The Cinderella Seduction: A Suddenly Cinderella Novel (Entangled Indulgence) (8 page)

Macie’s former magazine managing editor, Starr, and her hunky Florida-born fiancé, Matt, arrived just behind them. Once known for her fiery temper and curmudgeon ways, the pixie-like redhead looked entirely angelic wrapped up in her lover’s brawny arm.

In deference to her international guest, Stefanie had added Greek salad, cheese-and-leek pie, and baklava to the traditional Independence Day menu she’d made. Their party of ten began noshing at noon. Though she’d made more than enough food, Stefanie was hard-pressed to keep the platters filled.

Cornering Stefanie alone in the kitchen, Nick reached for the platters she’d collected. “Stop,” he said, reaching for them. “It is a holiday, is it not?”

Stefanie hesitated and then surrendered the stack. “It is, but I’m the caterer. And you’re a guest.”

Setting the plates on the counter, he shook his head. “No, today you are a generous friend who has made beautiful food to be enjoyed by, it seems, everyone but herself.” A dark brow lifted. “Have you even tasted this baklava?” He gestured to the tray set out on the counter.

Stefanie hesitated. It wasn’t as though she needed the extra calories, though she could hardly say so to him. “No I haven’t, but I make it all the time.”

“For others, yes. When was the last time you sat down with a sweet and an espresso and savored?”

Stefanie hesitated. She spent so much time tasting dishes in her kitchen as she was preparing them that she was rarely hungry—and just as rarely full. Sitting down to an actual meal, or even a snack, was a rarity. “I don’t know. A while, I guess.”

Nick reached around her to the counter, his pectoral brushing her breast, whether deliberately or accidentally Stefanie couldn’t say for certain. What she could say for certain was that it felt good—really good. Good enough to want more.

I am the seducer, not the seducee, I am the seducer, not the seducee…

No matter how many times she mentally repeated the mantra, she didn’t feel in complete control at the moment. She didn’t feel in control at all.

Eschewing the spatula, Nick stuck his hand in the pan and pulled off a gooey precut wedge.

“You know what you just did is sacrilege,” Stefanie said, fighting a smile.

Smiling back, he brought the dessert to her lips. “I am making the food gods very angry, I am sure, but I will risk it if you will. Open.”

The last time someone had fed her she’d probably been all of five. Stefanie hesitated and then opened. Gooey, honeyed heaven sweetened the inside of her mouth.

“Chew,” he ordered softly, bringing his face down to hers, and to her surprise once more, she obeyed.

A syrupy thumb slid across her bottom lip, raising a bevy of tingles. “It is good, yes?” His eyes locked on hers and suddenly she wasn’t at all sure he referred to the pastry.

Fighting the urge to suck at his digit, Stefanie swallowed—hard. “It’s delicious.”

Nick stepped back, eyes dark and dancing. “Yes, Stefanie, it is. Now come upstairs and join the party. Your friends are missing you. I am missing you.”

“But I—”

“No buts.” He held out his hand, the same hand he’d used to feed her. “There is a time for staying behind-the-scenes, for hiding out in the kitchen, and this is not it.”

By nine o’ clock, most of the platters were scraped clean. At nine fifteen the fireworks began. Standing beside Nick as the sky exploded into a kaleidoscope of glittering, multicolored constellations, Stefanie reflected that it had been a surprisingly good day. Though she wasn’t sure what the interlude in the kitchen had meant, or not meant, she’d enjoyed it—a lot. As great as Nick was one-on-one, he was also a fun addition to their group. Although she’d been nervous about bringing him into a party of strangers, especially one comprised entirely of couples, he hadn’t seemed to mind. Affable and charming, he’d won over everyone, including…Stefanie.

Emboldened by the semidarkness, she stole a sideways glance at him, his profiled face reflecting rapt attention. Staring skyward, his kiss-worthy lips were ever so slightly parted, his one hand resting idly on Mara’s shoulder. Recalling the sensation of his big thumb stroking across her mouth, she shivered despite the muggy night.

The final salvo faded to smoke. Sighs and claps drifted on the balmy air. Flipping the overhead light back on, Macie rallied the group. “Let’s move the party inside. This humidity is killing me, not to mention frizzing my hair.”

Ross chuckled. “If you think this is hot, try Texas in the summer.” He reached into the cooler. “Who’s up for another beer?”

