“Supposing that would be true, what’s wrong with it?”
“I think you can do better elsewhere.”
“You don’t know him,” I say, the words sharper than I intended.
“Clearly.”
“Okay, then.” I grit my teeth. “You were the one who said I needed to get laid.”
“You’re going to screw him?”
Am I?
“No,” I say firmly.
“Then why did you say that?”
“I just…” I give up and throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. Go ahead and screw him if you want to, but I don’t think you should get back together with him.”
I stare at him. “Who said anything about that happening?”
Eryk turns in his seat to gaze at me. “The way you look at him says you’re not over him.”
I run my hands over the steering wheel, giving it all some thought. “I don’t know what to say, Eryk. Like I already said, you don’t know him.”
“I just don’t think he’s very smart. Or mature.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “You barely talked to him!”
“My intuition,” he repeats. “It never lies.”
“Your intuition tells you he’s not smart? All right. Fine. Whatever.”
I pull into traffic, ready for the whole conversation to be over with. I already had enough going on in my life without the reemergence of my ex-boyfriend. Eryk’s attitude doesn’t help any.
“Let’s just get home,” I say. “Before Crystal throws up in my car.”
*
I’m returning from the bathroom the next afternoon as Dana is just hanging up the office phone.
“So?” Chuck intently asks, looking at her.
“So he came back from San Francisco early. He’ll be in the office within the hour.” Her mouth draws into a tight line as she pulls the band from her ponytail and shakes her hair out.
“Did something go wrong with the deal?” Daniel asks.
“If so, he didn’t tell me… though he really should.”
I sit down at the desk I’m sharing with Dana. “Mr. Mulroney is coming back? I thought his flight wasn’t until tomorrow.”
Dana shrugs. “Well, now it’s today. Welcome to Mulroney Pictures. There’s always a surprise around each corner.”
“And its Thursday,” I slowly add. “Isn’t he usually downtown on Thursday?”
“Don’t look at me,” Dana says, clicking away on her computer. “I’m just as excited about it as everyone else.”
Chuck makes a disgusted noise. “Man, I was gonna go to the hockey game!”
Dana looks at him. “Tell that to Mr. Mulroney. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to let you leave early so you can watch men knock each other’s teeth out.”
Daniel chuckles while Chuck scowls and crosses his arms.
When Mr. Mulroney arrives, he looks tired, with bags under his eyes. They do nothing to dampen his attractiveness. In a weird way, he looks even better.
Or maybe I’m just as much of a pervert as he is.
“I forgot some of my bags at the airport,” he announces the second he walks in the door before he even says a hello.
Dana picks up the office phone. “I’ll call.”
“No,” he quickly says. His eyes briefly flick over to where I’m sitting. “I’d rather go back.”
“Okay,” Dana says. “I’ll call a car.”
“I can drive. I need the ride to clear my head. One of you can come with me. Sydney.”
His words come out stilted, and Daniel and I exchange a glance. The fact that our boss just claimed he needs a ride to clear his head, but he also insists on company isn’t lost on us. He’s not making sense in the least.
“Will you be back before four?” Chuck asks.
Dana shoots him a look.
Mr. Mulroney slightly cocks his head, the action just as stiff as his words. “I don’t know.”
I slowly stand up and grab my bag. “I’m ready whenever.”
“Good.” He clears his throat and turns away. I follow him, aware of the other three people’s gazes on my back as I walk out.
He’s quiet while we move across the parking lot. I left my sunglasses somewhere in the office, and now I’m cursing myself, shielding my eyes with my hand.
Mr. Mulroney stops at a black sports car. I don’t know anything about cars, so I’ve got no clue what make and model it is, but I can tell that it’s nice. He goes around to the passenger’s side and opens the door.
I stand there like an idiot while he looks at me, his hand still on the open door.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his eyebrow shooting up.
“Um, yeah.” I hurry into the car and he closes the door behind me.
Who are you and what have you done with my boss?
“Will your bags fit in here?” I ask after he climbs in next to me. He turns the key in the engine and the car roars to life.
“They’re small,” he responds.
“Okay,” I answer in a little voice.
He puts the car in reverse and we head for the exit of the lot. His arm lays on the rest between us, mere inches away from my own. I take in a slow breath, tasting the cedar and mint wafting off the man next to me.
The gate lifts for the car and the security guard nods to Mr. Mulroney as we take off into traffic. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but with a start, I realize I maybe shouldn’t have gotten in the car with him. He’s acting extremely weird. What if we’re not even headed for the airport?
“You don’t need my help,” I flatly state.
I stare at him, waiting for a response. He glances at the rear view mirror, checking traffic before changing lanes.
“No,” he responds, the word closer to a growl.
“So what? Are you taking me out to the desert so you can murder me and dump my body?”
He laughs, and — for the first time since we’ve gotten in the car — looks directly at me. “Why would you think that?”
