Sciences Participating with Arts & Culture in Education

Coquelicot Chances & Checkmates

Illustrated by Lily-Rose Juneau

Dialogue boxes and window pop-ups flooded my screen in a macabre dance of technological horror. My fingers were flying from key to key in a hasty pursuit to get out the proper e-mails before eight am.

“Damn,” I thought. I couldn’t even enjoy my espresso.

I turned my head to the right, towards the round clock ticking. Five more minutes before it strikes eight and then I’ll be answering calls from now until next year. This is the best time of year to make good money and good business alliances. Winter makes partners eager to begin the new year with new people. Soon enough, I should have business sharks from all over the world trying to take a piece of Gainsboro Industries.

I wanted to lean back into the white leather couch, its mismatched pillows beckoning me into their warm embrace. My Pierre Cardin slacks murmured in disagreement. Right. Now’s not the time to relax. I looked around Manhattan Mocha. Honestly, with its boho tapestries and dangling vine plants it looked like it should have been called Soho Mocha. I never really liked how the exposed brick clashed with the bay windows on the opposing wall. But, nobody ever makes my espresso quite the way Julia does, and she has owned this place for fifteen years now. She was standing behind the counter putting her hair up with a bitten pencil. I wonder how much this property goes for.

My phone buzzed next to me, and I snapped back into action. I checked the time, it was still seven! I check the text and then I know; it’s Cameron. A start-up owner of Diamond Corporation made a little over thirty thousand last year and Diamon Corp. was only necessary for our company when last year, when our long-time business partner, John Metric wanted to see “new faces”. Unfortunately, a couple of late nights led to a different kind of relationship. A temporary one that was fleeting before it even began.

Being the sole owner and creator of a business is a lengthy task fit only for those who understand the term independence. If every average person off the block decided to start a company only about one percent of those would be able to make it out alive of the blood-infested waters that is the corporate world. And Cameron is starting to drown. I tighten my auburn ponytail. Between international flights and pressure-tight schedules, there is no room for errors and certainly not dalliances with little boys who haven’t so much as touched the covers of Forbes. I checked the time. Eight am. I ignored his text. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t give attention to those who haven’t earned the right. I sat up, shut my laptop and finished off my coffee.

Suddenly, hot bullets of coffee hit my shoulder. The dark, rich aroma of coffee hit me first. Then, the pain. I yelled and shot up. I flashed towards the perpetrator. It was a man, who was already quickly apologizing and getting napkins to clean up the mess. Julia came out with a roll of brown paper towel. The man turned and smiled boyishly, flushing, Julia dismissed his apology with a “No worries.” I, on the other wasn’t about to let some clumsy idiot go scot-free. Nothing’s free in this world, and most certainly not in Manhattan.

“Hey!” I commanded.

The man leisurely turned to see me. He was like coffee itself, dark and enticing. He had gelled back hair that look effortless to the touch, black slacks and a tan coat. The coat’s stitching and material was gilded with opulence. I looked at the tag. It was Bottaga Venata. Good choice. Everything about him was dark, from the dark wispy eyelashes to the dark eyes of molten chocolate. His eyes held me there for a moment, he had a relaxed smile, but his eyes held a hard edge. I narrowed mine in distrust.

He realized my new offensive stance and took it with ease. He apologized easily and took his hand out for a shake. I crossed my arms. I’m not about to shake hands with some random guy who had about as much delicacy as a rhino in an ornate glass shop. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed through his nose.

“My name is Holcomb. Nicholas Holcomb. Or you can just call me Nick,”

I stiffened. I don’t care who this guy is and I don’t want to continue wasting my time with this guy. The time! I looked to my right, crap, it’s already eight o’ five! I grabbed my purse and made a break for the door. That escape plan was quickly dissuaded when Nicholas Holcomb grabbed me by the crook of my elbow.

“Before I let you go, take my number. So that I can replace the shirt. I would do it now, but you’re clearly a very busy woman.” A smile hinting in his voice.

Man of ease, his shoulders held back, he had a jovial air about him. Hands in pockets, and polished shoes he exuded confidence. The clock on the right keeps ticking and I know I have better places to be. I have fish to fry, money to make. Time is money after all. But, this guy has that air around him. The smile’s easy, but the emotional turmoil and commitment isn’t.

