Chapter 12
Mia
A New Look
Otto and I spend every moment of our free time pounding the pavement for silent auction donations. Visiting businesses in person works so much better than a phone call. It’s much more difficult for the business owner to stare you in the eye and turn you down. We’ve acquired a high value gift basket from a spa, a haircut and make-over from a posh beauty salon, and tickets to a theater-in-the-park production of “Wicked.”
Tonight, we’re visiting the stuffy French place, but I don’t know what to wear. “Emma, I need your opinion,” I yell as I gaze at myself in the full-length mirror in my closet. She appears in the doorway a few seconds later.
“You look nice Mia, but you always look nice.”
Turning around, I put my hands on my hips. “Define nice.”
The corners of her mouth turn down and she hesitates to answer.
“Face it, I look prim and proper, but I don’t look stylish or head-turning or sexy, do I?”
Emma giggles. “Nope, you give off a permanent ‘I’m all business’ vibe.”
Sighing, I point to the contents of my closet. “Do you see anything in here that doesn’t give off that vibe?”
Emma heads over to my closet and rummages through every hanger, sliding each one to the side, giving it a disgusted look, then moving on to the next. When she’s done, she turns to me and says, “Do you realize you could wear a different stuffy business suit every day for twenty-two days?”
I frown. “They’re all different colors!” At least I didn’t purchase twenty-two identical suits.
Emma shakes her head and laughs. “What did you wear on your last date?” she asks, as she begins to look through the contents of the closet again.
“Um...” When was my last date? “Never mind! This isn’t a date.”
Her eyes narrow. “Going to Le Chateau Gourmand isn’t a date?”
“Otto and I have an appointment with the owner to discuss a silent auction donation. Nothing else.”
“Then why are you stewing over what to wear?” she snorts. “Wear one of your suits!”
I plop down on the bench inside the closet and stare dejectedly at the floor, the words tumble from my mouth. “The Marriot event planner, Miss Bettencourt, looked so glamorous and sexy in her dress. I noticed how Otto looked at her. She was professional, but with a touch of style. She wore that dress with such confidence and flair!”
“And you want to have Otto look at you like that, right?” Emma replies as she sits down beside me.
I nod. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”
Squeezing my arm, she says, “No, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to get a guy’s attention. Knock his socks off, so to speak.” She leaps to her feet. “I think we can transform your look with just a few tweaks!” She frantically rummages through the hangers again.
“What are you looking for?”
“The suit with the shortest skirt,” she says with a wink.
Can I pull off a sexier look? My palms start to sweat.
Fifteen minutes later I’m gazing into the mirror and I don’t recognize myself. “You’re a miracle worker,” I say to Emma in an awe-laced tone.
She waves her hand like she’s swatting a fly. “Oh, it was easy! You had all the right pieces. We just needed to find the right combination. When is Otto picking you up?”
“I’m meeting him at the restaurant.”
Her eyes grow wider. “What kind of date is that?” she squeaks.
“I told you, it’s not a date. It’s a business meeting.”
Shaking her head, she says, “Whatever. Go knock his socks off!” She pushes me towards the door with a smile.
~*~
What was I thinking? I should have worn my usual business suit. I’m comfortable with the prim and proper look and this new outfit makes me feel like I’ve got a flashing neon sign over my head saying, “Look at me! Look at me!” Knowing that it’s too late to go home and change, I straighten my shoulders and enter the restaurant, with my head held high, trying to give off the allusion of confidence.
Otto hasn’t arrived yet. There’s a flurry of activity around me as I try to catch someone’s attention. Waiters clad in black suits are setting up tables with white tablecloths, perfectly aligned place settings with a full complement of silverware. Even picky Mrs. Snowdon wouldn’t have any criticism of the elegant tables.
“May I help you Ma’am?” a waiter says after I snag his eye.
The ma’am moniker doesn’t boost my confidence, but I need to consider it’s coming from a man who could be my grandfather. “We have an appointment to see Mr. Lavigne,” I say.
His bushy white eyebrows creep towards his hairline. “Who is we?” he asks in a snooty tone as if I’m referring to my invisible friend.
A nervous laugh escapes. “My partner, er, rather, um, colleague, hasn’t arrived yet, but he should be here any minute, I assure you! Our appointment is at five.” My stumbling reply elicits another rise of those eyebrows.
Knowing that I got here eight minutes early, it must be nearly five by now. Where’s Otto?
“Very well. I’ll let Mr. Lavigne know you are here,” he says, then wanders off.
Feeling a bit like a chastised child, I pace in the entry, anxiously awaiting Otto’s arrival.
A few seconds later, I hear a voice with a distinct French accent. “You must be Miss Robinson.” I stop pacing and look up. A very good-looking gentleman takes a few steps closer. He’s probably in his fifties with sleek black hair and a small goatee, wearing a white chef outfit complete with hat. My first impression is that he’s quite debonair and refined, but this is my first encounter with a Frenchman.
“Yes, I’m Mia,” I say, as I extend my hand.
“Felix Lavigne,” he replies smoothly. Instead of exchanging handshakes, as I expect, he raises my hand to his lips and plants a kiss on the back of my hand. Otto flies through the door and skids to a stop while Felix’s lips are still connected to my hand. Otto’s eyes widen and I blush. Flustered, I quickly tug my hand away from the Frenchman’s lips, not quite sure what to do next.
