“… and with this system implemented, we will see our market value increase exponentially — expanding our growth to a more global market. Thank you for your time. I look forward to the future of this company.”

Enthusiastic applause erupted in the conference room. The lower-level executives and vice president of Golden Apple Beauty were seated around a long, ovate table looking very pleased with his presentation. In the back of the room, his co-workers stood wearing a mix of jealousy, admiration, respect, and what appeared to be outright desire from some of the more promiscuous women.

As they all stood up to leave, the vice president — a rotund, middle-aged Jewish man in a dark pinstripe suit — approached him with an outstretched hand.

“I must say — Thomas Kline was it? That was quite a presentation you gave us. I think there’s a promotion in order for you.”

Thrilled, Thomas grasped his palm firmly with both hands and shook it passionately.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “I won’t let you down”

The vice president grunted with approval. “Yes, I will bring your proposal to the CEO. If he likes it, you can expect a meeting with him within the next week. And if I like it, there’s a fair chance he will as well.”

A meeting with the CEO of Golden Apple Beauty? Thomas had to restrain himself from letting his jaw hit the floor. Anri Morgenstern was legendary. Starting his company at the young age of nineteen in his mother’s garage, he broke into the cosmetics industry with a revolutionary skincare cream that melted away scarring and drastically reversed the signs of aging in a matter of weeks. He continued to expand his company with new and innovative products, making Forbes Magazine’s 30 Under 30 list at the age of twenty-one. Now, at twenty-five, he is one of the most important people in the beauty industry to date.

However, Mr. Morgenstern is a very private person. He doesn’t attend any red carpet shows, has no social media, and has carefully evaded the prying eyes of paparazzi, so very few people actually know what he looks like. You were more likely to see a unicorn than meet him in person.

“It would be an honor, sir,” Thomas said, a little taken aback.

“Good,” gruffed the vice president. “I’ll see you then.”

He exited the room and the other executives followed after him like a brood of ducklings. As soon as the door closed, Thomas’s co-workers broke ranks and flocked to him, pouring on the ass-kissing. 

“Great job, Tommy!” said a skinny guy he’d barely spoken to enough to remember his name, much less be called “Tommy” by him.

A big-breasted Latina lady who used house paint for makeup clung to his arm and pressed against him.  “ You were so impressive, up there, she cooed.

Ew.

“It wasn’t that great” huffed Charles — a paunchy, freckled ginger in his thirties who was never fond of Thomas’s popularity. “I think Vanessa’s proposal was better,” he said, referring to the busty circus clown attached to his arm.

“Oh, shut it, Charles. You know damn well Tom’s was a home-run compared to that blow-up doll’s,” said Thomas’s best friend, Michael. “You don’t have to be some white knight to get into her pants, you just need to leave her a nice tip afterward.”

The small crowd of people went wide-eyed and silent. A few giggles trickled through mixed with some “Oooohhh”s. Vanessa quickly detached herself from Thomas’s bicep and stomped away in her dagger heels. Charles’s face twisted with rage, turning beet-red before he followed after her, slamming the door behind him.

Now feeling awkward, the group of people around Thomas began to disperse. It was 5 o’clock and the day was over. He stayed behind to clean up, Michael keeping him company, sitting on the edge of the table.

“You’re a savage, you know that, Mike?”

Michael Bloom grinned mischievously and adjusted his large-framed glasses, running a dark hand over his bouncy afro. He and Thomas had been college roommates and decided to apply for the same company together. They were a striking duo — a nerdy black kid who wore a lab coat in every occasion, and a tall, handsome jock with tan skin and tawny brown hair and eyes. Thomas was in the marketing department, while Michael entered research and development. Fortunately, although they were in different departments, they both worked on the same floor.

“Somebody had to say it. I mean, damn, everybody was thinkin’ it anyway. I’m just the only one who had the balls to actually say it out loud,” he shrugged. “A messenger of the people.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Sure, if that’s how you think of yourself,” he snorted.

“Ay, but for real, though. Good job on that presentation. If we actually manage to get a foothold in the East-Asian market, this company could easily become a Fortune-500 corporation, and I would get more funding to do fun stuff in my lab,” Michael said. “If they make you a big wig exec one day, you’re taking me to Tahiti to swim with hot bitches.”

