Jenny II

Jenny Humphrey was an artist. You'd never think that she was making a dress the way she would set up her work station whenever she was going to design. At Central Saint Martins, fashion was considered an art form. So they had proper art classes. Students were taught how to blend colors and manipulate shapes. Jenny couldn't stand to just sit behind a desk and draw. That was in high school, back at Constance Billard, or when she'd gone to the local private school in Hudson. Waverly Prep had been a few blocks away from her mother's house and Jenny had been one of the few Townies, as the boarders used to call her. She didn't mind. At least she had her mother to take care of her. All they had was each other. And the teachers at that school were less than nurturing.

Jenny crossed her legs on the stool that she was sitting on as she lightly stroked some pink on the dress she was drawing and then sat back to admire it, totally bewildered by how wonderfully it had turned out. It was a gown that would be made entirely of silk with different shades of pink and coral scattered about the bodice, which would effortlessly fade into an effervescent light pink that went all the way down to the never-ending train.

Without realizing it, she'd made her wedding dress.

She was way too realistic to think that she should wear white on her wedding day. After more than a few nights with some guys in London, Paris, Sydney and Barcelona, she knew that she couldn't wear white.

And then there had been all the passion she and Nate had shared once she'd gotten back to New York. Endless, restless, sleepless nights together at Archibald Manor or at the house in the Hamptons. Candle-lit dinners that led to making love on Egyptian cotton sheets in the master bedroom. Romantic trips to St. Bart's where they'd drink out of coconuts while they tanned on the beach by day and dance all night at the clubs, where they'd totally ignore everybody else and just hold each other close because they could never let go. They would never let go.

Jenny angrily swatted the canvas off the easel and they both scattered on the tiles beneath her feet. She could feel the tears running down her cheek and she hastily wiped them away. She couldn't actually be crying in the middle of work. That was the height of unprofessional. And she couldn't look weak in case someone came into her office asking for something. She had an open door policy and a fleet of designers underneath her, some of whom thought that she was way too young for the post. She couldn't cry in front of them. She wouldn't prove them right.

Her phone rang and she ran over to her desk and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi," said Kylie, Jenny's assistant. "You have a Laurel Chambers here to see you. I know you do designing in the afternoon so I didn't book anything for you. But she's insistent."

"Send her in one minute," said Jenny, just before hanging up. She scrambled to pick up her design and the easel from the ground and then, when everything was in order, she walked back to her desk and sat down behind it.

Laurel Chambers waltzed into the room and she didn't look any different than she had all those years ago when Jenny had been a lowly intern at Waldorf Designs. It was amazing, now that she had become Creative Director of Waldorf Designs, and Laurel was old news. Even Laurel didn't have that position while she worked there. Eleanor pretty much did every single thing at the company and didn't really like to share her authority. But everyone had known that Laurel was Eleanor's deputy.

"Jenny," cooed Laurel, firstly looking around the office at framed articles of all of Jenny's triumphs in the past few years, her Dad with his ex-girlfriend Lisa Loeb (they had just broken up) and Mom with her new husband and Dan and Serena and photographs of her and Eric from their time in Europe and her and Nate at endless charity galas and society lunches (which she'd have Kylie remove soon enough). Then she extended a hand to Jenny.

Jenny rose from her chair, gave Laurel's hand two pumps and then sat back down.

Laurel sat down in one of the comfy chairs in front of Jenny's table and fixed the jacket of her yellow suit. That color did wonders for Laurel's caramel complexion and honey-blonde hair. She had always looked like a lioness and she had been voracious for success too. The story went that Laurel had left Waldorf Designs in a huff after she and Eleanor had gotten into some 'creative differences' and she'd taken a job at Marie Claire.

"What can I do for you today?" asked Jenny.

"I'd like to offer you something," said Laurel. "I work at Poppy Lifton, where I'm the Managing Director. Poppy handles all of the creative things but she can't do the numbers. Now listen, while she's good, she's not half as good as you. And she can use your help."

"Can she?" asked Jenny, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," said Laurel, nodding. "She's willing to double your salary if you come to us because she knows that you'll be doubling our profits. And, of course, stock options would be available to you."

