Why would you invite the devil into your life? That’s exactly what I did by drooling over and lusting for Kalem Ostarizo. I couldn’t help myself. I’d seen him so many times during work hours—walking past me, getting on the elevator, in the café I frequented during my lunch break and at the bistro around the corner. Kalem Ostarizo didn’t even know I existed.

Kalem wasn’t only my boss, he was the world’s top fashion designer. When I got my job, his assistant, Ms. Plum, a woman in her late sixties, whom I immediately nicknamed ogre interviewed me. She just had that kind of look about her. Stern, bone thin, tall, forbidding, horn-rimmed glasses and iron-gray hair she pulled back severely from her face into a tight bun. I’d never been so nervous in my life. Getting a job at The House of Ostarizo was every girl’s dream, at least I thought it would be. Depending on what a girl aimed for in life, it might not have been—but it was mine. Besides Kalem was to die for, and I wanted to be someone—to become as famous a designer as he was—if that was even possible. A girl could dream.

I continued to sketch, hoping to one day be noticed. Whether I’d ever get the chance to present my sketches to the most famous designer in the industry, God only knew. All I knew was when I’d seen the advertisement in the paper for office assistant, I had to try for it. The House of Ostarizo had hired me for the lousy office job I absolutely hated. Beggars can’t be choosers. I needed the money to survive and I’d continue dreaming while working in the environment I craved. I’d sketch until I ran out of imagination.

When I ran into Kalem, and I mean physically ran into him, I almost died. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I was flustered. My face heated up and must have gone a brilliant, vibrant red. My portfolio went flying, the content scattered all over the floor of the Ostarizo building’s lobby. Stupid me for not watching where I was going, texting, when I should have been alert.

“I’m so sorry. Excuse me, sir, let me just pick up my paperwork,” I said lamely while gazing up into his dark eyes. I was all fingers and clumsiness as I picked up the contents of my portfolio. I watched in consternation as he bent to help me. He paused and held a couple of my sketches in his hands, studying them briefly.

“These are very good. You work here?”

“Yes.” My answer came out soft and squeaky.

“I’d like to look at all of them. Make an appointment with my assistant. What’s your name?”

“Danea Fitzgerald.”

“I’ll see you soon, Danea,” he said.

I hurried to the elevators. Oh, my God! Unbelievable! I texted my best friend Shannon, and told her what happened. Call me, I typed. My cell dinged shortly after.