by Fiona Murphy
We are met at the limousine; the guy waiting introduces himself as James Smith, and the woman, Constance O’Neal. Once he starts talking, though, I tune him out, paying more attention to Anne. It doesn’t take long for me to want to kick the guy’s ass for the way he talks down to Anne.
By the time we make it into the building and are being shown into a corner office, I ignore the invitation to sit. Looking at the woman, “You can stay, he needs to go. I don’t like men who talk down to women. Especially when the woman is the only reason we are here.”
The woman’s eyes go wide, she’s quick to hide a smile as she walks the guy out the door. Turning around, her smile is full force. “I want to apologize to you both for Mr. Smith, he isn’t normally...”
“Such an asshole? Ms. O’Neal, this is about Anne. I do believe I made that clear when I called. Anne is interested in finding a new career and what further education she might need to make it happen. I’m simply here for support.”
“I understand, please call me Connie. Mr. Dexter, Ms. Thomas, before we begin can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’d like coffee please and call me, Anne.”
“Coffee sounds good.” I agree, before sitting down on the loveseat beside Anne.
She presses a button on the phone and asks for coffee for three, and for the half and half I tell her Anne needs.
“All right, Anne, tell me a little about yourself. About your likes and dislikes any hobbies in general.”
“Well, I guess my main hobby is reading. I like all kinds of genres, including memoirs and history. Because I didn’t have a traditional education, I like learning through reading. I like to travel and take pictures. I’m really enjoying taking pictures right now.”
A young woman brings in coffee with a shy smile. Anne makes me a cup of coffee the way I like it. I sit back, content to listen to Anne’s voice, which I always find soothing.
“What was it about accounting that you didn’t enjoy? Was there something about the company, expectations, or anything not having to do with the work itself you didn’t like?”
Anne tilts her head as she considers the question. I enjoy looking at her profile as she does. “It’s kind of weird, I did like the routine at first, the—I don’t know security of knowing what to expect every day. Then, as time went on, I was bored rigid. I also hated how careful, and focused to detail you had to be for every single number entered. There were days I would blink and feel immense stress over making sure everything was perfect.
“The workplace itself was boring all the time. All these men who treated the women there as if they were the help. Men ran the meetings, even if the person in charge was supposed to be the lone woman in an executive position, I hated it. At first, it was nice to have a place to go every day, and my own desk, but after a while the monotony was depressing. I’m not a morning person and usually the first few hours of the day were just spent waking up enough to focus.”
“Is there anything you have already considered as a second career?”
“Grant has suggested photography, but I don’t know how feasible it is to make a living as a photographer. I’m just taking pictures with a camera I didn’t even buy. I just found it and liked it and it’s fun.”
“It sounds like it’s important your career makes you a comfortable living.”
Anne nods slowly, “Yes, it is. That’s why I’m here. I want to pick the right thing. A career I can be happy with long term.”
“Before we tour the campus I’d like you to take a test I think might help me in getting a clear picture of you. It’s a condensed version of the Myers-Briggs test, a very popular personality test given by many large companies. You might even have taken it before, have you?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I didn’t think I would have to take tests this soon.” Her hands are clenched, she’s nervous. I take her hand in mine and give her a reassuring squeeze.
“Anne, please don’t think of it as a test. It’s simply to gauge your strengths and weaknesses to better help you pick the career you’ll want to be in long term. It won’t take long, why don’t I show Mr. Dexter around our office while you take them.”
I take the clipboard from Connie and look over the papers. I recognize the Myers-Briggs. “Sweetheart, this are perfectly normal. It won’t take long, I’ll stay.”
She takes the clipboard, her eyes are dove grey again with my reassurance. “It’s okay, I’ll be able to focus better if you aren’t staring.”
The way she lowers her voice when she says staring, has me laughing. I drop a kiss on her temple on my way out. She was right, I had my eyes on Anne’s breasts. It was her fault for wearing a pink blouse with a deep cleavage that against her pale skin, showed her round breasts to perfection. Following Connie out of the room I shake my head, to try focusing on what Connie is saying.
“Mr. Dexter, I will admit I’m confused. I was told before your visit Ms. Thomas is going to be attending in the fall, yet only moments ago you stated she is simply looking at options. Is she not interested in attending our university?”
“Anne doesn’t know what she wants to do, but if she needs to continue to her education to do it, I’m going to make sure she does it here. Whether it’s making sure she understands how much better Northwestern is over another school or funding whatever the university needs to ensure she’s admitted for the fall.”
“I have reviewed the transcript for Ms. Thomas you sent earlier today from her online degree. I’m sure you saw her GPA was excellent at 3.80 and almost all of the credits will transfer. Of course we will need to have them resent directly from their registrar’s office to ours, but it’s merely a formality. We will be happy to have her here at Northwestern. During our tour of the campus you can see where your money will be going, and choose where you believe it will best be spent.”
Glad to have her reassurance, I ask about Anne. “From what you’ve gathered, where do you see Anne fitting in best in the way of a potential career? You knew before you handed her the Meyers-Briggs.”
