HEAD OVER HEELS

“Lanie? There's a man over there who's been staring at you for a good ten minutes. Do you know him?”

“Where?”

          As Alanis ‘Lanie’ Roswell turned, her wide, green-flecked eyes following Shelly's glance across the crowded, noisy room, her face wasn't even slightly interested. She was used to men staring at her… it came with the territory.

          As one of the highest-paid and most successful promotions executives in Chicago, Alanis knew she presented something of an anomaly to the average male. She was seen as ‘the exception that proved the rule’. This meant the women in this male-dominated environment in which she worked weren’t always welcomed.  

          Graceful and tiny, at five feet one, and with a mass of gleaming strawberry blonde hair, creamy skin, and large expressive eyes in a golden honey shade flecked with green, Alanis wasn't exactly what they'd expected to see if her reputation had gone before her… and it invariably had.

          Over the last ten years, since she had first entered the promotions rat race as a nervous but ambitious eighteen-year-old fresh from college, she had established herself as a shrewd and level-headed businesswoman with a flair for knowing exactly what appealed to the public.

          Her job was her life. Alanis gave it 100% commitment and the rewards had been enormous.

“Hang on a minute,” Shelly muttered impatiently to herself as the crowd surged and moved, the buzz of conversation fierce and loud. “Now. Look over there, next to the group from St. Gregory’s. He's still looking this way and you can't miss him.”

“Which…?”

          Alanis's voice trailed away as she met the full force of a pair of very intent, narrowed eyes set in a hard, tanned face that was all male and quite pokerfaced. The man was big, very big, darkly imposing, and terribly out of place in this crowd of affected, pretentious bootlickers who had arrived by invitation for the grand opening of Alanis's latest work project.

          It was a flamboyant, madly expensive art gallery in a city already full of art galleries. That much at least registered before she turned sharply away, her stomach lurching.

“Well? Do you know him?” Shelly asked curiously, her mild brown eyes alight with interest.

“No, definitely I don't know him. If I'd met a man like him before I wouldn't have forgotten.”

          Alanis's voice was cool and vague, and not at all as she was feeling inside. She couldn't remember the last time a man's glance had affected her like this. Alanis felt ridiculously disturbed and flustered… Almost threatened…

          She shook the thought away abruptly, furious with herself for allowing it to enter her mind in the first place. Nerves…Yes, this was all just nerves, she told herself firmly. The same 'first-night' agitation she suffered with all her projects until she knew she had got it right.

          There was no need to let imagination run away with her, useful though that particular attribute was in her line of work. She drew herself up to her full five feet one and smiled at her assistant, who was a good six inches taller than herself.

“We need to mingle, Shelly, admire a few pretty feathers, and give the old sweet talk. I'll see you by the main door when the champagne and strawberries are served at seven, alright? We'll have done our duty by then.”

“Fine, Lanie,” Shelly nodded obediently, her good-natured face setting in a practiced smile as she plunged into the crowd.

“Alanis?”

          The owner of the art gallery, a successful and wealthy entrepreneur, who had his finger in a lot of businesses, touched her softly on the arm as she turned.

“This is quite a success! Well done… Still…”

          He nodded cynically at the richly dressed, somewhat theatrical assembly.

“Not exactly my type, if I'm being honest, but you sure pulled in all those who needed to be seen here for the gallery to have credibility.”

“That is what you paid me to do, Mr. White.”

          She smiled carefully, her voice and face pleasant but reserved. The small, disgusting, balding man in front of her had made it plain on more than one occasion that he wanted more than just her business expertise. But she was used to dealing with the Mr. Whites of this world, and there was a surplus of them in the city.

          She was always polite, well-mannered, and very skillful at deflecting even the most obvious come-on, but underneath the graciousness, there was hard-won composure and firm control that settled even the most zealous suitor when it became necessary. Like now.

“Indeed, dear Alanis, and you have outdone yourself.”

          Again, he patted her arm, his round face already shiny with perspiration. Alanis looked around for a way out of this disgusting situation.

