end, either.

Suddenly he clears his throat. And with regret I feel his hand slowly release mine.

“We should go back now,” Deke says simply.

I swallow hard and nod, although I don’t mean it.

We go back to our table, but Deke picks up the entire tab. I’m sure he has a bigger per diem than mine, and since I’m a client he can expense my part anyway.

Now we’re ready to leave. But before I step on the elevator to go down, I take one final look around, wanting a mental snapshot of the place before I go.

Because I’ll always have this night in San Francisco—even though I’ll never have Deke.

Chapter 18

“Thank you, Eric, for that overview on our marketing efforts for the Pacific routes,” Craig Potanski says, stepping up to the front of the room and commanding everyone’s attention.

I fidget in my uncomfortable hotel ballroom chair, and my stomach flips with sheer nervousness. It’s Tuesday morning, and my time has finally come.

I’m about to present my spa basket idea.

I hold my breath as Craig pushes up the sleeve of his dress shirt and glances down at his very expensive watch.

“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break, and then Avery Andrews will present her idea for in-flight spa baskets before we break for lunch.”

I gulp as eyes in the room shift toward me in curiosity. I have been sitting here the last thirty minutes reviewing my presentation in my head—and fighting off frostbite, as the temperature in here has to be
sub-zero
—anxiously waiting for my moment to arrive.

And now it has.

I notice the Chicago marketing team is viewing me with very skeptical expressions on their faces. Probably because they thought this item was buried when they rejected it the first time, back in June.

I take my laptop over to the front table. I boot it up, wanting to leave nothing to chance the second I head up to the podium to do my presentation.

After my computer is up and running, I go over to the table containing coffee and teas. I’m so cold that I’m shaking, and I don’t want that to be perceived as nervousness when I do my presentation.

Even though I’m
really
nervous.

I take a calming breath. Okay. Once I get up there and start my PowerPoint presentation, everything will be fine. The nerves will settle once I start talking.

I instinctively glance toward the back of the room, where Deke has his camera set up on a tripod. He nods at me, and I know that’s his way of telling me I’m going to lock it down, as he likes to say.

“So, Avery, Craig is really going to let you present the spa basket idea again?”

I turn and find Rebecca standing next to me, a suspicious look in her eyes.

I reach for a ceramic mug and fill it with decaf coffee. “Yes, he is.”

“Hmmm. That’s
nice
of him to humor you like that, considering the marketing heads in Chicago didn’t think this was a good idea when you mentioned it a month ago.”

I bite down hard on my tongue as I reach for the creamer. “Well, that was a preliminary idea,” I say sweetly, forcing myself to sound extra nice. “I’ve really fleshed it out since that meeting, as you’ll see in my presentation.”

Rebecca smiles condescendingly at me as Creepy Spence strolls up next to her.

“I think that’s wonderful that you’ve had the
time
to expand on an idea like that,” Rebecca coos, touching my arm with mock affection. “I, unfortunately, don’t have the luxury to work on an idea that’s already been rejected, with me being
swamped
with my current approved projects.”

“I totally agree,” Creepy Spence chimes in, sneaking a peek down at Rebecca’s scooped-neck sweater. “Who has time for rejected ideas?”

Blah! I hate both of them. I once again fantasize about throwing stale Danish at each of their heads, but decide this wouldn’t be good timing, considering the fact that I’m about to do the biggest presentation of my life.

I take a sip of coffee and decide I’ve had enough of Rebecca’s martyr routine.

“Well, I don’t consider that a luxury, Rebecca. I think it’s all about time management, don’t you agree? And since this proposal is important to me, I budgeted my time and made it a priority. I’m sure you understand how to do that, considering how
busy
you are.”

Then I turn and leave them standing there, mouths open, as I return to my seat. I flip open my notebook and review my notes, looking unaffected although my heart is now thumping against my ribs.

I probably shouldn’t have said that to Rebecca. She’s superior to me in the department and—

“Nice move, Fashionista,” Deke says, interrupting my thoughts. “I couldn’t have said that better myself.”

I look up and see him standing next to me. Oh, shit! I totally forgot that he was on headset and could pick up anything on my mic.

