Having Fun with Mr. Wrong (14 page)

She rummaged through her bag and located his card. She examined it closer: Jon Barlo, Chief Executive Officer—Barlo House of Fashion and Design.
OMG!
He
was
a huge success. A flash of recognition played across her mind from reading
Vogue
and
W
magazines. Barlo was synonymous with Versace, Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, Christian Dior, Donna Karan, and the like. God, she was going out with a bigwig.

“You know, he seemed so humble and down-to-earth. I’d never suspected he was a big shot.”

“He can pretend to be modest, but he’s extremely flamboyant. Be careful—he has a wild side. Nevertheless, he’s a great contact. In fact, if you relaunch the account, it’s yours!”

“Thanks, Tom. You’re the best.” She checked her watch; it was getting late. “I’ve got to run. The limo should be here.”

“I’ll bet he’s sending his private limo. You’ll be going out in style tonight. Have fun.”

She rode the elevator to the lobby, heart aflutter, and said goodnight to the security guard. As cool dusk air hit her face, she stared in amazement at a black stretch limo waiting for her. Unlike the cab limos that she’d occasionally taken to the airport, this was clean and waxed to a high shine. She approached the limo, and the driver got out of the car.

“Good evening, madam. You must be Ms. Carmala Rosa?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Eric. I will be your driver this evening.”

“How wonderful.” He opened the door for her. She slid into sheer luxury. Cold champagne on ice waited inside a silver bucket, and someone had taken the liberty of pouring a glass for her. A built-in TV was tuned to CNBC. No detail was spared.

The limo drove to Fifty-Ninth and Madison. The building’s gold lettering read Barlo House of Fashion. Eric opened the door and escorted her inside, where a doorman guided her to the elevator and then pushed the bottom for the desired floor. Surrounded by antique mirrors and dark wooden paneling, she rode to the seventy-eighth floor and enjoyed piped-in smooth jazz. Utterly classy.

Once on the appropriate floor, a receptionist greeted her and announced her arrival to Jon. Moments later, he strode into the lobby. He gave her a big hug and air-kissed her cheeks. “Carmie, you’re here. I’m so excited.”

The casual ease of his greeting made her once again feel as if they’d known each other a millions years. Who knew? Maybe she’d met him in a previous life.

She checked out his wardrobe, not surprised to see him dressed in a tuxedo, Barlo-made she assumed, and patent leather shoes. “I’ll give you the grand tour, and then we’ll get you to wardrobe.” He put his arm around her and led her down a marble-tiled hallway.

“I didn’t know you owned the fashion house.”

“I don’t like to brag. But, yes, this has been my studio for ten years.” He cleared his throat. “Did you enjoy the ride here?”

“How could I not? TV, champagne, and anytime I don’t have to take the subway, it’s a pleasure.”

He laughed at her comment. “I’ll show you my digs before I spoil you a little more.” He guided her down the hall to his rooms, which featured work areas for design, wardrobe, accessories, and makeup. Then he put her in the hands of his “revered” assistants, Shane and Billy.

She couldn’t believe she’d fallen into this incredible experience. It made Guido’s hour-long inquisition beforehand worthwhile. He’d agreed to Carmala’s attending the event with Jon tonight only because he was a previous client of Synergy Plus. She’d told him she intended to strike up more business with him. Guido expressed his suspicions, and let her know he would be waiting for her at her apartment. That meant she had better get home at nine on the dot, as promised. She put the thoughts in the back of her head as she sat back and let Shane and Billy have free rein with her hair and face.

After an hour, Carmala stepped into the lobby in her little black Barlo dress, black stiletto heels, and a sleek updo that she could never hope to replicate at home.

“Ah, you are a masterpiece! I expect no less from Shane and Billy. Then again, with a beauty like you, it isn’t all that hard to achieve perfection!” Jon glanced at his gold Rolex watch. “We’d better be off.”

They climbed into the limo and headed to the Rainbow Room. During the ride, Jon poured more champagne and chatted about numerous matters, like Carmala’s Italian heritage, but not much about the event, clearly wanting to avoid the subject for some reason.

