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CHAPTER 2:
George
Exiting the shower, I check my phone and see that I have a message from my assistant, Anita.Where are you?I’m in trouble.
Anita is relentless! Sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t have anything better to do than to boss me around. I realize the irony in that. I may be the boss on paper, but I know who really runs things. The truth is, though, that I would be lost without her.
Hence, why I am going to this damned party tonight. Anita is fond of keeping her ear to the ground, so to speak. I call it gossip. She calls it staying informed. Apparently, my reclusiveness has resulted in some unfounded rumors regarding my health. That is never a good thing with a publicly-traded company. The Christmas party will be a prime opportunity to dispel those rumors, as many shareholders and employees will be in attendance.
I take the dark suit hanging in the closet and lay it on the bed. Pouring a scotch from the bar, I stare out over the New York skyline. I had this apartment suite added when the plans for the new building were drafted. It comes in handy whenever I work late or have work functions that bleed over socially, such as this event tonight. It even has a separate elevator with a private entrance. If I didn’t think it was important to maintain some semblance of a barrier between my work life and private life, I would probably just live here. I may be a workaholic, but I do have some boundaries. Not that you can tell much difference between my penthouse and my office apartment. They are both equally devoid of warmth.
Glancing at my watch, I realize that it is later than I thought. No wonder Anita is becoming antsy. I’d better get moving.
Taking the elevator down to the party, I stare at my reflection in the mirrored enclosure. Gray is now beginning to tug at my dark temples, a testament to the passage of time. Somehow, it all passed by so quickly. Here I am, forty-two, and I can’t recall anything over the last decade that hasn’t involved work. I know Carol would not approve if she were still here. If she were still here, however, I might actually be looking forward to a Christmas party instead of dreading it. That’s not the hand I’ve been dealt, though. To some, my life appears charmed. Looks can be deceiving.
As the doors open, I force a smile to my face. Showtime!
Making my rounds amongst the guests, I nod and smile, saying the appropriate things. Already, my interest is waning. Another twenty minutes and I’m outta here!
“You finally made it!” Anita says, grabbing my arm in a subtle reprimand. I can’t complain, though. It’s nice to have a pseudo mom. After my parents’ accident seven years ago, she’s been my only semblance of family. Another thing Carol would not approve of.
Anita points to one of the guests. “That’s Theo Eaton, the heir to Eaton Industries.”
Edward Eaton’s estate has a considerable size holding in Advent Bank. I take my cue and head over to introduce myself.
As Theo and I are talking, I can’t help but notice a woman that is wandering amongst the Christmas trees and taking pictures. Her raven hair is thick and shiny, curls gracefully dancing about her delicate shoulders. She isn’t hob-knobbing with everyone else. Instead, she seems caught up in her own little world, oblivious to the people milling around her.
Another patron comes up to talk to Theo, and I excuse myself, grateful for the break. My eyes return to the woman. She is tiny. I doubt the top of her head comes to my shoulders, even in heels. Speaking of heels, I feel myself smile at her shoes. Everything about her is perfect. Nothing is too overdone or underdone. Her shoes add a sly sense of personality that might otherwise be missed.
I walk up to her as she is taking a picture, focusing on a perfectly placed crystal ornament surrounded by snow and pinecones, lights shimmering off its edges.
“I didn’t realize we had hired a photographer for the event.”
Startled, she jumps slightly and looks up at me, her green eyes wide as the hint of a blush creeps into her cheeks. “Ummm, no. I just thought the trees were beautiful and wanted to take some pictures. I hope that’s okay.”
“Can I see them?” I ask the young woman. Hesitantly, she moves closer, scrolling through the pictures to show me. “You’re very good, a keen eye. Do you do this professionally?”
She lowers her eyes shyly. “I’m working on my MBA at NYU. Photography is just a hobby of mine.”
“It looks like more than a hobby from here,” I observe. Indeed, her photos capture more than just the overall picture. It is almost as though the picture is from within the object itself. Suddenly, a single ornament stands out from the multitude surrounding it, carved out in its own universe. “You say you’re in the MBA program. You never thought about studying photography instead?”
She looks down awkwardly, shifting her feet a bit. “Photography is no way to make a living. At least, that’s what my uncle says.”
I realize I haven’t introduced myself. “My name’s George,” I tell her, extending my hand.
She accepts it. “Ivy.”
Her hand is soft, delicate. I find myself closing my fingers more tightly around hers for a brief second. “Ivy? I like that name.” Realizing I’ve held her hand a bit too long, I pull back, not wanting to appear inappropriate. She’s probably half my age. Innocent. Her eyes still view the world through a fresh lens.
An idea hits me…acrazyidea. “I don’t suppose you do professional photo portraits?”
She looks at me curiously. “I’ve done a few. Why?”
“I haven’t updated mine in quite some time. People change over the years. I’ve added a few gray hairs since my last one.” I try to give her my most charming grin, hoping it doesn’t fall flat. “You’ll be well compensated,” I promise and give her a base price for the sitting.
She returns her camera to her purse. “If you’re serious, yes. I will be glad to do it.”
I look around the giant room. “The decorators really outdid themselves this year,” I comment, my eyes fixing on the dance floor/frozen pond. “Would you care to dance?”