I instantly begin to blush. “I . . . I shouldn’t . . .”

“Forget that,” he says, shaking his head. “You were brilliant. As you’re going to be in a few minutes, too.”

I stare up at him and see the belief shining in his eyes. And as I gaze into them, belief rises in me, too.

“Thanks,” I say quietly. “That means a lot to me, knowing you think that.”

Deke stares at me for a moment. Then he clears his throat. “Well, I should get some water and get back over there. We’ll do the one-on-one interview after the presentation, just so I can capture the moment as it happens, okay?”

I nod. Deke heads over to the refreshment table and picks up a bottle of water.

I refocus my attention to my notes. After one final review, I go up to the front table for my presentation.

People begin straggling back into the room, looking like they’d all rather leave for lunch instead of hearing my presentation.

It’s okay
, I reassure myself, trying to ignore the bored expressions on their faces.
Once you start talking, you can win
their full attention.
Passing around the sample baskets should help—

“Are you ready, Avery?” Craig asks me, taking a seat next to where I have my laptop set up.

“Of course,” I quickly squeak.

Oh crap. Did that sound as hideous as I think it did?

“Great,” Craig says, nodding. Then he clears his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Everyone, if you would please be seated, we’ll get started,” Craig announces.

People quickly get back to their seats. I swallow hard, as all eyes are on me now. Everyone is waiting for me to speak. And in the case of the Chicago team, say something more profound than I did last month at the Spa Service brainstorming meeting.

“Good morning,” I say. I slip behind the podium and notice my knees are shaking together, but luckily my voice has remained even and calm. “My name is Avery Andrews, and I’m an assistant in the Marketing Department at headquarters in Chicago. I’d like to present to you an idea to enhance our in-flight Spa Service, and that’s specialized spa baskets as part of our amenities package.”

I look out into the audience. Okay, good. Only Rebecca and Creepy Spence are passing notes to each other, but everyone else is paying attention. I haven’t lost them yet.

I pick up the remote control for the PowerPoint and click it to bring up the presentation on the screen behind me.

“As you can see-” I stop speaking. Why is the screen blue? My first slide was supposed to come up.

I click it again. The screen is still blue.

Don’t panic
, I will myself.
Do not panic now
.

“Uh, as you can see—” I start again, hitting the button.

But the fucking screen is still blue.

Now panic takes over as I click the remote over and over, but to no avail. Oh God! Where the hell is my presentation?

“Toggle,” someone yells out.

“Why don’t you hit . . .”

“Do you need to reboot?”

“I always have this problem—”

“Have you checked the cord?”

ACK! Suddenly it’s like being in the showcase showdown on the
Price Is Right
, where everyone is screaming what you should bid but you can’t hear anything over the sea of noise.

“Uh, one moment, please,” I gulp, going back over to my laptop. And as I frantically hit the keys to get the PowerPoint up, my inbox comes up. And an e-mail from Sasha flips open on the screen for everyone—and everyone who will be watching this on TV—to read:

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Date: July 2nd

Re: YOU OWE ME MONEY

Avery, I fully anticipate you will pay me in full on Friday for that Burberry scarf you “had to have” before going to San Francisco. Keep in mind my last day at Saks is on Sunday, so if there are any other designer items you “must get” with my discount that normally you would never be able to afford, you need to plan accordingly.

Sasha

Damn it, I hate Sasha sometimes. Although all I saw was “pay in full” and “never afford,” I know the e-mail makes me out to be an idiot who can’t manage her money. Mortified, I quickly close out of e-mail and hear some snickers around the room as I do. Then, by the beloved mercy of God above, my PowerPoint slide finally appears. Everyone begins to applaud, and I feel like my face is raging like an inferno.

I look around the room. Can I do this? How can they take me seriously now, when I’ve just shown I’m completely inept at even getting a slide to come up on a screen?

I want to flee. To say, “Never Mind!,” wave my hand in goodbye, and run straight up to my room to hide.

But then my eyes rest on Deke. He stares straight at me, and ever so slightly, inclines his head at me.

He still believes I can do this
, I think in amazement.

“See, Avery, that’s why I have a team around me,” Craig says, interrupting my thoughts. I look at him, and he’s smiling at me. “They know I’m worthless when it comes to working the computer.”