They’d arrived at their destination, and Carmala felt a little jittery as Eric opened the door to assist her out. Jon took her arm. They were suddenly accosted by a barrage of flashing cameras—the paparazzi of the fashion industry, she guessed. The walk into the building was short, but they had to push their way through a sea of photographers angling for pictures along the way. People patted Jon on the back, kissed him, or pumped his hand in congratulations. She thought she recognized a couple of famous designers featured in
Vogue
. They greeted Jon as if he was an old friend.

When they entered the building, they were guided to an inner chamber where a cocktail party was in progress. Waiters passed drinks and hors d’oeuvres. She paced herself with the drinks because if she were to stay alert, she needed to go slow.

A server instructed the attendees to get their table assignments and regroup in the dining room. Jon and Carmala entered the ballroom. Long sweeps of gold and black fabric hung from the ceiling. The tables were set in black and gold hues. The overall décor reminded Carmala of the Academy Awards ceremony, including the red carpet, before party, and a huge stage.

“Carmie, you’re about to experience the Fashion Designers’ Awards ceremony for the coveted Crystal Award. Top fashion designers from all over the world are here to see who will be Designer of the Year.”

“Are you nominated for this award?”

“Yes, I am, my dear. I’m just one of twenty nominees.” He shrugged. “I’m nominated just about every year, but I can’t say that I’ll be the winner.”

His amazing humility impressed her. She’d expected him to have some kind of ego.

“Maybe this year is your lucky year.” Carmala took a sip from her water glass.

“Maybe you’re my lucky charm.” He winked at her.

An emcee began the proceedings and referred to the evening’s program of events laid on top of their place settings. Dinner consisted of soup, salad, and surf and turf, followed by a crème brûlée, coffee, and an aperitif. As she reviewed the program, Carmala noted that Jon was a previous winner.

Why hadn’t he mentioned that?

The night ended with a smash. Jon won Designer of the Year. His acceptance speech from the podium was as humble as he was with her. The ceremonies wrapped up at eight thirty, but it was after nine by the time they tucked back in the limo.

Carmala muffled a yawn. “I can’t believe how modest you are, Jon. You could have told me that you received the award before. I’m proud of you.” She hoped Guido wouldn’t make her regret going. She shouldn’t be home too far past nine. “As enchanting as the evening has been, I’m afraid I’m going to be arriving home late.”

“We’ll zip you home right away.” He got Carmala’s address, then picked up the limo phone and gave it to Eric, telling him to make it quick.

“How about coming for Sunday dinner? You know, I’m half Italian on my mother’s side, and Jewish on my father’s. But, girl, my mother would love it if I brought you home to dinner. Like most of us Italians, we have Pasta Sunday. I’d love to bring my new gorgeous Italian girlfriend.”

The word jolted Carmala.
Girlfriend?
Did he mean platonic girl friend? He’d better. He’d worried her a little. Still, he seemed to say it all in good humor. But she thought she’d better set the record straight.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate another extended absence.” She expected some sign of disappointment from Jon. Instead, he pursed his lips.

“Boyfriend, huh? Is it serious?”

“We’ve been together four years.”

“If he’s half as gorgeous as you, your boyfriend would be welcome as well.”

“You’re serious?”

He surprised her with a hug. “Carmie, I’d say we’d get into too much trouble, you and I, but I don’t think that anyone would believe it.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, she adjusted her coat collar.

He grinned widely. “Because, darling, I’m as gay as they come.”

It then dawned on her why she got a cool vibe from him. Sometimes, she couldn’t tell whether a guy was straight or not. Jon didn’t seem gay, but she was relieved, because she thought it would be fun to have him as a new best gay pal.

“Carmie, I’m going to make you the toast of the town. Wait till I show you
and
your boyfriend off. Now you know he doesn’t have anything to worry about when it comes to me.” He winked at her. “Well, not much to worry about. Just a little harmless flirtation, I promise.”

Carmala laughed. “I love you. You’re delightful. Thank you for tonight. I had so much fun.” She grabbed her bag with her work clothes. “I, ah, need to return your dress.” She didn’t really want to give it back.

“Consider it my gift for your company. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Might there be a chance that my firm could do some more business with you?”

“You never know, darling. How would Tom feel about you taking over the account?”

“Tom has already given me carte blanche approval where you’re concerned.”

