Spin Control (16 page)

"Are we ready?" Angie sang behind us.

We turned to face her. "Sure," I resigned. "What's
the first step?"

"Well, do you have Devin's measurements?"

Now how were we supposed to get those? They had
to be on file somewhere, maybe where he buys his
suits. "I'll get those later," I dismissed. "For now, can
we see your suggestions?"

"I have about ten suits in mind." Michael rolled his
eyes, but I didn't blink. Angie looked at Michael.
"Would you be willing to model for us?"

"Be a good sport," I winked.

He shook his head and sighed. "Who's the one who
should be looking for a new job?"

I playfully patted his shoulder. "You'll be fine. Now,
get to the dressing room, you"

He stuck out his lower lip and shuffled his feet.
Angie shoved a suit toward him, and he reappeared
within two minutes.

Angie and I looked at each other with wide eyes,
then stared at Michael. He had kept his white buttondown shirt on, but the smooth, slate-gray jacket perfectly hugged his broad shoulders, and the matching
pants fit him perfectly, especially when he turned
around to model his backside.

"I never realized how tall you were" was all I could
manage.

He was clueless to our gawking. "Yeah, I'm six-two.
How tall did you think I was?"

I pursed my lips. Why hadn't I noticed his height before? And that body? Why did he look like a brand new
person in that overpriced suit? All right, girl, slow
down, I silently coaxed myself.

"I think you should buy it," I blurted.

Michael squinted. "Kate, you realize how much this
costs, right?"

I turned hopefully to Angie. "He could get a discount, right?"

"Forty percent."

"Nah," he shrugged.

"Fifty!" Angie, apparently overcome by her attraction for Michael, was in the mood for bargaining.

"He'll take it," I answered for him. "Look, you, a suit
like that for half the price is a steal."

Michael looked at the tag. "I wouldn't say $4,000 is
a steal."

"Look at it as an investment," I persuaded.

"If you think it's a good purchase, then I trust your
judgment."

Angie cleared her throat, reminding us of her presence. "What about Devin's suit?"

"Oh, right, that's why we're here." I tucked my hair
behind my ear. "Angie, we're kind of in a hurry. Why
don't you pick out the suit you think is best? I'll fax
over his measurements as soon as I get them, and you
can send the tailored suit to this address" I wrote down
the Hotel Bella corporate office while Michael changed
back into his clothes.

"Are you sure?" Angie said softly.

I leaned in closely to her and kept my voice low.
"You saw Michael in the first suit he tried on, right?
And you saw how good he looked. You picked that out.
If you can do wonders with him, think of what you can
do for Devin Underhill."

"Just one question," Angie inquired. "Does he have a
girlfriend?"

"No, but he's a very busy man, managing all those
hotels" I hope I let her down all right.

She blushed. "I was talking about him." She pointed
to the changing room.

"Um, well, you know, I don't think-no, he's single."
Why was I stumbling over my words? I had no claim to
Michael, and he could date whomever he chose. "You
should give him your number," I forced myself to say.

She flashed me a grin. "Thanks. I actually thought
you two were a couple when you came in here"

I vehemently shook my head. "No, no, no," I said
perhaps a little too eagerly. "We're just coworkers. And
speaking of coworkers," I raised my voice as Michael
walked toward us.

"I'm going to wait outside while you two finish up
the order." Angie gave me a knowing grin, excited that
I was leaving her alone to make a play for Michael. So
why was my stomach turning at the thought of it while
I paced on the sidewalk?

Within two minutes, Michael had exited the store.
"Hey, why did you leave me all alone in there?"

"Uh-oh, I made you fend off a girl all by yourself," I
tried to tease, but it sounded somewhat jaded.

"She tried to give me her phone number, but I just
didn't want it."

"What did you tell her?" I was dying of curiosity.

"That I was interested in someone else." He looked
at me pointedly, and I felt static travel through my entire body. And then, rather hastily, he said, "That wasn't
too bad of a rejection line, was it?"

In one instant, my chest caved in disappointment.
How juvenile of me to think that he was talking about
me and instead, he was just trying to let Angie down
gently. I raised my shoulders and looked straight ahead.
There was no reason to be like this, I told myself. We
are just coworkers. And I certainly couldn't let myself
fall for a coworker, could I?

The night of the Symphony Ball hadn't started out
the best for me. The dry cleaners had put my black satin
gown on a back shelf, so I maniacally ran to Nordstrom
and had to charge $400 to my credit card for a dress
that I wasn't all that crazy about. I wore a periwinkle
floor-length dress with spaghetti straps, looking more
like a bridesmaid throw-away than a publicist trying to
look as elegant as possible for one of the most posh
fund-raisers in New York City.

As I rushed around my apartment gathering my
makeup to put on in the waiting cab downstairs, I saw a
piece of paper sticking out from underneath the couch.
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Didn't want to wake you. See
you Monday. Michael."

I thought about that note while I rode in the cab.
What a nice gesture. Maybe this was someone I could really like, but then I remembered what he said outside
the Hugo Boss store after the Angie incident.

Despite my best efforts, I was still thirty minutes late
in meeting Michael at the Ritz Carlton. He paced outside the front entrance, looking panicked and incredibly handsome in his Hugo Boss suit. I expected him to
be annoyed with my tardiness, but the first thing he said
to me was, "I was worried about you"

I explained everything that had happened. "Well,
you can't tell you rushed yourself," he said with a cautious look from my toes to my face. "You look nice.
Really nice."

He gave me an intense look, but all I could do was
plaster a smile, then hustle into the main ballroom
where the event was taking place. The 500-some guests
were still mingling, sipping cocktails, waiting for the
formal program to start. I spotted Fox right away.