Otto approaches us and introduces himself while extending his hand, “I’m Otto Stagmeier.” The men exchange handshakes.
I owe Otto a debt of gratitude for saving me from the Frenchman’s flirtations.
“Please follow me,” Felix says, directing us towards a narrow hallway.
“Love the new look,” Otto whispers as we trail a few feet behind the owner. “Obviously Mr. Lavigne likes it, too,” Otto teases.
“Shh! He’ll hear you,” I whisper, blushing to the roots of my hair at Otto’s comments.
“Killer skirt, by the way,” he says. “Those heels really accentuate your assets,” he says, blowing on his fingers. I trip over my own feet and hear Otto chuckle.
“You should always wear your hair down,” he adds while my blush heats.
“Please sit. May I get you something to drink?” Felix asks as he points to three oversized, stuffed chairs positioned in a circle. I find the configuration odd for an office.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” I say.
“I’d love bottled water if you have one,” Otto says.
Felix wrinkles his pointy nose. “I’ll get you some San Pellegrino,” he says and steps out of the room.
Otto takes a seat and I do the same. The overstuffed chair envelops me, and I struggle to place my feet on the floor. I end up having to perch on the edge of the seat. The position is not comfortable and is very precarious. Glancing down, I realize that my low-cut V-neck is revealing more than I intended. Straightening my posture, I feel like a human mannequin trying to hold a pose.
Felix returns with a green bottle, hands it to Otto and takes a seat “Please tell me about your fundraiser.”
Otto and I do a good job of pitching the project. We each supply interesting information about the inclusive park and the need for it. Felix listens and doesn’t interrupt.
“We’d love for you to donate an exclusive dining experience package that donors can bid on during the silent auction,” I say.
“I’d be happy to donate a meal for two,” Felix says.
Otto clears his throat. “Do you have private dining rooms for VIP guests?”
“Of course we do,” Felix replies with an edge to his voice as if that was a silly question.
“We’re thinking more along the lines of a five-course meal and wine in one of your private dining rooms. Complete with their own waiter,” Otto says.
“Also, we think it would be great if you create a special menu item. Possibly a unique dessert” I suggest.
The man’s face brightens. “I understand your vision now! Yes, yes. We can make this an exclusive, unique dining experience. One that our guests have never experienced before!”
“That’s very generous of you. It will help bring in the high value bids that we need if we’re going to reach our million-dollar goal,” Otto replies.
Felix nods. “Email me the particulars. Do I need to create a special gift certificate?”
“Would you mind if we created the certificate, and had you review it?” I ask, still perched like a bird on a wire, my back starting to feel the strain. “We’ve selected a distinct color scheme and font for the flyers and invitations and we’d like the certificate to have the same theme.”
“Very well,” Felix says and stands clearly indicating that the meeting is over.
When I try to rise, I lose my precarious balance and instead of standing, I sink further back into the chair. With my feet no longer on the ground to give me leverage, I flail my legs in a futile attempt to get my butt off the seat.
As I struggle for several seconds, Otto finally sees my predicament and quickly comes to my rescue. He extends his hand and literally yanks me up from the chair. The forceful tug propels me into Otto’s broad chest, and we collide. “Oomph!” I say as Otto puts his arms around my body to steady me. Our eyes lock as my heart flutters. There’s a glint in Otto’s eyes that indicates if Felix wasn’t watching, Otto would finally give me that first kiss I’m craving. “Sorry!” I mutter, while taking a step back and breaking the spell.
Felix grins at us with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I’d love to treat you both to a meal, but we’re booked tonight. How about a couple desserts to take with you?” He strolls towards the door. “Edward will bring the desserts and see you out. Have a nice evening.” With a sweep of his hand, Felix departs, and seconds later the waiter with the bushy eyebrows reappears with two containers that he hands over to Otto. “Please follow me.”
As soon as we’re outside, I sag in relief, knowing that I can’t do anything else to embarrass myself. Otto puts a gentle hand on my arm, causing me to stop.
“Care to join me for dinner?” he asks with a saucy grin.
“That depends on what you have in mind,” I tease.
“Sammy’s Burgers?”
I snort. “Really? No thank you.”
Laughing, he says, “How about the all-you-can-eat buffet on 34 th ?”
Placing my hands on my hips, I retort, “Mr. Stagmeier, is that the best you’ve got?”
He snaps his fingers. “I know the perfect place.”
“It better not include a bowling alley,” I say as we continue walking towards our vehicles.
“There’s no bowling balls or rented shoes in sight,” he assures me.
“What’s the name of the place?”
“Trust me,” he says in a cagey voice. “Do you want to ride with me, and we’ll come back to get your car afterwards?”
“Ok,” I say, then cringe when we step up beside his behemoth pickup. “I’ll need a step ladder to get in!” I squeal.
He laughs, opens the door, places the dessert containers on the seat, and lifts me into the truck in one fluid move. I’m out of breath and feel a bit off-balance. Is this our first date or merely two colleagues dining together? My heart beats wildly as he pulls out of the parking lot. Guess I’ll find out.