Matt shook his head. “No thanks. I’m driving us back to the hotel.” Walking up to the rail, he peered over the side to the bumper-to-bumper traffic blocking New Hampshire Avenue. “Will you look at that gridlock?”

“Yeah, it’ll be bad for a few hours yet,” Ross agreed, passing out sodas and beers.

Greg reached for a Heineken. “Since Francesca and I are bunking here for the night, I’ll have one more.”

Popping the cap on a Coors, Ross turned toward Nick. “What about you?”

“Thank you but I am driving as well,” Nick answered. Gaze flickering over to Stefanie, he slanted a slow smile that sent her heart somersaulting.

Aware of Macie watching her, she picked up a platter upon which one lonely deviled egg rested. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Ross took a swig of his beer. “We’ll join you ladies in a few.”

Samantha took Mara by the hand and led her toward the stairwell. “Come on, Mara. We can watch the replay of the fireworks on TV.”

“Cool,” Mara answered, using slang she’d learned that day.

Back in the apartment, Stefanie and Macie commandeered kitchen cleanup while Starr and Francesca plopped down at the breakfast bar to wrap up the remaining leftovers. It was the first time they’d been apart from the men all day, and Stefanie could feel the collective curiosity cresting toward combustion.

Francesca looked up from the barbecued beef ribs she’d been foiling. “Samantha, darling, weren’t you about to show Mara your room?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Don’t anyone wet their pants. We’re going.” Looking down at Mara, she added, “This is what’s known as making yourself scarce.”

They waited for the confirming
click
of the bedroom door and then started in. “Oh…my…God,” Macie proclaimed in a high hush. “He really does look like a young John Stamos only…hotter if that’s even possible.” She turned to Stefanie and lifted her hand in a high-five.

“In his Dr. Tony Gates days,” Starr amended. “I couldn’t handle the Uncle Jesse mullet.”

Expression pensive, Francesca added, “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I met him in Milan during Fashion Week a few years ago.”

Stefanie bit back a groan. “Let me guess, he was trolling for models?”

Francesca hesitated, and then admitted, “He had a…friend with him—two friends, actually.” She leaned in and whispered their names, one an international porn star, the other the twentysomething daughter of a former European president. “But I’m sure that’s all water under the bridge. He certainly seems very…attentive to you.”

Stefanie felt herself flush. “I’m his hostess. I’m sure it’s nothing more than good manners on his part.” Thinking back to their earlier food flirting, she hoped that wasn’t true, at least not totally. It seemed that her seduction plan might finally be gathering steam. But she needed to proceed with caution. Neither she nor Olympia could afford a replay of the Pete situation—and she was a lot more attracted to Nick than she’d ever been to her nefarious fiancé.

Francesca turned to Starr. “When I heard you and Matt would be coming down for the Fourth as well, I packed your Saks shoes with the intention of returning them, but it occurs to me that Stefanie might be in a position to put them to use.”

Starr’s aquamarine eyes lit. “You brought the Cinderella slippers with you? Excellent!”

Confused, Stefanie echoed, “Cinderella slippers?”

Starr nodded. “That’s what we call them, but really they’re vintage red-velvet heels from the thirties.”

“Originally owned by Maddie Mulligan, the silent film star,” Macie added, closing the refrigerator on the last of the leftovers. “They were a gift from Franc before I left New York for DC,” she added. The celebrity stylist turned reality TV host was filming in LA and hadn’t been able to get back for the holiday.

Starr spoke up, “And I got them as a Christmas birthday present from Macie. Best Christmas and birthday of my life,” she added, her twinkling eyes leaving no doubt.

“I got them on loan from Starr at Valentine’s after I broke it off with Evil Freddie,” Francesca explained, referring to the sous chef she’d kicked to the curb the previous winter. “I wore them to the final taping of
Project Cinderella
but Franc, the sly fox, never let on he’d found them in the first place.”

Stefanie waited for a lull before asking, “What’s so special about these shoes?” Her friends were an exceedingly well-shod bunch. Macie easily owned close to a hundred pairs, including multiple Manolos and Jimmy Choos.

“Legend has it the shoes bring luck in love to whoever wears them,” Macie explained with a straight face. “According to Maddie’s memoir, the shoes prompted her confirmed bachelor beau, Carlos Banks, to propose. Each of us has a similar story related to wearing them.”

