It Feels Like

“Do you work for Brad Richards?” she asked, leveling her gaze on the man sitting across the immaculate conference table. He was in his early forties, balding, but still handsome. His three-piece suit was flawless and his cufflinks cost more than her weekly paycheck.

He seemed taken aback by her blunt question. “I... Why do you ask?”

June had rolled around with strange weather. One day it was so hot you could barely breathe and the next day it was chilly enough to wear a coat. It had been rainy lately, too. Since Brad had walked out of the diner the night the Rangers lost the conference semi-finals, she hadn’t seen or heard from him. Three weeks after he disappeared to get this stupid head straight, she got a call from a man named Norman Rainey.

Norman worked for a venture capital firm, but he also claimed to have a client who was a good friend of his. This client was interested in investing in her non-existent clothing design business. At first she thought it was all a scam. She even tried to dodge setting up a meeting with Norman because of it. However, he was a persistent man, and she finally agreed to meet him the third week of June.

It was evident from the beginning of the meeting that Norman was the real deal. He had the office, he had the knowledge, and he had a contract. He’d even told her his client had agreed to pay for her to have her own independent counsel review the contract prior to anything being signed.

If it was legit, then his client could only be one person. Because there was only one person who had seen her work recently.

“I don’t want Brad Richards’ money,” she told him.

“Ms. Anglin, my client has offered a very generous contract. He believes you have talent, and he would like to get in on the ground floor, if you will. It’s rare to find someone who believes in you so wholeheartedly.”

“I don’t want his money. He’s an asshole.”

Norman stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth agape.

“Why is he really doing this?” she asked.

“Because he believes in you,” Norman replied simply. He seemed genuine, but so had Brad. These men in New York just used women. And they were so goddamned good at it. “At least take the contract home with you and review it. Have an attorney look it over.”

She looked at the folder on the table for a long moment before sliding it closer to her.

“Have your attorney call me to arrange payment.” He handed her his business card. It was on creamy, thick card stock with his name embossed in glossy black letters. She tucked it and the contract in her bag and walked out.

****************************************

The attorney she hired thought the contract was solid. In fact, the woman told her it was surprisingly generous. The backer agreed to provide financial resources for her, but reserved the right to terminate the contract in one year if she wasn’t able to turn a profit. One year was incredibly generous. And the fact that Keri wasn’t being asked to modify her art or put up any of her own money was unheard of. She asked her attorney to make one modification of the contract before she called Norman Rainey and arranged to meet him in his office.

“Is the contract acceptable?” he asked as they settled down at the conference table.

“Yes, but I asked my attorney to make one change.”

Norman pulled the folder over to him and flipped through the pages, looking for the change.

“I pay him back for everything,” she said. “If I sell my clothing, I pay him back in full and he doesn’t have any claim to anything.”

“Ms. Anglin, I don’t think that’s going to be agreeable to my client. The whole purpose of venture capitalism is to own equity in the start-ups we back. That’s how we make money.”

“Then I don’t want to be involved.”

Norman sighed, rubbing his temples. “Let me call my client. Can you wait here for a moment?”

Keri watched him stand and walk out of the all-glass conference room. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed, disappearing around the corner to where she couldn’t see him. Fucking Brad Richards. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he trying to insinuate himself in her life again when she was just now getting over the way he’d used her and dropped her? Deep down, a part of her hoped he crashed and burned when the new hockey season started. And if he did, then she wouldn’t be around to help him pick up the pieces.

Norman walked back into the conference room with a smile. “Alright, agreed.”

“What?”

“He agrees to your terms.”

Keri opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was well aware of what venture capitalism involved. And she had made the change to the contract assuming he would cancel the whole deal when she blocked off his ability to make any profits off her. What did he see her as? A charity case?

She almost reached out and ripped the contract up. Almost. But it wouldn’t hurt if she used Brad. She might as well after he used her.

“Great,” she replied with a grim smile. “Where do I sign?”

************************************

There were four women that worked as independent contractors for her. At first she tried to manage on her own--work at the design house as everyone’s lackey, work at the diner, and keep up with orders of her own pieces during her off time. It didn’t work, though. As orders piled up, she was forced to look for help.

Norman had been an invaluable resource. He’d given her space to work at first, but when they had their first meeting two weeks after the contract was signed, he arranged for her to speak to several boutique owners. They were people who normally wouldn’t have given her the time of day, but Norman seemed to be able to pull strings that she couldn’t even see.

By late July, she’d contracted some of the manufacturing out to the handful of women. And she’d quit her job at the diner, spending her free time working on new pieces. The shirt and the two pairs of pants she’d made for Brad were hits. Several high-end men’s clothing stores in the City had scooped them up. Demand was high, and Keri was just flying by the seat of her pants.

She had to hire an accountant to keep her business straight. By the end of August, she was able to start paying Norman’s client back. Norman had never admitted to it being Brad, but she knew there was no one else. No one else with the money and influence he had that cared about her dream. Was this one big apology?

For financial security, she was still working part time at the design house. They were eager to have her transition into a more active role designing for them now that they got word that her side business was doing so well, but she wasn’t too sure that was the best thing for her. Her own business was going well enough.

Keri left work at three o’clock to meet with Norman. His office was on the forty-seventh floor of a building that looked brand new. She was in a pencil skirt and a white blouse with short sleeves because it was way too hot for long sleeves, even if she they were a week into September.

Norman smiled and embraced her, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. “A pleasure as always, Keri.”

He’d been nice at first, but now he was especially so. Keri tried not to read into it because he’d been such a help. She wouldn’t have been able to sell a single shirt if it weren’t for him and his business savvy. “Nice to see you too, Norman.”

He pulled out a chair and let her sit before taking the chair beside her instead of across from her. “How have things been going?”

“Good,” she replied. “It’s hard to keep up with the orders, though. My mind is so geared toward creating that I struggle with the business side of things.”

“Let me help you, then. I’ll find a business manager for you.”

“I’d really like to keep doing it myself. I want to have everything paid back by this time next year.”

Norman smiled warmly at her. “Keri, at the rate you’re going, it will all be paid back by the end of this year.”

She raised her brows. “Really?”

“Really,” he agreed. “Now, let’s talk about where you’re living.”

“What about it?”

“You really should be in a better place. Let me call a buddy of mine who is a real estate agent. He can find you a place in Manhattan.” Norman held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “Nothing too expensive. Maybe a rental at first.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you living in Brooklyn.”

She frowned. “Why do you care where I live?”

Norman placed his hand over hers on the table. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted.

She pulled her hand away. “What?”

“Would you go out to dinner with me on Friday night?”

He looked genuine and eager, but his blunt question threw her off. “Dinner?”

“Yes, I’d love to take take you to my favorite restaurant. I could call in a favor and get reservations.”

“I... I don’t think so. I don’t want to ruin our... business relationship.”

Norman scooted forward in his chair. “Oh, I think it would just enhance it. We can talk about your work over dinner, you know.”

She felt her stomach turn. He was a nice, successful guy. And he had helped her build her business in record time. But she had zero interest in any guy. And it was probably because she could still taste the wine on Brad’s tongue. Because she could still feel his strong arms crossed behind her back as she fell apart on his lap.

“I can’t,” she said softly. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”

Norman smiled sadly. “Maybe some other time, then.”

"Yeah, maybe."

Notes