“Well,” said Thomas, a grin creeping onto his face, “the vice president did mention that a promotion may be in order.” He paused. “Depends on whether the big man upstairs likes it, though.”

Michael sighed and slid off of the table. He walked over and patted Tom’s back before looping and arm around his shoulder. Well, as best as he could, considering the seven-inch height difference between them.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out Tommy-Boy,” he said cheekily. “But tonight calls for a celebration. Let’s go to a titty bar and get fucked-up on tequila. Waddya say, partner?”

“A regular bar, and beer,” Thomas replied, ever the straight-lace.

“Ugh, fine. It’s your party,” Michael whined as they exited the conference room, awash in the glow of a snowy sunset.

—

Thomas chose to celebrate his victory at a usual spot of his — a swanky little jazz club called The Nightcap. He and Michael nabbed a couple of seats at the long oakwood bar and ordered two pints of Guinness. Clinking their glasses together, they toasted to Tom’s success and Michael’s luck tonight. After they each downed enough of them to get buzzed, Michael wandered off to go hit on a curvy Cuban chick he’d been making eyes at all night.

Left to his own devices, Thomas’s eyes meandered around the room, searching for something interesting. All of a sudden, the bar doors swing open with a cold gust of wind and the clack of heels. Time seems to stop as Thomas forgets how to breathe and nearly falls off his barstool. The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his entire life saunters into the room, attracting the eyes of every single person there. A blond bombshell with a mane of curly golden hair, plump red lips, and a huge, black fur coat draped over a red velvet off-the-shoulder body-con dress with tall black pumps and a silver clutch. Her face was delicately ovate like a cupid, with smooth, fair skin lightly flush by the chill of winter.

She walked up to the bar, took a seat about five stools away from Thomas, and ordered a glass of chardonnay. Taking her in, he took note of little details about her appearance. Diamond drop earrings brushed against her collarbone, skin glistening with melted snow. A slit in her dress tempted him with a peek of sleek, slender thigh. The fit of the short velvet gown accentuated the curves of a waistline you could do ski jumps off of. She elegantly held her wine glass with long, dainty fingers, a silver diamond ring adorning her right ring finger.

The blond lady noticed his staring, raising an eyebrow at him. Suddenly aware of his own behavior, he quickly turned away, face flushed with embarrassment. He turned back to his drink and swirled his glass. However, he could not help but sneak glances over at the goddess to his left.

Holy hell, he thought to himself.

Suddenly, three Italian guidos came over from a booth at the back of the bar. The matching ensemble of spray tans, gold chains, greasy black hair, bad tattoos, and chest hair was almost blinding to the eyes. They made a circle around the blond woman, trapping her at her barstool. She merely glanced at them over her wine glass with a bemused side-eye, otherwise ignoring their existence.

“Hey, pretty lady. You come ‘round ‘ere often?” said the leader in a thick east-coast accent — a tall muscular doornail with a powder blue shirt half-way unbuttoned.

She continued to ignore them, prompting the posse’s aggression.

“Ey, we’re talkin’ to ya. My man ‘ere was bein’ gracious but you just gonna ignore ‘im?” said the shorter goon in the jersey tank-top.

She held her glass up to the light and swirled it, still not acknowledging them. Angered, the other sidekick snatched the glass out of her hand — wearing a white, skintight cotton t-shirt.

“Listen up you bitch, we was tryna be nice to ya, but here you are ignoring us like some stuck-up princess. So why don’t ya just be ladylike and spend the evening with us?”

She stood reached for her wine glass and the leader of the trio caught her wrist, pulling her back against him. Her face hardened into rage, and she turned to unleash a spiteful word tornado. But, before she could say anything, Thomas had already leaped from his seat and come up behind the leader, one-handedly clamping down on the arm that held the lady.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said with the cold malice of a serial killer.

“What the-! Hey-!” The leader tried to yank his hand out of his grasp, but Thomas’s iron-clad grip effectively twisted his wrist until he let go of the lady and wrenching his arm behind his back in a hold that forced him to bend over. The orange guido yelled out in pain, and his goons made a move to help him.

“Come any closer and I’ll break his arm in three places,” Thomas said, twisting it a little harder. The leader yelped, eliciting a few tears, and the other two froze in place.

“Very good,” he said, grinning. Now, I want you two to slowly back away from the bar, exit through those doors and take your shitty little Escalade that I saw outside back to your trashy studio apartments. Understood?”