My stilettos were kicking in. God! What is wrong with me? He wasn’t questioning himself, he knew. He always knows. Guys like that get this all the time. Do I even want this? No, I don’t. There’s no time. But, maybe. Maybe if… My phone dinged again. I ignored it.

It rang again.

Money, ambition… I’m wasn’t about to let my career plummet down the drain at a rate of forty-five miles-per-hour because some guy who knew how to dress well was giving me the look. I shook out of the haze. I smiled a business chic smile and turned away.

“I’ll be expecting a call from you soon Ms. Rockata.” he drawled.

Julia was wiping down ceramic glasses, the bay windows flashed, and I checked the clock one more time, it was eight o’ ten. Damn. My phone rang again and this time, I answered it. Cameron. Again.

***

The dim lighting cast a blanket of mystery and seduction throughout the entire restaurant. All the cream covered table had tea lights placed within planted flowers in glass vases. The waiters all buzzed around, trying not to be seen. The soft music and light chatter resulted in a mellow ambiance. Everything was dark, the whole city was asleep, nightscape allowing for the darkness to flood.

I looked down at my lap. My phone had three un-read emails and counting. I had taken my first night off in three years. I liked to make calculated risks but this one, this one had a safety net that couldn’t even hold a small dog. I closed that deal with Fent; I deserved this. Then again, what about the office? Surely, Joel had it under control. I played with the ends of my hair. I looked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. My reflection in clear view. I let my hair down, I was always told my hard-set eyebrows came from my dad. I wouldn’t know. I will never know. I drank a swig of water. I checked the time on my phone. Knowing a guy like him, he probably thought time owed him.

A smooth voice rung out from behind me; mention the devil and he shall appear.

Nicholas breezed passed and sank into his seat. A waiter appeared with a bottle of Remi Marten. He noticed my interest and joked about the great service. That wasn’t just quick service; waiters making minimum wage aren’t about to just clobber over with a bottle for just anybody. He smiled his Cheshire smile and ignored my scepticism.

The lighting made it hard to make out all the detail of Nicholas’s face, that’s why it was romantic. I stared back at him nonetheless. His hair again styled to be swept away from his forehead. A cutting jawline shaded by stubble and an onyx suit detailing the curves of his body. Another Italian designer; the gold threading of Neopolo Vitulli was famous in the fashion world. My own father was a fan of his.

Are you enjoying the wine? Nicholas inquired. I nodded politely. Drop some more corporate smiles and this dinner will be over as quickly as it began. That’s all I’m here for, really. My mind went back to Joel. What if the office got a spur-of-the-moment deal and they needed their best hard-hitter? It’s ten pm, there’s no need to worry. I sat back and took a hearty sip of the wine. The waiters continued buzzing, the people continued chatting and the light remained dim.

Nicholas noticed as my and his eyes turned into a pool of hickory impishness.

“I never expected Bloomberg’s Top Leading Lady in Business to be so quiet.”

“It was Bloomberg’s Top Leading CEO actually.”

A breathy laugh escaped his lips. He sardonically apologized for the mistake. The waiter from before rocked on her heels. She asked what we would like to order. Duck with mulberry mustard for him and lamb ragù for me.

“That’s all,” he said. The blonde waiter scurried away. Dismissed.

Nicholas crossed his forearms over the table. And kept his tawny gaze on me. I noticed his forearms. He did that on purpose. They always do. My phone beeped, and I clawed at the device. The office? Joel? God, I’ll even accept Cameron. But alas, no, it was a reminder. My sister, Molly has a dinner tomorrow.

Molly, a twenty-three-year-old pop socket. Started a family as soon as she entered NYU with Marcus Tran. A nice guy down to the roots of his hair. He envisioned a nine-to-five fitted with the houndstooth sweaters and all. She was Molly. A bubbly elementary school teacher who popped three kids before I even made it to my first million. The Rockata’s weren’t cut out for the freshwaters; Susan and Robert Rockata were high school sweethearts who preferred spending their days cooking to Ray Charles than biting heads off. Molly was their daisy in all ways. I am most certainly of the calla lily sort. Daisies are weeds anyway.