Starr grinned. “Yep, you’re looking at three Happily Ever After testimonials.”

Stefanie couldn’t credit how three such smart, logical women could flip out over
shoes
. “That’s…crazy.”

Macie shrugged. “Any crazier than a feminist New Yorker finding her Happily Ever After with a conservative Texan? Maybe crazy has a time and place.”

Looking around the room, Francesca said, “We’re either dreadful regifters or members of a potent female sisterhood that passes about shoes in lieu of pants. Regardless, it seems to me it’s Stefanie’s turn.”

“But you’re all skinny girls,” Stefanie protested. “I’m a big girl with big feet, plus they’re probably swollen from the heat.”

“That’s the great thing about these shoes; they seem to fit everyone,” Macie countered.

“Like magic!” Starr exclaimed, eyes dancing.

Standing, Francesca sent Starr a quelling look. “The leather is exceedingly supple,” she added in a more measured tone. “I’ll just go fetch them from my luggage,” she added, heading to cut through the great room.

She returned with an antique inlaid wooden box and gave the box to Francesca, who passed it to Starr, who passed it to Macie.

Smile encouraging, Macie held it out to Stefanie. “Go for it, girlfriend.”

Wondering what the big deal was, Stefanie reached for the box. “Okay, but remember when I split the stitching that I warned you,” she added, lifting the hinged lid.

Two red-velvet-covered sling backs lay nestled against the satin-lined box. Canary-colored rhinestones winked up at her from the straps and vamps. The shoes were worthy of a Hollywood starlet—or a fairy-tale princess.

“Do you like them?” Macie asked, moving in for a closer look.

Stefanie could only nod, her gaze glued to the shoes. Despite being seventy-five or so years old, they were in amazing condition—no distinct signs of damage beyond one missing stud.

Gingerly she picked one up. It was as tiny as she’d feared. “These must be a size six.” A peek inside one shoe confirmed it.

“American sizing was very different back then,” Francesca said encouragingly.

Small was small no matter what the official label. Willing her size eight feet to shrink, she slipped off her right sandal and slid her foot into the plush velvet. Looking up at her anxiously awaiting friends, she admitted, “It’s a perfect fit. How is that even possible?”

“Magic,” Starr persisted without apology, handing her the mate.

Stefanie put it on as well.

A grin wreathed Macie’s face. “Get up and take a victory lap.”

Stefanie scooted off the stool and stood. At five foot ten, wearing heels always made her feel even more ungainly, but standing among her friends, she felt elegant and statuesque—magic indeed.

Hearing the men approaching from the hallway, they quieted. Grabbing the shoebox, Stefanie ducked behind the breakfast bar rather than being caught playing dress up.

The apartment door opened. The men entered.

Nick’s gaze circled the room before coming to rest on Stefanie. Eyes lighting, he announced, “I sense a secret.”

“You ladies look positively conspiratorial,” Ross concurred, walking up to them.

“They do,” Greg agreed, heading for Francesca as though they’d spent days apart.

Matt followed. “I know that look,” he said, tipping up Starr’s chin, “and it almost always spells trouble.”

Ross laid a hand on either of Macie’s slender shoulders. “Spill it, sweetheart. What’d we miss?”

Macie planted a peck on her husband’s square jaw and stepped back. “Not a thing, baby.”

The casual PDA brought a blush burning Stefanie’s cheeks. What would it be like to touch and be touched that way by Nick, in public as well as in private? She sent a sideways glance his way and was surprised—and pleased—to find him watching her, his gaze inscrutable and yet undeniably intense, even…burning, as though he wanted her.

A warm shiver shot through her. Surrounded though they were, she suddenly felt as if they were the only two in the room—alone and awash in a sea of pheromones. But then softening him up, seducing him—albeit stopping short of sex—was her self-appointed mission for the following few days. The romantic shoes she’d just been handed were another prop for setting the scene, a reminder that she didn’t have time to waste.

She discreetly slipped off the heels, returned them to the box, and crossed to the front of the counter. “It’s pumpkin time for me,” she said, patting away a broad, fake yawn. If nothing else, being gifted with the shoes had reminded her of her seduction mission. Looking over at Nick, she slipped on a smile. “If you’re ready to brave the holiday traffic, we should probably start packing up. Besides, I still owe you a story.”

