“I’ll see you at one.” My heels clicked across the tile floor on my way to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To lunch with a friend.”
“Not him again.” He followed me down the hallway.
“It’s none of your business. You don’t own me. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not my husband. At this point, you’re not even my lover.”
“Bullshit.” And right in the middle of the hallway, he kissed me for everyone to see.
I savored the moment. He was a passionate man, but this kiss was different. This wasn’t about sex at all; it was about possession … and smack dab in the center of the administrative offices, Dean Hollings was claiming me as his.
“You better hurry, or you’ll be late for your lunch meeting with Steve Rockman. I’m told he has a sizable donation for you.”
Mark pressed his body against mine until I was pinned between him and the wall. His voice was a growled whisper. “I don’t give a shit about the donation. I need this time with you.” He pressed his hips into mine so I felt his hard length press into my hips.
God, it was tempting. How easy would it have been to race back to his office and climb on top of his desk? Instead, I looked into his near-black eyes and said, “I have to go. Jennie is waiting for me.”
At the mention of a girl’s name, he relaxed and stood back. His expression softened. “How about dinner tonight?”
The pleading in his voice echoed in the chamber of my heart. “Are you asking me on a date?”
He lifted a brow. “Yes, Sandra, I am. I’m asking you on a date. Will you come to dinner with me?”
I chewed my lip and watched him. After a long pause, I answered, “Yes, Mark, I’d love to go out to dinner, but you should know I don’t put out on the first date.” I tried to slip past him, but he gripped my arm.
“We’ll see about that.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Do you need money for lunch?” He pulled out several twenties, but I laid my palm over his hand.
“No, I don’t want your money. Money is easy. What I want will cost you a lot more.”
He tilted his head to the side. “What do you want, Sandra?”
I lifted up on tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “I want it all, Mark.”
I left him in the hallway with a lot to think about.
* * *
Jennie and I sat at a center table in a hole-in-the-wall Chinese food restaurant, eating wonton soup and discussing the details of her future.
“He wants to set up a meeting, but I need to work out some details first.”
“What details? Set up the meeting. I’m drowning here.”
I poured tea for her and handed her the pot. I once heard it was bad luck to pour your own tea, and at this point in my life, I wasn’t about to take any chances.
“You don’t want to rush these things.”
I sipped at the tea and stared at Jennie. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. A lot of men would love that innocent quality she had about her. Of course, it was all an act. Like me, Jennie had sowed her oats—and grains, and everything else—her first year of college. The only thing innocent about her was her looks.
“Sandra, I’d do a donkey if it paid for college.”
I choked on my tea. “We’re not offering that service, but I hear it’s available in Mexico if you want to relocate.”
She sipped at the clear broth from her bowl. “What do we need to do to get this moving?”
“Terms. We need to outline the terms. What do you think you’re worth?”
She cut a wonton in half and pushed it around the broth.
“Depends on what I have to do.”
“See? It’s not as simple as a meeting. We have to go into this with a plan.”
“What about an hourly rate?” She plopped the wonton into her mouth and chewed while she waited for my response.
“Perfect. How much?”
“What will I have to do?”
I let out a frustrated groan. “That’s the issue. I think the best way to approach it is to charge a rate based on the hardest task you’re willing to perform.” I leaned toward her. “What if he’s into kink?”
She dropped her spoon to the table. “Like what?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “People like lots of different things. A guy at the compound liked his asshole licked. What if Dan is an ass licker? Would you do it?”
Her face froze at my words, then twisted into a prune. “Really?”
“I’m just saying, he could have expectations that push you out of your comfort level.”
“Fifty dollars an hour?”
Fifty seemed reasonable. If he went to the corner for a hooker, he’d pay half that much, and she might not even shower. “What are you worth a day? You can’t charge him twelve hundred dollars every day you spend with him.”
She poured me more tea and handed me the pot. I reciprocated the gesture.
We sat in silence for a few moments. “Can he afford twelve hundred dollars?”
I laughed. “Probably, but if he wanted to spend that, he could hold up a few hundred on Park Avenue whenever he was lonely. What we want to do is get him dependent on the service. You have to be his everything girl. You have to look good on his arm. Be articulate and entertaining. Be a whore in the sack, and an angel everywhere else.”
“Okay, here’s my suggestion. He has a three-hour minimum, which means I get a hundred and fifty bucks no matter what. If it’s more than five hours, it maxes out at two hundred and fifty a night.”
It all seemed to be coming together. I had an office, a client, and a coed. Now I had a fee scale and a plan. I took fifty dollars from my wallet and slid it across the table.
“Do your nails and hair. Buy something conservative but sexy. You might have to visit the thrift store on Forty-second Street. They have high-end stuff for next to nothing. I want your skin scrubbed and lotioned until it feels like a newborn’s ass.”
She bounced up and down on the metal chair. “When do I start?”
“I’ll call you with the meet-and-greet date. You may not be his type. He may not be yours.”
Jennie shook her head. “He’s got cash and a penis, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, he does.”
“Then he’s my type.”
I frowned at her. “What happened to your advice about cows and milk?”