I looked back up and noticed Nicolas looking at me with a raised brow. He tried allowing a light-hearted atmosphere to flow through. Joking about my phone being more interesting than him. I didn’t expect this. A quick Google search earlier today and his business card were all I needed to know all about this man. Nicholas Holcomb AKA on the world’s youngest CEO’s alive AKA a future business partner. A damn good one.

“Let’s cut to the chase, you owe me a new top, not capricious small talk.”

His eyes turned molten and his jaw set. Muscular forearms be damned, he placed them at his sides. In a flash, his ire turned saccharine and he smiled yet again. His posture oozed composure but anybody could sense his supremacy.

I’ve played this game before. The climb to Top Leading CEO doesn’t come easy; it never does when men are involved. I could win this in a couple of quick moves. A rookie mistake on his part would be to reveal his sway. Challenge him, a voice sung. A voice, or perhaps the wine. Either way tonight I’m going home with a checkmate in my pocket. I lead back and mirrored his stance.

At that moment, the blonde waiter came back. A white flag between two trigger-hair nuclear zones. He smiled at the woman. She looked away. Her hands folded behind her back. The plates of food, the buzzing, my phone, the people it was blurring away. Him and I, me and him, two predators locked in game of spurred mutiny. Predators can’t overcome other predators, unless they intend on killing one another. To tame a lion is a dangerous game.

“Aside from what I read in WIRED, I would love to know more about you,” He inquired.

“What else is there to know about me if not about my career?”

He laughed again, he bit into his meal. I followed suit. The creamy sauce combed with bold spices took me by surprise. This was an international delicacy, I was convinced. I took more bites. He mentioned how he knows the chef here and people all over the country come just to try the duck.

I was impressed. He was gaining on me. We were here for a stupid top, not ducks and definitely not conversations that allude to: I want to get to know you. Cameron began with that question a couple of weeks back. It was another late night, empty takeout cartons sat back—abandoned. Trying to close off a deal with my all-time favourites, Spence & Morner. Everything was the same, the oppressive light from my laptop and the budding headache that always came after a late-night session. And suddenly, Cameron asks about me. Profoundly me. I didn’t think much of it. But he certainly did. “Of course, Cameron Randall thought much about it.” Joel chastised me. Since then it was spiral of questions and further intrigue. Nauseating, really.

But Nicholas Holcomb wasn’t Cameron Randall. Randall was light and soft to all the edges of Nicholas. Nicholas seemed to play the territorial alpha quite well and Randall was always all too happy to lap around behind me. I would’ve dismissed his statement, I really should’ve but, but the tawny gaze locked me, and I answered back. In that moment, he flashed a victorious grin.

Checkmate.

The game doesn’t always have to end with a checkmate. Right now, I could stand to lose a couple more pawns, his knights were gaining but I wasn’t going down without a fight. I countered back.

“What about you Mr. Dark and Stormy?”

His eyes brightened. “I’ve always considered myself more of a Gin Rickey—immortal and iconic.”

He launched into a story about one of his favourite business ventures in Hong Kong. His whole body alight and energetic. His dark allure remained like a dark shadow, but his bright eyes and bright teeth blinded out everything else. I continued eating the aromatic delicacy. We were engaged in a ridiculously dangerous battle.

Nick was in the middle of a story when suddenly, gunshots. Glass breaking and a piercing shriek.

In the movies, gunshot scenes like this always go down like this: First there’s a dolly zoom on the main protagonist, then a scream in the background with everything coming to a slow motion. During the transition into slow motion the main character starts to act and moves towards safety.

That’s where they got it wrong. I’ve always been a fan of adrenaline, what do you think keeps me aliv3e in this business? There’s no better rush than a risky business deal turning in your favour. But this wasn’t the type of rush I was looking for. Sure, my palms were sweaty, my heart was racing but my mind wasn’t in the pilot’s seat and if there’s one thing your mind should always be focused on, it’s being in control.

Unlike in the movies, things didn’t slow down, they sped up. Screams, glass shattering, waitresses skittering. Everybody started moving, left, right, like a song hitting its crescendo—everything shifted out of control. Before I even realized it, Nicholas yanked my right arm and pulled me under the table. I was shielded by the expensive fabric, chilled wine dripped down my dress. I could feel everything, the table cover, Nicholas’s heavy breathing, the cold drips from the shattered glass.

