* * *
Lila's first day in Portland was exhausting. She'd been riding high on a wave of excitement when she picked up the keys from the leasing agent, and her energy had persisted through the deliveries and installation of her new equipment. It wasn't until late afternoon, when she finally took a moment to choke down some unpalatable fast food from the chain restaurant nearby that she realized how tired she was. And she hadn't even begun to unpack her personal items.
Her gaze roaming the huge kitchen, Lila smiled around her mouthful of lukewarm fries. The space couldn't be more perfect, especially on her tight budget. After the licensing, code inspections, and equipment purchases, her savings was dwindling.
Although Brice Masterson had been more than generous in his payment for the wedding feast, and although she'd been saving for years to start up her business, things seemed to cost more than she'd estimated. Her smile faded and, wrapping up the rest of her now-cold burger, Lila sighed.
As she tossed her leavings into the trash, her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar.
"Hello?"
"Good afternoon. May I speak to Ms. Lila Johnstone, please?" The voice on the other end was female, the tone professional and polite.
"Uh, speaking."
"Ms. Johnstone, this is Alexander Drake's office calling. He's asked me to set up an appointment to discuss the catering of an upcoming event. I apologize for the short notice, but he'd like to meet with you as soon as possible."
Lila swallowed. Drake must be the one Janna had mentioned at her reception. Trying not to sound too eager and hoping her tone was as professional as the woman's on the other end of the line, Lila mimed paging through a calendar. "Let's see. It seems you're in luck. I've got an opening tomorrow afternoon."
"Perfect. Shall we say two o'clock?"
"Two o'clock sounds fine." When the woman began rattling off the address, Lila bolted to her bag to find a pen and pad. She had no idea where the building was, but she didn't let on. "Thank you. I'll be there tomorrow."
Lila hung up the phone and realized that she was no longer exhausted. A thin tendril of anxiety had worked its way into her stomach, roiling around the bad food and causing it to sour. "Oh shit," she breathed. How was she going to get ready for a meeting in less than 24 hours with her first potential client, and she hadn't even unpacked her underwear?
Lila started praying for a miracle.
As she dug through her closet after at last getting her clothing unpacked and hung, Lila realized she really would need that miracle. She’d never held a professional position. Working in the kitchen of her mother's friend, who'd owned a no-frills family restaurant in her hometown, had not built up a wardrobe suitable to her current aspirations.
She'd never had to meet clients or sell herself to anyone. Mostly she tried to hide herself in the back behind a heavy apron, maybe because she thought no one would buy her. But she couldn't hide out if she wanted to be a successful business owner. And that meant making a great impression.
Unfortunately, she'd had no time to consider her wardrobe. Now it was too late. "Double shit," she murmured, coming to the realization that it would be inappropriate to show up in the jeans and t-shirt she usually preferred. "Do I even own a dress?"
Turns out she didn't, not really. She had a few faded sundresses that she wore around the house when she was feeling lazy, and one going-out dress that featured black spangles and a fun flared skirt. But black spangles wouldn't work for a two o'clock business meeting.
Then her hands came across an unfamiliar fabric and she pulled the garment out.
And wished she hadn't.
It was gray, some polyester blend. Huge shoulders and big black buttons running down the front of an oversized blazer, with an equally unflattering gray pencil skirt. It wasn't hers. It was her mother's.
Lila walked to the mirror and held the outfit up to her. It was too large, but she thought a bit of bagginess was a small price to pay to look professional. Well, at least semi-professional.
As she stared into the mirror, a faint scent lifted to her face. Lila frowned. Mom. The clothes smelled like her mother.
Before she realized it, she was face-down on her double bed, sobs wracking her body. It had been a couple years since her mother had passed. Died, she reminded herself. No need for euphemisms. The thought made her cry harder, as did the awareness that it still hurt like hell sometimes.