"Kate, what a pleasure to see you" He kissed my left
cheek, then lowered his voice. "We haven't had a
chance to talk, but you've been doing a fantastic job
with Devin. I'm really pleased"

I graciously nodded. "I'm glad to hear it." I was
about to subtly ask him whether he felt the project was
close to completion; but one of the event committee
members tapped him on the shoulder and told him they
were about to begin.

"We'll talk more later," he said over his shoulder.

Michael took his place beside me. "What did Fox
have to say?"

"He's really happy with what we've been doing for
Devin," I smiled broadly.

"Did he say-"

"Whether we were done?" I finished. "No, and I
didn't have a chance to ask him."

A sea of glitter, sequins, and black tuxes rushed past
us to take their seats. Devin was already seated at one of
the front tables with a group of middle-aged women,
drumming his fingers on the white tablecloth. But he
perked up when his father was introduced as the keynote
speaker and led the crowd in a standing ovation.

"Good," Michael nodded as he watched Devin.
"That's good"

"You can tell he's miserable," I added, "but at least
he's catching on that he should go through the motions."

Fox talked of the importance of giving to charity,
while Michael and I notified the reporters and photographers of upcoming photo ops with father and son.
Most of them rolled their eyes at us, the pushy publicists, while others obliged and started snapping shots.

After Fox's speech, which garnered him two more
standing ovations, the formal dinner of roasted duck
and artichoke risotto was served. Michael and I still
stood in the back of the ballroom, nibbling on prosciutto tea sandwiches and some other fancy hors
d'oeuvres I didn't recognize.

I turned to Michael. "You know what the unfortunate
thing about attending these sophisticated events is?"

"You realize how poor you are?" Michael raised an
eyebrow.

"Besides that" I smoothed a hand over my left hip.
"You never get to enjoy the actual sit-down dinner or
the dancing or any of the other fun stuff because you're so busy keeping an eye on your client or making sure
the media's doing what you'd like them to do"

The full orchestra, which had been providing quiet
dinner music, turned up the volume to indicate that the
dancing would begin. Devin and Fox walked to the
pristine dance floor with the event co-chairs in hand to
do the honorary first dance. The two socialites in their
forties both beamed into the eyes of their partners,
basking in the charms of the Underhill father-and-son
duo. Cameras flashed all around, and I smiled triumphantly. Fox and Devin put on their best face for the
evening; there was no sign of the tension I had witnessed in the Burton offices a few months ago. But they
were professionals.

More and more couples joined the foursome on the
dance floor. I looked around and saw that I was the only
one left standing. Where was Michael? At least I
would've had someone to talk to. Suddenly I felt like I
was in junior high, watching all the popular kids slow
dancing. But rather than get sucked into a pity party for
one, I welcomed the opportunity to sit down and give
my feet, squeezed into open-toed, ivory-colored heels,
a much-needed break.

Michael reappeared and hovered over me. "Sorry
about that. I saw someone I knew from my days in
L.A." He then extended his hand. "For those of us who
never get to have any fun ... may I have this dance?"

"Don't worry," he laughed in response to my frantically looking around the room. "Everyone will be fine
for a few minutes. It's just a dance"

He escorted me onto the dance floor, not letting go of my hand once. I put my left hand on the back of his
shoulder, and he gently put his right hand on my waist.
I thought I was going to melt. It was the closest physically I had been to a guy in years, and it was Michael,
no less. I secretly inhaled his scent of airy cologne and
soap and shuddered with pleasure. Don't do this to
yourself, Kate. I willed myself to withdraw from his
grasp, but instead, he drew me closer. Our faces
touched as we started swaying in time with the music.

"How can I tell you what is in my heart? How can I
measure each and every part?" crooned the lead singer
with her throaty, soulful voice.

"This is a beautiful song," I whispered in Michael's
ear. "I've never heard it."

"It's How Deep is the Ocean." Michael's low voice
resonated in my ear.

I watched the singer as I rested my chin on Michael's
shoulder. She thoughtfully closed her eyes; it was only
she and the music in the room, just as it was only
Michael and I in the room. "How much do I love you?
I'll tell you no lie. How deep is the ocean? How high is
the sky?"

Michael gently pulled away from me, his hazel eyes
softening. "Kate, I need to talk to you about something."

I looked up at him, expectant, breathless.

"I don't think we should work together any more"

Come see me immediately!"

The note, sticking on my computer monitor, was
written in Gwen's frenetic hand. I had been holed up in
the conference room all day, and these were my priorities: check my e-mail and voice mail, leave work on
time on a Friday for once, and go immediately to a
warm bath-with the hopes that it would make me forget about last night.

Last night. It kept rearing its ugly head all day. "I
don't think we should work together any more." Any rational person would have asked, "Why not?" But I was
caught off guard, and I fled the scene. I locked myself
in one of the bathrooms at the Ritz, staring at the back
of the door. After what felt like an hour, the restroom
attendant tapped on the stall.

"Are you okay?" she asked in accented English.

I opened the door and peeked out. "I'll be fine. Just
feeling a little dizzy."

The dark-haired woman nodded her head and went
back to her post, and I meandered over to the sink and
splashed my face. I took a deep breath, mustering any
ounce of pride I could find before returning to the
dance floor, where Michael was still standing, just as I
had left him.

I jutted out my chin. "I think you have all this under
control. I'm going home."

"Maybe we could talk about what just happened?" he
suggested weakly.

I put my hands on my hips and looked down. "No,
I'd rather not," which was a bold lie, because it's all I
wanted to talk about, but I didn't want the pain I was
feeling to cut any deeper.