Jenny stared at Laurel for a full minute before she said, "What is wrong with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You come into Waldorf Designs and ask me if I'm willing to just up and leave because of stock options?"

"I always thought you were a smart woman, Jenny. So I felt like I would be doing you some good. What's wrong with that?"

"What's right with that? Haven't you ever heard of loyalty? And especially since Blair's left the company to pursue other things."

"Exactly," said Laurel, folding her arms. "You have no leadership here. So you should have no ties to here."

"I wouldn't say that there's no leadership."

Jenny and Laurel looked over at the door, where Raina Thorpe was standing with her arms folded across her chest and her dark eyes intently glaring at Laurel.

She was wearing, of course, a beautiful but figure-hugging turquoise Herve Leger number that exposed her slender shoulders and sky-high stilettos that Jenny had seen in the latest issue of Elle which she hadn't gotten a chance to go buy yet. Her dark hair was curled slightly and she was looking as stunning as ever.

"You're Laurel, right?" asked Raina, tilting her head to the side. "I think we've met before."

Laurel got up and shook hands with Raina, who then sat down in the next empty chair. Laurel, reluctant, assumed her seat again.

"It just ran in The Spectator," informed Raina, looking at Jenny and smiling. "Blair has announced me as interim CEO of Waldorf Designs."

"Exactly," said Jenny. "Blair called the other day and told me that she had discussed it with you. And you told her that you would be thrilled to take the job."

"Yes," said Raina. She turned to Laurel. "And I expect to be working with Jenny very closely from now on. We're both equally important to this company and we need to work together to make it more of a success than it already is."

Laurel looked like she'd been slapped in the face. So she wordlessly gathered her things, hastily said 'Have a good day' and sauntered out of the room as if someone had been chasing her.

"Well, welcome to Waldorf," said Jenny. She got up and went over to the little mini-bar in the corner of her office, poured herself and Raina a glass of scotch each and then sat back down, sliding Raina's glass across the table. "I think Blair made a great choice."

"I've never run a fashion company before," said Raina. Then she nervously took a drink of the scotch.

"Well you used to help your father run his company, didn't you?" asked Jenny.

"I did," said Raina. "But that was real estate. This is fashion."

"Well, think of every line as a new development," advised Jenny. "It's gotta sell. I do my part by overseeing the designers who work down here with me. You? Well, you do everything else."

"Sounds daunting," said Raina.

"It's kind of fun if you make it," said Jenny.

Raina downed her drink. "I think I'm going to go up to my office now. See what it's like up there."

Jenny shook hands with Raina and then walked her to the elevator bank. As Raina's elevator closed, the second elevator opened up and Damien Dalgaard casually stepped out, looking more handsome than he'd ever looked in the entirety of his life. She'd heard that he was back in New York but she hadn't run into him yet.

He'd changed.

There had always been and there would always be a bad-boy streak in Prince Damien of Belgium and it was still there in that way he smoldered and brooded and smirked, creating those adorable dimples in his cheeks. His eyes were a blue that hadn't changed even though she hadn't seen him in a number of years. He'd cut his dark-brown hair. Back when she'd known him, Damien had shoulder-length hair that she couldn't resist playing with whenever they fooled around. But he'd cut it and it was now parted at the side.

His style had grown a lot more sophisticated too. He was wearing a chic, navy blue suit that Jenny's professional opinion told her was wool, and a light blue shirt that only brought out the blue in his dreamy, dreamy eyes. He had neat, classic, black shoes on and they were so perfectly shined, they reflected the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.

"What are you doing here?" she managed to whisper.

"Why else would I be here? To see you," he said. "Did you get my flowers? The ones I sent to the fashion show?"

Jenny grabbed him by the wrist and led him into her office. Naturally, everyone was staring at him. It was hard not to. They didn't get too many handsome princes coming in and out of Waldorf Designs, after all, so he was something of a novelty.

When they got to her office, she told Kylie to hold all calls and closed the door behind her. But as she turned back to the room, she felt the sheer weight of Damien pressed against her body: running his strong fingers through her golden hair; his broad chest pressed against hers and taking her breath away; his lips lightly massaging her own. She wanted him to stop. She wanted Nate to come and stop him. She wanted to kick him out.

