Love Locks. Cory Martin
took the tall drip from the barista at the kiosk on the corner of East Forty-Second into her leather-gloved hands. “Thanks, Mario,” she said as she dropped a dollar into the tip jar.
“You’re welcome,” Mario said. “It’s a pleasure to see you every morning.”
“You, too. See you tomorrow!”
Mario waved as she walked off into the bustling crowds. The lightly falling snow dusted the top of her head. She’d pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail, leaving her ears cold. Lindsey’s brisk pace kept the rest of her warm, though, as she trudged through the slush that had gathered along the sidewalks. Her tall boots and black trench coat were practical but also stylish, perfect for the quintessential New York businesswoman.
Lindsey was the founder and editor in chief of POV, a notable magazine. Though its circulation was small compared to the well-established art glossies, POV had found its niche and a strong following. She was proud of the periodical. Next to her daughter, it was her everything. Even if it wasn’t what she’d set out to do with her life, she felt that she’d managed to make a career out of her knowledge of art.
The office was already bustling with art directors, copy editors, and writers pulling together the latest issue. Standing desks with large computers were organized in rows. It was a sleek but creative environment.
“Morning, Lindsey,” her assistant said as Lindsey made her way through POV.
“Morning, Maggie.” Lindsey continued walking toward her office.
Maggie fell into step with her. She looked sharp as always in a suit with a red blouse that complimented her dark skin. “First cup of coffee?”
“Third. We set for the Valentine’s Day issue?” It was the beginning of January, and the magazine had to go to print in a few days.
“You just need to pick a cover.” Maggie held up her iPad and flipped through two different options. One was all red with simple graphics and the other showed a Cupid with a heart and arrow.
“Not the Cupid.” Lindsey hadn’t been a fan of Valentine’s Day for quite some time now, and the Cupid was too much. “The last thing I want to think about is a chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.”
“Such a romantic,” Maggie quipped. Lindsey laughed and refrained from making an even more cynical comment. Maybe Maggie still had a sense of naiveté when it came to love. Though Lindsey’s own idea of love as magic had gone, she didn’t want to ruin it for someone else. Especially Maggie, who’d been her rock the past couple years as the magazine had grown. If she still believed in romance, then Lindsey didn’t want to stop her. “Oh, speaking of romance,” Maggie said, “Trent Greer’s in your office.”
“What?” Trent Greer owned several of the biggest magazines in the world. He also happened to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. He was smart, successful, and good-looking. He’d never been married and had hit the perfect age of bachelorhood—forty-six. He’d established his career, owned a home—probably several—knew what he wanted, and simply needed the perfect woman to complement his lifestyle. Just about everyone knew who he was. “What does he want?”
“Who cares? He’s gorgeous.” Maggie handed Lindsey a document. Behind her glasses, her eyes narrowed. “Before you go in there, do something with your hair.”
Lindsey took a quick glance at her reflection in the glass. She was perfectly put together. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
Maggie shrugged. “You could try wearing it down sometime,” she said lightly.
“Don’t you have something to do?” Lindsey teased. Maggie laughed as she walked away.
I look fine, Lindsey thought. I’m going into an unexpected meeting with a peer, and I look completely acceptable.
Lindsey stepped into her office: a large, spare space with a huge window overlooking the city. Trent was dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, most likely bespoke, made specifically for his taut body. He stood tall and confident as Lindsey walked in.
“Trent, what a surprise.” Lindsey tried not to stare too long. She had seen him at gallery openings around the city, but they’d never conversed much nor been this close in person.
“I hope this is a good surprise,” he said with a flash of his perfect white teeth.
“It’s good.” Lindsey thought about the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in over a year, then quickly stopped herself. She was in her office, and Trent was probably there because of business.
“Good. Good.” An awkward pause hung between them. “I’m glad. I wanted to catch you before you left. Your assistant said you’re leaving for Paris with your daughter tomorrow.”
Her daughter, Alexa, was eighteen and had completed her first semester at the University of Connecticut. Saying goodbye to Alexa the past August had been hard. Lindsey hadn’t been alone in a long while. After Jack, she’d spent one year single, then met Dane. She’d been eager to believe she’d found love again, and before long, they’d gotten married. A year later, Alexa had been born. She and Dane had divorced when Alexa was two.
Alexa had lived with Lindsey most of the time, so the past four months of living alone in her Brooklyn loft had been an adjustment, to say the least. Now Alexa was going to study in France. Although the art program at UConn was one of the best in the state, it wasn’t the same as the Sorbonne. That’s why Alexa had applied to the same exchange program Lindsey had gone on. Though Lindsey was dreading taking her daughter to Paris, she was also happy for her.
“Did my assistant also tell you what I ate for breakfast?” Lindsey asked, teasing.
“French toast?” Trent responded. They both laughed. It was a moment Lindsey hadn’t had in a while. She imagined suggesting to him that they meet for breakfast sometime, or dinner… but no. He wasn’t here for romance.
“I can’t believe you’re old enough to have a daughter old enough to be in college,” Trent said.
“Well, I am old enough to know when someone’s buttering me up,” Lindsey quipped.
“All right, here it is. I’d like to take you out.”
Lindsey paused. Her thoughts of dating him were just fantasy, the kind people had about George Clooney or Brad Pitt. The what-if thoughts that are never supposed to come true. “Oh,” she said.
“And I’d like to buy your magazine.”
Now things were starting to make a little more sense. This wasn’t really about her—it was about her business.
“Oh,” she said again.
Trent looked perplexed. “Is that a yes/yes, no/yes, or yes/no?”
Lindsey paused. Now she was the one confused. “Yes. And no. I don’t know.”
Trent smiled and straightened his tie. “You’ve done an incredible job with POV. It’s unique and you’ve done it yourself on a limited budget. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”
“You have?” She knew he knew her name, but other than that, it was odd that he’d done his research. She understood now what was happening. Him asking her out wasn’t about her single status, it was about her magazine’s status. “I’m flattered.”
“You should be. You’ve done amazing things with POV. But here’s the thing—your readership’s maxed out.”
Now Lindsey could feel herself getting defensive. She had poured everything into POV. Though she’d wanted more kids, things hadn’t worked out that way, and her magazine had become her second child. When she and Dane had divorced three years into their marriage, she’d quit painting altogether. At that point, it had become a luxury. It was no longer a passion that she hoped would turn into a career. Hope didn’t pay the bills, and neither did her art.
Lindsey had gone to work consulting