Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  And she actually got out from behind her desk and came around it to give me a slightly clumsy, awkward hug. I remained silent, breathing in the cloying, too-sweet scent of her perfume, resting my chin on her bony shoulder, as she continued to speak.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. I should have known that it was all getting too much for you. I understand, sweetie. We can’t all be cut out for this kind of work. I may have been hard on you, but honey, you have to understand, that’s just how this world operates, and I guess some of us just can’t take it.”

  “I guess so,” I said, and I found myself letting her continue to get the wrong idea, letting her believe that I was just quitting, due to the stress and pressure of the job, letting her believe that I didn’t have ‘what it took’ to stick it out in the industry after all ...

  Just like that, it seemed to be decided.

  I’d be leaving.

  She didn’t even want me to work out my notice, and I realized that Marianne had hugged me not to comfort me, not because I needed sympathy, but because she had finally won. She’d beaten me, and now she could move on to her next victim.

  I stepped back out into the main office, dazed and dizzy, heading over to my desk to collect up my few personal possessions; just a framed photo of Greg, a couple of pens, and my trusty hardbound notebook, all of them fitting easily into my MOMA tote.

  I looked over at Talia, hard at work at her desk, then at Suze and Patrick, both also typing away. They all seemed as if they were concentrating just a little too hard at their work, trying to give off the impression that they hadn’t heard every single word of our little exchange, even though Marianne had made sure to keep the door to her office propped open for the whole sorry thing to ensure maximum humiliation.

  For a moment I considered saying goodbye.

  But in the end I just turned and slipped quietly out of the office, closing the door gently behind me on the way out.

  I was halfway across the lobby when I heard Talia’s voice calling out behind me. “Jessica, wait!”

  I turned and stopped.

  “Oh my God,” she said, sympathetically. “I heard all that. I’m so sorry. But you shouldn’t take it to heart ...”

  “It’s okay,” I began.

  “No, no, no,” she continued. “Just come back in tomorrow. Marianne will forget it even happened. It’s not the first time she’s taken things too far.”

  “You don’t understand,” I replied, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve got a new job. I’m starting tomorrow. A real design job, too, not just fetching coffee.”

  “Oh wow,” she said, her face breaking out in a genuine smile. “That’s awesome. I knew you had it in you. I’m sure I’ll see you around soon!”

  §

  “So?” Greg asked eagerly over dinner. “What do you think?”

  “It’s lovely,” I said, forcing myself to wind another few strands of his homemade tagliatelle around the tines of my fork. It was lovely, but after my hearty lunch with Blake that afternoon, I didn’t have much of an appetite.

  And on top of that, I felt strangely nervous about telling Greg my news, too. He’d been so proud of me when I first got the job at Marianne’s firm and I knew he’d think this new decision irresponsible. He’d never been one to make rash decisions – even tonight’s dinner choice had been planned out days ago.

  I still hadn’t quite decided on the best way to break it to him. After all, I was still in the dark about a lot of it, at least until tomorrow morning when I was to meet with Blake at his penthouse, as per the short perfunctory email that had arrived late in the afternoon from his PA, Juliet, simply containing a time and a link to map directions.

  And it wasn’t as if I could say: Hey honey, remember that sexy billionaire I was researching? Well, I turns out he’s really into me and has poached me from Marianne so I’ll be working just for him from now on …

  “You’ve been quiet all evening,” Greg said softly, placing his fork on his already empty plate. “Is everything okay?”

  And at that moment it felt like there was a chasm between us, not just the few inches across our tiny dining table.

  I felt another guilty twinge as I thought about all that had gone on, all that I hadn’t yet communicated to this man, the man I was supposedly in love with, and who I supposedly wanted to share the rest of my life with.

  I knew I needed to tell him at least some of what was happening, but I didn’t want to alarm him, or make him jealous, either. After all, Blake was exactly the kind of successful businessman Greg dreamed of becoming …

  I just need to tell him I’m working for Blake.

  That’s almost the whole truth, isn’t it?

  “There’ve been some changes at work, actually,” I began, hesitantly. “Rather big changes, in fact. We won the Matthews account. And because of all the hard work and research I put in, Marianne has decided put me in charge of overseeing the design of his apartment. I really thought she’d do it herself, but I guess she’s busy with other projects and she must think I’m finally ready, and ...”

  I knew I was digging myself deeper and deeper, but it was as if I just couldn’t stop talking, I was so nervous.

  “So um, yeah, I think I’m gonna be going solo on this, under Marianne’s close supervision of course ...”

  I scanned Greg’s face for a reaction.

  “Jessica,” he beamed. “I’m so proud of you! That’s fantastic!”

  “I guess it is,” I replied, forcing myself to take another mouthful of pasta, trying to convince myself that this was basically almost the whole truth anyway. “I guess it is …”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I was due to arrive at Blake’s penthouse apartment at 9 a.m. sharp. I got up making sure I had plenty of time to get ready, leaving Greg still half asleep, and tried to go about my regular morning routine, picking out the same kind of outfit I’d have worn to the office (a black pencil skirt, a plain white blouse and my trusty Mary Janes), my hair done up in a sensible ponytail.

