Battle of the Sexes

by Adriana Locke

  An unsettled energy begins to form in my gut and I try to shake it off. “You do realize I’m the most senior-level person right now, don’t you?”

  “For the time being.” The only give away something is bothering her is the way her fingers grasp and re-grasp the hem of her skirt. It’s a tell most people wouldn’t notice, but I do. She used to do that with the zipper of her jacket when we were kids.

  My feet sweep off my desktop and I sit upright, facing her. Her eyes show a bit of wariness as I set my sights on her. “Can I ask you something, Amity?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I haven’t seen you in over a decade, yet you’re absolutely certain you can’t stand the sight of me. Why is that?”

  She forces a swallow. “There are so many reasons, Carver, and so little time.”

  “That’s a cop-out.”

  She shrugs.

  “I realize your feelings about this company may be similar to mine. It makes sense. Your last name is on the outside of the building, same as mine,” I say, getting comfortable in my seat. “Don’t you realize that while you’ve been gallivanting all over California, it’s me that’s been here busting my ass so—”

  “Gallivanting all over California?” she repeats, lunging forward. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “And you have no idea what you’re talking about when you saunter in here acting like you know me. You don’t know me, Amity, any more than I know you.”

  “You don’t know me because I’m not the same person I was when we were in school together,” she blazes. “You are the same narcissist—”

  “Hold the fuck on,” I say, shaking my head. “Back up, sweetheart.”

  “Sweetheart? You better check yourself, Carver,” she mutters through clenched teeth.

  There’s a warning buried not so deep in her tone, a caution thrown my way.

  “I understand you want to believe everything your daddy has told you, but you haven’t been here over the past few years. I have.”

  “For one, the basis of my disdain for you isn’t rooted in anything my daddy had to tell me,” she growls. “Secondly, while you were here three-hour lunching with Marcus and Shepler, I’ve been in California slaving away at eighteen-hour days at Brower’s, making a name for myself. Preparing myself. Not riding anyone’s coat tails.”

  “Are you implying something?”

  She shrugs. “If the shoe fits …”

  “Oh, to hell with this,” I say, shoving a pen across my desk. I can feel my temple start to pulse. “I’ve tried to play nice with you, tried to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  Her high-pitched laugh pierces the air. “Playing nice. Is that what you call looking at me like you want to rip my clothes off? Should I be honored that the Carver Jones gave me that much attention?”

  “Honored? No,” I shoot back. “But did you ever think about just taking a compliment? For fuck’s sake, Amity.”

  “I don’t want your compliments. I don’t need them. I want to be treated like every other male peer.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure to keep our conversations devoid of anything that could be construed as complimentary,” I scoff.

  My shoulders ache, weighted with the frustration of dealing with this maddening woman. I shrug off my jacket, throwing it over the back of my chair, as I try to keep myself from spewing all kinds of things like I would if it were anyone else sitting across from me. Because even though it shouldn’t make a difference—and I wish it didn’t—the fact that it is Amity does fucking matter.

  I work my neck around, breathing a little easier as the tension eases a bit. When I look up, her cheeks are the color of her lipstick. She forces a swallow as my tongue darts out and drags across my bottom lip.

  Game. On.

  I saunter around my desk and position myself directly in front of her. Leaning back against the wood, I grip the edge with both hands. “I also want treated just like any other peer,” I say, my voice low.

  “What do you mean?”

  There’s an edge to her voice, a breathy undernote that has me fighting not to chuckle.

  “I mean that if you expect me to not notice the way the light hits the side of your face and makes your eyes light up like the ocean or the way your side dips into a soft curve rounding out your hip …” My voice trails off as I watch her lips part. “If that’s what you want, I’m going to ask that you not look at me like that.”

  “Like what?

  Bending forward so that our faces are mere inches from one another, I grin. “Like you want my cock.”

  That’s enough to bring her back to life. The fire is lit again and she springs to her feet, nearly knocking me backwards.

  “It’s such a shame our business is partially in the hands of a juvenile,” she bites out.

  My laughter only incenses her more. “You always wanted me.”

  “You are so full of shit, Carver.”

  “Think back,” I taunt, taking a half-step towards her. Even in her heels, she’s a couple of inches shorter than I am, and I have to bend slightly to get to eye level. “I remember the way your breathing sounded as I leaned in and brushed our lips together.”

  She knows what I’m about to say. That’s why her chest is rising and falling much the same way it did that summer night.

  “I distinctly remember the way you sucked in a little breath when my knuckles brushed across the tops of your thighs,” I say, watching her pupils dilate. “You grabbed my biceps, digging your fingernails that you had just painted a pale yellow into my skin as you looked at me, practically begging me to touch you.”

  My cock swells, aching as it stretches against the fabric of my boxer briefs. I’m close enough now that I can pick up the scent of jasmine mixed with a warm vanilla, two fragrances that make it hard for me to breathe.

  To think.

  To stay composed.

  I step a bit closer and watch her lift her chin in response.

