––––––––

SEEING ALL THREE SOLIS brothers together is truly a sight to behold. The temperature rose in the office to a stifling heat. The women in our customer service teams, the marketing teams, and even a few of the disc jockey’s came out from their desks to see what the commotion was. I could hear panties melting and hearts breaking with all the female ooh’s, aah’s and gawking going on. Jeesh, you’d think these ladies had never seen a hot man before, much less three of them together.

I don’t like it—this feeling burning through me all of a sudden. It’s like a soft rage that someone turned the fire up on and now I’m boiling over mad. For a moment, I had an overwhelming need to pull Dante into my office to get him away from the female’s salivating over him.

What the heck is wrong with me?

He was so sweet to me today and I can’t stop thinking about him. Admit it—that’s what’s wrong with you. He put his own hurt aside in an attempt to fix a worry that he knew I had. Although, according to the receptionist, he did send a gorgeous blond to deliver the basket with ingredients, but it’s the thought that counts, and not my jealous musings.

I have bigger concerns to care about, like my allergy testing or putting together a proposal to be removed from The Glass Stripper account. I need to be able to present my reasoning in a professional manner and offer sound suggestions for a replacement. Robert doesn’t do things conventionally, and he won’t remove me just because I ask. He believes in fighting for something until there isn’t any fight left— and then he still throws one last punch. I have to counter his objections with smart, decisive ideas. This is where my attention should be.

I need to get away from here and think. Dante showing up and strutting around me with his extremely polite “Excuse me” like a man on a mission has me second-guessing my original plan of execution. What’s he doing meeting with Robert? And without me? What are he and his brothers up to that they’ve formed a cohesive unit against me?

Stop. I can’t think about this right now. I need to get to my doctor appointment, and my mom is probably waiting downstairs for me. I push through the door, and see her car idling in the circular drive. I see the back of my brother’s head as he sits patiently in the backseat. He’s got on the Miami Dolphins hat that I bought him at Christmas time. He doesn’t go anywhere without it. He’s non verbal, so little things like wearing his hat everywhere lets me know he loves it.

I open up the car door and hop in. “Hi, Mom. Hey, Josh. How are you doing, buddy?” I ask him, turning to catch a glimpse of him as I buckle my seatbelt. He nods his head, and taps his hand over his heart telling me he’s okay.

“Hi, Sweetheart. Where are we going?” my mom asks, putting the car in drive and rolling to the edge of the driveway to enter traffic.

“We are headed to Dr. Michael Geyser’s office on SW 2nd Avenue,” I inform her. “Thanks again for taking me. I didn’t want to go through this alone. You know how much I don’t like needles.”

“You and me both,” she groans. “Someday, you’ll have a husband and not need me anymore, so until then, I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

“That’s probably never going to happen...the husband part,” I say to clarify; she looks at me sideways like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m too independent, self-sufficient, and unwilling to change my ways. Men don’t usually like that in a woman. Sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” she asks. “Some man will come along and cherish those characteristics in you. And all the other ones that you have, good or bad. I can promise you that.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I don’t see it happening,” I advise.

“Mark my words, dear,” she says. I hate it when she does this. My mom considers herself some kind of psychic with premonitions. Her and her chakra stones, and sun calendars that foretell the aligning of the planets. It’s her only hobby, so I listen...but with a grain of salt. “There’s a tall man out there for you. He’s a Sagittarius with hazel eyes and will bring some fun and joy into your life. I’ve seen it. Just make sure you give in to it when it happens.”

My stomach drops like I just base jumped off the Empire State Building. My eyes widen and I choke on my own spit. I don’t know how in the hell she knew to describe Dante, but she did it. Well, I’m not too sure about the Sagittarius part, but I can check on that. Sometimes she freaks me out with her premonitions. She looks over at me when we pull into the doctor’s parking lot.