Chapter Five

“Thanks for coming out,” Stefanie said from behind her kitchen counter as Nick carried in the last of what he’d begun thinking of as her “food luggage.” “I hope you weren’t bored.”

“Not at all,” he said sincerely, setting the stack of thermal sleeves on the granite top and trying not to think about all the ways that sturdy surface might be employed in making love to Stefanie. Ever since the night of the welcome dinner, he’d been plagued by the mental picture of her perched atop it, naked except for her flowing hair. Forcing the fantasy to the back of his mind, he added, “Your friends are delightful. I know Mara enjoyed herself as well.”

“Sam and I played
Angry Birds
and I even won once!” Mara piped up from her place on the floor. Using the cooler as a makeshift picnic table, she and Raggedy Ann were having a pretend Fourth of July picnic with the plasticware Stefanie had given her.

“That’s great, sweetie,” Stefanie said, pausing from putting away the unused dishes to flash a smile. “I’m so glad you had a good day.”

Her pretty hair, which she’d pinned up in deference to the heat, was once more tumbling down. The urge to reach across and sink his fingers into the silky tresses struck him and not for the first time. All day he’d found himself fighting excuses to touch her. Keeping his hands otherwise occupied by helping with carrying and cleanup was his best defense—that and Mara. It was a good thing he had her with him; otherwise he wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t weaken.

Still he found himself searching for an excuse to prolong the evening. “I’m afraid I must hold you to your earlier promise.”

Stefanie’s head shot up from the padded dishes pack she unloaded. Stiffening, she asked, “My…promise?”

She must assume he referred to the outstanding loan. For Nick, the reminder was the equivalent of wading into an icy lake. Feeling his good mood dip along with his libido, he hastened to clarify, “You still owe me a story.”

Shoulders relaxing, she said, “Oh, right, the huevos rancheros. Do you want the long or the short version?”

Despite it being beyond Mara’s bedtime, Nick wanted the long version that would provide him with an excuse to linger. Rather than say so, he shrugged. “I want whatever version you are most happy to share.”

She nibbled her lower lip, her habit when gathering her thoughts. “Okay, so, a year ago Macie was living in Manhattan and working as the features editor for
On Top
, a liberal women’s magazine. Ross had moved from Texas to DC to host this pretty conservative radio talk show. By accident, he came across a copy of the magazine in his daughter’s room, saw it opened to an article on teenage birth”— she glanced over at Mara— “on a subject he felt was too adult for her, and went absolutely ballistic.”

Ballistic? “He was very angry, yes?” And she was close enough to touch. Nick flattened his hands atop the counter and willed them to remain there.

“Oh yes,” she confirmed, rolling her beautiful brown eyes. “He broadcast this big rant about the magazine and the fallout almost got Macie fired. Anybody else would have hunkered down until it all blew over, but not Macie. She changed her looks, came to DC, and got herself the job as his live-in housekeeper so she could dig up any skeletons he might be hiding.”

“And did she find these…skeletons?” he asked, Incredulous and intriguing as the tale was proving to be, the charm lay in Stefanie’s vivid telling of it.

“Not…exactly,” she hedged and once again he suspected she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“That is a most intriguing story, but what does it have to do with…eggs?”

Again she bit her lip and regardless of the money and Mara in the room, it was a battle for Nick not to reach across, take her in his arms, and kiss her. “Macie didn’t—doesn’t—cook, so she got me to agree to bring in Good Enuf to Eat meals every day once Ross left for work.”

Sweet Stefanie, it seemed she was forever being compromised and imposed upon by the people she loved. “And you did this?”

Her chin lifted. As she had the other day during their debate over construction costs versus quality, she forgot her shyness and looked him squarely in the eye. “She’s my best friend.”

It was yet another example of her loyalty, the same loyalty she’d showed to her father the other day when she’d taken him on her selective tour of Acropolis Village. Misguided though her attempts to trick him might be, he couldn’t help but admire her motives, which seemed to be based in selfless love.

“She is most lucky to have you as hers.”

