The Second Chance Plan Read online

  “Sure.” I gathered my bag and my books. “I’ll just be”—I waved in the general direction of the door—“not in here.”

  He settled into his desk chair, his eyes already on the computer screen and the email with the Wilco notes. He sighed heavily and dropped his forehead into his hand. “Fuck,” he said in a low voice, and I suspected he wasn’t going to have a very good phone call with the board.

  I grabbed my iced tea, left his office, and said goodbye to Delaney. Then I called a cab as soon as I left the factory. There was a two-thirty train back to New York that had my name written all over it.

  12

  Kat

  Present Day

  * * *

  The music drowned out my thoughts, and I wasn’t complaining.

  At a bar in SoHo, we celebrated opening night of the month-long run of the Les Mis off-Broadway revival Jill had been rehearsing so hard. The show itself was amazing—the producers had staged the story in modern-day France and added guitars and drums to the orchestra.

  Somehow not exhausted from a great performance, she and her castmates had grabbed guitars and jumped on stage to jam out to “One Day More” performed as a power ballad. Jill could handle a guitar—she jammed hard on her Stratocaster and the amps howled out chords. Reeve and Caden, the two guys who played Marius and Enjolras, whipped the audience into a frenzy. Caden, with dark-blond hair, led the song. When he reached the chorus, he thrust the mic toward the crowd and they all joined in with gusto. Most of them were in the cast, and anyone who called themselves a musical theater fan knew the words. I was pretty sure the non-theater people had bailed.

  My brother, Nate, was over at the bar refilling our drinks. I raised an arm and sang along, the whole lot of us jammed together in front of the tiny stage. Caden was a certified babe in an arty sort of way. He was tall and lanky, wore hipster jeans and a T-shirt with a vest. His hair was deliciously disheveled. Jill had mentioned him before, and that he was good-looking. She’d also said she had no interest in dating him because it was a bad idea to get involved with people you work with. Good advice indeed.

  Caden was the total opposite of Bryan Leighton and his hot-and-cold, business-before-romance attitude. He had called me a few times after I took off from his factory that afternoon, but I didn’t pick up. He’d emailed too, wanting to know where I was. If I was okay. If something was wrong.

  * * *

  My reply was simple: I forgot I had an appointment in the city. The factory is amazing, and I am learning so much.

  * * *

  His radio silence the rest of the evening just confirmed that I’d made the right choice to bail. He didn’t seem to have a clue why I might be upset at being dismissed so abruptly—again. He hadn’t thought of me until after his call, and clearly not since I’d reassured him I was fine.

  Caden and Reeve belted out the final verse to the song, then mimed strumming a guitar solo alongside Jill as the song faded to its end. “Thank you so much for coming to the show and hanging out with us afterward. You are a kick-ass audience, and you rock my ‘Red and Black’ world,” Caden said, and several women shrieked and held their arms out toward him.

  As the singing actors put away their instruments, I found my brother at the bar. He handed me a vodka tonic. I’d probably only have a sip. I’d never been much of a drinker. “You sure you’re old enough to drink?” he asked.

  “Oh, haha. Two years on, and that joke never gets old.”

  He shook his head playfully. “You still seem like the baby sister to me.”

  “Well, duh. I always will be.”

  I was glad Nate took me up on the invite to come to opening night of Jill’s show. We hadn’t seen each other in weeks. He was on the road a lot, working in business development for a start-up, but he hoped to switch careers and move into the hospitality business. He’d just married the woman of his dreams, a talented sculptor named Joanna, and now he clinked my vodka tonic with his beer, and said, “To good music and my little sister.”

  If you looked closely, you could tell we were brother and sister. We had the same cheekbones, high and sharp. But where I had brown eyes and even darker hair, Nate had scored light-brown hair and amber eyes.

  “How are Mom and Dad? How did they seem when you were there?” I asked. Nate had visited them earlier in the week on his way to see a client in Boston.

  “They’re hanging in there. Dad’s a little nervous about the loan coming due, I suspect, but Mom’s Mom. All stoic and tough and ‘we’ll get through this.’ She’s trying out a few sales and mixing up the inventory a bit to see if that sparks some interest. And get this—she’s doing one of those online daily-discount type of deals next week.”

  My mom had always been more of a traditional marketer, depending on foot traffic and tourist bureau promotions. That she was trying new things like online deals was perhaps a good sign. “I think I’m going to take the train out and see them tomorrow. I need to get away for the weekend.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, and I realized I’d said more than I intended. “Why? Don’t tell me there’s some dude you’re running away from?”

  I fumbled with my glass and sloshed my drink on the bar.

  “I guess I was right,” Nate said knowingly, as he grabbed a napkin to clean up.

  “That was just a really strong drink.”

  “Strong? Sure. I’m sure it was so strong it took till your third sip to spill it. Now, spill. But not your drink. Who is he? And what did he do to you?” Nate made a fist with one hand and smacked his other palm. “Because I will seriously hurt him.”

  I laughed nervously. “It’s nothing,” I said, because it was nothing. What happened with Bryan was truly nothing. Besides, Nate and Bryan weren’t best buddies anymore, but they kept in touch, so I didn’t need Nate to know. “I swear. Just someone at business school I liked isn’t into me.”

