Caught Up in Us (Caught Up In Love #1)(19)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“Yeah. Sure. I always do,” he said, but his cheeks turned red, as if it were simply an excuse. I followed him to his office, but stood in the doorway, forcing him to bring the ad sample to me.

“Maybe just move the tagline over here,” I said crisply, and pointed to the left hand corner of the photo. “I have to go meet with Nicole now.”

Then I dashed off to see Nicole Blazer, a smart and stylish pint-sized redhead. She was one of Bryan’s early business advisors on the design side, and also served on the company’s board. She had the kind of gravelly voice that you think comes from smoking. When we first met, she shook my hand and said, “I don’t smoke. Never have. Was just blessed with this kind of huskiness.”

“Huskiness rules,” I said, and grinned. I had a feeling we’d get along fine.

Today, as I stepped into her office, she gestured to an array of tie clips and money holders on her desk. “Prototypes for a new line. Today, your job is to be a fresh pair of eyes and tell me what sucks and what doesn’t suck.”

She was direct and I liked it. There were no mixed messages or awkward questions with Nicole Blazer. I pointed to a gold money holder. “I have this theory that gold is becoming passé.”

“Gold passé? How’s that frigging possible?”

“Well, not gold as in the only thing that actually keeps its value. But gold jewelry. Rose gold is all the rage.”

“Right. Of course.”

“But what if you were to try the next thing after rose gold?”

“What would that be?”

I flashed back to the Impressionist art I loved so much, to the way the painters played with light and shadow to show different times of day. “What if it were possible to make a sort of sunset gold? Or morning light gold? Rose gold is basically just a tinting. Maybe the same could be done with your tie clips and money holders, but the gold almost looks as if it’s reflecting the time of day.”

She nodded appreciatively. “Damn, girl. I like that idea.”

I also spent time with the operational team. I’d weighed in on some challenges with suppliers they were facing, suggesting strategies to spur along some of the more difficult ones. John Walker, head of operations, had even implemented some of my ideas. But a new wrinkle in the supply chain woes emerged later that week.

“The Silversmith in Brooklyn said they’re not going to be able to meet the timeline with bike chain parts,” John said during a meeting. “We need to come up with a replacement within a week.”

Bryan’s features tightened and he rubbed his hand over his chin. His green eyes were hard and intense. He didn’t look at me once, and that was fine with me.

The meeting continued on like that for another hour, and when it ended without a clear resolution from anyone, Bryan said he was going for run. I took that as a cue to leave. Besides, I needed time and space away to try to research possible replacements for Silversmith. I stopped in the temporary office to grab my bag, and then headed for the elevator banks. I sucked in a breath when I saw Bryan there, wearing a gray tee-shirt and running shorts. He pressed the down button.

“Hey.” His jaw was still tight. The stress of the meeting and the supply complications was taking its toll.

“Going for a run?” I said, then wanted to kick myself. Not only was it patently obvious he was about to exercise, he’d also announced it.

“Running helps me think. I swear I do my best problem solving on the trails and bike paths.”

“I find I do a great job keeping track of how much I never want to run again when I’m running.”

Bryan’s features softened and I saw the sliver of a smile form. “That’s right. You’re all about walking.”

The elevator arrived and he held out his hand. I stepped in first and stood in the opposite corner. “I’ve been known to traverse the city on foot. I dare anyone to take me on in a walkathon.”

“Quite a dare. I’d love to take you on.”

I looked away.

He drummed his fingers against the elevator bar as the car descended. “So does walking help you think? What do you do to blow off steam or escape or whatever?”

“I go to the movies.”

The elevator reached the first floor. As the door opened, he said my name in that smoky voice. “Kat.”

There was a pang of remorse in his tone. Instinctively, I took a step closer, all my self-preservation falling away.

“What is it?” I asked softly.

“Nothing.” He was ice again. He repeated the word as he walked out of his building, and started running the second he hit the sidewalk.

*****

The cinema around the corner was showing the newest Emma Stone movie, but I couldn’t stomach romance now. I bought a ticket for a Ryan Gosling action flick. I needed improbable car chases and ridiculously implausible getaways. I slinked down into a seat in the back, leaving the looming pile of homework, necklace orders and the supply chain issues untouched for the next two hours.

There were only a few other people in the theater for the mid-afternoon showing on a Thursday. Some solo movie goers had snagged seats near the front, and there were two pairs of friends in the middle rows. Maybe they were blowing off steam too.

As the hero hacked into a laptop, an idea flashed before me. I’d once made a custom necklace for a computer programmer-turned-bestselling author and had scoured the city for the charms she wanted — floppy disks and motherboards I cut down to size. The vendor I’d hooked up with had started expanding into other recycled materials, including old tires and worn-out bike chains.

I made a mental note to track down the name later, and then returned my focus to the screen.

When Ryan Gosling scaled an impossibly high ledge, I caught a flicker of movement at the back of the theater. I turned to look, and I froze when I saw Bryan. He was still in his workout clothes, and even in the dark I could see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and his tee-shirt. He scanned the aisles, and when he spotted me, he didn’t look happy. His jaw was tense again as he walked across the aisle. His eyes were lined with anger, and his fists were clenched. He sat down, turned to me, and placed a hand on my cheek so I was looking at him.

“You’re making me crazy,” he whispered in a hard voice.

“I am? Why?”

“You act like nothing happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How can you just be like this? Like it was nothing what happened?”