  I never wore much makeup. I’d always had good skin – even as a teenager, I never had any zits. I always felt so intimidated, whenever I strayed into a department store beauty hall, wondering where I would even begin. Usually I just wore a touch of mascara.

  But as I looked myself over in the bathroom mirror that morning, I felt like I needed something more.

  I still looked like a college student, after all, and knew that today I needed to look like a woman. The kind of woman Blake worked with, the kind who dined in his restaurant and slept in his hotels with their Chanel handbags and their $900 shoes ...

  Perhaps even the kind he dated?

  I dug around in my Hello Kitty wash bag, finally unearthing a small black tube: my only lipstick. I don’t think I’d even worn it since graduation.

  I applied it in the mirror, and took a final look at myself. I was pleased with the effect the coral lipstick had; I looked a lot more grown-up, maybe even a little sophisticated, and I felt that much-needed boost of confidence I’d been searching for as I imagined Blake’s subtle approval when he noticed ...

  Because, unlike Greg, he will notice, won’t he?

  I packed my notebook in my best handbag, kissed my slumbering boyfriend goodbye on the forehead, then strode confidently out of the apartment.

  It was only as I was finally out on the street, savoring the cool stillness of the morning air, hearing the soft hum of traffic down at the end of the block, passing the early morning dog-walkers and commuters, that it really hit me:

  I’m working for myself now!

  It felt simultaneously scary and exhilarating, and I allowed myself to smile as I slowed down to a more comfortable pace, knowing that I had plenty of time to make my way across town, even enough time to call into a coffee shop and pick up a coffee and a pastry, too, if I wanted.

  I looked around at all the other well-dressed, confident women, all heading off to work, and for the first time in my life I truly felt like
maybe I was one of them.

  §

  “I have an appointment with Mr Matthews,” I said to the girl at the desk, trying to keep my voice cool and steady, trying to sound like a professional.

  The receptionist nodded, pressed a few buttons, then said, “Collins will see you up,” gesturing towards the smartly-dressed, elderly attendant, standing by the bank of elevator doors.

  “This way, madam,” Collins said in a soft British accent, his kindly blue eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled at me, leading me off across the lobby towards an elevator set slightly apart from the others, and as I followed him, I found myself flashing back to a moment in my childhood – a magical trip I’d taken with my aunt to Chicago one winter.

  She’d taken me to a huge toy store and I’d been allowed to choose anything I wanted. And then, afterwards, we’d taken afternoon tea at a fancy hotel restaurant, where we were served by a kindly old waiter with a British accent, just like his ...

  Collins stood aside, letting me enter the plush, delicately lit little elevator, and even invited me to sit down, gesturing to a small velvet-covered padded bench.

  I didn’t know places like this still existed!

  I took a seat, as daintily as I could, while he keyed a number into the bronze touchpad on the wall. I took a final look around the sparkling, heavily-polished lobby, before the doors swished closed, and the elevator shot us upwards, towards Blake Matthews’ penthouse.

  Before I knew it, we’d reached the top, the doors sliding open.

  Collins gestured for me to step out, and I found myself in a small lobby. I looked around, unsure for a moment as to where I was. There was a huge marble table standing in the center of the room, on which stood a heavily perfumed display of orchids. And on the far wall was a large, gilt framed painting – of a red-headed female nude, her green eyes unflinching, as if gazing fearlessly right out at me, her legs spread wide apart, absolutely everything on display.

  In front of me were two large mahogany doors, but there were no signs.

  Which one leads to the penthouse?

  Where the hell am I supposed to go?

  I stood for a moment, unsure quite what to do with myself, whether to knock or call out, but just then the door on the left opened, and out strolled Blake, barefoot in his scuffed blue jeans, a simple grey T-shirt fitting his upper body tightly enough to give a clear indication of his muscular, athletic physique beneath. Dressed so casually, he looked younger than his years – almost boyish.

  Oh my God, is that really what he looks like beneath his shirt?!

  If he’s gonna dress like that every day how the heck am I going to get any work done!

  “You’re early,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Am I?” I asked, a little embarrassed, and sure that I’d just about timed my arrival perfectly. But I didn’t want to pull my cellphone out of my bag to double-check.

  I could feel him looking me up and down, obviously assessing me, and suddenly I felt way over-dressed: my blouse, my skirt, my lipstick ...

  Oh no.

  Have I got this all wrong?

  I could feel myself blushing, absolutely desperate to break the heady, heavy silence between us – it seemed to be becoming a habit.

  “So,” I blurted. “Which way to your penthouse?”

  “You’re in it.”

  “But ... the doorman? The elevator?”

  “Collins? He’s been with me for years. I wouldn’t have him work for anyone else.”

  He has a private elevator?!

  No way ...

  “Shall we,” he said, stepping back to gesture me through the door on the left, which he held open like a gentleman.

  The click of my shoes rang out loudly as I stepped into the completely bare room beyond. It was such a loud, cold sound compared to Blake’s soft barefoot stride, and I could feel his icy gaze following me into the room. I wondered briefly if his eyes were on my ass, which boys had always told me was my best feature, and a silly little part of me even found myself wanting him to be looking at it.

