“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Try not to worry. You always do this when faced with a challenge and it turns out better than you expect.”
“Ali, Bryce Steede is not one to give interviews often. I don’t know how we got so lucky when I know several publications that have tried to get him but failed. We were surprise and quite shocked when he agreed to our interview.” She sighs then hesitates, while twisting her napkin around her fingers.
“What. What is it? What aren’t you telling me?” She shuffles around in her seat and I can see the apprehension in her eyes. “Come on, out with it.” I snap.
“I know you have that week off, but could you please come in and do the shoot? Please, Ali, please?” Jodi’s begging? I think the Earth just tilted on its axis a bit.
I’ve been looking forward to taking the week off for some much-needed R&R, with a surprise visit to my mom.
Jodi pouts, and her bottom lip trembles. She’s so maddening when she gets like this. She’s supposed to be the strong one, teaching me, but sometimes the teacher becomes the student.
“I’ll be back Thursday evening. Can I let you know then?” I ask. This is what Jodi’s worked so hard for, along with the other editors and staff. I can understand her fear.
“Sure, Ali. That’ll be fine.” A trace of a smile lights up her expression and her body relaxes. She’s quick to subdue it but I see a sense of relief wash over her face.
“I’ll call you from New York.” I embrace her in a warm hug as we leave.
“Okay, sounds good. Have a safe flight. I can’t wait to see your photos from the shoot. I know they’ll be spectacular, as usual.” With that, she’s back to her calm, strong self.
Light traffic makes the drive home a breeze. Packing, a relaxing bath, then sleep. The sooner tomorrow is over with the better.
I
hate flying. I know it’s going to be a long flight and I wanted to be comfortable rather than crammed in like a sardine, so I used my miles to upgrade to first class. With the magazine’s success, more travel will be required. Maybe I’ll have an assistant by then and he can do a few of those trips. A girl can always dream.
The first class lounge for United is nicer than I remember. I’ve only been in here one other time a couple of years ago on a trip to the Big Island of Hawaii where I did a swimsuit photo shoot at Mauna Kea. At 5’9” I’m as tall as a lot of the models, and with skating, tae kwon do and yoga, my body is just as toned as theirs, but being in the company of all those beautiful women, I paled in comparison. I wish I had the confidence to wear a bathing suit, but I’d be too exposed to questioning eyes.
As the plane turns and stops on the runway, I get a familiar sinking feeling in my stomach. Grabbing the armrest with my Kung Fu grip, I hold on for dear life. After we get to cruising altitude and I’m calm, I pull out my phone and earbuds and let the music guide me into a hopefully sweet slumber. There’s nothing like a little Depeche Mode to calm my nerves. As much as I loathe flying, I’m amazed I can sleep on planes. Lucky for me, I don’t dream. I haven’t had a dream in years.
The flight attendant’s touch on my shoulder wakes me. “Turn off your phone.” We’re making our descent into Houston.” It takes a moment to collect my thoughts. Houston? Oh my god. A shiver shakes my body. Sweat beads on my upper lip. Hair stands up on my arms and the nape of my neck. Is that blood or ice water pumping through my veins?
Cold as I am, sweat covers my palms, as my breathing increases and my pulse throbs in my throat. I feel my heart is going to jump right out of my chest and into the aisle and I’ll have no choice but to watch it lying there, pounding away in double time. The clang of tray tables, the shuffle of papers, the roar of the engines, the whispered conversations overwhelm me - all magnified a thousand times. I feel my eardrums will burst and my stomach knots. Is the hot blade of a knife tearing at the worst scars on my abdomen? My throat’s dry, too dry. My mouth’s also parched. I try to swallow, but I can’t. My knuckles turn white from my grip on the armrest. I feel the blood drain from my face. Memories of that terrible day come flooding back like a slow motion slide show. My eyes close as I try to think of something else.
It’s been ten years since I left Texas. I vowed never to return.
F
ast as my legs will carry me, I hurry up the jet way. Since I’m nauseated and light headed, I hope I don’t pass out, throw up or both. I’m shaking but I think it’s coming from the inside out but I’m not sure. My thoughts are scattered and my fear has peaked. I try to move around and past the other departing passengers.
Get a grip. You can handle this. You’re in the airport. It’s only for an hour and then you’ll be back in the air. I quietly chant to myself over and over. “You can do this.”
Rushing to the bathroom stall, I hover over the toilet thinking I’m going to throw up, but thankfully I don’t. After taking a few minutes to compose myself, I make my way to the sink. With trembling hands, I splash cold water on my face several times, ignoring the looks from the other travelers, and try to get my heart rate under control.