  “Is he crazy?”

  “Maybe.” I was relieved when Jill came up and bumped her hip against me. Caden was by her side, and the traces of stage makeup gave him a sexy, heavy-lidded look. Reeve must have taken off.

  “Were we awesome or were we awesome?” Jill asked.

  “You were the freaking bomb.” She was stunning as Eponine, belting out a Pat Benatar-esque version of “On My Own,” and that encore of “One Day More” was just as spectacular. I told her as much, then made introductions—Jill and Nate, and Nate and Caden. They ordered drinks, and as the guys chatted, Jill pulled me aside.

  The club had started blasting recorded music, and we had to stand close to hear each other. No chance of eavesdroppers, at least. “How did it go today? Did anything happen?”

  I pressed my teeth against my bottom lip and shook my head.

  Jill pointed at me. “That’s your tell. When you do that thing with your teeth. What really happened?”

  “No, really. Nothing.” At her continued stare, I gave in—she wasn’t going to believe me otherwise. “But there was a moment when I wanted something to happen. Does that count?”

  “Hell yes! Because you know the chemistry must be off the charts if it makes you all hot and bothered just thinking about being with him. I went out with a singer in a band—Stefan—and oh my God. One of those guys who all he does is look at you and”—Jill touched my arm with her finger and made a sizzling noise—“you are five thousand degrees of hot for them.”

  I returned the doubting stare she’d given me. “So, where is this Stefan now?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Are you dating him?”

  Jill shook her head.

  “See? That’s my point. I don’t want just the chemistry department. I want the whole package, and it seems clear I’m not going to get it with Bryan.” I brought my voice back down from the heights of tension where it had climbed. “Which is all academic anyway, because I can’t have chemistry or anything else with him while he’s my mentor.”

  Jill sighed heavily. “Fine. Be that way.” She tipped her forehead to Caden. “I know someone who might want to
take your mind off Bryan.”

  “He is cute,” I admitted.

  She nudged me with an elbow. “He thinks you’re a hottie too. Let’s go chat.”

  When we returned to the boys, Jill struck up a conversation with Nate, and Caden moved closer to me. “So, you liked the show?”

  “It was great.”

  “What did you think about the modern feel of it?”

  “It was the best. ‘Master of the House’ was like a Jay-Z rap, and when you sang ‘Red and Black,’ you sounded like the lead singer of Arcade Fire, and they’re only my favorite band ever.”

  “Arcade Fire pretty much sets the standard for musical awesome. They’re amazing.”

  “And so was your show. I was definitely into it.”

  “What else are you into, Kat?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a prelude to a line, so I answered him directly. “Movies. I like movies. You?”

  “I’d like to star in some movies,” he said. “I have an audition next week for a Wes Anderson film.”

  “Wow. That would be incredible.”

  I’d dated an actor once and it hadn’t worked out, but Caden had the self-confidence Michael lacked. As we talked about our shared love of all things Wes Anderson, I let my mind wander to his mouth, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. His lips were red and full, and he smelled of sweat and beer and the adrenaline of a fabulous opening night. I bet he tasted good, like charisma, like stage presence. And maybe I could enjoy it on some other night, but not this one. Tonight, no kiss could compare with the one I hadn’t gotten.

  When the night wound down, Caden and I parted ways, and I had to admit the truth, even if I couldn’t do anything about it.

  I was caught up in Bryan, despite trying to protect myself. He was the one I wanted. I’d told myself not to jump back into the fire, but that advice was useless when I’d never really left it. I’d never stopped wanting him.

  If only Bryan wanted me in the same way. Body and heart.

  13

  Kat

  Present Day

  * * *

  I spent the weekend working with my parents at their store, which took my mind off of Bryan. I prepped with my mom for her online deal and helped my dad sort through some overdue bills. I even slipped one from a vendor into my purse. I’d pay that bill myself, thanks to an order for ten necklaces that had been placed online over the weekend from a shop on the Upper West Side.

  My parents took me to the train station on Sunday night, and walked me to the tracks. My mom still had a visible limp from the car accident and probably always would, but she kept up.

  “I know why you came out this weekend, my Katerina.” My mom was the only one I let use my full name.

  “I came here to see you guys,” I said, trying to dodge and dart.

  She gave me a sharp, stern look, the kind only moms can give. “You’re worried about us. But we’re going to be fine. The store is going to be fine.”

  “Yes, you need to focus on finishing school, not checking up on us,” my dad said.

  “I took care of My Favorite Mistakes in the evenings, and I did homework when there weren’t any customers,” I said, then winced. I shouldn’t have brought up the obvious. But then, maybe I should. The sagging store was the elephant in the room, and they were trying to deny it. I was struck by the realization of how very alike we were. The three of us trafficked in everything-is-fine-here attitudes, but inside we were trying to stiff-upper-lip-it through life’s challenges.

  “And that’s what you should focus on, Kat.” My dad pulled me in for a goodbye hug.

