3
"That can't be what you're wearing," Kate groans as I walk into the living room.
"Why," I ask. "What's wrong with it?" I glance down at my jeans to check if maybe they had a rip, or a stain.
"It's an art exhibition, Ana. A chance to get dressed to the nines. Enjoy some glitz and glam. You haven't even tried to get gussied up."
It was true that compared to Kate's single-sleeved little black dress, silver clutch, and the same black pumps she had lent me my first day at SIP, my ensemble was demure.
"What are you talking about? I'm wearing a blazer."
"Yeah," Kate scoffs, "over a Black Keys T-shirt, and paired with sneakers. Classy."
"Oh, come on," I laugh. "Classy? Kate, this is a show for a guy we've seen puke green beer all over himself because he 'raged' too hard on St. Patrick's Day micro brew. It's not exactly an event for Seattle's High Society."
"You can take the hipster out of Portland, but-actually, you just can't be a hipster in Seattle. They're so 2010."
"How dare you," I cry with mock outrage. "I am simply casually quirky. Perfect for the West Coast art crowed."
"Sure," Kate rolls her eyes. "But just answer me one question first."
"What?"
"If a tree falls in the woods and nobody's around to hear it, is it still too mainstream?"
"Hardy-har-har," I reply, sticking my tongue out at her.
"I'm just saying," Kate lays her hands on my shoulders. "We still have some time, I could run and grab you something from my closet. I have a blue dress that'd go with your eyes."
I glance down at the shoes on Kate's feet and am reminded about the last time I took her well meaning fashion advice. A nice jacket with jeans wasn't exactly couture, but it would be a much classier look than losing my balance and crashing into someone's artwork-regardless of what designer is on that dress' label.
"Kate, please, I'm not a doll."
"Not a good one, anyway." Kate huffs. "I never got such back sass from any of my American Girls."
"And, while I'm sure all of their outfits were always on-point, I really just need a night where I can relax, and be comfortable."
"Fine, fine," Kate says with resignation. "But only because you're my best friend, and your dreams are all falling apart around you." Her long, manicured finger taps the tip of my nose.
"Thanks," I snort.
Maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration to say all of my dreams were falling apart around me, but this week had definitely taken a blow to my morale. So tonight Kate, José and I were going to drink some wine, enjoy beautiful pictures, and have the kind of night we'd always talked about while at school. Worrying about work, men, or the possibility of never actually achieving any of my personal goals could wait.
When we arrive at the gallery there's already a crowd of people milling through the glass doors. To my relief I notice I'm hardly the only one in jeans. As we filter in alongside the others I see José talking to a few of the more well dressed attendees.
"Why is that the world famous photographer José Rodriguez?" Kate calls out.
"Hey!" José waves back as he finally spots us.
"Well, well, this is all quite impressive." Kate says, walking up and kissing José on the cheek. "You could totally quit your day job."
"I'm not so sure about that just yet," José chuckles. "But, I'm not gonna lie, this is all pretty cool."
"I'll say. Who were those important looking people you were talking with?" I ask.
"Oh, that's Jason, and Camille," he points to a tall man with dark hair and a fair looking woman. "They're the other two showing tonight. And that's Janet" He says, nodding toward a woman in a flowing ivory dress. She was now fervidly discussing a large panoramic of the Sound with a young man who had been speaking with José. "She's the gallery curator."
"That's great news for the gallery," Kate says. "She clearly has excellent taste."
"You're going to get diabetes from that excessive sugar coating." José cocks an eyebrow.
"Actually," Kate continues, "I'm about ready to pass out from a lack of sugar. I was promised there would be food and drinks."
"There's a table set up by the back wall," he says. "You guys have at it while I go play 'bigshot' and try and convince some of these collectors to pay for my rent this month. Oh, and don't forget, there's some photos up on the second floor to check out. I think you'll like those in particular, Ana."
José sets off to rejoin Janet while we make our way back to the food. The gallery is a maze of false walls and patrons we weave through to find the table. Kate dives right into a mountain of shrimp as I divert to the attendant standing next to the table, serving drinks.