Inhale a deep breath then exhale slowly. I repeat my breathing exercises to myself several times. I recognize the seventeen-year old girl staring at me in the mirror. She’s alone and scared and there’s an overwhelming hopelessness etched into her features. I splash water on my face several more times.
You’re not that girl anymore, Ali.
After what seems like an eternity, I make my way to the connecting gate. I don’t have time for the safety and security of the first class lounge to wait for my flight. I sit with my back against the window as I feel more in control this way, and, it’s easier to people watch. I find myself looking everywhere. Shit. I need to calm down.
I’ve tried not to let my past interfere with my future, but being here brings it all back to the surface. I need to call my psychiatrist back in Seattle. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken. My mind drifts back to something he said to me: “Time will heal your wounds, Ali. Don’t let your past define who and what you want to be. Eventually, you’ll get to a place where you can trust again. Don’t give up on yourself.”
Dr. Hunter helped me tremendously with getting to the point I’m at now. He helped me to find my voice and the determination to fulfill my dreams. When I moved from Seattle to San Francisco, Dr. Hunter arranged for us to have our sessions by phone. I’m grateful to him because he saved my life. If it wasn’t for him . . . I can’t think about that dark pit anymore.
The gate agent finally calls us to board. I spring to my feet, almost running, and cutting people off and apologizing at the same time. I can’t get on the plane fast enough. I get to my seat and buckle myself in so tight, I gasp and have to loosen the strap to breathe. Once everyone is on board, I hear the familiar announcement over the PA, “Flight attendants, prepare for take off and cross check.” I never thought those words would be such a welcoming sound to my ears.
Yes, my seat is up and the tray table is in its upright and locked position. Can we just get the fuck out of here, now? We push away from the gate, and as we start to taxi, the fear and tension melts away. I feel calm; however, the anxiety of flying remains. I grab on for dear life, white knuckles and all.
Once we’re at cruising altitude, I put my earbuds in and lose myself in music. Music, like skating, has always been a constant for restoring a sense of peace within me. My mom always had the radio playing classical and eighties music at home, but I love all genres. My playlist pumping my favorite songs through my headphones transports me to a different plane. Music and skating shred the demons of my Houston past as easily as the skate blades slice through the ice.
Leaning my head against the window, starring down at the city, I watch as it gets smaller and smaller, until it’s no longer in sight. With the music on shuffle, Alicia Keys “Empire State of Mind” is the next song. That’s too weird, but so fitting. My heartbeat returns to its normal rhythm. I’ll be glad when this trip is over.
#
As soon as we land, I see I’ve missed a call from Steven and I send him a quick text as we wait to deplane and let him know I’ve arrived safely.
Finally, I get a taxi and the cabbie is driving as though his life depends on it. “Sir, I’m not in that big of a rush.” To die. He doesn’t say anything but I notice he slows a little.
The colors of chocolate and vanilla ice cream surround me as I walk through the modern, cozy and comfortable lobby of the Library Hotel. Filled with sunlight, books, flowers and fresh fruits, it’s as welcoming as a beloved childhood home, but a lot less messy.
Once in my room, a quick call to Crystal, my contact at Forbes, confirms the location and that all of the equipment is there and ready. Nothing can go wrong with this shoot. I finish unpacking everything but my skates. After my flight today, I’m definitely glad I brought them with me.
My stomach grumbles, a sign for me to feed my ravenous appetite. The restaurant is busy, but they seat me right away at the bar. I make a quick selection from the menu and ask for a glass of wine. A couple of sips of the light and crisp Pinot Grigio perk me up a little, but will help me sleep later. While waiting for my food, I check my messages, then sense someone standing a little too close. I look up to find a rather good-looking, tall, well-dressed man seating himself on the adjacent bar stool.
Looking at my wine glass he says, “Now that’s just what I need.” I make a little grimace.
He continues, “So, you here on business too?” I don’t look up from my phone, but nod. He tells me his name and I notice he’s looking at my left hand. “No wedding ring, I see; me neither,” he says holding up his left hand. Does your wife know that? There’s a visible white line around his ring finger. He looks around, then back at me. “Are you here alone?”
“No, my business associate will be joining me soon. Actually, he should be here any minute,” I lie, hoping he’ll leave. I don’t need this shit, especially after the day I’ve had. I continue going through my email, thinking if I ignore him he’ll get the message.
“Once you’ve finished with dinner, would you care to join me for a nightcap?”
