Free Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista by Aven Ellis Page A

Citrus. You could do something like a relaxation kit for evening, to help you sleep. We can have all these things in here, but more,” I say, my creativity springing to life. “Lavender-scented towelettes to clean your face. Temple balm to help you sleep. In the morning you could offer citrus-scented balm to rev-up. And grapefruit hand cream . . . stuff like that.”
    Craig continues to watch me. “What else?”
    I nervously finger the kit in front of me. “This kit . . . it seems boring. What about putting the items in reusable wicker baskets? Lined with waffle-weave fabric that is actually a take-home amenities bag? Isn’t that more the image we want?”
    Craig nods gravely. “Anyone care to comment?”
    I hold my breath. Why do I feel as though Craig has put me up in front of a firing squad?
    “I don’t think people will care if they have lavender hand cream,” Rebecca says firmly, shaking her shellacked black hair. “And some people don’t like scented items.”
    “Good point,” Creepy Spence concurs.
    I resist the urge to pick up a Danish and throw it across the table at Creepy Spence. Does he have an original thought in his head? Or does he just parrot Rebecca on everything?
    “It would be extra work for provisioning to load kits for evening and morning,” someone else says. “And more work for the crew to distribute the same essentials twice.”
    “And what about the baskets? Now you have to store them in flight, and retrieve them after they have been distributed.”
    My face begins to grow hot as one by one, people dismiss my idea. Eventually we move back to the topic of spa cuisine, and Eileen is discussing how we could create new menu cards, but I’m still mortified that I shared my idea in the first place. Why did I even bother? What do I know about the airline industry, anyway?
    Regardless, it really doesn’t matter. I’m just working here to pay the bills, so why do I care if my idea gets shot down?
    But I do care , a little voice inside of me cries, much to my surprise. I wanted them to like my idea. I wanted to help create the spa experience on Premier Airlines.
    I remain silent during the rest of the meeting, still stung by the fact that my idea was so quickly shot down. Hours later, we finally break for lunch. After everyone leaves, I go to the kitchenette next to the conference room to begin the cleanup. I’m putting plates into the dishwasher when Deke clears his throat.
    “Avery?”
    I turn and find that he’s standing next to me, without a camera. His blue green-eyes are staring intently into mine.
    “What do you think of your idea?” he asks quietly, leaning against the cabinets. “In your gut?”
    “Oh, why do you care?” I ask, frustrated. I force a coffee mug to fit into a nearly full top rack. “You’re not even here, remember?”
    “Forget that. What do you think of your idea?”
    For some reason I can’t explain, I tell him the truth. “I thought it was good,” I admit softly. “We could partner with a luxury spa for the products. We could include their brochures in the baskets. And it should be baskets, because it’s classy, like Premier Airlines. It’s what comes to my mind when I picture spa-like traveling . . .” My voice trails off, as the idea will never see the light of day anyway.
    “I think your idea is a good one,” he says softly. “I travel a lot, and I know I would like the amenities you mentioned.”
    I stare at him, completely stunned. “You would?”
    “Yeah. So what are you going to do about it?”
    “What am I going to do about it? What can I do about it? It was shot down.”
    “Avery, I just watched you talk about it. You’re inspired . It’s the first time I’ve seen you having fun at work. You can’t let this idea go now, you can’t.”
    My brain is reeling in shock from his words. He’s talking to me like a person instead of a subject. And Deke actually thinks my idea is good . He even noticed I was inspired.
    “I’d research