Chapter Four
“Are you in, or what? It’s one night, maybe more…”
My best buddy, Spencer, had been on the phone, going after me for the last ten minutes over an impending double date with two supermodels from California. He was unofficially dating one of them.
“Dude,” he went on like the born and bred West Coast boy he was, “I’m telling you, she’s gorgeous. Sports Illustrated swimsuit hot. And smart! You seemed into the idea last weekend.”
I’d halfheartedly agreed to the whole double date when we’d been on a golf weekend, just to get the guys off my back. You never date, they’d ribbed. Just take ’em home and send them on their way. And they don’t mind! Don’t you want to wake up to the same gorgeous, intelligent seductress in the morning?
This was mostly Ryan talking, but Ryder also had chimed in. The married life isn’t so bad, he’d said unconvincingly.
I like my coffee alone in my kitchen and black like my heart. I’m glad you enjoy being married, Ry. And as for my lack of dating, it’s my choice,was my response while rolling my eyes. These guys had been in my life since grad school, and while I hated to admit it, they were the closest I had to family other than Milly and one lone guy from my football days.
The coffee bit was my usual reply to this type of commentary. Ryan and Spencer were my non-football friends. Spence and I were proudly still single while Ryan was married to his college sweetheart. Ryder was on his third wife, so he surely wasn’t influencing me anytime soon.
Alone and black is cold and lonely. You know what? You should pick up a romance book and see what love is all about. Plus they’re hot! Trish is devouring one as we speak, and I reap the rewards, Ryan had said. He was so smitten, and it showed.
Okay Ry, I’d told him. I’ll take your word for it. I wasn’t having it.
Don’t blame me. Go out with Spence’s friend. Maybe you’ll fall for someone for a night or three. Make it a multiple-night romp in the sheets and maybe more.
Sadly, this was the typical ribbing that went on between my graduate school guy friends and me. I held myself up as a politically correct type of man and often was annoyed with them for their crude banter. I hated locker room talk—even the idea of it, the nickname and all, perturbed me—since my junior year in college. It could have been Milly’s influence, or the time I was the focus of the talk, but I shoved all that shit to the back of my mind.
Especially Milly. She was taking up ample space lately. And as for the past, I’d spent enough time dwelling on those dreadful months of college.
My graduate school friends and buddies only grasped part of my relationship history but wanted me to date regularly. They knew for certain that I had my nights in the sheets, but those weren’t part of my talking points. Usually whomever I found myself in bed with understood it was simply lust or scratching an itch, and it was the same for them. Women were liberated these days and were allowed to be their own sexual beings with other priorities than landing a man.
“Come on. Melinda won’t go unless I find someone for Sela,” Spencer finally admitted, still droning on.
Despite his blond locks and easygoing attitude, Spencer was anything but. When he set his eyes on a prize, it usually became his. One thing though, he never accused me of being anything but myself—a loner when it came to love. His brother was gay, and he too led the charge in dispelling myths when it came to relationships with our asshole friends. But this time felt different. And I might be a solo man when it came to everlasting shit, but I was a damn good friend.
“I really like Melinda and want to see her again, and this is the situation. So do me a solid. Okay, man?”
“Okay, I’ll go, but I have to make an appearance at a work event first in Herald Square. Then I can swing over to the Athletic Club. Is that where you’re meeting?”
“I would never want to disappoint Melinda. Never.”
“I know, I know. Now shut it and let me get back to work.”
Spencer disconnected the call, knowing I’d be there to chat up sensual Sela while he tried to sell himself further to Melinda, the supermodel. It wasn’t a punishment. Plus I had to respect a woman who wouldn’t ditch her friend, and a man who would do anything to make a woman happy.
I knew nothing about either.
“Ready?” Corey popped his head in my office a few hours later.
I was getting off a conference call with the managers of Silky, discussing a new rollout of scented lotions. I nodded, taking one last look at my emails and standing up. “Give me a minute to change into a fresh shirt.”
“Got it,” Corey said, heading back out to his desk.
Stepping into my private bathroom, I wondered why I had agreed to this event, let alone the date. Because I wasn’t an evil man. I cared for my friends and the community, or so I told myself.
I was wondering if anyone else recognized this about me when Corey said, “Thanks again.” He spoke quickly as I came strolling out of my office in a white shirt and the same dark gray pants I’d been wearing. I’d traded my Ferragamos for black-on-black Gucci sneakers, and swapped belts.
“No worries,” I told Corey for what felt like the eighteenth time, but maybe it was the first. I was beginning to wonder…
“Bailey is super appreciative,” Corey added.