She shrugged off the compliment, her gaze veering away. “Lucky goes both ways. She recently helped me out big time with…something I needed to do. But to finish up my story, once she and Ross started falling for each other—which FYI took all of five minutes—she wanted to cook him something herself. Coming from Texas, he’s crazy about Tex-Mex food, huevos rancheros especially, so I walked her through how to make it. Now she cooks it for him and Samantha practically every morning. At this point, they must have guacamole coming out of their ears,” she added with a laugh.

Nick laughed, too. “You may not have vegetables coming out of your ears but you are about to lose an earring.” Now who was being less than truthful? The black pearl looked slightly loose but nowhere near separating from its post.

He’d half expected Stefanie to step back and fix it herself only she didn’t budge. Standing in place, she lifted her gaze to his. Looking up at him through her lashes, she moistened her lips. “I don’t have a mirror in here. Maybe you could help me?”

Nick didn’t answer beyond a nod. He lifted his hand from the counter and reached up. Tucking a strand of silky hair behind her ear wasn’t strictly necessary but he did it anyway. Stefanie’s breathing quickened or so it seemed to Nick. Glancing downward, he saw that one of her top blouse buttons had come undone. Dragging his gaze from the generous vista of creamy cleavage, he took her lobe between his thumb and forefinger and gently pushed the earring post in place.

“Thank you,” she said, still staring up at him, her gaze luminous, captivating.

Nick neither dropped his hand nor stepped back. “You are most welcome.” Tracing the juncture of her jaw with light fingers, he leaned in and guided her face to his.

Banging drew their attention down to the floor. Nick dropped his hand and jerked around. Unsupervised, Mara had a handful of fused ice cubes and was busy banging the block on Stefanie’s refinished floor.

“Mara, stop that!” Nick said, darting toward her.

Mara dropped the ice, face crumpling. “I was trying to make ice for the tea like we had today,” she said, shrinking away from him. Her small, trembling voice told him he’d overreacted.

“It’s okay,” Stefanie intervened, grabbing a roll of paper towels. “All kids are fascinated by ice. I know I was.”

Nick grabbed the roll and walked over to his daughter. Dropping down beside her, he said, “No, Mara, it is I who am sorry.”
It is I who am at fault.
“I shouldn’t have shouted.” He tore off a handful of paper sheets and began sponging up the water. Instead of taking out his adult frustrations on an innocent child, he ought to be thankful. Were it not for Mara’s timely interruption, he would have broken his own rule and blended his personal and business affairs in the most compromising of ways. The lovely day spent with Stefanie in the company of her friends, all happily coupled, had him wishing that they’d met socially, as simply a man and a woman, rather than as representatives of their families’ at-odds business interests.

Stefanie crossed to the front of the counter and joined them on the floor. She tore off more paper towels and erased the remaining water with one efficient swipe. “There. All dry, see? Like magic.” She wrapped Mara in a consoling one-armed hug.

Seeing his child rest her head trustingly against Stefanie, Nick felt as if an invisible fist closed over his heart, milking him of both blood and feeling. This woman was what his American friends called a “keeper.” If only her surname were any other than Stefanopoulos. If only she lived in Greece rather than America. If only he’d met her before any loan had been made. If only one of those caveats could be met, Nick would not hesitate. He would ask Stefanie out on a date. He would wine and dine and woo her and when the time was right, he would sweep her into his arms and carry her to his bed.

But circumstances being what they were, the most he could offer her was a fling. Even were he to go through with breaking his no-mixing-business-with-pleasure rule, Stefanie did not strike him as a fling sort of woman. She was what his mother and those of her generation referred to as a “good girl.” One did not take such a woman to bed and then leave her after a few brief days.

Which left them sitting facing one another on the kitchen floor, Mara wedged between them, a tiny but effective chaperone. Stefanie’s eyes edged over her to him. “Uh, by the way, my pop called earlier while we were still at Ross and Macie’s.”

The remark was yet another reminder that the debt dividing them was not going to magically dissolve. “You spoke to him?” he asked, raising his guard. She shook her head. “No, but he left a message asking me to pass on his apologies.”

He studied her flushed face and downcast eyes. She truly was a terrible liar. “Do his apologies include making a meeting date?”

Looking nearly as miserable as Mara had a moment ago, she shook her head. “He’s going to need another day or two before he’s uh…strong enough.”

“I see,” he said, half tempted to demand a doctor’s note.