  I hugged my mom next as my train pulled into the station. But before I boarded, I looked back at them, gathered up my courage, and said, “I know times are hard for you guys. I’m going to help. I promise. I have a plan.”

  Then I hopped on the train and waved. I didn’t want to give them the space to tell me no.

  The next few weeks raced by in a blur of studying for my Innovation and Design class and my management course. I took copious notes during school hours and did copious research for homework reports and projects. I snuck in some time to check trends on the latest European design blogs, but the rest of my hours went to tending to business—bringing custom orders to boutiques that carried my line and fulfilling online sales. I was wearing a tread on the sidewalk from my apartment to the nearest post office.

  I stayed up late and woke up early, and I was exhausted, but I couldn’t complain because My Favorite Mistakes was on track for a strong quarter, and I would be able to peel off a little bit to help my parents. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

  Meanwhile, there’d been no word from Claire Oliver, but I kept checking my email and phone, hoping for an update from my professor’s wife.

  And despite all that, work and school were still the easiest part of recent weeks.

  The real challenge was avoiding one-on-one time with Bryan while there was so much to learn during my mentorship time with him.

  The first time I went to his Midtown offices, I sat in on a meeting where the design team presented the newest additions to the holiday line for Bryan’s approval. When the meeting was over, I slipped out of the conference room as quickly as I could, but he followed me down the hall, calling out, “Hey, Kat.”

  I stopped, wishing I’d had time to shore up my defenses. He’d been in his element in the meeting—decisive but open-minded as he listened to his team, the boss but still approachable. Not only was it attractive—because manners are so sexy—but it made me question my certainty that he would drop me, just like before, as soon as I was inconvenient.

  Someone could be a good boss but a bad boyfriend though. I kept that thought in mind and turned around, trying to look cordial and not like I was making a run for the elevator. “Yes? Did you need something?”

  He squinted slightly, like he was trying to see into my head. “I wanted to know what you think of the additions.” This guy who’d just confidently signed off on a huge new manufacturing run wanted to hear my opinion.

  That was the point of the class.

  To learn. And to learn from him.

  “They’re great!” I started with, but that sounded so insincere, so I tried to save it with a double thumbs-up, which made it worse. Like politicians-kissing-babies worse.

  Bryan hadn’t missed the weirdness, still looking at me like a lab experiment. “Can you discuss them with me? I want to hear your detailed feedback.”

  Right. This was how mentorship worked. I was here to show him what I knew so he could coach me, not to give him cheesy thumbs-up or act like a yes-woman.

  So, standing in the elevator lobby, I shared my thoughts. My detailed, analytical, business-focused thoughts. Speaking with authority outside of the classroom was different than taking a test, and I sounded so professional I surprised myself a little bit. I was suddenly really glad he’d stopped me.

  “Terrific,” he said, nodding. “Great insight. If you have time, I would love to—”

  He motioned back toward his office, and it was impossible not to think about Philly, about how I’d lost sight of who and where we were. At that time, I’d wanted him to kiss me as much as I’d wanted to stay businesslike. I wasn’t sure how to balance all those wants then, and I wasn’t sure how to now either.

  But since I had a class, I didn’t have to make a decision.

  “Another time?” I asked, backing toward the elevator. “I have an evening lecture in twenty minutes. I have to go.”

  “Of course. I look forward to it.”

  The scary thing was I did too.

  The next week I ran into him at the water cooler, and he asked, “How was the lecture?”

  “It was great!” I said. “We had a guest speaker, this venture capitalist who talked about calculating acceptable risk.” The lecture had energized me, and I shared a few details with Bryan, who seemed to enjoy the topic too and weighed in with some of his own experience.

  It felt productive
and professional, but friendly—what I’d imagined a mentorship to be like. Especially when later that week he called out to me from the conference room as I was walking by and asked me to check copy for an ad slated to run in GQ.

  “You’re reviewing ad copy?” I asked, coming over to where he had a number of samples spread out on the table. A CEO’s role in marketing was usually more at a budget and branding level. “Do you typically get involved with those details? Is that something you’d recommend for a business owner?”

  “If you can fit it in. It’s definitely wise to have your finger on the pulse of how the company is presented to the outside,” he said. “Don’t you agree?”

  I nodded slowly, wanting to get the answer right. “It sounds wise to me.” In my conversation with Professor Oliver in his office, he’d said my fledgling business would have lateral similarities with Bryan’s company, but I was learning even more than I thought I would.

  We stood shoulder to shoulder and studied the ads. I slid one front and center and gestured to it. “I like this one, but maybe just move the tagline over here. Otherwise, it distracts a bit from the image, and you want customers to focus on that.”

  “We do?”

  I jerked my gaze to him, but he was smirking.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Cover up the product,” I said, deadpan too. “I’m just the apprentice, what do I know?”

  “Plenty,” he said, and I smothered a satisfied smile.

  We discussed a few more ads, then I checked the time. “This was fun, but I have to go.”

  He looked up from the table, surprised. “Now? Where are you off to this time?”

  “Just to meet with Nicole. I was on my way there, actually . . .”

  “When I held you up,” he finished, nodding. “I appreciate you stopping to give your input.”