Page 19 of What I'm Looking For

She blinks, looks at my hand, and then takes it. “Sure.”

The warm spring breeze blows away my remaining tension. After a block of simply enjoying the feel of her soft hand in mine, I say, “Sorry. I just… It’s frustrating for me to talk about that stuff.”

She nods. “Yeah, I get that maybe mixing art and business can be tricky.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to lose what I have by gambling on something that I don’t really care about.”

She makes a face like she knows she shouldn’t say something but then she does it anyway. “Unless… it’s a calculated risk that pays off in a way that creates an income stream that gives you more freedom to pursue your artistic ambitions.”

As she elaborates, memories of my dad yelling—I told you, I’ll earn it all back—and my mom crying—How can you have lost everything?—win the battle for my attention. By the time we get back to Harvard Square, my jaw’s clenched tight. I’m not sure what she’s said for the past few minutes, but I don’t think I could deal with it anyway.

Looking at my watch, I say, “Shit. I’ve gotta get to rehearsal. Are you taking the T, or?…??”

A look of confusion crosses her face, followed by one of disappointment, but they’re quickly replaced by a polite smile. “Oh, no. I rode my bike.”

I go in for a quick hug as she offers her hand to shake mine. Awkwardly, I take both her hands and squeeze them instead. “Cool. So, I’ll see you around. At the bar, maybe?”

“Um, yeah. Maybe.”

“Okay, later.” Heading for the stairs leading underground, I don’t let myself look back. My body wants more of that toned body and soft skin, and if I’m honest, there’s something about her bright, analytic mind that’s a turn-on too. But that laser focus turned on me? It’s just… too much.

Chapter5

BEEP. Monday, 12:37 p.m.

Steve, it’s Kate Bishop. I’m calling from a pay phone at the convention center at the northeast end by the, uh… Swatch booth? I thought we were meeting here at noon? Okay, well, I’ll stay here for another few minutes and then, I guess, work my way around clockwise. Page me if you can’t find me.

KATE

“Katie, sorry I’m late. I was on a call that ran long.”

Just because I’m still frustrated that Will abruptly walked away from a date I’d thought was going well yesterday doesn’t mean I have to punish Steve for being fifteen minutes late—or calling me Katie instead of Kate again—so I try to make a joke. “Too bad we can’t just carry our phones around with us everywhere so we could let people know when we’re running late.”

“Yeah, but then everyone would trip on the cords.”

When I laugh, he claps his hands together. “All right. What’s the plan?”

“Plan?”

“Yeah, how do you want to play it? Good cop, bad cop? I play dumb, you swoop in with the unexpected questions? What?”

Even though I know I should be making contacts at this trade show on top of doing research, I’m already exhausted by the crowds, so I hold up the stack of brochures I’ve collected. “Actually, I think I have what I need. These are all the fashion brands that are expanding into athletic wear. I’ll order their 10Ks from the document service and?—”

“Yeah, yeah, but who did you talk to?”

“Um. No one. I mean, I said hello or whatever when I picked up the literature. And I got some business cards.”

He lays that heavy arm across my shoulders. “Katie, Katie, Katie. You gotta play the game to get the 411. We don’t want the lame facts they’re willing to publish in those glossy brochures. We want the dirt.”

I remove his arm. “I know how to dig up dirt, Steve. It’s amazing what gets buried in the footnotes of an annual report.”

“Okay. Wager time. I bet I can find info no one’s ever going to report, unless it ends up on the nightly news.”

“Like what?”

“Like who has a pending lawsuit over a patent infringement. Who has workers organizing. Who has some feebleminded old grandpa CEO running the place into the ground.” He holds out his hand. “Come on, Katie, don’t give me your mad face. Five bucks says that in five minutes, I can get you some intel you can take to the bank.”

Even though I want to get back to my desk and get going on the work I’m comfortable with, I also know that he’s probably right, so I shake his hand. “Okay. You get five minutes. But not five bucks.”

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