"Can I get a glass of white wine?" I ask her, holding out my ID for her to check.
The woman's emerald eyes flit from the licence to myself. I can see the shadow of doubt behind them as she evaluates the card's authenticity. Everyone from my mother to Kate has told me that I'll grow to appreciate my naturally youthful appearance as I get older, but as of now I'm mostly just irritated by it. More than once I've had to have Kate confirm my age to a skeptical bartender, and I'm in no mood to start my night off having to defend my right to a drink. Once convinced the disheveled girl in the picture is the same slightly less disheveled one standing before her the attendant pours me a glass.
"Oh my god, Ana. You need to try these." Kate says, holding a large shrimp under my nose.
"Eh, I think I'm going to stick to a liquid diet tonight." I reply, raising my glass.
"Suit yourself," she shrugs. "But you're missing out."
"I'm sure it's a spread fit for royalty." I laugh.
"I'll say," Kate continues. "I mean, look who's here. There's Carl Davis, he does an arts and leisure column for The Seattle Weekly. Allen Jackson in the corner there is a big art dealer in the area. My dad even uses him to scout out new, promising talent. And, unless my eyes deceive me, it looks like Ms. Janet is talking to Seattle's new IT Boy, Christian Grey. And you said this wouldn't be a High Society event." She nudges me with her elbow.
"Who?" I gasp, nearly choking on my sip of wine. Glancing back to Janet I see her conversing with none other than Christian Grey. He looks impeccable as ever in one of his dark, exquisitely tailored suits. Looking down at the worn Converse on my own feet I suddenly feel underdressed. Kate was right, I should have worn that blue dress.
"Have you not heard about Grey?" Kate laughs with surprise. "He's like the new Bill Gates. A young billionaire with a philanthropic side, but, let's be honest, way hotter. He's my 'white whale'."
"Your 'white whale'?" I ask, trying to pull myself together.
"The only interview I wasn't able to get for the school paper." She clarifies. "He was supposed to do the commencement speech at our graduation, and I was going to do a piece on him. You know, find the human backstory behind that pretty face. But about a month before graduation he pulled out, no explanation. Weeks of hounding his PR department wasted."
"Hmmm, and you don't suspect maybe the incessant badgering had anything to do with his cancelation?"
"I don't know what you're implying." Kate says, popping another shrimp in her mouth. "I was only doing my job."
"Harassment?"
"Journalists don't harass, we uncover the truth." Kate replies, grinning broadly.
"Sure." I roll my eyes while taking another sip of my drink. "What's he doing here though?"
"Buying art, I'd guess." Kate replies. "Why?"
I take a large swig of my wine to buy some time before answering. Though I'd told Kate
about the meeting on Monday, I'd neglected to tell her who exactly was attempting to buy SIP. And I'd completely skipped letting her know about our chance meeting at the coffee shop. She would have berated me the whole night if she'd heard I'd turned down a date-even if it was with my potential boss.
"It just seems…" I continue, trying to think of a passable explanation. "That something like this wouldn't even show up on his radar."
"Don't be too surprised. Most great artists made it big because someone like Grey took an interest in a nobody. Most just like the hunt, and getting credit for taking that nobody and making them a somebody. Classic power trip."
At her words I recall the look in Christian's eyes as we sat in that boardroom. The way they'd hardened while staring us down across the table. How he'd immediately destroyed any hope Ken and Carl may have had about saving SIP. How the "negotiations" had really been nothing more than a statement-of-intent that none of us had any real say in. If there was any way to describe Christian Grey it would be "a walking power trip."
"Well," I say, clearing my throat. My eyes dart around the room, hoping to find some place to hide before Christian sees me. "Should we check out those photos upstairs José mentioned?"
"You go ahead, I'm not quite finished fueling up for the night." Kate answers, handing her own ID to the drink attendant. "Red, please."
Thankful Kate didn't mind being left behind, I flee to the safety of the second floor. But my elation at avoiding yet another awkwardly stressful moment this week is short lived. As I ascend the staircase several black and white photos come into view. I stop at the top to see half a dozen images of myself staring back at me.
