Taking Care of Business. Kathy Lyons

Julie set down her purse and went straight for the cappuccino machine. Everything else in their office was stripped down to the bare essentials. But this lovely thing was an office-warming present from her parents. Sadly, that hadn’t been all they’d given her. They’d also loaned her money to start the business. And if Web Wit and Wonder didn’t get a new contract soon, that debt was going to go unpaid.

      “Come on, Julie. What happened?”

      Julie sighed. She knew she’d never get to work if she didn’t tell her friend the truth. “It’s no big deal,” she said. “Just, well, something happened in the elevator.”

      She told Karen it all. Everything in glorious detail so she could relive the thrill of it. She’d never been someone to go for anonymous sex, much less today’s weird elevator fondle, but there was something so thrilling in what she’d done. As if she were suddenly scandalous or incredibly daring. It had just been a butt squeeze in a full elevator, but right then, she felt like she’d walked on the dark side. And Karen, bless her, found it just as exciting.

      “You have to do it again!” Karen pressed.

      “No!” Julie countered. “Besides, how could I?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. I get crammed into elevators all the time. You just have to keep an eye out for your guy and make sure to—”

      “What I’m going to do is focus on this campaign. Our proposal has to be perfect.”

      Karen paused a moment, then huffed in disgust. “Fine, fine. All work and no play makes you a dull girl.”

      Julie bit her lip, wondering just how much of the dollar and cents her artistic partner understood about their company. “Um, you know, I was going over our books last night and the picture—”

      “I know,” Karen interrupted, holding up her hand to silence her friend. “Well, I don’t know the exact figures, but I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

      Julie nodded. There was nothing more to say to that. Except, perhaps, that they would get through this. “We’re going to put together a kick-ass proposal. We’re going to be brilliant.”

      “And we’re going to win this contract,” Karen echoed with confidence. “I just know it.”

       2

       Seven weeks later …

      “WE DIDN’T GET THE contract.” Julie stared at her laptop, her mind going numb. “We didn’t get it.”

      Across the desk, Karen sighed and set down her sketchbook. Neither one of them had to say what they were thinking. They were both far from home, buried in debt, and as of five minutes ago, their company was dead. Bankrupt. Belly-up. Finito.

      “This should have worked,” Julie said as she fell back in her chair and stared at the ceiling tiles. “I think and breathe advertising. You’re the best graphic designer there is. And together we know the internet like the back of our hands. We should be buried in accounts, not.” Dead broke.

      Karen released another heavy sigh. “Yeah, okay, so this campaign didn’t work. It was brilliant, they’re idiots for not hiring us, but now we have to move on. So, what’s next?”

      Julie didn’t answer. She didn’t have the heart to tell her best friend that after two years of scrimping and sweating and bleeding, she just didn’t have it in her to try again. She’d put everything into this last pitch: heart, soul, and her last borrowed dime. They’d failed anyway. They hadn’t gotten the account.

      “My dad’s started a new bowling league,” she said, still talking to the ceiling tiles.

      “In Nebraska?” Karen snorted. “You hate Nebraska!”

      She hated starving, too. And being homeless. Which she would soon be since she couldn’t pay any more rent on her tiny apartment or on this cramped office space.

      “Come on, Julie. Usually you’re the one with six more possibilities lined up, just in case. So what’s next? What have you got up your sleeve?”

      “Nothing,” she whispered. “Absolutely nothing. We’re done.”

      Karen was silent for a long time, clearly absorbing the finality of that while Julie tried hard to not think of returning to Nebraska, suitcase in hand. How did she tell her family that her plan to make it big—the one she’d talked about since she was twelve years old—had ended up in a huge pile of debt?

      “Okay, I’ve got a new plan,” Karen said firmly. “I think you should get laid.”

      Julie lifted her head to stare at her friend. “What?”

      “I’m serious. You’ve been working nonstop for months. Years, even. Too much tension stops the flow of qi.”

      “What?”

      “Your energy, your power. And nothing else opens up the qi like a good—”

      “Karen! You can’t possibly think that sex is an answer to bankruptcy.” There. She’d said the word aloud.

      Her friend shook her head. “We’re not closed yet. We’ve got almost a month left for you to think of something brilliant. But you won’t think of anything with your qi all clogged.”

      Julie didn’t answer. Her friend was being silly as a way to lighten the mood. It was sweet really, but some things couldn’t be changed regardless of her state of qi.

      Karen leaned forward, dropping her elbows onto Julie’s desk. “When was the last time you saw Elevator Man?”

      Julie nearly choked. Gawd, she should never have told her friend about him. Especially since the elevator seven weeks ago had only been the first incident. They’d had approximately one anonymous encounter a week since then. And that was nothing compared to her nighttime fantasies. Who’d have thought that she would become obsessed with elevator sex? But she had. She didn’t know whether her fantasies were fueling her forays into the scandalous or the reverse, but whatever the reason, she’d been unable to stop herself from orchestrating increasingly sexual encounters with the hunky janitor.

      Their second time had been in another jam-packed elevator, but this time she’d gotten in first. She hadn’t even been sure it was him except that his general height and build were the same. He was about six foot and lean in those blue denim coveralls. His hair was rich brown, all curly and shaggy, and his shoulders broad. As she’d stared at his dark, dark brown eyes, she’d wondered: are you him? Are you the first man to touch me in forever?

      He hadn’t answered, of course. But he’d inhaled deeply, and she’d thought about her perfume. Was he smelling the sandalwood she liked to dab on her wrists? Or the minty herb of her shampoo? Did he know what she was thinking?

      She’d smiled at him, then. Something in her had taken over and she’d flashed her best come-hither smile. He’d seen it. His gaze zeroed in on her lips. But he didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. If anything, his eyes had gone impersonal and vague.

      Her ego had crashed. This wasn’t her elevator man. Or if it was, he wasn’t interested in her. She had been stunned by the pain of that. The disappointment had cut deep, probably because she’d built so many erotic daydreams about him. She’d just been biting back a sigh when he reached forward to press the button for his floor.

      Top floor. No biggie. Except on his way to the panel, he’d brushed across her right breast. It could have been an accident. After all, there were a dozen people crammed into the elevator. There was hardly space to breathe, much less reach for a button. But he had brushed her breast and her nipple reacted with a nearly painful point.

      And on the way back from pressing the button, he’d done it again. Or perhaps she had “accidentally” pushed forward so that he had no choice but to caress her hard nipple. That was it for Encounter 2.