I had to admit, I was impressed. "Grab them and get back up here. We have years of mistakes to correct, and we’re doing it right now."
As she turned towards the elevator, I had a momentary flash of worry. Was I being too hard on her on her first day? I let my eyes sweep down to where her waist drew tight over her generous hips, my well practiced gaze recognizing several subtle modifications she had nearly invisibly stitched into to the skirt. I was immediately taken with the hand stitched detail at the belt-loops, that little couture subtlety that marked a true artist. It was beautiful work… Painstaking and flawless and every bit as stunning as the woman wearing it.
No… If anything, it was her who was going to be too hard on me. Not touching her was going to be the hardest thing I ever had to do.
Nakia
¤ ¤ ¤
The elevators swooshed open and I heaved a sigh of relief to see that August was still behind the desk at reception. "August!" I hissed as my heels clacked against the marble entryway.
"Nakia! Were you just up in Mr. Kingsley's office?" Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
I didn't know what else to say, so I decided on the truth. "Yes and I need your help. Where are the licensing files kept?"
"Back here, I'll show you," she said, gliding up from her chair. "What do you need?"
I read off the list Mr. Kingsley had given me. "What does he want those for?" she mused. "What is he up to?"
"Something about righting the mistakes of years in the next few days."
"That sounds...ominous," she observed.
I blinked. "I guess it does," I agreed. "But they don't pay me enough to second guess the owner."
She stared at me. "I thought they didn't pay you at all?"
"That was a joke, August."
"Pfft," she snorted. "And with clothes, cab fare and the cost of takeout, I make pretty much the same as you do!"
She was still giggling as she unlocked a small room off of the main office area. I blinked at the utilitarian grey file cabinets. They seemed so out of place in this otherwise fashionable building.
"They should be alphabetical, but I'm not sure. Mr. Kingsley's ex-wife is the only one who ever came in here." August tapped her heel nervously. "In fact, I feel kind of creeped out even being here." She looked around the cramped space. "It's like this room is haunted or something."
"Luckily, I never knew her."
"She was hell. Pure hell." August chewed her nail as her face went far away. "I think the only person who is sad she is gone is Mr. Kingsley."
I felt a peculiar tug at my heart. And suddenly, I was angry at myself. Why should I care that Mr. Kingsley missed his ex-wife? Was I really so naïve as to think that he would ever spare a passing glance for me?
"Well then, I'd better get to work!" I heard an unnaturally high pitch in my voice, one that someone who actually knew me would recognize as a note of rising panic. Luckily, August and I had only met this morning, and so I chose to believe she didn't recognize my desperate need to be alone.
"Good luck, then." She wavered for a moment, hesitating like she wanted to offer something else before she turned crisply on her heels and strode back to her desk with all the grace and poise of a runway model.
Once I figured out Dana Kingsley's filing system, which admittedly did take me several moments, I located the files with ease. And then I squared my shoulders again and tried to remember the affirmations I had chanted to myself this morning. Why did Mr. Kingsley have me feeling so off-balance? Why would my heart not stop thudding in my ears whenever I flashed back to the image of him standing at his office window, his broad shoulders tapering down to his narrow waist? I kept imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through that wavy hair, mussing it up a bit, stroking it across his forehead as his lips sought mine.
"Dammit!" I exclaimed aloud, and slammed an unsuspecting filing drawer shut. I needed to get a hold of myself. This was an internship, nothing more and I had somehow fallen into the role of personal secretary to my business idol.
I needed to keep this professional and not let feelings get in the way.
I needed to do this right.
With that new resolve, I stepped back out of the filing room and shut the door carefully behind me. Talking the files up under one arm, I practice inhaling and exhaling with each step. By the time I reached the elevator bank, I had made my decision. I would work as hard as I could to prove myself to Mr. Kingsley. I would be the best damn intern there was. And I wouldn't let any delusions of wondering how his lips tasted stand in my way.
Zach
¤ ¤ ¤
There was so much work to be done. And yet here I was, hiding in a hotel room instead of doing it.
And all to avoid my new intern.
The first thing I had had Dalton do after I sent Nakia home was find me a new place to live. The apartment had been where I lived with Dana. If I had a prayer of starting over, I needed to have my own space. While he began calling real estate brokers, I went to the website of my favorite hotel and booked the presidential suite. It was convenient to work and had the added benefit of having my favorite restaurant right there in the lobby.
Everything I could ask for, except for one thing.
I wandered to the window, looking down at the street below. I was overlooking my own building, a rather ominous reminder of the amount of work I had ahead of me.
I snapped the shade shut and walked back to my luggage.
I ignored my suits, my shoes, my cufflinks, my electronics. For some reason, my eye went right to my long neglected sketchpad.
I opened it up, leafing slowly through the pages of my past. Old ideas, never seeing the light of day, slowly petering out until the last few pages were just frustrated line drawings, little columns of figures in the margins as I calculated the cost of my vision.
I turned to a fresh page and put my pencil to the paper. There was something that needed to come out.
As I idly drew the pencil across the page, a form began to emerge. I added shading, reaching for a warm brown Prismacolor to add caramel highlights to the skintone. A curve here, a swoop there, a softly angled brow. I furrowed my own brow as I considered the proper shade for the full lips, lost in my own little fantasy of creation.
When I was finished, I snapped the sketchbooks shut. Suddenly I had an idea that could not be denied. The inspiration I had been yearning for for months in France suddenly came barreling back into my head. I threw on my jacket and headed to my office, ready to work.
Nakia
¤ ¤ ¤
I tapped my pencil nervously against my notepad, trying my best to collect my thoughts before Mr. Kingsley noticed my mind was elsewhere. Luckily, his back was to me, his focus completely on the computer screen in front of him.
I took a deep breath and tried to focus as well, but my mind kept dragging me back to last evening's class.
Midterm grades had been posted. I nodded when I saw the string of A's....until the B- in Design Techniques smacked in the face like a splash of cold water on my dreams.
Of course I had marched right up to my professor and demanded to know the reason. My work was perfect, I knew it was. Everything was on time and exactly to her specifications.
Professor Aster Bloom was just as flowery as her name. She had smiled vacantly at me as I approached her desk, like she had no idea why I would be on the warpath.
"May I talk with you about my grade?" I asked her, feelin
g the tension in my jaw.
"Of course, Miss James," she said airily, staring at me with her wide, watery eyes.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
I felt something inside of me snap. "Why did you give me a B-?" I said icily, trying not to show my frustration but failing miserably. "There's no good reason for it, and it puts my scholarship in jeopardy. I've never missed an assignment, all my work is perfect..."
Professor Bloom waved her slight hand through the air like a bird taking wing. "That's just it, Nakia," she said. Her voice was too kind to be cutting me this deeply. "Your work is perfect. Too perfect. It's cold and impersonal. You lack...warmth."