She folded the fifty in her palm and stood. “That doesn’t apply to me. I’m not looking for love. I’m looking for money.”
“I’m not looking for love either.”
“Go ahead and lie to yourself some more. By the way, how is the dean?”
“It’s complicated.”
When we reached the street, she turned right and I turned left. Lately, I seemed to be going in the opposite direction of everyone I knew.
Chapter 15
When I got back to the office, there were flowers on my desk—a mixed bouquet that had every color of the rainbow included. I rushed over and pulled the card from the plastic holder.
It’s not everything, but it’s a start.
Yours,
Mark
I held the card to my chest. My heart expanded almost to the point of rupture. His door was closed, so I didn’t enter, and that was probably a good thing because I was so overwhelmed with hope that I might have weakened in my resolve to make it harder on him.
I put on a fresh pot of coffee to get him through the rest of the afternoon meetings and waited for him to emerge. When he did, he looked happy.
“Good meeting?” I handed him the messages I’d collected from incoming calls.
“Very good. Tonight, we’ll celebrate.”
Those words brought a sting to my senses. Those were the same words he used Friday, and I remembered all too clearly how that night had turned out.
“Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” I pressed my nose to a rose and inhaled.
“Not as beautiful as you.” He was midw
ay through leaning over to kiss me when his one o’clock appointment—Edward Fogel, head of the Political Sciences Department—arrived.
“Mark. Good to see you,” Edward said, with a curious glance at me.
All the recent meetings were to go over goals and plans for the upcoming fall semester, which was approaching like a runaway train. In just over a month, Greta would be back, and I’d be spending my days in the classroom. There would be no more afternoons naked on his desk—his couch—his chair. I’d be dressed in jeans and T-shirts like every other student on campus. I wouldn’t be earning a paycheck to answer calls and make coffee. There would be no more paid lunches. I’d be back to eating dime store noodles.
“Coffee?” I rose from my desk and waited.
“You got a soda?” he asked.
I nodded and went to fetch a Coke from the refrigerator. I could feel two sets of eyes on me.
“Who’s this, and what happened to Greta?”
Mark smiled. “Greta is on vacation. This is Sandra Tierney, and she’s helping out.”
“Ah, I wish more students were as industrious as this young lady. Any chance I could get some help like that?” There was a sparkle in his eye.
Mark pointed to his office. “You can’t. She belongs exclusively to me.”
There was an edge to his voice that said more than his words. My hope was buoyed by the possessive quality to his voice. Could we be more than what we were? I hoped so because that option sat at the top of my wishlist, next to being an entrepreneur.
While Mark was with Edward Fogel, I called Dan and set up a Friday meeting with him, Jennie, and me. That gave me four days to tell Mark of my plans.
People shuffled in and out of his office all afternoon. In the seconds between meetings, he stared at me like a hungry lion.
When five o’clock came around, he was still locked inside his office with his last meeting. We hadn’t discussed dinner plans, and although he had mentioned dinner and a celebration, I didn’t want to assume it would happen. When it came time to leave, I packed up my stuff and left.
The thirty-minute subway ride gave me plenty of time to think. Everything in my life had changed overnight. Things were moving as fast as a squall.
I had an inconvenient opportunity. Inconvenient because opening a business before I graduated was going to push my limitations. I always considered myself an old soul, but the truth was, I was still only twenty-two, and I had limited life experience. Most of the time, I flew by the seat of my pants. Now I had a love interest, and I feared my age—not to mention my unusual upbringing—put me at a disadvantage. I had no idea how to keep a man. Up to this point, I’d loved many and kept none until Mark.
With my eyes closed, I imagined life with him in one year, in five, and in ten. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that what we had could grow. The only doubt I had was whether I could fully open my heart to him, trusting him with all my aspirations and fears. I wasn’t sure I knew how to be vulnerable.
When I turned the corner to my apartment, he was there, sitting on the steps out front. He rushed to me and took the flowers from my hands.
“Why didn’t you wait?”
“I didn’t want to be presumptuous and assume you’d give me a ride.” I reached into my purse for my keys. “Do you want to come in?”
He gave me a duh kind of look. “I said we were going to celebrate.”
“I heard you, but it’s a weekday, and we never go out on a weekday.” The truth was, we had only been out twice—the night of the fundraiser and last Friday. It wasn’t like we had a lot of history for me to base my actions on.
When we entered my apartment, he put the vase of flowers on my desk and wrapped his arms around me. “I owe you a lot of nights out.”
“Yes, you do.” I reached up and brushed my lips against him. We’d had sex at least a hundred times, but we rarely kissed. “Why don’t we ever kiss?”
“I kissed you today in front of God and everyone.”
Yes, he had—‘everyone’ being the two students walking out of the financial aid office, but it was bold. “I like kissing you.”
“I promise to kiss you more.” He bent over and covered my lips with his. The tenderness in the kiss made my knees buckle.
“I promise to let you.” My body hungered for his touch. My underwear was no doubt slick with my arousal, but I was sticking to my plan of less milk and more cow. “I’m hungry. Where are you taking me?”