It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. Or maybe my mind didn’t want me to. All I could focus on was Nicholas’s breathing, he is here. After a couple of minutes of silence, Nicholas sticks his head out.

“I think there’s no one, we should be safe.”

A ragdoll attached to strings, he pulled me up and sat me down on a chair. The warm drapes were shredded with bullet holes, tables were flipped over, chairs askew. Red splatters painted several tables. Please tell me that’s wine or sauce or blood from the steaks or…. Nicholas stared blankly at the landscape. No, blankly wasn’t the right word, wistful. He hasn’t said anything, he didn’t even react.

Where was everyone?

What happened?

What is going on?

What—

Nicholas blew out a breath, “I’m going to check around to see if anyone’s injured. There are several napkins on the table, use them to wipe your face.”

He turned away and walked straight into the shadows of the restaurant. I touched my face, I was crying. When had I been crying? When did I even start? I looked back at our once cream coloured table, now filled with specks of glass and various stains. I inspected the table for the cleanest looking napkin. I found a crumpled piece, its corner dotted in red wine but overall left unscathed.

A few short minutes later, police sirens signalled their entrance. Blue and red lights filled the restaurant with light and finally, my brain went back to manual piloting. I stood up abruptly. I am Charity Rockata, owner and CEO of Gainsboro Industries. I am the youngest female to ever be featured on Forbes magazine, throughout my career I have never sat on the sidelines watching others try to hit home run. Especially when a man tells me to and I wasn’t about to start.

I opened my compact mirror and touched up my face. I turned around and faced the shadows of the restaurant. Through the grey swing door, I noticed the all white kitchen with stainless steel tables. There was no one here and luckily no blood stains either.  A cold breeze blew past me and I looked to my left, the emergency exit. They must have left.

I continued making my way around the back room. What was I even looking for? Near the staff lounge, I heard a voice. Was it a survivor? Somebody I could talk to but then, a word stopped me.

“No, don’t ‘Nick’ me. Those were your men, I’m sure of it and when I find them… I’m going to make sure they understand why nobody crosses Nicholas Keiper.”

A few beeps later, and the line ended. I peeked towards Nicholas, his shoulder taught and he rand a hand through his dark curls. His suit jacket was off, it laid on a chair next to him. There was a deep, red stain.  Normally in movies, the protagonist hear would hide as soon as the person was finished having the phone conversation. But this wasn’t a movie.

“Nicholas Keiper? Very interesting name choice.” I called out behind him.

His taught shoulders went stiff and he quickly turned around. The starch white fabric of his dress shirt creased with his folded arms. His face set in a stone-cold mask. I knew he was going to either: lie or tell me something I don’t want to hear. He had on the very same face Joel had when he told me about a business venture going into the red las year. It was going steady but, steady can only last so long. I knew that mask so well because it was the same one I had on when I told Cameron that our encounters had reached their expiration date.

Suddenly, as if he pulled out an extra Knight, he cornered my Queen. He smiled a smile so dazzling, its pearly whites were meant to distract you. But I was no fool. But I played along. Giving people a false sense of safety was the quickest way to get the things you want. The key: do it quick and painlessly. Acting compliant is one hell of an occupational hazard. 

“Ms. Rockata… Charity. My old family name was Keiper. I changed it to Holcomb when I got exonerated from my parents and wanted to start a new life without their influence. Unfortunately, old friends of mine still know me as Nicholas Keiper,” he clasped both his hands together and fashioned an angelic face.

“But Nick, what exactly do you mean by ‘I’m going to make sure you understand why nobody crosses Nicholas Keiper’?” It was a loaded question. Mocking him. His brows furrowed for an answer, I wonder what kind of bull he’s going to present to me now.

“Charity,” He paused for a moment. Enough to sound like a condescending prick. Like a grownup talking to a child. “You know the ins and outs of business jargon. Those were a couple of old clients. We’re not exactly on good terms and empty threats work really well when you own a multimillion-dollar company.”