She nods. “I’ve been doing this long enough and it helps she is open and honest. She is a humanities student, with a creative personality who needs to feel appreciated for her work. Yet, she feels the need for structure, order, and a safe environment. Safe as in stability of the company and salary.
“I think she would be happiest in a career completely creative. As a long time reader she has the makings of a writer, however she has a passion for photography which was clear even as she tried to downplay it. I would suggest a career in photography.
“However, her personality is one where she could be happy with letting photography remain a hobby and teaching full time for the security it would bring. I am not recommending she teach at anything below a university level though. Anne would become frustrated and unfulfilled in an elementary or even secondary school environment.
“She would make a wonderful history or English professor. Although that career would take some time to develop, a PhD would be necessary, there would also be the issue that she will have to go where the job takes her. An open position for a professor doesn’t come along every year.
“Anne would likely find a position in a small town before finding and actually winning a position at a school here in Chicago, for instance. She would also find comfort in the serenity of a campus.”
Everything she says sounds right, describes the woman I know. It’s also the last thing I want to hear. Anne hiding away behind manicured lawns and ivy covered buildings sounded very much like something Anne would find appealing.
To me it sounds like my worst nightmare, because Anne is so much more. She has so much more living to do than sipping tea as she reads Chaucer by a fire. No, fuck that. “I don’t want Anne living a half-life. How do I make sure she succeeds doing what she wants to do, not what she has to?”
She had walked me to a smaller office, I had taken the seat she offered, which is much more comfortable than the loveseat in the other office. It throws me
when she stands and goes to close the door she had previously left open, before sitting back down. “If you want her to have the best chance to make a career in photography then I recommend Anne speaks with a former colleague of mine at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago,”
She hands me a card. “I never gave you that. Norman doesn’t hand out his card to just anyone. I also don’t give out cards for our students to look at another university.
“The Weinberg College here is where I feel completely comfortable encouraging undergraduate students to attend. The academia we provide is unparalleled and there are alumni who have gone on to great success. However, Anne already has the undergraduate degree. What she needs is complete focus on learning a craft, she’ll be better served there.”
The moment I take the card from her, she goes silent. Her face becoming a network of lines, every one of them showing regret. “What?”
“Mr. Dexter, you said this visit was about Ms. Thomas, about allowing her to discover what was best for her. I feel I must be honest with her and give her my recommendations. Perhaps I spoke too freely with you, as you are working to point her in one direction without giving her the freedom of choice. I also can’t help but ask is this about what is best for Ms. Thomas or what is best for you?”
“What’s best for Anne is best for me. I want her happy and fulfilled, not counting down the hours to the end of her day. She deserves better. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
All concern is gone as she smiles. “Ah, you love her. I apologize, it wasn’t clear before. It’s when you put her needs before your own you know for sure. Ms. Thomas should be done by now.” She’s at the door. I haven’t moved, frozen by her words. “Are you coming, Mr. Dexter?”
“In a minute, you go.” I’m not even sure how I managed to form the words when taking in a deep breath hurts. The words keep tumbling around the hollow of my chest, the hollow I only just realized I had. Because it’s true, somewhere between the first moment I laid eyes on Anne and now, she had stolen my heart right out of my chest. I’m trying to figure out when, how. Then I hear her laughter and none of the questions matter. I love her, completely, totally, without a doubt.
Standing, I don’t feel my legs under me. It doesn’t stop me from getting back to the room Anne is in. Her eyes go right to me when I walk in and they are filled with storm clouds. She’s upset, the small crease between her eyes appears. “What’s the matter?”
The door closes behind Connie as she leaves us alone. I make my move, needing to hold Anne, pulling her into my arms as I sit down beside her. For the first time she’s stiff in my arms, all my cool leaves me. Hand at her chin, I bring her back to look at me. “What the fuck is the matter?”
She jumps at my harsh words then, fuck me, her eyes shine with tears. I’m trying to take deep breaths to calm down before I open my mouth and scare her again when she speaks. “I wanted to find out for myself what to do. I wanted to figure it out on my own. But Connie says you’re already planning everything for me. This is my life, not yours.
“In almost nine months you still get to be a billionaire who can work at home or put on a fancy suit and go into the office. Between now and then I still have to figure out where I go from you. Me, not you, because I’m the one who has to keep going without you.”
Anne’s words hurt, each one cutting me deep. Just as I don’t think I can take anymore, her voice catches as she tries to finish what she’s saying. Then tears, her tears, fall on my hands. They are the only thing that keeps me calm. She’s just as shredded at the idea of us ending as I am. I’m also shaken to realize she doesn’t know she loves me.
I thought women were supposed to know first. Yet, it’s clear, she doesn’t. It’s not something she is trying to hide, she simply doesn’t know. But she does love me. I know she does, the same way I know I love her, down to my bones.
Running a hand through her hair, I pull her to me and she clings. As much as I want to tell her now, not wait another second, I know she’s not ready. For now, I have to be patient. As she said, we have nine months. By the end of them she’ll be mine, permanently, with the ring, the house in the suburbs, a baby if she wanted, all of it. Fuck, the mere idea of it has me squeezing her tighter.