He tipped my chin up so we were looking into each other’s eyes. “I’m hungry too.” His free hand cupped my breast, and his thumb brushed the pebbled nub of my nipple.
I was faltering. One more caress—one more kiss—and I’d take him straight to my four-poster bed and surrender. My muscles fought me, but I managed to break loose and turn. “There’s a great Greek restaurant down the street. Let’s go.” I ducked under his arm and rushed to the door.
He followed a step behind. “We could get a pizza and stay in.” He looked over his shoulder to the white couch where he’d promised to spread my legs and eat me.
I was a thread’s width away from saying “screw it” and letting him have me. I needed to get out of there now. “You promised me a celebratory dinner. Pizza seems rather like a consolation prize. Let’s go.”
I pulled him out the door and locked it behind us. I didn’t wait for the elevator. Instead, I walked to the stairwell and took them two steps at a time down to the lobby.
He followed me without breaking a sweat down the stairs and outside. “You’re either really hungry, or there’s a demon I can’t see chasing you.”
“Something like that.” The cool evening air was a welcome relief from the heat that burned through my body. It had been days since we’d been intimate, and I wasn’t used to that kind of dry spell.
I walked double-time down the street to the Greek Getaway. The hostess initially was going to put us at us at a corner table, but I requested one in front of the window. I couldn’t trust myself, and I knew I couldn’t trust him. Given the opportunity, Mark would be knuckle-deep inside of me.
We ordered a sampler platter and a couple of lamb kabobs. “Tell me about your meeting with Mr. Rockman.” It seemed like a safe subject. It dealt with money and the school, both things that brought joy to Mark.
“It was amazing. He’s the CEO of Rockman Incorporated. They do financial planning for the old-money families on the East Coast.”
“Did he write you a big check?” The waitress delivered our sampler platter and iced teas. Mark wanted to order wine, but I knew alcohol plus a weak resolve equaled sex.
“Not as big as I’d like, but he committed to an annual sum equal to or greater than this year’s donation for the next ten years.” Mark picked up a dolma and popped it into his mouth.
“That’s amazing.”
“Yes, and I didn’t have to sacrifice a coed to get it.” He lifted his iced tea in a toast.
“Are you really going to go there?”
He set his tea down. “It’s better this way.”
“For who?” I stabbed at a kabob. “While you’re hanging on to some noble attitude about women and sex, some girl is trying to figure out how to pay for college. Rather than spend time with a man of means who might actually treat her well, your attitude forces her to work at Baby Dolls and dance for dollars for men who have half their teeth and no manners.”
I took a bite of the lamb, but it didn’t mix well with my irritation.
“Things are changing rapidly for women.”
“Not fast enough. You’re a man. You’ll never understand.” I held the wooden spear and thought about poking him with it. “The world is your oyster. All women get is the sand.”
He opened and closed his mouth several times before he spoke. “Just remember, sweetheart, an oyster can’t make a pearl without the sand.”
“That’s the problem. You think the only job a woman is fit for is making pearls.” We were skirting the subject of women and their place in society. I was ma
de for more than bedding and wedding.
“What’s wrong with making pearls?” He tore up a piece of pita and dipped it in hummus.
“Nothing, if all you want to do is make pearls. After you pop out the first pearl, you’re stuck making pearls for the rest of your life.” I knew this to be true. I knew several girls at Horizons who were pearl makers. They were on their fourth and fifth pearls in as many years.
“You don’t want pearls?”
“No.” I’d never thought much about children, but I knew my answer was honest. It came out too quickly to be anything but authentic. “Do you?” My heart lurched forward. Was this going to be the deal-breaker for us? Was he looking to start a family? It made sense. He was thirty-six and at the prime age to settle down.
He leaned back in his chair. “There was a time I thought I’d like to have children.”
I leaned forward. “And now?”
“I’m not sure.” He pushed his empty plate to the side. “I don’t want to rule them out, but I’m not dying to impregnate you. However, I love the idea of practicing.”
I didn’t want children, but having him say he wasn’t dying to impregnate me frayed my nerve endings. “Why would you say that? I could be a good mother.” Lord knows I had a good mother. That should count for something.
“You’re contradicting yourself. You tell me you don’t want kids, and when I say I’d rather practice with you than impregnate you, you get mad. Are you getting ready to start your period?”
I’m not sure whether fire shot from my nostrils or my head—or both—but nothing pissed me off more than a man excusing his bad behavior by blaming it on a woman’s menstrual cycle.
“You’re an asshole.” I stood up and walked out of the restaurant.
It took him five minutes to catch up with me. “Don’t ever do that again.” He stepped in front of me to stop my progress.
“Do what? Ignore your ignorance with regard to women or leave you with the bill?” I reached my hand into my purse and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “I can help with the check, but I can’t cure your stupidity.” I shoved the money into his pocket and bolted up the steps to my apartment. Once inside, I headed to the shower so I wouldn’t have to listen to his knock at my door. Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the shower to discover that yes, indeed, I was on my period. But I’d never admit it to him because though they might have been technically true, his words were sexist and uncalled for.
The Learning Curve Page 9