"I hope you'd be proud of me, Mom," she whispered into her comforter. "I'm going for it in a big way. So if you have an in with the Big Guy up there, see if you can pull some strings for me."
Of course the office was downtown, amid the tall buildings that shone with the reflected afternoon sunlight. Lila was glad she'd left obscenely early for the meeting or she wouldn't have had time to find parking. Portland, Oregon wasn't NYC, but that didn't mean traffic was a piece of cake. Her dwindling savings in the forefront of her mind, Lila hunted for an economy lot. Unfortunately, most of these seemed to border the Burnside Bridge and the teeming masses of homeless humanity. Pity and fear mingled in her guts as she looked for someplace where she wouldn’t return to find her a sprinkle of broken window glass as the only remnant of her missing car.
By the time she parked her old Ford Escort in a corner lot and hoofed it down 2nd Ave to the correct location, she was thankful that she didn't own a pair of heels as she'd never have made it on time. She'd worn flats, dull black flats and nude pantyhose.
Lila rolled her eyes at her own appearance. She was a slip-on tennis shoe type of gal, and pantyhose were anathema. Like some kind of strange nylon prison for your legs, with crotches that never fit right and the structural integrity of a collapsed soufflé. Still, there was one good thing about the too-large outfit of her mother's: she didn't have to wear a body shaper.
The building housing Drake's office was tall and modern but surprisingly attractive. Glass windows the color of the Mediterranean shone within their white stone confines. As she walked through the spacious lobby to the elevators she admired the tasteful decor. A huge bank of windows let in the sunshine which reflected off polished floors. Her eyes flowed over paintings hung high above comfortable couches, each carefully accented by invisible lighting.
The elevator itself was a marvel, the outside doors gold, the interior a deep red, with a mosaic tile floor. Lila rode up in silence, adjusting her outfit, praying that she wouldn't make a fool of herself. A new client, especially if he was in the same income bracket at Brice Masterson, would help her build her business. And hell, if he liked her cooking, perhaps he'd recommend her. That was Lila's biggest hope, as she couldn't afford decent advertising yet.
Cart before the horse, she reminded herself. You still have to harness this one before you can lasso another.
The elevator doors opened. Lila took a deep breath and stepped out into a reception area that was just as impressive as the lobby downstairs. A round desk stood in the middle of luxurious carpet and rich cream walls. Behind the desk sat a fashionable woman, a wireless headset attached to one ear.
"Welcome," she said when Lila approached. "How may I help you?"
Trade outfits with me, Lila thought, eyeing the receptionist's trim figure encased in an attractive designer suit jacket and skirt. Heck, swap bodies with me.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Drake. I'm Lila Johnstone."
"Of course, Ms. Johnstone. If you'll just follow me..."
Lila was expecting to have to wait. Businessmen were perpetually busy, always running late while brokering high-stakes deals, and she was just a caterer. She thought she'd have time to sink into one of the plush white chairs scattered about the expansive reception area and collect her thoughts. Get ready for the big pitch. Instead the receptionist ushered her down a hallway to an imposing door.
Her light tap received a "Come in," from the other side of the door. The well-dressed woman opened the door but did not enter, giving Lila a nod and smile. Another deep inhale, and Lila stepped through, not hearing when the receptionist shut the door behind her.
It wasn't the luxurious office that caught her attention, although it was gorgeous. Dark wood paneling was broken only by the occasional artwork and the massive picture window beyond the oversized desk. But it was the man behind the desk that outshone his setting.
He stood, a polite grin on his face. "Ms. Johnstone," he said, coming around the desk and approaching, sticking out his hand to shake hers.
When she touched his hand, electricity ran up her arm directly to her chest. It was him, the handsome devil from the wedding reception, the one whose speech had disgruntled the groom at the same time that it gave Lila delusions of grandeur. And now she was here, in his office, shaking his hand.
Holy shit, she thought, if he hires me, I'll be working under him.
That thought sent the blood right to her cheeks. And somewhere else. Somewhere much lower.