A... Anterdec. Meeting today with Nick Grafton. Okay. This is better. This I can handle. What to wear?

I am representing O. I visualize grey again. Dove grey suit of raw silk, seamed to fit my body perfectly, never too tight or too loose. High heels, but not too spiky. And most importantly, a necklace of glass Os, linked together with silver.

And for today’s secret power, rose silk cheeky panties that lace up the back. Matching bustier. Grey thigh highs in fine mesh.

On the outside, chic and understated. Underneath, intimate pleasure.

I am O.

* * *

Nick’s admin shows me into his office. At least, I guess that’s where I am, but I’m not sure, because this room is all about the view. Who needs artwork when you have a wall of glass above Boston Harbor, bright blue water glittering in the sun? Sailboats are gliding along, and planes are taking off and landing from Logan Airport.

“How do you get anything done?” I ask, walking straight to the window. “I would just stare outside all day.”

“I try to focus on what’s right in front of me,” he answers quietly. I turn around.

He’s looking at me with a small smile. Behind him, on the wall, is a huge silver-leaf painting by Raphael Jaimes-Branger. It must be six feet high.

“Gorgeous!” I breathe.

Nick doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Oh, yes.”

Then he turns to the painting. “I’ve been collecting Raphael for years. I love the way he blends traditional and modern art into something of its own. And he works here in Boston.”

“The silver-leaf catches the light,” I add.

“Beauty all around me,” Nick says, and gestures toward a small table. “Let’s see what beautiful ideas you’ve brought for O’s brand.”

Opening my portfolio cases, I display packaging mock-ups for a limited line of O cosmetics. I describe a line of private-label scents for women, men, and the home—the First Space. I present sketches and samples of French cotton T shirts and embossed Italian leather tote bags, all bearing visually related and recognizable designs based on our simple and elegant O.

But best of all is the jewelry. The necklace I am wearing, the glass chain of Os, is the centerpiece.

“This is where we break through our wall, and take O out to the retail world. Each special piece of this high-end jewelry collection is designed to represent our brand subtly but clearly. Club members will want to wear the jewelry, and chic shoppers will want to belong to the club. Here’s how a full-page print ad in Vogue might look.”

I hand Nick an ad layout, featuring a photograph of my necklace on the curve of a woman’s neck and shoulders, the glass reflecting light and shadow on beautiful matte skin. Our fingers brush against each other, the electricity palpable. He studies the ad, his eyes moving to my neck, then back to the ad again.

My design team has been working on this presentation non-stop for ten days, including nights and weekends.

“Chloe, this is much more than I expected. I’m going to see if I can pull Amanda Warrick in to take a look at all this. She’s about to become Anterdec’s assistant marketing director. Our departments work together closely. If she thinks this has merit, we’ll take it to the finance team and see what we’re looking at for start-up costs.”

He gets up and goes out, leaving the slightest whiff of Bay Rhum behind him. I look around the office for the first time.

This small, round meeting table and four chairs, two upholstered chairs in front of his desk, your typical big mahogany partners’ desk. All very nice, but other than the paintings on the walls, everything looks pretty standard-issue. A long, low cabinet behind his desk, covered with framed photographs.

I really, really want to get up and study those photos. From here, across the room, they all appear to be photos of teenagers.

Someday I’ll have a teenager. Will we share shoes and secrets? Or will she stay out too late and not text me and not answer her phone and frighten me to death and…?

Stop, Chloe, just stop.

Nick seems to have a boy and a girl. Or two girls? Twins? A number of mountaintop skiing group shots, action photos of lacrosse players. One of those professionally-posed beach portraits in black and white, all three kids in white polo shirts and khaki shorts.

If there’s a wife in his life, she’s not on display.

Please let there be no wife.

Nick comes back in, with Amanda, and we shake hands. That little bell goes off in my head again. The day I gave the O tour to Amanda and the older blonde woman who was with her, the one who was so enthusiastic about some of the entertainment…

Amanda’s about to say something, her eyes warm and pleasant, but I speak first.

“How did your friend’s bachelorette party turn out?” I ask. “Now I remember. You were at O a while ago, weren’t you? I don’t think you booked the party with us?”

Amanda’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “It got a little out of hand,” she laughs. “Too many people for O. We ended up at a piano bar in Back Bay.”

Plausible. After all, why would Anterdec send a marketing exec to mystery shop their own property? And the report was from a firm called Consolidated Evalu-Shop. Hmm. But still, she asked some unusual questions. I make a note to have Carrie research the issue.

Thankfully, Amanda says nothing about Joe’s outburst last time we met.

I run swiftly through today’s presentation, truncating it. Amanda and Nick are quick studies. I’m relieved; there’s nothing quite as fine as realizing you’re in a room with people whose minds can pattern-match and analyze so that you can speak in shorthand.

Amanda picks up the jewelry ad and studies it. “Is this you?” she asks curiously.

“Well, yes,” I answer. “We just needed someone for the mock-up shot.”

“Chloe, you would be perfect to represent O’s image,” Amanda says, looking at me closely now.

I laugh. “Oh no, no, thank you, but I don’t think so.”

“I agree with Amanda. You are perfect,” Nick says. “I want to go ahead with this, and I want you to be O.”

“Really, I’m flattered, but I couldn’t,” I stammer. “We need a professional model for this. And even if I thought it would work, I couldn’t. I’m going to be gone for a while, soon. I’m taking, well, some...personal time.”