They nodded in unison and followed his instructions. The sound of the car ignition roared and they sped away, tires screeching.

“Hey!” said the leader, “How am I getting home?” His face, now red-orange, was dripping with sweat.

“Take an Uber,” said Thomas. He then spun him towards the doors and kicked his behind, sending him stumbling out the exit.

Thomas sighed, and straightened his brown suit jacket. Suddenly remembering that someone else was involved, he turned back to the bar.

“Are you alright?” he asked the woman.

She stood next to her seat with a hand on the bartop, looking moderately flustered. Clearing her throat, she brushed off the front of her dress and composed herself.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a grateful smile. Her voice was rich and husky, like the velvet of her dress. “Thank you.”

Oh, wow. Her eyes are blue. Like sapphires.

“No problem.”

“May I treat you to a drink?” she asked, gesturing to the stool next to her. “I’m not one to let favors go unrewarded. It goes against my personal doctrine”

“Alright, then,” Thomas chuckled. “We wouldn’t want to break any rules now, would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t,” she said.

They took their seats at the bar next to each other. Thomas shifted on his stool nervously

Don’t fuck this up. Please don’t make an ass of yourself.

“What’ll you have?” asked the woman.

“Whatever you recommend,” he said.

Nice.

She raised her eyebrows and let out a small laugh. With a wave of her hand, she signaled the bartender.

“Two glasses of 62 Gun Salute, please. On the rocks.”

The bartender winked at her before disappearing into the back room. When he emerged, he held a black rectangular box with gold clasps. He set the box on the bar before them and unclasped it, revealing a gleaming dark blue bottle with gold engravings on the front, an intricate gold band on the neck, and a cap that looked like a gold crown with a huge diamond embedded on the top. Thomas’s eyes went wide with shock.

“I kept this special just for you,” said the bartender. “Nobody else could ever afford it, anyway.”

Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into?

The bartender brought out two crystal scotch glasses and filled them with ice cubes. He carefully lifted the blue bottle out of the case, removed the diamond top, and poured each of them half a glass. The woman cleared her throat.

“Fill ‘er up.”

The bartender sighed and filled the glasses to the top.

“I’ll keep this behind the bar in case you want to finish the bottle.”

“Thank you, Bernie,” she said.

The woman picked up her glass and held it up.

“To my hero,” she said playfully.

He laughed. “Salut.”

They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks. The scotch slipped down Thomas’s throat like liquid silk. His mouth exploded with the flavors of sweet orange, deep nutty oak, a top note of smoke, and, well, alcohol. Very strong alcohol. Electricity zapped his nervous system. He fought back the urge to cough as he hunched over.

“What do you think?” asked the woman.

“It’s great,” he said hoarsely.

She laughed. “It’s an acquired taste.”

The woman sipped her glass again before turning towards him.

“So, may I know my savior’s name?”

“Thomas,” he said. “Thomas Kline.”

“Thomas… “ she said, musing over the word.

Ah, shit. She must think I’m an idiot, he thought. I’ve never felt so insecure in my life.

“So, Thomas, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for a living?”

“Well…” he said, “I’m currently an employee of Golden Apple Beauty’s marketing department. You know, the one with the commercial of the girl coming out of the painting? That was my project.”

The lady choked on her drink and coughed.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes, cough, I’m fine,” she said. “I just accidentally swallowed an ice cube.”

She blotted her mouth with a napkin.

“Anyway, tell me more about yourself, Mr. Kline,” said the lady. “From where do you hail?”

“Michigan,” he said.

“Michigan?” she said. “What brought you to New York City?”

“Well, I got a sports scholarship to NYU for water polo and jiujitsu. Gave me a reason to get out of my small town. I got my master’s degree in Economics and a bachelor’s in Marketing. Figured it could get me a decent job at some big company.”

“And so you chose Golden Apple?” she teased. “A cosmetics company?”

“Ah… well…” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “My college roommate, Michael, had been scouted by the company as one of those “makeup scientists. I decided to apply along with him so there would be someone there that I already knew.”

“And…?” she asked. “How has it treated you so far?”

Thomas grinned. “Quite well, if I do say so myself. The benefits are good, and it’s an enjoyable place to work. And… to be honest, I didn’t think makeup would be so interesting. Even though I’m just part of marketing and advertising, it’s fun to see the development and launch of new products.”