Oh. My. God.
"I wasn't aware you moonlit as a professional model." A voice says, and I turn to see Jack strolling towards me, down a hallway of mes.
This is like a middle school nightmare. Trapped between my boss, my possible bigger boss, with my face plastered everywhere. If I look back down at my clothes will I suddenly realize I'm naked too?
"Ha-ha," I force a laugh, trying to brush it all off. "In all honesty, I wasn't aware of it either."
"I thought you were friends with the photographer?" He asks.
"Yeah," I sigh. "All I was told was that there were some pictures up here I would supposedly 'particularly' like."
"Uh, huh." Jack says. His eyes lock onto mine. "And I take it you don't?"
No, in all honesty. I have always hated my appearance. From my gangly frame, to my bulbous eyes, and my hair, which never seemed to cooperate-no matter how much product Kate used to try and tame it. José's known me for years, how could he possibly think I would like this?
"Just surprised." I reply. Jack looks back at a large image of me towering over us.
"Well, you should be flattered."
"Excuse me?"
"It's not every girl who can inspire an artist." Jack says, gazing at the large gray scale of my face caught mid laughter. "And isn't that 'the dream'? To be loved and immortalized?"
It had never been my dream, at least not like this. I had hoped that I would be loved and immortalized for my own art. For the wonderful characters, and beautiful prose I might write. To be more of a J.K. Rowling than a Kim Kardashian.
"And," Jack continues, "this is the photographer 'friend' who you're sure is in no way a 'boyfriend'?"
"Yeah…" The hairs on the back of my neck and shoulders prickle at his question.
"You may want to tell him that."
"So, what are you doing here?" I ask, trying to change the subject. All I'd had tonight was my glass of wine, and this entire line of conversation was beginning to make my stomach turn.
"Well, you mentioned it yesterday so I thought I'd take a look. It's been awhile since I went to something like this. Plus," he raises the drink in his hand, gesturing to my own. "We never did settle on having drinks this weekend."
"Ah, yes," I reply, raising my own glass.
"To your first week." Jack says. "How exactly are you enjoying SIP?"
"It's great." I answer abruptly.
"But…"
Where to begin? Probably where it would least likely leave me unemployed.
"Just an odd start I guess. Kind of threw me off."
"Yeah," Jack smirks and rolls his eyes. "Well, take it as a life lesson. You never do know what the world's gonna throw at you. Some days you just have to learn how to perform triage on the fly."
"Sure hope not," I laugh slightly, "I get woosey around a paper cut."
"You may be in the wrong line of work." Jack winks. "The red left on an editor's manuscript is rarely just from his own pen's cruel strokes. The pages usually get a few good jabs in too."
Huh, perhaps that's why Jack seemed to limit his battles to about three pages a day at the office?
"But hopefully things will settle down enough in the next week or so for you to find your rhythm." Jack continues. "Even with this whole corporate takeover business hopefully we won't be seeing much more of the company from GEH."
"You'd think," I mutter, glancing over the ledge beside us to the attendees below.
"What?" Jack asks, catching my comment.
Damn it. Maybe I should have forwarded that chain letter to ten friends in 2007, because clearly I am actually cursed.
He leans over the ledge and follows my gaze to see Christian now speaking to José among the thrall of gallery-goers.
"Christ," Jack sneers, "is nothing safe from Christian Grey?"
I move beside him and look down to watch as José appears to be pitching Christian a piece I can't see. Talk about showing some hustle.
Jack's brow is furrowed as he stares down at Christian, and my stomach begins to turn once more as I fight the nerves to ask what I've been wondering since Monday.
"So… I-I take it there's no love lost between you and Mr. Grey?" I finally sputter out awkwardly. Smooth, Ana.
His eyes still trained on Christian, Jack's lips purse in disgust at the question before huffing.
"Grey would have to be capable of feeling something like love for any to be lost. So, no, can't say there's anything there. Why? You interested?"
His look of disgust is suddenly replaced with a wolfish grin as Jack turns to me. An uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine as Jack wiggles his brows playfully up and down.