The situation was as clear as the melting ice. The old man was still stalling, putting Stefanie in the unenviable position of acting as his apologist. Ordinarily Nick wouldn’t tolerate such transparent trickery. He didn’t plan to tolerate it, not indefinitely.

She sent him a tentative smile. “If you’re free tomorrow, I’d love to show you and Mara around the city.”

Nick hesitated. It was obvious she was working on behalf of her father to put him off. But two could play this game and the almost kiss in the kitchen had confirmed that the strong attraction he felt wasn’t in any way one-sided. Stefanie had wanted him to kiss her. Disavowing his player past didn’t mean he’d lost his touch. The weekend ahead should provide him with ample opportunities for pushing past her defenses to discover exactly where his money had gone. Realizing she still awaited his answer, he found his smile and nodded. “That would be delightful. I know Mara will love it,” he added, lest he seem overeager.

Her smile spread, lighting her wonderful eyes—eyes from which Nick found it difficult to look away. “Is there anything you think she’d particularly enjoy seeing?” she asked, glancing to Mara, whose head was drooping.

“Why not surprise us?” he suggested gamely, gathering Mara and Raggedy Ann into his arms and rising. Whether motivated by business or pleasure or both, keeping her out any longer would be unpardonable parenting.

Standing as well, Stefanie’s smile dazzled. “Great, then it’s a date.”

…

Saturday, July 5

“Can we see the elephants next? Can we, Papa?”

Nick smiled. “We can see whatever you wish, Mara, but let us complete the Asia Trail first. We still have the giant pandas to see.” He glanced over at Stefanie. “I only hope we are not wearing out our welcome—or our hostess.”

She shook her head. “Not at all,” she answered honestly. Even though the National Zoo was just a few minutes’ walk from Cleveland Park where she’d grown up, she hadn’t visited since she was a teenager. Seeing it again through Mara’s eyes was a total treat. As for Nick, spending time with him was akin to taking a magic carpet ride, the most fun she’d had in years. Warmhearted, generous, and hotter than flambé, he was a modern-day Prince Charming. Watching him with Mara, she felt her heart melting like chocolate simmering over a low flame.

The rest of her was melting as well. It was a typical DC summer day, in the mid-nineties, and soupy with humidity. Self-conscious about her thighs, which she’d always thought of as heavy, she refused to consider shorts. The pastel, cotton print sundress from Ann Taylor was a perfect compromise, the A-line skirt skimming her hips without bunching, or so she hoped. Fortunately the winding bamboo trail they presently followed provided shade as well as an impressive array of animals indigenous to Asia—otters, sloth bears, leopards, red pandas, and giant pandas.

She fanned a hand in front of her face. “I’m not sure if the Elephant House is air-conditioned, but it’ll be good to get out of the sun for a bit.”

“Of course, forgive me. In Crete we have the heat but it is dry. And my family’s house is on the Aegean, so there is always a breeze.”

Stefanie released a sigh, again regretting having relegated her dream vacation to “someday.” “It sounds beautiful.”

Ebony eyebrows lifted. “You have never been?”

“Not yet.”

He looked shocked. “But how can this be? Your family is Greek.
You
are Greek.”

Put like that, Stefanie had to admit her excuses sounded seriously lame. “My parents always planned for us to go together as a family. They wanted to wait until I’d be old enough to appreciate the trip. My dad was busy expanding the business and an overseas vacation kept getting put off to ‘some day.’ Then my mom got sick. After she…passed, we didn’t have the heart to go without her.” She left off adding that once Jacquie had entered the picture, Greece was set aside in favor of other destinations. “Once I started Good Enuf to Eat, I couldn’t afford to take off the time or spend the money.”

He nodded. “Most of the Americans I’ve met seem to live to work. We Greeks work to live. But tell me more about this…Good Enuf to Eat. How did you decide to start it?”

A man who expressed interest in her work—this was a novelty. Suddenly shy, she shifted her shoulders. “There’s not all that much to tell. I was in my senior year at Catholic U when I got the idea. Most of the professionals I encountered in DC, including academia, were always so stressed out about meal planning. Even those who’d committed to eating healthy couldn’t seem to make it happen, not with both spouses working long hours. At first the business was just a sideline, a weekend job to earn extra money, but then it started to really take off. By the time I graduated, I knew this was what I wanted to do full time.”