Mr. Cheng nodded. “Perhaps we could try a small batch, no more than a hundred thousand pieces in various lines. I’d like to get a design team together, because we have a new client that I’d like to pitch this to. Let’s see where it goes. Promising idea!” He led the room in a round of applause. “Okay, everyone sees how this happens. One conversation can lead to ideas, and that’s what we’re harvesting today. Ideas. Because ideas are the seedlings of innovation. Who’s got another thought?”
Madison and Burt sat down, as a few hands rose around the room. “Thanks, Madison,” Burt murmured quietly. Madison couldn’t help but look over to Alex, who now was nowhere to be found.
It was past five when she returned to her office, and found a small note waiting on her desk.
Ready when you are. Hit R in the elevator.
Alex
Like a thief in the night, she always made her way to Alex’s executive office unnoticed. The use of his private washroom had become a definite perk in their new life together. Alex had pre-packed the weekend bags for them, but Madison grabbed her own change of clothes for the evening. She knew with the day’s activities, she’d be pressed for time. He’d recommended something casual and easy-going to travel in, not wanting to tip his hand to their actual destination. Sneakers would be fine, but no hints beyond that. Although she knew the events ahead and plans in general, the location was unusually under wraps. Knowing Alex, it was undoubtedly somewhere she’d always wanted to visit, and casually mentioned in passing without a second thought. She struggled to recall anywhere specific she might have mentioned. Playing it safe, she opted for a Colombia Sportswear meets bank heist ensemble. She figured a dark grey pullover and black stretch hiking slacks would pair well with her Brooks, and be good for a leisurely stroll or something more rugged.
Realizing by that point Alex had probably been waiting a while already, a twinge of panic set in. Despite his no pressure note, Madison started to rush. Lately, she’d felt a little out of sorts. The end of their thirty-day commitment preoccupied her. And as much as a weekend trip might have been just the ticket to distract her apprehension, it seemed to be introducing a whole new anxiety.
Alex had offered her an unusual opportunity. He proposed an unconventional way for her to deal with her loss, and she’d committed without really thinking it through. If she did, her scaredy cat side would swiftly back out, and she never wanted to make decisions based on fear. She quickly shut down her mind’s incessant second-guessing. I want to do this. I can do this. Alex said it might help her deal with ... Jack. God, I miss you. She glanced her reflection and sniffed back a tear, then pressed on with a forced breath. I have to do this.
Snapping back from her emotions, she hurried. Thoughtlessly, she remained strapped in heels as she stripped off her skirt and blouse, then proceeded with the rest. She preferred clean undergarments for the trip ahead. If they were traveling, a fresh bra and pair of undies seemed apropos in the event of a stolen, impulsive tryst. With Alex, their energy was always electric. She never knew when the moment might strike him ... or her for that matter.
The bra was quick and easy, but in her haste, the panties caught on her stiletto, tugging her into a wobbly flip. Her hands managed to grab the granite counter, preventing a less-than-gracious tushy tumble. Rebalanced, she looked down. Her stretchy thong was now M.I.A., apparently sling-shotted to a secure hiding place.
The washroom was grand, but the clean lines and lack of clutter made a hiding place elusive. After a quick rummage through her Prada messenger bag, a fresh pair were nowhere to be found, another victim of her pervasive absentmindedness. The time ticked by as she stood there, bare assed, scouting around for her panties.
Frustrated and kid-like, she called out “Olly olly oxen free,” ready for them to leap out from wherever they were hiding. Then, an all too familiar sound distressed her. The automatic toilet flushed. She jetted over and bit her lip in exasperation as the dainty pair were slow-mo whirlpooling down to the depths of the New York drainage system. Had her reactions been quicker, or her hesitation for darting her hand into porcelain-chilled toilet water been less overpowering, a daring rescue would have ensued. But she made peace with her abstinence from eau du toilet, believing it worth the price of going commando.
She swiftly finished changing and was ready to go. She placed her clothes in a pile by his desk, on top of his bundled-up suit already there. She headed to his private elevator. There, she hovered her access card across the panel and the “R” illuminated, the light announcing it was now at her beck and call. She clicked it, realizing by the elevator’s ascent that “R” stood for roof.