Damn, he’s persistent and presumptuous. “No thank you.”
“Would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow night?” he asks. This is a man who obviously doesn’t take a hint and won’t take no for an answer.
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you give me a call tomorrow and we’ll discuss it then?” I respond with a wink. “Here’s my number.” I write down a telephone number I’ve memorized for occasions like this: the Chicago Date4You Escort Service.
“That sounds great. Look forward to it.” He smiles as he gets up from the bar stool.
As I watch him walk away, I think about the cocoon in which I’ve encased myself for the past ten years. I am alone, but I’m not lonely. Or am I?
The scents of lavender and vanilla caress my travel-weary body as I slide into bath water that’s a little too warm. Oh, how good it feels. I try to relax, but my mind is working overtime: why did I let fear get the better of me today? Dr. Hunter has taught me coping skills. Why didn’t I use them? Truth is, I don’t know. I said I would never return to Houston, and could have avoided that layover if I had paid attention to my itinerary in time to change the tickets. Although I was only in the airport, I couldn’t get a grip on the situation.
The more I think about it, the more upset at myself I become. I’ve worked very hard to get to a point in my life where I’m ready to move on and leave all of that behind me. I don’t want to stand still, cemented in my personal despair, letting my past control my future. Will I ever break open my cocoon and soar like a butterfly, flitting and tasting all the nectar that’s available in life? Or, will I continue to choose safety above all else?
I slide my hand over the cool, smooth surface of the tub to the teak bench beside it, hit play on my phone and let the music push negative thoughts from my mind. As I sink further down into the warmth of the water my stress begins melting away to the sound of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21.
A calm mind and a professional demeanor is what I need for the up-coming photo shoot. It’ll be interesting to see what tomorrow brings.
T
he photo shoot setup is complete with time to spare. One by one, the ten subjects filter into the room. Each is clad in the dark navy or dark blue business suit with a white shirt I had “suggested” they wear. As they mingle with their Forbes’ hosts and with each other, I observe them closely to determine their placement for the photos.
Then, Bryce Steede walks in, and everything changes. An air of dominance surrounds him. Chest out, shoulders back, chin jutting out, his head held high with purpose, all complementing his confident expression. The Alpha Male has entered the room. I watch in fascination as one by one, the other CEO’s walk up to meet him. His calm body language suggests he’s approachable, but at the same time, warrants respect. Yes, he definitely wields power through leadership.
He’s first to offer his hand for a handshake with a small touch on their arms as he greets the other CEO’s. While listening to the speaker, he remains sharply focused as he makes and holds eye contact. Also, I notice a slow head nod from him every so often. Standing tall with his arms behind his back and his hands clasped, he emanates confidence. Everything about his demeanor is controlled but relaxed, which causes the air in the room to shift, but he’s not loud or aggressive. He doesn’t have to demand respect. It’s given freely.
As I make my way around the room to introduce myself to each CEO, the hair on my neck prickles and a burning itch runs between my shoulder blades. I notice Bryce standing with a few others and feel a magnetic pull between us as he stares at me intently. Doing my best to ignore him for the time being, I continue to smile and greet the other entrepreneurs. Eventually, I make my way to him and we introduce ourselves.
“Mr. Steede, I’m Alixandra Quinn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” When I look up, I’m rooted to the spot by his piercing gaze. You can’t stare at him too long without thinking you’ll be blinded by his brilliance, much like the effect of looking directly into the sun.
I’ve photographed him at several events, the most recent a couple of days ago, but this is the closest to him I’ve been. Seeing someone from a distance is one thing; being up close and personal is entirely different. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this with all my senses intact. There’s something to be said for a man who looks and smells good. He’s easy on the eyes and smells delicious; a fresh, clean, exotic scent.
His long fingers envelop my hand and a spark zaps me back to reality, causing me to jump a little. Damn static electricity and carpet. His handshake is firm and commanding but he has soft, callous-free hands. Hell, I think they’re softer than mine. I notice they are manicured as well. It’s obvious he takes care of himself.
“Ms. Quinn, I assure you the pleasure is all mine.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. His smooth, deep, rich voice flows past his lips, captivating me, sending me into a temporary trance.
I can’t stop staring at his mouth and those kissable lips. He’s tall with long legs, and being this close I can tell he has a muscular build. I’ve seen men whose legs are long with short torsos or vice versa. Not him. He definitely has the right proportions. My head could rest comfortably on his chest, right below his chin.