“What?” she asks, giving me that look that says ‘I know I’m right so don’t argue with me’ that mother’s give their single daughters. “I’m just saying, be ready because he’s a handful, but you’ll love him like no other. He’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Whatever, Mom,” I argue. “Can we go inside now?”

“Sure thing, honey. C’mon Josh. Let’s go on an adventure,” she says.

I love how she still calls them adventures. She’s been calling family trips to anywhere ‘adventures’ since I was a little girl. She’s always seen the positive side of life. I wish my glass was always half full.

After a short wait in the main reception of the office, I’m finally called back to the room. Josh was getting fidgety in the office about the show that was playing on the television, so Mom took him for a walk. Looks like I’m still doing this alone. The nurse comes in and takes a few vials of blood for those allergens that can only be detected in blood work.  Shortly after she leaves, Dr. Geyser comes in and goes over my medical history. I explain what happened to get me here and I hand him the list of ingredients that Dante obtained for me.

As the doctor evaluates the listing, my mind keeps wandering back to what my mom said about the fun man with hazel eyes. Even Dante said there was an invisible string holding us together. Am I too practical for my own good? Am I so black and white about the facts of the world that I don’t recognize any gray at all? After all, there are fifty shades of it, apparently.

“Miss Kimball, did you hear me?” Dr. Geyser asks, snapping his fingers in mid-air to gain my attention.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not offering an explanation for my loss of concentration. “Could you please repeat what you said?”

“Yes. This list is very comprehensive. We will take care of a lot of these ingredients with the blood that we drew, but some of these items will require a skin prick test,” he explains. “We can do that now, or schedule for you to come back in. It should take about a half hour.” Ugh. More needles. I suddenly feel the need to hold someone’s hand.

“Let’s go ahead and get it over with. Delaying it will only increase my anxiety,” I confess. He laughs in hearing my truth spoken aloud.

“We’ll place two lidocaine patches on your arms to numb those areas. You won’t feel a thing, but you’ll see it if you’re allergic to one of the pricks. A red bump will raise and indicate sensitivity. Easy peasy,” he says. Easy peasy? There’s just something wrong with a professional man saying “easy peasy” but I’m sure it’s his way of attempting to ease my anxiety.

He leaves the office saying he’ll be right back, and within a few moments, he enters the room again with the nurse in tow. And now for the hard part...

****

I ENTER THE OFFICE quite sluggish from the antihistamines they gave me yesterday at the allergist. Turns out I’m quite allergic to peppers, especially aji peppers.  No more ceviche for me.

My computer fires up, and as usual, my emails are stacking up. I have forty-two unread messages in my inbox. The first one that grabs my attention is a request to accept or decline a meeting invitation with Robert Bethany. The butterflies go haywire in my stomach. I just know Dante and his brothers have ganged up on me to get me kicked off their account, or worse...fired. I ignore the invitation. Mostly because it asks for a meeting at 2:00 pm. I’ve got until 1:57 to accept or suffer the consequences of Charlotte hunting me down.

I start back at the top of the message listing, completing the most recent ones first, and skipping over the ones that are just for my information only. No matter how far I scroll, the meeting invite keeps harrassing me. I can’t shake it from my brain. I notice it’s marked with an exclamation point for highly important that supposedly brings it to my attention first. Well, it succeeded. It’s all I can think about now. Oh, crap. I wonder if Charlotte added a read receipt to it. I dislike that very much and disabled mine a long time ago giving everyone permission to know I read their email. Great!

“Well, here goes nothing, I guess,” I murmur out loud, clicking accept at the top of the email header. I guess I better work on my proposal and re-direct for being removed from the account.

After fueling my brain power with several coffees that I don’t normally drink, my thought process is firing rapidly and I’m quite satisfied with my presentation. I grab my notebook and head to my meeting.

Charlotte isn’t at her desk, but Robert’s door is wide open. I hear him call out to me, “Ava, please come in.”