"I don't date potential co-workers." I reply, downing the final drops of my wine.
"Sensible." Jack nods. "But a bit of a shame. Could've had a woman on the inside, so to speak."
"What do you mean?" I ask. Jack had just now basically called Christian heartless, he couldn't possibly actually want me to date the man?
"I saw how he looked at you on Monday."
"Like what?"
"Like he wants you." Jack finishes bluntly.
I giggle nervously and look back to José to avoid Jack's knowing azure eyes.
"Christian Grey could have anyone." I say in my most convincing tone.
"Yeah," Jack continues. "But, at least on Monday, he wanted you. And the thing I hate most about that son-of-a-bitch is he generally gets what he wants."
"So, what exactly are you saying? You don't like Christian Grey, but you think I'm, what? Destined to go out with him?" Trying to dissect Jack's logic around this conversation was like trying to find a meaningful plot in one of my high school fanfictions, frustrating and mostly fruitless.
"No, no." Jack waves his hands. "It's just… If you were in any other circumstance I'd honestly tell you to just run as far, and as fast from Christian Grey as possible. The guy is a predator, Ana. Don't for a single second let that smug face lull you into a false sense of security. He's someone who will always go right for the throat when he sees the opportunity."
"But…" I say hesitantly, wondering how exactly my circumstance shouldn't also have me fleeing for the hills after that warning.
"But, you already know he wants you. And, well…" Jack turns back, and gestures to the wall with half a dozen images of myself looking over us. "Maybe someone who wields this kind of influence, unknowingly... the prey could set a trap for the predator."
I stare blankly at Jack, still confused.
"Ha! That's what I think I like so much about you, Ana." Jack scoffs. "You truly are wide-eyed innocent, aren't you? Forget it. Too much booze, and revenge fantasies have me rambling about corporate intrigue and turning naïve young women into a femme fatale. I think that's my cue to head out." Jack takes a final swig of his drink. He nods and raises the glass to me before heading down the stairs. "I'll see you on Monday."
I wave as he leaves, but stay on the second floor to people watch for a few more minutes. More patrons start to come up the stairs. A few notice me, and I see them point to the pictures and then to me standing stiffly next to them. After my eyes make a pass over the room below and I no longer see Christian among the crowed I decide to brave the first floor once more.
"Ana!" Kate calls to me the second I make landfall. She's chatting with an attractive, blond man, who I notice already has his arm around her waist. "Have you been upstairs this whole time? I have to introduce you to-"
"I think I'm going to head out." I cut her off.
"What? Why?" Her wide grin falls into a pout.
"I'm not feeling well." I reply. "I think I just need to go home and sleep."
"What's really wrong?" Kate says, detangling herself from tonight's treat and pulling me aside.
"I'll tell you about it later," I sigh. "But I just need to go home and veg."
"Okay… Can you drive?" She asks. "I know you've only had your 'liquid dinner'."
I laugh. For as much of a reputation of being a "party girl" Kate had, she was actually quite the mom-friend at times.
"I'm completely, fine." I say. "Do you want to come, or can you get a ride later?"
Kate smiles slyly at the blond waiting for her return, "I'll be fine."
As I walk into my empty apartment, I flick on the light, kick off my shoes, make a beeline to the kitchen and break out an unopened bottle of wine. I gulp down a full glass in under a minute and immediately pour myself another.
Tonight was supposed to be about having fun and blowing off steam, but somehow it had been more stressful than the whole rest of the week combined. Glass two is finished in two swigs; I pour myself a third. I already start to feel a tingling in my lips and fingertips.
I still can't believe José would use those pictures of me without even asking, let alone think I'd like them. Didn't I have to sign some kind of release, or consent form? And, oh god, Jack saw them! There was no way everyone at SIP wouldn't know about my "modeling debut" by lunch on Monday.
I groan and bury my face into the palms of my hands.
I should have just said "yes" to that date with Christian. But no, of course not. That wouldn't have been smart, or proper. No one would ever take the girl who dated the boss seriously. Like they were going to ever take me seriously now, after hearing whatever convoluted story about my peddling pictures on the side Jack was sure to be telling while he was avoiding reading through Monday's slush pile.