His strong jaw completes his chiseled features and when he smiles, his white teeth are encased in the most perfectly shaped mouth I’ve ever seen, showcasing the slight dimples on his cheeks. His copper-tinged chestnut-colored hair, an organized mess - spiky but in a relaxed style, complements his eyes; slate blue, with a hint of azure. Visions of my fingers laced through his unruly hair while our lips lock in an unbreakable kiss, flash through my mind. I also wonder if the rest of him is as perfectly proportioned…
Holy shit. Where in the fuck did that thought come from?
Desire takes over my senses and flows through every fiber of my being, rocking me to my foundation. That’s what I feel toward him at this moment and it’s a foreign concept for me but my god, the man exudes sex appeal. It should be illegal for anyone to look and smell as good as he does. I wouldn’t mind being the arresting officer. Shit, what’s wrong with me?
“Please, call me Ali.” I reply in a husky tone. Who in the fuck’s voice was that? A drink sounds good about now. Or ten. I’m so embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t hear it? His lips twitch as though he’s trying to conceal a smile. Yep, he heard. Letting me off the hook but not missing a beat he continues.
“I recognize you from the Sturdy Legs charity gala,” he admits. In addition to the pictures I took of him when he looked directly at me, I also shot a few with the brunette he’s been photographed with several times in the past, Mara Sharp, a San Francisco socialite who was hanging onto him like a bad habit.
“Oh, yes. It was a favor for my boss. I was filling in for a photographer who was ill.” For some reason I feel the need to explain why I was there.
“It’s nice to see you again.” He says. I can’t place the tone in his voice but it takes me by surprise.
Without warning, I feel hot. Did someone turn on the heat full blast? Snap out of this, you fool. This is not like me, to have this type of reaction.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Steede, I think we should get started.”
He leans close enough for me to feel his warm breath against my skin, causing my heart to race faster than it already was. “Certainly, Ms. Quinn. I couldn’t agree more,” he says in a low, seductive tone causing my knees to go weak.
I blink a few times as he holds my gaze. I turn away and walk toward the equipment setup, mumbling to myself. I can feel his eyes following me. Did anyone else see what just happened? I surreptitiously scan the room, but it seems our little drama went unnoticed. He’s definitely throwing me off my game.
The room is loud, filled with animated conversations. How can ten people make so much noise? I’m in awe of these men, who’ve managed to achieve so much before they were even thirty. To tell the truth, I am a little awed to have been asked to bring their successes to life through my photography. That is my job and my mission.
“Gentlemen, if we could all gather here, we'll be shooting soon." From doing fashion shoots over the years, I could recognize Hugo Boss suit with Mandarin collar shirts anywhere. They all wore one, well except for Mr. Steede. He had to stand out like the bride at a wedding. He kept same style shirt, but changed up the suit and wore Brioni.
I explain the process, and the number of poses we’ll need. One by one, I strategically place them facing the city. “Unbutton your jackets, hands in your pants pockets.” They all do as I ask as I make last minute adjustments. “Feet apart a little more. You, on the far left, lower your chin just a touch. Perfect,” I tell them as the camera takes continuous frames.
As they look out toward the unknown, I capture each image as it bounces off the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. To me, this reflects the past, and where present and future meet. Of all the shots we’ll be doing, I like this one best.
“Now concentrate as if you’re playing chess, contemplating your next move. That’s good. You in the back, move your head to the left just a tiny bit.”
The resolve in their expressions is in direct contrast with Bryce Steede’s. His intimidating stare is as blank as a new canvas. I wonder what’s going through his mind. All I know is, I wouldn’t want to play chess or poker with him. This has to be one of the reasons he’s so successful. I swear I see a slight grin grace his lips. “No smiling,” I call out. I see his lips twitch as I move around them all, snapping several pictures.
There’s a large mirror behind the over-sized, mahogany desk in the boardroom. Windows line one side of the room, while a beautiful, dark wood credenza, lines the opposite wall. This room screams mergers and acquisitions, technology and trades. It says, “I’m in charge and I mean business.” Each CEO casually lounges in their respective chairs, leaning on one arm. I adjust for lower lighting, letting the natural light emphasize their faces.
While I’m busy shooting the separate photos to go with the story Forbes will feature on each individual, the rest of them break out their cell phones and snack on the refreshments provided. Bryce walks over to me, but I don’t have time for conversation. I see him out of the corner of my eye as he stands back, watching me work.
For the final shot, the assistants bring in a ladder and stools. “Gentlemen, this will be the last set. Please remove your jackets, undo the top two buttons of your shirt, and push your sleeves up.”