The lady smiled warmly. “That’s good. Glad to see things are going well.”

“And what do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She hesitated. “… I own a business.” She wouldn’t give any more details besides that.

They talked well into the night, finishing the bottle of whiskey. Soon, they were the last two patrons left, besides a middle-aged man passed out in a booth. Well buzzed and a little cocky, Thomas offered to pick up the tab. The bartender smirked and handed it to him. The lady laughed and took it from his frozen hands, his jaw hanging open at the bill.

Four grand! he thought, bewildered. For a bottle of whiskey! Just take my kidney for all I care!

The lady opened her clutch and removed a heavy, matte black credit card. She slid it into the leather check holder and handed it to the bartender, who went to go ring it up. Turning back to him, she smiled and winked.

“I already told you, this one’s on me. I owed you a favor and now it’s been paid. So, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. And, trust me, I can afford it.”

The bartender returned with her card. “Here ya go, boss.”

“Boss?” Thomas asked.

“Oh,” she said, “I own this place.”

He sighed. “Of course you do.”

The lady shrugged. “Just one of my many business ventures.”

They stood from their stools and put on their coats.

“Goodnight Bernie.” 

“G’nite Boss.”

They stepped out of the bar into the freezing air. A brisk wind blew a flurry of snow through the air, blanketing the land in white. The dark street was mostly deserted, save for a few pedestrians and taxis. The full moon shone through thick silvery clouds, illuminating the frozen ground with a blueish glow. A cat meowed from the alley next to the bar.

“So, I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

“Right…” Thomas said. “It is late.”

There was a long pause.

“How are you getting home?” he asked.

“Ah…” She gestured to the limo in front of the alley. “That’s my ride. My driver’s probably in there catching some Zs.”

Thomas shifted his feet. “Can I… see you again?”

The lady crossed her arms and looked him up and down. After studying him carefully for a solid minute, she suddenly grinned and stuck out her hand.

“Sure, you seem decent enough,” she said

Thomas hesitantly grasped her hand and they shared a tense handshake. At some point, it wasn’t a handshake anymore and they were just holding hands, staring at each other.

The lady suddenly seemed to realize what they were doing. She blushed and cleared her throat.

“Sorry, I have to go,” she said and tried to pull away.

Thomas gripped her hand and held her in place. Startled, she looked at him, confused.

“Thomas, what-?”

He yanked her towards him and clutched her shoulder with the other hand. His eyes burned into her — a mixture of alcohol and… something else.

“Thomas,” she said cautiously, “what are you doing?

He stared at her for a few seconds before replying, “I have absolutely no idea,” and he kissed her.

The lady stiffened in shock and made a move to push him away. However, just as she was about to shove him, her hand on his chest relaxed and she melted into the kiss. After a few minutes, they drew back, silently gazing into each other’s eyes.

Thomas whispered, “I… “

The lady seized his tie and dragged him into the dark alley like a dog on a leash. Her back slammed against the wall as Thomas trapped her against the bricks. They embraced each other with the desperation of starved animals in the desert that had come across an oasis.

Suddenly, Thomas began to slide his hand up her leg and under her dress. The lady tensed and abruptly forced him off of her. They stared at each other, flustered and disheveled, realizing what they had been doing in their drunken fervor. A pained look of guilt covered her face as tears welled in her eyes.

“Um… I’m sorry… I- I have to go…” she said, and ran out towards the street.

“Wait!” he shouted. “What’s your name?!”

Thomas tried to chase after her, but he slipped on a patch of black ice and fell. He quickly picked himself up and scrambled after her, but he was too late. He emerged from the alley in time to watch the black limo peel away from the curb and speed off into the snowy night.

For the following week, Thomas was like a man possessed. In his mind, he began to call her ‘Venus’, after the goddess of beauty. He scoured the internet for blond female CEOs in New York City and spent every evening at The Nightcap, but she never appeared. The bartender, Bernie — an old Sicilian man in a bow tie — stubbornly denied his every attempt at finding out her identity. By the end of the week, he had begun to lose hope.

When the next week rolled around, he was approached by a tiny redhead with glasses and a blue pantsuit at his cubicle.

“Are you Thomas Kline?” she asked

“I am, how can I help you?”