“Did he now?” Jon flashed another million-dollar smile. “Then it’s settled. When it comes to getting money, Carmie will be my girl.”

They arrived at her place. She said her goodbyes quickly and promised to be in touch. As of that moment, Cinderella’s coach was turning into a pumpkin, and the metaphoric hour had long struck past midnight.

Chapter Eleven

Margo’s boss, Dan, walked into her office, a grave expression on his face. He took the seat opposite her desk and let out a tired sigh.

“I’m here to give you a friendly warning. You’re getting too many feathers ruffled at the processing center up north and in the secretarial pool here. Also, some of your files are getting sloppy.”

“You’re only saying this because upper management is pressuring you.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She knew she could be gruff at times, but she was D.C. Mutual’s big moneymaker. Plus, her assistant Sandy was a bit dimwitted. How was she supposed to succeed when incompetence surrounded her? Margo had shown her what to do with the files several times. And yet Sandy couldn’t get it right.

Dan leaned forward, his demeanor clearly beseeching. “You’re driving everyone in this office crazy. I can’t afford to have employee morale deteriorating right now.”

Margo shrugged. “I am still bringing in a lot of applications. That should make the processors, underwriters, and those ungrateful assistants happy, shouldn’t it?”

“No. You don’t get it, do you? You’ve been driving them hard with your high loan volume. Don’t forget they’re just hourly employees. They don’t get the big commissions you do. Try being a little nicer to them. I want to protect you. You’re burning your bridges with the processing center.”

Dan blotted his brow with his hankie, obviously upset enough to have broken into a sweat. “There’s going to be a time when you’re going to need them more than they need you. Right now, you’re the high roller, I get that, and I agree that you need to rake it all in while you can. But you can’t continue to treat people as if they’re cattle. You’ve got your assistant practically crying out there in the bull pen!”

“I’ll deal with it.” Margo rolled her eyes. Really, these people should show a bit more appreciation for all her hard work. If it wasn’t for her business, they wouldn’t get any bonuses at all. She directed her attention to her computer screen.

Dan took the hint, stood, and cleared his throat. “Margo, the market is changing. I can’t say for sure what’s going to happen, but you’d better brace yourself for a tide shift. Try to go a little easier on the staff, that’s all I’m asking. Spend more time with Sandy going over file documentation so she can put them together more completely for you.”

Margo nodded and promised she would do it. She didn’t try to defend herself. Why bother?

Dan left her office.

Finally he’s gone!
If they’d hire someone with more than a room-temperature IQ for support staff, maybe she wouldn’t have to waste time repeating directions. Maybe she could actually do the things that made money, not spent it.

She leaned back in her chair and tried to work the kinks out of her neck. Stretching out her arms, she peered at her paint-chipped nails. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a manicure.

It was only three in the afternoon, but what the hell? She’d cut out early for a change. Undetected, she slipped away and headed downtown to the Bliss Nail & Spa Salon on Nassau Street, and as far away from her midtown branch as she could get. She didn’t want to risk running into anyone from work.

Her nail tech, Mai Chi, chattered on and on about American single women, how desperate for men they were, dressed too revealingly, and acted too loosely only to wonder why they couldn’t land a man.

The girl simply wouldn’t shut up. So much for a relaxing afternoon at the nail salon.

At least Margo didn’t need to worry about attracting a man or playing dating games.

****

In his office, Timothy finally relaxed. It had been a grueling few weeks. His research project on a newly proposed economics curriculum was finished. The dean had been impressed with the presentation he and Lorraine made.

She knocked at his open door and entered, obviously breathless from walking up the five flights of stairs, and shrugged out of her coat and scarf.

What a breath of fresh air at the end of a hard day of work. Gorgeous brown eyes, warm as liquid chocolate. And honey-gold hair that seemed to beg for his hands to run through its silkiness.

“Come and sit down, Lorraine.” He pointed at the chair opposite his desk. “We need to celebrate.”

He pulled a bottle from the small fridge to the left of his desk. It was the best he could find: Moet & Chandon, Black Label. He popped the cork. It bounced off the ceiling, and Lorraine yelped, then laughed. The husky sound pleased him. In that moment, he decided he’d make it his business to get her to laugh more often. He pulled two crystal champagne flutes from his drawer and poured out the bubbly liquid.