“How about a little drink to celebrate all your hard work? Maybe later? I've got a suite for the weekend in…”

“Mr. White, I don't think so.”

          Alanis moved an inch or so away, her expression still smiling but her meaning clear.

“I've got something very urgent to prepare for an important meeting tomorrow morning.”

“You work too hard, sweetheart…”

          His tongue flicked reptilian-like over his lower lip, and she just managed to repress a shudder.

“You must keep the weekends free to enjoy yourself.”

“I don't work every weekend, Mr. White,” Alanis said coolly, “just when it's necessary. Now, if you'll excuse me, it looks as if Mr. Stephanopoulos needs some company…”

          In a decisive way, she turned and walked over to an influential art dealer, engaging him in conversation until Mr. White had drifted away. At exactly 7 pm she started to make her way to the door but stopped abruptly when a sudden break in the crowd showed her who Shelly was talking to.

          That man again… Alanis stared at him, her eyes taking in every little detail of his appearance while she could view him unnoticed as he concentrated on Shelly. She had felt his eyes on her more than once as she had circulated the room, had been vitally aware of his dark presence as he had stood somewhat distant from the rest of the crowd by one of the deep, recessed windows.

          But she had been careful not to let her glance meet his. Why she didn't quite know. Who was this man? Her smooth eyebrow wrinkled with curiosity. The guest list had been both exclusive and up-to-the-minute, and she had made it her business to be aware of the history of each guest.

          However, most of the names had had 'and partner' written next to them, so Alanis had no means of knowing either who he was with or anything about him other than what she could see. And she had to admit what she could see was… quite disturbing.

          There was a formidable authority about him, a hard, masculine aura that sat on the big body almost challengingly. His hair was black, jet-black, and cut very short, as though he had no time to waste on any sort of excessive grooming, and he was expensively dressed. Way too dressed for the artistic crowd he was being part of right now.  

          He looked… She bit her lip, suddenly annoyed with herself as the image flashed into her mind. But he did look like a dangerous black panther passing through the jungle.

          She couldn't imagine him ever being… ‘and partner’, but who was he with? And who was he? And what was the color of his eyes? His eyes… Alanis flushed as hotly as if she had voiced the question out loud. Why on earth did she care about the color of his eyes anyway? She had made up her mind years ago about the road down which she would take and her plans didn't include any sort of romantic involvement… light or otherwise.

          Alanis was being ridiculous, even crazy. Perhaps Mr. White was right… she had been working too hard lately. She'd certainly never had this trouble with her imagination before.

“Lanie, darling… Wonderful little reception… Well done.”

          She turned very slowly as she forced a social smile to her face, recognizing the voice of one of the female executives from a rival firm. She didn't dislike Marcia Evanick. In fact, they shared the same sense of humor, which had smoothed more than one difficult situation in the past, but Alanis knew the other woman had been working hard to secure this particular project, and noblesse wasn’t one of Marcia's virtues.

“You have obviously got the right touch with Mr. White… You'll have to let me in on your secret sometime…”

          The words were lazy and without real malice, although their meaning was clear. Alanis knew Marcia meant nothing personal. She just had to have a little twist of the knife to state her annoyance at losing out to the other woman. But this time Alanis didn't like the innuendo. She had had enough sly digs along the same lines from male colleagues in the past, when her work had been superior to theirs, and she had expected more from Marcia.

          Both of them were in highly paid jobs, doing good work and surviving on their own initiative and flair despite high odds, and she had thought, naively, perhaps, she acknowledged now, that Marcia would respect that and leave the sexist talk to the men.

“Well, you know how it is, Marcia.”

          Alanis gave the other woman a brilliant smile as she spoke.

“The old… casting couch still has its uses.”

          Marcia acknowledged the game, set and match with a slight curve of her thin red mouth, but then her light blue eyes widened considerably at something just over Alanis's left shoulder.

“Miss Roswell?”

          The male voice was very deep, with a slight husky edge that was undeniably attractive.

“Your PA tells me you’re about to leave this party...”

          She turned to face him slowly, knowing who it was even before her gaze moved up and up to meet the hard-boned face.