She paused and studied him, concerned.

“… Are you alright, sir?”

The past week had taken a toll on Thomas. His face was now haggard, pale, and unshaven. His eyes were now tired and sunken, ringed by dark circles. 

“I’m ok,” he said, “I just had a long week. What did you need from me?”

“Mr. Kline, I am Vice President Leibowitz’s secretary, Michelle Holmes. He has arranged for you to meet the president tomorrow afternoon. Please be ready with your proposal from last week.”

“Oh… right. I will. Thank you.” He had completely forgotten about it.

“My pleasure. I’ll come to get you around 12:30. And… I think it would be a good idea for you to clean yourself up a bit beforehand. President Morgenstern is a bit of a clean freak.”

“Ah… thanks for the tip. I’ll make sure to do that.”

The next morning, Thomas showered, shaved, and ironed his best suit. Looking in the mirror, he almost seemed as though he had gotten a full night’s sleep in the past week — which he had not. He sighed, picked up his files, and left for work. Traffic was heavy and it was snowing, reminding him of that night.

What was that look? He thought about the guilty expression on Venus’s face before she had run away from him. He shook his head and lightly smacked himself.

That’s enough of that. No more thinking about her. Today’s the most important day of your career. Don’t fuck it up.

He spent the morning organizing his presentation, which he was wholly unprepared for. He had been so focused on finding his “Venus” the past week he had neglected to ready himself for the meeting.

At 12:25, Michelle arrived at his desk to retrieve him and they headed to the elevators. They were large and double-sided with gleaming brass doors and mirrored walls. Michelle inserted a key into a slot and pressed the button for the top floor. They rode the elevator up silently. Thomas went over his presentation in his head.

Finally, the doors opened with a “ding!” and they stepped into a long hallway with rows of parallel doors. The humongous ceiling was entirely made of glass. The sun shone through webs of frost like the windows of a cathedral, making the hallway look as though it’s underwater. They walked to the very end, where a large set of carved wooden double doors towered over them. Michelle went forward and knocked on the doors.

“Come in!” said a gruff, muffled voice.

She opened the doors to reveal a massive office with floor to ceiling windows, a huge teak desk in the center, a lounge area to the left, and a second-story balcony. Vice President Leibowitz rose from one of the chairs in front of the desk and approached them.

“Mr. Kline, how you doing today?” he asked, offering a hand.

“Quite alright, sir. How about yourself?” Thomas shook his hand.

“Couldn’t be better. Now, allow me to introduce you to our president, Anri Morgenstern.”

He gestured to the desk behind him, where a slender man with long, curly blond hair tied in a low ponytail stood with his back turned, leaning over a spread of paperwork. He wore a light-gray pinstripe suit perfectly tailored to his body, a very expensive looking watch on his left wrist, and thin silver threader earrings that hung just above his shoulders.

“Ah… sir, this is Mr. Thomas Kline. He’s the one who drafted the proposal you’re reading… uh… sir?”

Anri picked up a piece of paper and straightened himself. He silently stared at the sheet for a minute before he spoke.

“Leave us.”

The Vice President looked confused. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Anri waved his hand, shooing him off.

“Ah, very well sir. We’ll leave you two to talk.” 

He nodded to Michelle, and they both quietly exited the office. The double doors shut audibly, leaving Thomas and Anri alone with each other. Thomas approached him nervously.

“Uh… Mr. Morgenstern, it’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’m a big fan of you and your company… well… I work here, but what I’m trying to say is, I really respect you and-”

Anri let out a soft chuckle. “Relax, Thomas. We’re not strangers, are we?”

“…Eh?”

Thomas’s stomach dropped to his feet. He froze in place with a polite smile petrified on his face.

No. No that’s impossible.

He turned around. Anri Morgenstern was a delicately handsome young man, with an effeminate face and flawless porcelain skin — probably the result of years of self-experimentation with his own products. He wore a crisp white shirt beneath his three-piece suit — slightly unbuttoned and tie-less. 

Anri leaned back against the desk. His face was blank and cold, but his blue eyes were pained and guilty.

“Hi, Thomas,” he said flatly.

Thomas’s knees buckled. The blood drained from his face and he went sheet-white. Staring in shock, his mind went blank.

He could recognize this face anywhere.

“… Venus.”