All of those things I never thought I wanted fill me with exhilaration at the idea of having them with Anne. Calling Anne my wife, in a home, a home where I can go outside in the backyard and play with our kids with Anne watching over us. Anne whispers my name against the skin of my neck so lightly it’s barely a sound. Her whisper, filled with longing, is confirmation we will get there.
“I’m sorry,” My voice comes out hoarse and tight from fighting not to say everything I want to. “I shouldn’t have taken over. You’re right. I told you this is all about you. I meant it. I just don’t want you doing what you have to do. I want you to do what you really want to do. If there’s a way I can make sure you get everything you need to succeed, then I’m going to do it, for you.”
She doesn’t lift her head, she’s still hiding. “My life is not code you can punch out to make it what you want it to be. I get you’re used to getting your own way and taking control, it’s admittedly one of things that makes you appealing. But not this time, not on this. I need to come to my own conclusion. If, once I’ve made my decision and I need your help then I’ll ask for it. Agreed?”
Running a hand down her tense back, I swallow every argument. “Agreed. Are you ready to take a tour of the campus now?”
Fuck, her face is still covered in tears. Snapping out the pocket square I have never been so thankful to wear, I wipe her face clean, gently, slowly. Wanting to wipe away the pink in her cheeks and small pert nose. “I’m sorry for getting all, you know. I swear I’m not normally like this. You just have a way of making me...”
She trails off, her eyes down. I try to keep my voice soft as I ask. “What sweetheart? I make you, what?”
“Scared I’ll make you mad or annoyed and you’ll think I’m more trouble than I’m worth. I know you wanted peace and quiet during the day and only my body at night. Yet, here I am, forcing you to change things from how you wanted them to be. I’m sorry.”
The fear in her eyes is real. I’m ashamed the only place she knows she’s safe is in my bed, and no doubt she believes it’s only because of the pleasure I find in her body. Cupping her cheek, I press my lips lightly against hers. “I told you in the beginning, I’ve never done this before. Never had a sugar baby in this sense; although I guess I had and was just fooling myself by calling them girlfriends.
“When I heard about this, a relationship based on an agreement, a contract, I was filled with glee at the idea. Contracts are supposed to be cut and dried, to protect your interests, and make sure the other person keeps their word.
“But it wasn’t from the very beginning, for me. There was a woman before I met you, the first woman to catch my eye on the site. When I met her, she was everything she promised to be. Within an hour of meeting her she was on her knees sucking my cock like her profile said she was willing to do. There I was, getting what I thought I wanted, and all I wanted was to get out. I walked out her front door and never looked back.
“Then I found your profile. You were witty, funny, honest, and you told me what you needed and were willing to give, and respect was important. You weren’t wearing lace, or even makeup and I was already hooked.
“When you walked out of the building in that black lacy dress that showed more than it covered it was instant. I’d never wanted a woman as completely and totally as I wanted you. I didn’t want to do dinner because I wanted to get you home and fuck you before I found out something about you that would disappoint me, like before. I was sure the sex would be so good I wouldn’t care about anything I might find out later.
“But it was worse, we had dinner and I found out you were this amazing three dimensional woman with all these facets I didn’t just want to know more about, I needed to know. You told me you didn’t want to suck my cock. You
told me you preferred everything vanilla, which sounded like torture. I didn’t care. I wanted you any way I could get you.
“By the next day, even as I signed the contract I had drawn up, I knew nothing between us was going to be as cut and dry as a contract. Sweetheart, not only did I know that, I didn’t want us to be, not really. I tried, because you had signed the contract, too, and I wasn’t sure what you wanted.
“Then yesterday, there were we were standing in front of a masterpiece. I’m listening to you rant about what a pig Picasso was and how you think it’s the ugliest thing in the building. I remember I was supposed to have a conference call right around then. I didn’t even give it a second thought because I was standing exactly where I wanted to be, with you. That’s why I told you yesterday, from now on when you go out I will be with you. No one forces me to do anything I don’t want to do. I want to be with you.
“In the limo, when you told me about going out to the theater and the Cubs, I was upset because you had done them without me. I had missed out on your first Cubs game in Wrigley Park. I began to wonder how many other things I’d missed. Then I remembered you were only doing what we agreed to. I don’t want to hold to the agreement anymore.”
I stop talking as she looks at me, her eyes cloudy, I wonder if I’ve said too much. Hell, I have said too much because it takes a while before she says a word. When she does I want to strangle her, “Oh.”
That’s it, I had run my mouth like an idiot, and that’s all she has to say? “Oh.” I mimic her, fighting to keep my tone light. “Did I read you wrong, sweetheart? Was all that I said reassuring or...”
Hell, now I don’t know what to say as I stare down at her hands. They aren’t clenched the way she does when she’s nervous. I blink and her mouth is on mine, her hands in my hair pulling me down to her. Thank fucking god, she had been afraid to say what she was feeling because her kiss is full of longing and need. Feeling needy myself I let the kiss get out of control, until she’s straddling me moaning as she rides me.