The stools are set against the black backdrop, in a “flying ‘v’” formation with Bryce leading the flock. “Place one foot on the floor, your other foot on the bottom rung, so that one knee is higher than the other.” They kid around with each other and I swear I’m working with sixteen year olds. “Let’s get this finished,” I implore. Then I tell them to relax one hand in their lap, and casually drape the other hand over their elevated knee.
Once I’m at the top of the ladder, I have them look up at me. This says, “The sky’s the limit.” As I bring them into focus through the lens, I can’t help but look into Steede’s penetrating gaze. He’s debonair. Business, but relaxed. It’s as though no one else is in the room. My legs are shaky, and being this high off the ground, falling off right now would not be good.
Damn it. Get your head out of the clouds and focus.
With a few more clicks of the camera, the scheduled three-hour session finished in two and a half. The photos look amazing. “That’ll do it, gentlemen. I have everything, so you don’t have to come back tomorrow. Thank you all.” I climb down the ladder, feeling safe once my feet touch the ground. They all mill around, collecting their jackets and ties, and talking. The animated conversations fill the room with white noise.
While packing my equipment, I sense someone standing to my left. The camera strap is rough against my palm as I tighten my grip. My stomach flutters and my heart beats rapidly as my pulse quickens, fanning an already out-of-control burn deep within me. It’s hot in here. Please let it be coming from the lights.
A broad smile highlights Bryce’s face. “Ms. Quinn, I would say that went off without a hitch, wouldn’t you?”
“Hello, Mr. Steede.” I’m almost breathless. Being this close to him stirs something in me I shouldn’t be feeling and I take a small step back.
“Call me Bryce, please.” It sounds more like a command rather than a request.
“Mr. Steede. Bryce. Yes, I would say it was a successful day.”
“Did you get everything you came here for?” he asks.
There’s something carnal in the way he says it. A slight shiver races up my neck and back down again. Not wanting him to see me blush, I look down because I know I’m scarlet red. I feel it in my cheeks. No one has ever had this effect on me. Ever. A phone call to Dr. Hunter is definitely on the agenda ASAP.
“Yes. I’ve accomplished what I came to do. Thank you.” I’m not sure my voice sounded in control, but after regaining my senses I continue. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing up my gear,” I say while fumbling with my camera bag. “Besides, you all are being summoned.” I point in the direction of the Editor-in-Chief and other staff who are trying to usher all the execs out for cocktails and a dinner they are hosting.
“I’m staying at The Carlyle. Would you care to join me for a drink after dinner?” His tone sounds hopeful, but surely I’m mistaken and reading him wrong.
“Thank you for the invitation Mr. Steede but I need to process these photos by tomorrow. Besides, it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.” Even though I’ve never done it, I know people who have and it never ended well.
“Oh, I assure you Ms. Quinn, the pleasure would be all mine,” he growls low and seductively, the words sounding like a promise.
“I’m going to try to get a flight back home in the morning, so I’ll have to finish my work tonight.” Okay, so I lied. I tried to sound convincing, but again, why do I feel the need to explain myself? Tomorrow I’ll have the entire day free, so I plan to take in the sights. I extend my hand to shake his, and when he takes it, he holds it longer than necessary. Warmth runs through me again, leaving me off balance. A slow smile crosses his lips. He obviously knows the effect he’s having on me. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Steede,” I say with as much poise as I can manage.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you again at The Bridge photo shoot, Ms. Quinn.” His voice is low and husky. When I get my wits about me, I inform him I won’t be doing the shoot, but he’ll be in capable hands.
“I believe I’m already in capable hands,” he says, still holding onto mine. A dark, sensual glint flickers in his eyes. While I’m still trying to process that, he says, “I’d like to meet up with you for a drink once we’re back in San Francisco. How about next week before the shoot?”
In my confused, trance-like state I say, “Sure. Next week.” With a crooked grin, he says goodbye before he joins the others as they leave the room.
Wait a minute. What in the hell did I just agree to? I’ve never been so flustered by anyone before. The sooner I get out of here, the better. I finish packing up my equipment and make my way toward the elevator, hoping everyone else has left. No such luck. The Editor-in-Chief is there, waiting, holding the door for me. I smile and wave them on while pointing to my equipment. Thank goodness the elevator’s full. Being near Bryce again in a confined space would be more than I can bear.
#
At 8 a.m., I clumsily pat the bed for my ringing phone. Opening one eye, I see Jodi’s smiling face lighting up the screen. What’s she thinking calling this early? She knows I’m not a morning person.