  “I wanted to touch you so bad that night. I knew you were wet for me … just like I bet you are right now,” I whisper.

  “Want to know something?” she breathes.

  “What?”

  “You’re right. I’m so fucking wet right now that if I had panties on, they’d be soaked.”

  I start to reach for her before she laughs and turns towards the door. “I’ve never properly thanked you for that,” she calls out over her shoulder.

  “For what?”

  “For taking that dare.” One hand on the knob, she pauses and turns to look at me once more. “That experience taught me to never trust anyone.”

  I pull in a breath, my brain now foggy as I see a flicker of pain in her eyes.

  “Have fun with that,” she calls behind her as her heels click against the tile.

  “With what?”

  “That raging hard-on you have right now. I’ll close the door behind me so you don’t have to waste time doing it, you gentleman, you,” she winks.

  “You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  With a smile that I won’t soon forget, she disappears into the hallway.

  Six

  Amity

  * * *

  The bubbles come all the way up to my chin.

  The water is almost too hot, the water nearly too fragrant from my heavy hand with the bubble bath. It’s borderline uncomfortable, but in retrospect, maybe that’s what I was trying to do.

  Relaxing eases the muscles and the mind, allowing you to sort through your day. I’ve tried desperately to avoid doing just that since I got home a few hours ago.

  I’ve cleaned the fish tank. Changed my sheets. Attempted to fold a fitted sheet which was a good distraction for a full twenty minutes before I said screw it and shoved it back in the dryer and turned it back on. There’s nothing else to distract me.

  Lifting my leg, the water trickles from the tips of my navy-blue painted toes, down my calf, and pools into the waterline at my thigh. That’s all it takes to remember Car
ver’s throwback story and cause the knot in my stomach to twist around once more.

  Those seven minutes in the closet were my first encounter with a boy and my only one for a very long time.

  The get-together at Carver’s was to celebrate the start of summer. It started pouring down rain and we were relegated to staying indoors. I was sitting on a window-seat looking over Central Park when I realized the others weren’t talking. When I looked back, they were all looking at me.

  “The bottle landed on you, Am,” Carver said. He didn’t look thrilled, but he didn’t point out that I wasn’t playing and didn’t try to re-spin the bottle. “Ready?”

  “Oh, go on,” I sputtered, my heart racing so hard I thought I might pass out. “I’m not playing.”

  I tried to play it off like I didn’t care, like it was a stupid game and I was above that. That’s how I played off most things. These kids were my friends because our parents were; I knew that. But if that weren’t true, the athletes and future Prom queens sitting around me wouldn’t be caught dead in a room with a brace-face, chess geek like me.

  “It landed on you,” Carver insisted. “Let’s go.”

  I press my head against the towel behind me and close my eyes.

  I begged my mom to let me transfer schools to the other side of the city the next school year. After a summer of nagging, she finally relented. Calling in a few favors, I was admitted to an all-girl’s private school for the rest of my high school career.

  Of course, I ran into Carver and the others every now and then, but I kept it to a bare minimum. I always felt inferior to them anyway. Knowing they considered me nothing more than a game piece to them was more than I could tolerate. It was the gasoline that sparked my intense desire to become someone … on my own.

  “You’re going down, Carver Jones.”

  Just saying his name aloud while I’m wet and naked causes my stomach to tighten. As his face, dotted with that lewd grin of his, flashes through my mind, my hand drops under the waterline.

  “I’m just a red-blooded female,” I say, repeating Hallie’s words from earlier. “This isn’t my fault.”

  My hand slides down my torso, my skin slick from the suds.

  “This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so fine,” I groan, listening to the water lap against the edges of the claw-foot tub. “Why couldn’t he look more like his father with his round belly and receding hairline and less like a cover model?”

  Even giving into the fantasy Carver, the one that doesn’t open his mouth other than to place it firmly between my legs, feels like I’m selling out to the dark side.

  The throb grows harder, more unbearable, as I try to talk myself out of coming to the image of him. Just as I think I have it under control, his decadent smirk jolts through my memory.

  “Screw it,” I say, throwing my head back and finding some relief.

  Carver

  * * *

  Looking out over Central Park, I take a sip of my martini—my second martini, actually. I hoped it would smooth out the raw edges of my nerves. It hasn’t.

  I’ve been on pins and needles since Salvo’s stupid announcement that Amity and I would compete for the position. It seems like such disrespect to my dedication and love for the company. I’m a little, or a lot, incredulous that Salvo didn’t think enough of me to forgo this time waster and let me get to work.

  I wonder vaguely if my father has bothered to call and give his two cents. The familial part of me hopes so, that he would ring up Salvo and put his sway behind his son. The logical part of me knows he didn’t.

  John Jones loves me. This I know. My mom tells me so.

  But if she didn’t, I’m not sure I would.

  Taking another sip, I watch the lights blink across the expanse of the park. This is my routine, my nightly “Welcome home” on the nights I do come home and don’t stay at the office on my sofa.