“Hi, Robert. How are you?” I ask shakily. I cough to try to clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. Plus, the butterflies in my stomach have kicked up their fluttering dance ten notches since I stepped across the threshold into his office, and now I feel sick to my stomach with nerves.

“I’m well, Ava. How are you?” he asks in return, smiling to ease my apparent discomfort.

“I’m nervous, actually,” I admit. “We don’t normally meet in one-on-one situations so I feel unprepared.”

“But you still brought your notebook...I think you’re prepared enough,” he assures me. His smile has faded and he’s got his poker-face on. It’s all business from now until I leave this office.

“Ava, I’m a busy man, and you know I’m always short and to-the-point, so here it is. Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” he asks. He leans back in his chair watching my emotions play out on my face. His face is stoic, scaring me further.

“Let’s start with the bad news, because if it’s really bad— there won’t be any need to hear the good news,” I answer.

“The bad news is that we are moving your office. You’ll be leaving us here and working remotely,” he informs me.

I let that digest for a moment and sit in silence. I wipe the sweat from my palms onto my pants.  I’ve always tried to think before I speak so that I don’t speak out of ignorance. It’s something one of my college professors taught his students and I’ve always admired the philosophy behind it. But his statement has my mind zinging in a million different directions and I just can’t see the outcome clearly. My eyebrows knit together, and I absently rub the wrinkles on my forehead to thwart the impending headache from thinking too hard.

“Could you please define remotely for me? More specifically, an actual location would be nice,” I clarify.

He leans forward and types something into his computer. ”224 E Flagler Street,” he announces, smiling.

“But that’s across the...wait, that’s The Glass Stripper,” I cry. “What deal did you cut with the Solis brothers yesterday?” My anger is rising with the pitch of my voice.

“Please calm down and hear the good news,” he pleads. His smile has returned. This whole conversation has me unsettled. “Remember the day I interviewed you and I asked you where you saw yourself in five years?”

I shake my head yes in earnest, because I remember exactly what I said.

“You didn’t give me the typical ‘I see myself in your position, Sir’ that most new hires spout out” he says, chuckling just like he did that day. “You said ‘I see myself owning my own PR and marketing firm with high end clients’, and I knew then that you were a straight shooter with honesty, integrity, and genuine passion for your work in truckloads. The look on your face told me you believed in your response, and that’s why I hired you.”

“So how does that translate into working remotely from across the street?” I ask in earnest. My curiosity is peaked and I need to know now how this ends.

“The Glass Stripper is a rising star in the entertainment industry in this city. They have big plans over there for the next few years,” he stands and crosses to lean against his desk, making our conversation much more personal. “They need a PR person, but aren’t exactly sure how to go about branding themselves. They also need a ton of promotions work to help build that brand. We are partnering together to do just that. You will be their PR lead, and help build their brand by using WHOT for their radio spots since they can’t do targeted television ads. You will also prepare co-branded billboard ads and social media campaigns for them and the radio station— all from within the confines of your employment here at the radio station. And within two years time, you will have gained the experience needed to branch out on your own and build your PR firm with The Glass Stripper as your first high end client. They in turn will have a consolidated brand, thanks to your genius and they are prepared to help you obtain your own business at that time.”

“Wow, that’s a lot to take in all at once, Robert,” I reply.

“Yes, it is. But it secures the future that you’ve dreamed of, and a steady influx of marketing funds for the radio station that should help us break into the top ten of our market,” he reveals excitedly. “It’s a win-win for us all.”

“And this all requires me to move my office across the street?” I ask, still confused on that major point.

“Yes, they insisted on it,” he points out. “They would like you to learn all of the ins and outs of their business to build their brand honestly and correctly. They feel you need to be on site to do that, and I agree. The best branded products are when the people live and breathe the brands.”

“Yes, but how do you live and breathe a strip club?” I ask. “Never mind. I really don’t want to know, but I guess I’ll figure that out. So, when do I move?”