“I don’t get speechless very often, Stella,” he says, shaking his head. “But damn. I don’t have the words to do it justice.”
“This calls for vodka,” Jordyn stage whispers to the group, garnering their attention. “Happy hour drinks after work.”
“Done.”
“I’m in.”
“Coffeeeee.”
Jordyn gives my arm a final pat, then joins the rest of the managers. I’m left standing beside Aiden, and I savor the next few seconds. The dash of cabs racing down the avenue behind us. The icy wind on my cheeks. The smell of bagels and garlic and perfume and gasoline that seems to forever linger in the atmosphere of the city. I savor the momentary lack of imposter syndrome and marvel over the giant opening it leaves behind. The endless possibilities of what I could fit inside of that unoccupied gap.
Until Shirley and Bradley block my view of the store window, I honestly forget that they are still here. Shirley’s features are no less pinched than they were before, but Bradley’s expression is utterly blank. At least until he looks at Aiden and his eyes widen a little. Probably because Aiden is giving off serious don’t fuck with her vibes that are trying really hard to turn me on, despite the fact that I asked him to remain neutral. The vagina wants what it wants.
Still, I raise my eyebrow at him and he lets out a very long breath.
“It’s…flashy. I’ll say that. But is it really in line with the class and sophistication of Vivant, Aiden?” Shirley asks, turning slightly to regard the window. “I worry this feels like a desperate grab for attention.”
Aiden’s smiles with teeth. “I think we can all agree that store windows are supposed to be an attention grab. They exist for that very purpose.”
Bradley clears his throat. “We’ve always done well with the subtle message that we don’t need anyone’s business. That we’re allowing it.”
Somewhere close by, Jordyn makes a gagging sound.
Aiden still manages to hold on to his affable expression. “Now, I’m not sure anyone is buying that message anymore. Not when they walk into an empty store.” On the surface, Aiden seems like his usual positive self, but upon closer inspection, his bow tie is literally quivering. He’s having a harder time with the criticism of my window than he’s letting on, but he’s respecting my wishes to let it be voiced out in the open where I can hear it. He’s not shutting it down, though I suspect he wants to. And this isn’t unusual for him, is it? To be suppressing his feelings for the greater good. I still remember the night we shared that bottle of bourbon in the cookware department. What he confided in me.
“I’m impatient and irritated around my family. And that makes me feel guilty.”
“You’re supposed to be better than that.”
“Right.” He nods. “Yes.”
I’m hit with a smidgen of guilt for asking him not to protect me. He’s obviously already quelling more than enough of his opinions and urges. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach over and smooth the sides of his bow tie. Calm it down. Then maybe slide those exact same fingers up into his hair. Pull his face down to mine and tell him he’s better than anyone. All of them.
Okay, I’m definitely falling for this man. Falling pretty fast.
Nose diving—without a parachute.
Shirley speaks again, interrupting my thoughts. “Are we going to bring in the kind of clientele…” She gives me a once-over. “That we want, though? We don’t want to alienate our current base.”
My stomach wads up like a wet paper towel, my wool tights suddenly itchier than usual, but I take a cue from Aiden and put my chin up. I can handle this.
Meanwhile, Aiden’s bow tie is going to start spinning around like an airplane propeller at any second. “I firmly believe this window will boost our foot traffic to sale numbers and we’re going to take a couple of days to prove that. In the meantime, I’ve seen enough to make Stella a permanent hire.”
“Why not wait for the data?” Bradley asks, brushing lint off his lapel.
“Yes,” Shirley asks, narrow eyed. “What is the big hurry?”
“She has time to design another window before the Christmas Eve rush. It’s not fair to ask her to do that without a contract.”
Not a single muscle moves on the grandmother’s face. “I suppose. And I assume she’s been through orientation with Mrs. Bunting in human resources?” Her eyes lock in on me. “Read through the handbook and its various clauses?”
My face heats, pulse kicking into high gear at the base of my neck.
This woman may or may not know what happened between me and Aiden this morning （still not totally clear on that myself）， but she suspects something is between us. The fact that we got out of the same car looking stoned is likely evidence enough—and she doesn’t like it. Neither does his father, who has the disapproving expression of a Puritan villager. While the imposter syndrome is still blessedly missing for my professional feat, I’m now experiencing it for a very different reason.
How must I look standing beside Aiden?
Probably a lot different than the women he’s dated before. They were likely graceful and tasteful and tall. Never had their mugshot taken. Of course his family would be concerned over the possibility that he’s spending time with A.） an employee and B.） A sad, knock-off gothic girl who had to use clear nail polish to treat a tear in her tights this morning. I’m about as approachable and welcoming as a vampire bat. Aiden is like a walking Baby Ruth bar. Sweet and savory and sort of old-fashioned. Makes a person happy just looking at it.
“Yes, I’ve gone through orientation with HR,” I say, before Aiden can answer. “I’m aware of employee…protocol. It was so nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me…”
I manage a smile as I walk away, approaching Jordyn where she scowls at Seamus through the glass and the other managers are taking selfies with the window. Two women jog by our group, but come to a stop and walk backward when they see the red dress glowing beneath hundreds of butterflies just off the street. “Oh shit, I just found my dress to Brian’s Christmas party,” says one of the joggers. “I won’t mind that his ex is there if I’m wearing that.”
“She’s going to mind.”
“Good.”
Laughing, they high five. “What store even is this?” They back up to read the decades old carving on the top of the building. “Vivant. I’ll swing by on my lunchbreak.”
I’m breathless by the time the women start running again. I never got past hoping for approval from Aiden, from the board. The fact that I just witnessed the effect of my window in action is such an unexpected miracle, my hand flies up to cover my mouth while the managers crowd around me, poking me in the shoulders and giving me hip bumps.
“Remember,” Shirley calls out while climbing into her limousine, interrupting our celebration. “When you’re in public, you’re representing Vivant. Please act accordingly.”
Everyone quiets down again.
Aiden is standing in the empty sidewalk space between us and his departing family, watching me. Torn between pride and disquiet. As if he already knows in advance what I decide two seconds later. No more touching. No more after hours alone time with this man. I’m officially an employee of his store, his family would obviously be horrified if our relationship developed into something serious—and who am I kidding even pondering such a thing? I’ve got a four-year delay in figuring out where I fit into this world, but I know definitively that he doesn’t fit with me. Not with his identity so authentically curated.