I was waiting for the game buzzer to go off. He played his move, now it was time to play mine but… I was waiting for the sense of victory. I was waiting for the checkmate, but hell, I didn’t have any more pawns to play and I was one rook away from deadlocking his king. I looked back up to his face, his tawny eyes were dripping in mischief, a crooked smile begging to be opened wider. He knew. He knew exactly what I was thinking. I was not about to be outplayed by some big-shot—

“This is the police!”

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the back room. Their walkie-talkies rebounded off the ceramic plated walls. Nicholas and I eyed each other. With both our hands up, we walked towards the kitchen area.

There was something not quite right with Nicholas, I knew that much. Like a business deal that just doesn’t settle, I was curious to find out more before I decided to invest.  Just like a risky business deal, my adrenaline kicked in, I was eager. No, more than eager, I was getting bloodthirsty. That’s exactly what I needed.

***

Home is where the heart is, as they say. My heart was in the deep underbelly of commerce. In this world it’s non-stop action, you could lose a head in all the numbers. Winter season was finally here and I intended to sell the image Hallmark bull to customers with their prudish cookie-cutter ideals. Nuclear family and whatnot are exactly what Gainsboro needed to stay on the map during the holidays. Starting with vacations for employees.

I sipped from another double-shot espresso from Manhattan Mocha, I was running on fumes and coffee was the only thing keeping my heart pumping. I looked out the floor to ceiling windows. Manhattan was the same as it always was during the winter, cold and grey.

Just like the people outside of my office, the people below were all in flurry getting from place to place. “Learn to walk fast,” That’s what I told my mom and dad to keep in mind as they were planning their trip down here. Molly was of course going to be there with her nice husband, and their nice kids and her nice job.

While daisy-dearest was going to show mom and dad around, I was going to be swimming in new clientele. I sat back into my leather-bound desk chair and savoured the last sip of coffee. Opening the laptop before was like opening up a treasure chest, an array of windows and email alerts popped up instantaneously.

A knock sounded on my door.

A blonde head of hair popped through. 

It was Cameron. Cameron Randall.

First rule of business: Always be polite no matter what demon-infested creature comes knocking at your door. A polite smile tingled at my lips and I lowered my laptop screen. My phone tinged in lack of attention.

“Mr. Randall, it’s so nice to see your familiar face.” I stood up and extended a hand.

His cornflower blue eyes widened at the gesture. His grip on a couple of manila folders tightened. An equally tight smile returned my own. His took my hand, he held it there. Longer than just a formal handshake. “Look, Charity I—”

I cut him off with the motion of a hand. In my office it was Ms. Rockata, everyone knew that. Within these four walls, there are no friends or acquaintances. There are business partners and nothing more. He knew. Of course, he knew and yet coming in here, as if we go way back.

“Mr. Randall, although I am happy to see you, there must be a reason you dropped by,” I motioned towards my immaculate desk. I don’t a scatter of papers to remind people that I am a busy woman. His ears turned pink. Behind him, people continued to scurry around. There were things to do, especially during this time of year and yet this guy… He set his stack of envelopes on one of the two chairs placed in front of my desk and takes off his coat.

There was brand. Then again, no matter how much money he made, Cameron would never be a white-collar kind of guy. He was the type of guy that my parents would love. Clean cut, always smelled like soap, had blonde tufts of hair that never got gelled back and his parents were two inner-city cops. It would be so easy to be with someone like Cameron. We were both in business, our parents would love to visit each other during the holidays. He was so kind, he was the poster boy for perfect boyfriend and yet, he was just too safe. A polar opposite to Nicholas. Where Nick was dark, Cameron was light. Where Nick went out to check for others, Cameron would have stayed behind and waited for the cops.

I turned around to look out the window yet again.

“Char, I wanted—”

“It’s Ms. Rockat—.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” shocked, I faced him. Cameron the calm. He never raised his voice, especially not at me.

He pinched his nose bridge, a move he got from his father as he had once told me. He blew out a heavy sigh and looked back up.

“Char, just because you’ve been ignoring my calls doesn’t mean you can just—just pretend as if nothing ever happened between us.” He paused to release another heathy breath. “I said ‘I love you’ and you said goodnight! And then, you just began ignoring me completely!” I folded my arms and straightened my back. The mask was going to be dawned on yet again.