  There’s nothing here that feels like coming home. And so many nights I stay and work so late that by the time I’d get here and get to sleep, I’d just have to get up and go back again.

  I could’ve handled battling anyone for the CEO position; I loathe that it’s Amity.

  I’ve kept up with her through her parents over the years, hearing all about her adventures on the West Coast. She rocked business school, took over the first company she worked for easily, and even traveled to France for some baking seminar where she was offered a place at an elite institution. She turned it down.

  Hearing Dennis talk about his daughter has always made me a little envious. He’s so proud of her, rightfully so. And if I admit it, I’m a little jealous she did it outside her father’s shadow.

  Her face is as vivid in my mind as if she were standing right here in the middle of my living room. Her high cheekbones and long eyelashes are clear as a bell. Seeing her was like visiting a part of my past that I’d forgotten. Not that I’d forgotten about her, because I haven’t.

  I’ve always had an affinity for Amity. We spent so much time together when we were younger that she was almost like a sister to me. I was cool with that. It was easy. It stopped being easy the older we got. Not because she was the group geek. I kind of liked that. But because the older she got, the more beguiling she became.

  More intelligent.

  Harder to see as my pseudo-little sister at all.

  She was the black sheep of our inner circle, the studious, serious one you could actually talk to about something more than gossip. We’d talk late into the night while our parents hung out, discussing our futures and the books she was reading. She never looked at me like the other girls or giggled when I said something that wasn’t funny. She called me out on my bullshit and that was refreshing.

  “I shouldn’t have taken that dare,” I say, my lips hovering over the rim of the tumbler. “Where would we be had I not?”

  The liquid goes down smooth, failing to release the kink in my gut. I hear her giggle as I set the glass down on a tray by the window, and without a second thought, my cock hardens. Before I know it, the tip is poking out the top of my briefs.

  “You know what?” I say, palming my length. “Fuck you, Amity Gallum. Fuck. You.”

  Seven

  Amity

  * * *

  “No, it’s going great,” I say, flagging down a cab. “Can you hold on, please?”

  Pulling the phone away from my ear, I give the driver the address to the bar I’m supposed to meet Hallie at in five minutes. I could’ve walked there, but who wants to do that in heels?

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m back.”

  “Salvo said things are going well. He said he met with you today?”

  “Yes. We had a pleasant conversation about the Board’s vision for the future. It honestly wasn’t anything you and I haven’t discussed before.”

  “That great, Amity. How’s it going with Carver?”

  “Ha!” I grab the door as the cabbie takes a crazy right-hand turn. “It’s going. He’s as arrogant as ever.”

  Dad chuckles through the line. “He’s a smart little shit and he has some good ideas. He just gets a little too wild sometimes.”

  “I can see that,” I say with a grin.

  “Take it easy on him,” he laughs. “He means well and there’s a brilliance buried in there. I’ve seen it. When he comes into his own, he’ll be a force to be reckoned with. Remember that.”

  “I’m pulling up to my destination, Daddy. Are you and Mother leaving the port today?”

  I hand the driver the money plus a tip and listen to my father tell me how they’re meeting with Carver’s parents and will be at sea starting in the morning.

  “Do you need any information for your presentation?” he asks as I exit the cab.

  “I don’t believe so. I know exactly what I want to put forward as my vision for the future of the company,” I tell him. “I was working on it today and feel really good about it.”

  “Perfect. I’m so proud of you, Amity.”

  We exchange
our goodbyes as I head to the entrance of the bar.

  A band is playing to the left as I walk in, some curious take on pop that’s on the fence between interesting and annoying. The lights are dim, making the space seem even smaller than it is. I look around for Hallie and finally spot her in the back at a high table.

  “Over here!” she waves.

  I sort my way through the crowd of twenty-somethings and plop down across from her. “This place is getting busy already.”

  “It’s the spot from what I heard.” Two salt-rimmed glasses are placed before us. Hallie bats her lashes at a tall man with a killer smile. “Thank you, Felipe.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, ladies.”

  She shoves a drink towards me. “I ordered you a watermelon margarita. Have you had one before?”

  “I have not,” I say, taking a sip. It’s sweet and salty and the tequila bites hard. It’s the perfect way to end a crazy week. “But I will be having them more often.”

  Hallie dances in her seat to the music, her drink in one hand. “I love them. Camryn Quinn introduced me a couple of weeks ago. She and her husband were on a vacation in Fiji or somewhere and had them.”

  “Must be nice to just jet-set around the world,” I lament, taking another sip. “I haven’t even gone out for drinks in ages.”

  “You are thirty years old, Amity. You need to go out while you can.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I laugh.

  “It means eventually you’re going to get married and have kids and you won’t have the option to go out anymore.”

  I consider her words as I sip the margarita. Marriage and children is something I’ve always looked forward to, but not something I’ve spent a lot of time considering.

  There have been boyfriends in the past. Not many, but some. There was only one that I thought I could possibly see myself with for an extended period of time, but he took a job in the United Kingdom and that put the kibosh on any future plans.