  I paused a moment, taking in the large empty space, before turning back to face him …

  And yes, sure enough I caught his eyes quickly flitting upwards to meet mine.

  “I take it you haven’t moved in yet?” I asked.

  At this Blake laughed.

  “I’m waiting until you’ve worked your magic …”

  “Any pieces of furniture coming across from your current place?”

  He shook his head decisively.

  “I’m not exactly what you’d call … sentimental,” he explained. “There’s a bed and a few wardrobes here already but I want to lose those and start again, right from scratch. With your expert assistance of course.”

  I was about to speak when I heard the flush of a toilet and then the sharp click of high heels coming towards us. And from a doorway at the far end of the room emerged a leggy redhead with luminous porcelain skin, dressed in an emerald green, figure-hugging dress, obviously last night’s outfit.

  “Blake, baby,” she said in a lazy Southern drawl, not even acknowledging my presence. “I think I’m gonna bail on breakfast after all. Do you mind awfully if I take off now?”

  She strutted towards us, bringing with her a strong scent of Chanel No. 5., and as she approached I couldn’t help but let my eyes be drawn towards the deep V of her cleavage, her perfect breasts making me feel so inadequate and boyish in comparison, when I’d felt so confidant and feminine just a few moments ago.

  “Gina, meet Jessica,” Blake said, a mischievous glint in his eye, obviously relishing the sudden awkwardness that seemed to have descended upon the room.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Gina said, looking me slowly up and down, before eventually turning her gaze back to Blake. “Call me, honey,” she purred, taking another step towards him until her body was pressed right up against his.

  She leant in for a kiss and I briefly saw him reciprocate, his mouth against hers, his hand sliding towards her ass, before I quickly turned my gaze away, pretending to take in the empty room once more, angry at myself for how embarrassed this situation was making me, and angry too at the silly little pang of jealousy I felt towards her.

  Once Gina had finally left us alone in the apartment, I felt myself unable to get a certain question out of my head.

  I didn’t want to show I cared, but I just had to know the answer.

  “Was that your girlfriend?” I asked, as casually as I possibly could.

  “God, no,” Blake said, as if this was the stupidest question in the world.

  Thank god.

  “So, I guess I should look around,” I said, trying to get the meeting back on track.

  “Be my guest.”

  I took out my notebook, set my tote bag down on the polished marble tiles, then began to walk slowly around the room, again feeling his steely gaze follow me as I took in the large empty space, making a few brief preliminary notes. Although bare, there were still some absolutely beautiful touches: the architecture was fantastic, I just knew I could bring this place to life.

  “Want to see the bedroom?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said, first walking back over to my bag and taking out my compact digital camera. I knew I’d need to document these rooms in minute detail if I was to make the most of this opportunity.

  Blake led me down a corridor, and then up a staircase. At the top, as I passed him, stepping into the large bedroom, empty except an enormous bed, the crisp white sheets rumpled, I found myself taking in his body once again — the sculpted muscularity of it, so clearly defined through his t-shirt — and I found myself responding to it, too, feeling that warm secret place between my legs begin to softly tingle and throb, my mind filling up once more with the kind of horny thoughts that flashed through my head whenever he was near …

  My hands sliding beneath the fabric of his grey t-shirt ...

  My nails clawing his back ...

  My tongue grazing his skin ...


  As Blake showed me around the rooms, I tried my hardest to keep my mind fixed firmly on the job at hand, taking photos, making notes and most of all ignoring the growing dampness in my panties.

  Blake meanwhile continued on unawares, as usual his mind firmly fixed on getting just what he wanted.

  “Thoughts?” he said, as I scribbled a few final lines in my notebook.

  “Well,” I deadpanned, “I was thinking black satin sheets, mirrored ceiling, perhaps a rotating waterbed?”

  “Very funny,” he said, his face breaking into a subtle grin, and I realized how much of a prize it was to make him smile. “And don’t forget the leopard print curtains.”

  I never quite knew where I was with Blake, but in that moment, I could feel the same warmth I’d felt at our first meeting come flooding back.

  It was like we really understood each other, and for just a brief second, I felt like I might actually enjoy this job after all ...

  §

  “Seen everything you need to get started?” Blake asked a little later, running a hand lazily through his thick dark hair, his muscular bicep flashing at me for a tantalizing half second.

  We’d made a full tour of the penthouse by now, and I nodded and smiled, eager to start my work.

  “Great,” he said.

  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out some kind of card.

  “Here,” he said, offering it out to me.

  I stepped forward and took it from his hand: a platinum AmEx card, I realized with disbelief.

  “You can use that for any expenses,” he said. “And just email me whatever you think is suitable for a salary and Juliet will be in touch shortly to set that up for you.”

  I looked down, a little dazed, at the card in my hand, then back up at Blake, just to double-check he was actually being serious.

  I can set my own salary?!

  This is unreal.

  “You have an iPad or laptop you can use, right?” he asked.

  I thought about Greg’s crappy old laptop back at our apartment, the one that took about five hours to boot up, and wrinkled my brow.