"You should feel should be flattered… It's not every girl who can inspire an artist." Jack's voice rings in my mind as I sip my wine.
What is he even talking about? I grab the glass and stumble towards the bathroom. I nearly slip, but am luckily caught by the wall.
"I have no patience for your bullshit tonight, Gravity!" I shout at the polished hardwood. It offers no retort. Punk.
Once regaining my balance I shuffle into the bathroom and turn on the light. I set my wine down by the sink and stare into the mirror. A large pair of blue, slightly blood shot eyes stare back at me.
I slowly turn my face to the left, and then the right, surveying my profiles. I poke and prod my nose, pushing it up at the tip as though I'm a citizen of Whoville. The slight flushing caused as the alcohol takes hold only adds to the oddly Christmasy effect.
I don't get it. I flash a bunch of derpy smiles, and toothy grins, and even try a few attempts at some Cover Girlesque poses, but find nothing exactly photogenic in my appearance. I run my hand through my unkempt hair, and bit my slightly chapped lips. What exactly could José possibly find so "inspiring"?
Jack had said I was wielding some kind of influence I didn't even know about, but that must have just been drunken rambling. It's not like I was some kind of secret succubus. I would have done a lot better in high school and college if that was the case. If anything, Kate was the one with the date-craft.
But, Jack had been right. Once.
"He wanted you."
Christian asking me out at the coffee shop had happened. So at least by yesterday, Christian Grey had wanted to take me to dinner. For some reason.
My stomach clenches as a realization hits me. Christian was at the show. Had he seen the pictures? I'd managed to avoid running into him personally, but who knows how much longer he'd been there? How much of the show he'd seen before he left? I hadn't actually seen him leave. Could I have missed him while he headed past me, up the stairs? Of course he saw it. If there was one thing I learned about Christian Grey from our brief business liaison, he was not one to overlook a single detail.
Great. Even if my initial rejection of him hadn't completely killed my chances, there was no way he would be interested in me after seeing that ridiculous display. He must think I'm some kind of narcissist.
Maybe I am, I think as I look at my reflection in the mirror.
I sigh, as I resign myself to the reality that I will simply not have a fairytale ending.
It's probably for the best. It would be impossible to keep work and Christian separate, especially with Jack in the mix. And it didn't sound like Jack had the purest intentions for a relationship between Christian and myself.
"The guy is a predator." Jack's words repeat in the back of my mind. All I'd been able to learn about his and Christian's shared history was that they had know each other as children, but with the vitriol Jack spoke about Christian I had to believe their conflict ran deeper than a stolen Tonka Truck.
I know he's not entirely wrong. Christian is a predator. It's why he's good at business. It's why he knew when to strike at SIP, when we were weak and with no other options. But, it's not exactly like Jack is so innocent either.
"...the prey could set a trap for the predator." Mulling over the words, I still don't quite understand what he was getting at. Was Jack suggesting I somehow, what, entrap Christian? By what? Flirting? I couldn't even finish a sentence around him. And if so, to what end? Was it for some personal grudge, or did he mean a "woman on the inside" for SIP? What kind of "trap" could I even lure him into?
I can't help but laugh at the ludicrousness of the idea. My complete lack of amorous experience, and inability to even hold a coherent conversation with Christian Grey would make me the absolute worst femme fatale to try and entrap him.
But… still.
I flip my hair, and tousle it to the side in a style Kate calls "sex-hair." I try to emulate the half hooded "bedroom-eyes" every celebrity does for vanity fair, but I'm pretty sure in my inebriated state it's just coming out cross-eyed. I clear my throat and put on my most sultry tone. The one I had perfected to voice the bustiest character's from Jessica's Mother's harlequin romance novels when we had sleepovers.
"I'll take that drink now, Mr. Grey. Rawr!" I growl and claw at my reflection, baring my teeth like a lioness. I immediately burst out laughing, unable to stop myself from drunkenly snorting.
So sexy.
I gulp down the rest of my wine, flip off the light, and head to bed.