With a nod, I dismissed the conversation, but I could tell Corey was still mulling over my involvement in the Back to Work, Ladies event. “It’s a win-win. Bailey knocked it out of the park in her job, bringing in a company like Silky to partner. And we look like heroes. I like your sister and all, but I don’t do anything that doesn’t benefit me. Stop worrying yourself over it.”
To this, Corey laughed.
We slid into the SUV Alex kept idling for us and headed to Midtown.
“I am heading to the Athletic Club after, and then you can drop Corey wherever he is going,” I told Alex before opening my phone and checking a few stocks.
“The bergamot is expected to ship tomorrow, so the factory will have it in two days,” Corey told me, and I looked up.
“Good. From what I understand, Milly’s signature scent is almost sold out in most stores.”
“Yeah. Apparently, it’s an expected add-on when making a purchase.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Corey. I need to promote you, but then who will put up with my shit?”
Corey wasn’t just any assistant. He spoke with everyone from store managers to vendors; he knew the pulse on the overall market and our business’s performance.
“I like where I am, but I wouldn’t say no to a raise…”
I howled. “You know all you have to do is ask. But you shouldn’t be so comfortable in your place. You’re smart. You could get an MBA and move up in the company.”
Corey suffered from small-town phobia. He grew up on a farm in central Pennsylvania. He was the only gay guy he knew until his sophomore year of college. He’d told me all this over a scotch one evening. He’d only dated a little at a small business college outside Erie, Pennsylvania. I joked with him that the idea of it made me sick. Not only dating a little, but rural USA wasn’t my scene.
“Who would manage you and run interference with your recent stalker, then?” He smiled at me, waiting for me to deny I had a situation with Frances Burns.
“I’m sure anyone could handle me. The feisty blond bombshell, I’m not so certain. She does a damn good job of working her way around you.”
“You like her.” His mouth twisted upward in a smirk.
“I found her amusing,” was all I admitted. “Back to you and the MBA. What do you say? Maybe some night classes at CUNY? Or I could call in a favor at Fordham?”
He turned his gaze away from mine. “I don’t know. I went to Podunk College and got a degree in business administration. I hardly think I’m CEO material.”
“Who said anything about CEO? Are you taking my job already?” This had us both laughing again, and I made a mental note to call around on Corey getting an MBA as we slid up in front of one of New York’s most famous landmark department stores.
Inhaling and exhaling, I got out of the car before Alex could open the door. The sooner I showed my face at the event, the faster I could get to my non-date and then home. For a flash, I thought about starting to drive myself again, and then let the idea go. It had been a long time since I’d sold the Porsche my dad had given me in college for a down payment on a condo. My dad made up for his emotional absence with being financially generous. I would have preferred him to work on improving the former, but he had been gone for a while, and I’d learned there was no correcting the past.
Lost in my sappy thoughts, I was walking around, showing my face and shaking hands with a few society women, when I spotted her. She was standing by the last station where women were taking pictures in front of a big green screen. It was a headshot booth where they snapped interview-ready photos. I’d loved the idea when I read about it. But seeing Frances Burns cheering these ladies on made me feel other sorts of ways. Unsure, mostly.
Did she genuinely think this was a good idea? Why was she here, when she worked at a different department store? My brain went into overdrive the way it always did around the woman. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds, yet her presence was like a giant elephant walking the streets of New York.
Not that I would ever say that to her. One, you never spoke about a woman’s weight. Milly taught me that. And two, I wasn’t sure an elephant was the type of comparison any person wanted to hear about themselves.
I took her in—Frances smiled like a goofball at every one—and I wasn’t a lip-reader, but it seemed like she complimented each woman.
Unable to resist, I sidled up next to her, whispering for her ears only. “If I didn’t know better, I might suggest you found me here on purpose, Ms. Burns. But that’s not the type of woman you are, is it? Let’s see, persistent, dogged, and more determined than anyone I know? That’s not you. You must believe in serendipity. Or are you someone who must get their way, no matter what?”
Thinking back to my grandmother, Frankie had better be in the latter group and not one into gratuitous meetings… I’d prefer a stalker.
“Why hello, Mr. Miller. Fancy seeing you here.” She made an O with her mouth, feigning shock.
“Oh, you mean you didn’t notice my company’s name on every sign for the event? You may need glasses, Frances.”
This earned me a chuckle, and if I was interested in honesty, I’d say how much I loved hearing the sound. But when it came to Frances Burns, honesty wasn’t going to serve me well.
Turning to face me, she spoke. “You got me. I was looking for you, and then poof, there you were—at an event near and dear to my heart.”
Running a hand through my hair, I wished my fingers were tangled in her long waves instead. “I thought you sold men’s clothes?”
Moving a finger back and forth in front of me she tsked. “Checking on me?”
With an eyebrow raised I reminded her, “You gave me your card.”