“Cam, you knew from the beginning that you and I were never going to work out. I’m too busy. As are you as a matter of fact. I understand your… qualms. But right now, you’re distracting me from my work. Don’t forget you were never more than a business partner,”

“Char please don’t shut me out because you’re so scared—”

“I’m not shutting you out, I’m just prioritising work over petty squabbles,” I sat back down onto my lather-bound chair. The leather’s creaking hardly masked the ridiculous elephant in the room, the awkward silence was getting oppressive. I knew he was going to retort. That’s what I always liked about him, he would never go down without a fight.

“Is that what my feelings are to you? Petty squabbles?” his voice laced in hurt.

I closed my eyes in frustration and rubbed my temples, a move that I got from my dad. This game wasn’t going in my favour. None of my latest matches have been going particularly well as of late. Normally, he would take the blows and keep pushing but this… I don’t want to hurt him. At least in not such a cruel way. Was I being cruel? No, in matter like these you always go for the jugular. It’s quick and painless. I shouldn’t be second-guessing. That’s dangerous. My frown set deeper onto my face.

“Look Char, I know you’re free on the 24^th, Joel told me. Please give me… us a shot and just meet me at La Fois Ouverte, it’s your favourite remember?” With that concluding statement. Cameron picked up his envelopes and left. He didn’t look back. His pastel blue button-up retreating in the distance. The only blue shirt in the swarm of greys and whites.

I opened up my laptop, but this time I didn’t feel like Jason and the Argonauts, I felt like Medea, freshly betrayed. The beeps and tings from my phone no longer created a sense of excitement. My mind was going into autopilot again. I shouldn’t be distracted from my work, especially when it’s a guy distracting me. I ran a hand through my hair.

Suddenly a beep rang. I looked at the sender and it was Nicholas. He didn’t waste time introducing or catching up.

“Dinner on the 24^th?”

That text siphoned my entire vision. When Cameron told me about going out with him to La Fois Ouverte, I didn’t even hold my breath. Dinner with him would begin with idle small talk about business and family and end the morning after with me walking out of his apartment at the crack of dawn.

But dinner with Nick, dinner with him was the kind of thing I was looking for. It was a bet, a gamble but if I could ensure the winning hand, then I’d make the bet but… With Nick, he was the house. And the house always wins. I wanted to try my hand, peak at the cards, see what’s in store for me if I say yes.

Bur on the other hand was Cameron.

The riskiest I could get with him was Go Fish. There was nothing to make my heart race, or to get my palms sweaty but Cam has always been good. He was everything I could ever as for and at the same time not. Did I want someone to test me? Or did I want someone who I knew I could rely on.

A small laugh escaped from my chest.

“Nobody messes with Nicholas Keiper!”

I was scared out of my wits and still a little hazy from the shooting, I remember the tickle of fear shooting down my spine when he said that line. But was it fear or was it adventure? Both could handle me, it was just a matter of how. I leaned back into my chair and stretched my body. Now was not the time to be distracted.

My phone rang. It was John Metric. Here to call about all the fresh faces coming into the game no doubt. I checked the time, if I wanted to make it out of here by latest midnight, I needed to make this quick. I dived into the conversation with both Cameron and Nick behind me.

Joel, my favoured confidante and long-time best business associate any girl could ask for. He was helping me sort through some more files before I let him go and the rest of the office to go live their merry lives.

I went over to Joel, who made his filing station on the other side of my desk with the help of two chairs. I checked the date on my phone. It was the 24^th.

“Crap!” I exclaimed.

“What? Did I file this wrong?”

“No, not you, just today’s date is… well, difficult.”

“Difficult?” Joel raised an onyx brow up to his hairline. “Define difficult.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned against the mahogany desk. “I mean, I have to choose one and I haven’t really decided…”

An expression of realization passed over Joel’s face.

“Wait, if you’re not sure why choose either? There are two things I know, you don’t compromise in business or life. Come out with us tonight.”

And finally, the win I’ve been itching for. Why should I have to pick between the two? They could wait, tonight I was going to enjoy my pre-Christmas festivities romance-free. Just the way I like it.