But he was too intense. She couldn't pull away even though she could feel the doorjamb jamming into the back of her royal blue, Waldorf blazer. She unbuttoned his jacket and ran her own hand against his chest through his shirt and ran her own fingers through his hair. She wanted him.

Then he pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Their foreheads were pressed against each other's. Their lips were only inches apart and Jenny, crazy enough, yearned to taste him again. "I'm sorry. I…I had to. I couldn't go another minute."

"Damien…" She didn't know what to say.

"I came back for you."

Jenny snapped back to reality and suddenly shoved him off of her.

"You came back for me?" she hissed. She wanted to yell but she was at work. "For me? Damien, you made me feel like crap! You left me! You made my best friend a drug mule! You! You! I hate you!"

"Then why'd you kiss me?" asked Damien, a hint of a smile on his beautiful, alabaster face.

"Because I'm lonely."

"I'm sure," he said. He walked up to her and placed his hands on her hips. She could feel the warmth of his touch through the wool Waldorf skirt. "Jenny, you know you forgive me."

"But I don't," said Jenny, looking away.

"Jenny, I'm sorry for everything," he said, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her face in his direction. After a couple seconds resistance, she looked up into his face. "God, you're beautiful. I've been thinking about you. I never bore my soul to anyone the way I did with you. There was something between us. I was a kid, Jenny. I was stupid. I didn't understand what I was getting with you. You're the only one who ever cared about me and what was going on with my dad."

"What…How are things with him?" she ventured.

"He's clean," he said, immediately perking up. "He's absolutely perfect. Totally sober. He's back in Belgium, at our house there. My uncle's taking care of it."

"Why aren't you in Belgium?" she asked, putting the palms of her hands on his chest to push him away. But she couldn't.

"Because I can't live without you anymore," he said. "I'm working here as a venture capitalist now. Been for about six months. Hoping to run into you. Hoping you'd give me another chance."

"And why now?" she asked. "If you've been in the City for an entire half-year, what's so special about today?"

"I heard about what happened with Nate," he announced. "It was all over the news. How he won that election, I'd never know. Maybe he rigged it. But I knew you needed some time to heal. And I think you've had enough."

"This isn't an episode of Scandal, Damien," said Jenny. "It wasn't rigged. And you don't get to decide how long it takes for me to get over my ex-fiancée. We weren't in a high school relationship. I was preparing to give up my lease and move in with him. We were getting married."

"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes. "So I gave you some space. And now I want you to give us another chance."

She lightly shoved him off of herself and went over to her desk, where she sat at the edge of it and glared at him.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because people deserve a second chance," he simply said, as if she'd asked a very stupid question and he was actually rather insulted by it. "You shouldn't judge me for the crap that I did when I was kid. I was stupid then. I'm a lot older and a lot wiser too. And I think I'd be perfect for you." He came over to her and pulled her off of the table, so that she was now in his arms, standing on her tip-toes, and looking up into the oceans that were his eyes. "And who wouldn't want to be a princess? Marry me and you would be."

Jenny couldn't help from laughing. "I don't need to be a princess," she said, after she caught her breath. "And I'm not ready for anything serious, Damien. I mean, I just got out of this situation with Nate…"

He let her go and stood back, casually putting his hands in the pockets of his suit.

"Jenny, you're worth waiting for. Worth doing anything to get," he said. He pulled out a business card, gently took her hand, and placed it in there. Then he kissed her softly on the cheek before leaving the room, the door lightly thumping behind him.

Jenny went around her table and ruffled her short hair. In the last few minutes, she'd had so many uncomfortable things happen to her that she didn't even know how to process it. She'd gone a little crazy and threw her stuff all over her office. Then she'd refused a job post at Poppy Lifton. Then she'd met the new interim CEO, who was totally nervous about her new responsibility. And then Damien Dalgaard made out with her in her office.

It had been all too much.

Jenny picked up the receiver of her phone and placed it against her ear. She looked at the card in her hand and dialed the number.

"Damien Dalgaard," he crisply answered.

"It's Jenny Humphrey," she said. "Drinks at the Plaza. Seven P.M. sharp. If you're one minute late, I promise I'll leave."

Then she hung up.