Her finger no longer wagging, she waved her hand. “Never mind. Here you are, and I’m so happy to see you. You know, this is how I found my way. It was my senior year of college and I had zero career ambitions or job prospects. I went to a women’s gathering out on Long Island, and rather than allow them to fix me up, I charged in and started assisting everyone else.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Right? I discovered that I enjoyed getting everyone ready for war. Fashion, retail, and customer service was my calling.”
Either she refused to hear my sarcasm or she genuinely thought I was impressed. Well, I was, but I wasn’t sure I should let her in on it. “That’s incredible,” I finally said and meant it—yet the idea scared me. “Are you looking to change it up? Women instead of men?” There was a tinge of bite in my words, and I watched Frankie frown. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind. It was more for me than you. We keep running into one another, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me.” It was all I gave up, but more truth than I wanted to admit.
“Great! Maybe we can grab dinner afterward? You can tell me about the ins and outs of the event. I’d like to host one for men.” Full-on grinning again, Feisty Frankie didn’t miss a beat. If there was a tiny crack to crawl in, she got down on all fours and found her way.
“You should talk to Corey—you’ve already met him several times. His sister works for the agency co-sponsoring this event. He would better know the information you need.”
I followed her tongue licking over her bottom lip…
“So, this had nothing to do with your benevolence? This event?” Her small fingers waved around the giant floor of the department store. In a swirl of wildly dressed people, Ed Sheeran crooning, a host of perfume smells and bright colors, all I saw were her pale pink manicured nails.
More fissures. The longer I spent in Frankie’s company, the greater chance I had of being cracked wide open.
Not to mention, right about now my thoughts were far from benevolent…
Pulling my mind out of the gutter, I cleared the tickle in my throat. “What can I do for you, Frances? And no, this wasn’t kindhearted or socially motivated, it was a business move on my part. I have a business side and a personal side. If we were close, you would know this about me. You would also know my personal side is extremely limited. But we’re not remotely close,” I parroted myself. “You keep trying to ask me for favors of a personal nature while I’m in work mode. If I was in the mood to help you, which I’m not, I’d suggest you find a different way to reach me.”
She didn’t answer but started rummaging through the ginormous cream-colored tote hanging from her shoulder. Extracting her phone, she said, “Okay, so lunch on a weekend? That works.”
I couldn’t help the laugh rumbling from my chest. “You have no shame.”
My six-foot-three frame towered over the five-foot-and-change Frances Burns, and yet, she acted as if she was a seven-foot former NBA player, current Wall Street tycoon, and I was subservient to her.
“I don’t, by the way.” She answered my question. “I think you called me dogged. It was meant to be an insult, but I took it as a compliment. I’ve supported myself, built a career, and now found you…several times. The least you could do is have lunch. Look at my Paps’s journal. Maybe rifle through some of Rosie’s—I mean Milly’s old belongings. I bet you still have everything in that musty old house in Westchester she lived in…”
My gaze scanned the area. “Do you have eyes on me?” This woman knew almost everything about me. It should scare me; Corey might have been right. I had a stalker.
“No! I’m not that kind of person. Your bio is available everywhere…I mean, except the tidbits on your mom. And I would never share those. But it’s not hard to figure out. You grew up with your grandmother in Westchester. I didn’t see any sale of the house when searching for Rosie, so I assumed. But again, I would never, ever share the information about your mom. That’s personal.” Poor Frances was flustered and rambled on.
“I’m not sure never is in your vocabulary.”
A small frown flashed across her face. She quickly schooled the look, but I didn’t like what it might mean. Which for the record, I had no clue, but the thought of this cannonball of a woman thinking anything might never be in her grasp hurt me.
Not to mention something I said made her sad.
This was precisely what I meant when I said there was a business part of me and my personal life was separate. I didn’t like mixing the two because emotions didn’t have a seat in the boardroom.
“It is, believe me.” The small scowl made another short appearance in her admission, and then it was gone. “Let’s make a lunch plan, or even dinner now…”
“I’ll tell you this—I will agree to lunch. On a weekend. Call Corey in the morning to schedule, and I’ll be sure to let him know to get it done. I’m sorry, Frankie, but right now I have a date.” Unsure why I agreed to a meeting with her, I got the final word.
Catching a quick look at Frances Burns and her reddening cheeks before scurrying out had me feeling more unsettled than I had in years. I didn’t like it; my mom made me feel like my emotions were being picked apart and I’d done my best to let that feeling be.
Though, I had to say, my mentioning a date and Frankie’s reaction did something to me—and much later, it wasn’t the boring evening spent with Sela guiding my hand. It was Frankie’s image burned on my brain, her dry wit and sweet side and balls-to-the-wall personality rattling in the brain.
I had to exorcise the woman from my system.