Everyone laughs, and I feel myself relax a little bit.

“Well, I think we are good now so I’d like to begin,” I say, making eye contact with everyone seated before me. “I initially proposed this spa basket idea back in June, and in the meantime, I’ve done a lot of research on the viability of pursuing this idea. For example . . .”

I go on to walk through my presentation. I talk about my ideas, my research, the sample products I’ve discovered online, and how I matched them up with our big vacation routes. I pass around the two baskets—one for arrival use and the other for nighttime—and happily watch as some of the women begin poking around in them, smelling the products, and appearing to get into it.

Finally I close my presentation and open the floor to questions.

Rebecca’s hand instantly shoots up into the air.

I force myself to acknowledge her. “Rebecca?”

“Yes,” Rebecca says, frowning. “I thought we gave very
specific
examples of why this idea wouldn’t work back in June. And I fail to see how your presentation changes the fact that this is extra work for provisioning. Or that people
really
care about specialty toiletries in the first place.”

“I totally agree,” Creepy Spence chimes in.

Of course you do,
I think angrily. But I’m ready for this question. And I’m not letting my spa basket idea go down without a fight this time.

“Rebecca, I’m so glad you’ve given me the opportunity to answer your question and expand on it,” I say brightly. And I almost laugh aloud as Rebecca’s mouth drops open in shock.

“First of all,” I say, my confidence brimming, “the extra work for provisioning is loading the baskets into the aircraft. Is that really that different than loading food on board for an overseas flight? Or bed linens, or magazines, or anything else we need to pamper our guests in flight?”

I glance around the room and see other heads nod in agreement. Encouraged, I draw a breath of air and continue.

“And—although I already pointed this out in my presentation, I’m happy to review it again—if people don’t really care about toiletries, then why the explosion in bath products in the past decade?” I ask, remembering that Rebecca was busy writing notes when I went over this topic in PowerPoint. “People are more into well-being and aromatherapy than ever before, and the baskets tie in directly to this consumer trend.

“But the bottom line is,” I say, feeling like I’m rolling up to my big finale, “does Premier Airlines want to be an innovator? Or a follower? I think the Spa Service shows we want to innovate. But I think if we do offer innovative service, we need to carry the idea through on all levels. No detail is too small. And that includes our amenities kits, too.”

The room falls silent. Rebecca and Creepy Spence are glaring at me, but a few others nod in approval. But what is Craig thinking? I glance at him, but his face is unreadable. Suddenly my heart is pounding inside my chest. My throat is dry. Oh God. What if he thinks my presentation sucked? What if he’s about to tell me a list of 100 reasons why this idea is stupidest thing he’s ever heard?

“Are there any more questions for Avery?” Craig asks.

Not a hand in the room goes up. And suddenly I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Thank you, Avery,” Craig says.

I nod and go back to my seat as everyone politely claps. Craig rises and goes to the podium, and my palms begin to sweat in nervousness.

“I’d like to give all of you my feedback on Avery’s presentation,” Craig says, taking a quick sip of mineral water.

Oh God. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I don’t even notice the arctic temperature in the room. I just wait for Craig to speak.

“First of all, I know some of you were surprised that I let Avery, who has only been with Premier Airlines since May, present an idea at our retreat today,” Craig says in that deep voice, the one that commands attention the second he speaks. “And that is because she has fresh eyes. Avery hasn’t been immersed in our world day in and day out. She brought something to my attention that I never even considered before.

“And more to the point, Avery had
conviction
in her idea. She was passionate about it. She wasn’t afraid to pursue it, to think outside the box, even after we told her no. I like that. More importantly, I like her idea, too.”

I nearly gasp aloud in shock. Craig Potanski likes my idea?

“Therefore, Avery, I’ll put you as point person on this project, with you reporting directly to Lindsay and me every step of the way on it so we can guide you. You’ll coordinate with provisioning and airport and in-flight merchandising for a trial run on our Chicago to Milan runs. If it’s a hit, I’ll expand it to all the routes we plan to offer Spa Service on.”

Oh my God. I can’t believe it. I’ve locked it down and have a start to a career as a result.