I lick my dry lips. I’m only half kidding. I’m actually somewhat terrified the man may have a sadistic plan for my destruction up his sleeve. After all, we’ve caused each other a grand amount of annoyance in the relatively small amount of time we’ve known each other.
He speaks again. “We’re not going to LAX.”
I suck in a sharp breath. Holy shit. Was I right?
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
I don’t trust this man. But you know what else? I don’t trust myself either. There’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance he doesn’t have my imminent destruction in mind, but knowing that only calms me slightly. I don’t trust anything that could possibly come out of the crazy conglomeration of desires and fears that happens when the two of us are together. Maybe he doesn’t aim to kill me, but whatever he has planned can’t be good.
And neither can my response to it.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
I stare at him. What is this, a date? Stunned, I become a parrot. “Where do I want to go?”
He doesn’t respond, and suddenly I’m laughing so hard my side hurts.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, a slight scowl on his beautiful face.
“Mr. Mulroney,” I gasp through the giggles. “You came and got me from the office in the middle of the day so we could play hooky?”
His mouth twitches, but it’s unclear whether he’s about to frown or smile. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
The laughter stops immediately. “For what?”
He shifts in his seat, looking like he’s got ants in his pants. I give him a crotch check to see if he was adjusting.
“For…” He grimaces.
I wait. He glances over at me. Still I wait.
“For the way I acted,” he finally says.
“Which time?”
He twists his mouth. Obviously, he doesn’t have much experience when it
comes to apologies. “I came on too strong when you first started.”
“Wow,” I murmur, relaxing into the leather seat. Outside of the window, a long row of fast food restaurants zoom by, billboards towering over them.
I peek at him. He’s staring at the road and I can’t be sure, but it seems like there’s a slight redness in his cheeks. Is this the same man I almost ran my car over? The same man I walked in on spanking a woman in his office? The same man who handed me an invitation to those exact same kinky games?
Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it. The man sitting next to me is demure and regretful. Exposed… and a hundred other things I’m only beginning to see the surface of.
“Mr. Mulroney,” I breathe out the name. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, thank you. I never would have expected an apology.”
He clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.
I look down at my hands. The situation seems to call for bluntness more so than any other one would, but he’s still my boss and there are some lines I won’t get within a mile of treading. For now, the conversation just needs to be closed.
“You’re more than I thought you were,” he abruptly says.
I look back over at him. “What do you mean?”
His palm slides along the steering wheel, and I can’t take my eyes off his long fingers and thick wrist. His hand looks so strong and his skin so soft.
“You’re smart,” he says. “And you stand your ground. You don’t back down.”
“Why would I?”
He glances at me, his face that always puzzling enigma. “Because of how I treat you.”
“That’s an extra incentive for me to not back down.”
He looks over at me again, and a blue sedan from the other lane cuts in front of him.
“Look out!” I shriek.
Just in time, he slows down. I clutch at the seat, trying to get my breath back as the car passes a truck and speeds away.
“Damn,” he mutters, then rubs his face. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“I can tell. Why?”
He runs his free hand through his hair. “A lot on my mind.” He pauses. “You ever been down to the riverbed when its dry?”
“Only in the movies.”
He smiles — honestly smiles — like he’s happy or finds what I’ve said funny.
“I thought it hardly ever got fully dry,” I continue.
“Sometimes there are parts of it where it’s a low flow.”
I try to imagine Mr. Mulroney going down to the concrete inlaid Los Angeles River, sitting down in his suit, and casting a fishing pole into the water, shooting the shit with the old Hispanic men in their overalls and baseball caps.
“How bout that Dow Jones?” Mr. Mulroney would say. Or, “Man, this new tax on the one percent is really killing me. I have to sell one of my yachts.”
I’ve got a good imagination, but that one is really stretching it.
Traffic is slowing down. We’re still a good amount of time away from rush hour, but the road is threatening to congest. Mr. Mulroney takes a right and veers off onto a side street. The little car twists and turns, weaving its way through a neighborhood of two story houses packed together like sardines.
I sneak a glance over at him. It’s hard to not enjoy just sitting here in the silence. I’m painfully aware of every tiny movement he makes, from each blink of his eyes to each thrum of his fingers on the wheel.
We come out of the neighborhood and climb up a slight hill. I don’t ask where we’re going. I no longer care. I’ve been kidnapped by my boss and I’m not going to fight it.
After all, this rendezvous is way more enjoyable than sitting back at the office licking envelopes. And I can partake in it relatively guilt free, seeing as it’s been cleared by my paycheck signer.
Sorry, Chuck. I think about the hockey game he’s going to miss.
Mr. Mulroney takes another turn. It’s obvious now where we’re going, but I still don’t say anything. Instead, I just wonder why we’re headed for Griffith Park. He already apologized to me. Doesn’t that mean it’s time to go back to the lot now?
My pulse speeds up as he pulls the car into the parking lot. Wordlessly, we both get out. He takes off his suit jacket and tosses it back in the car. Unbuttoning his white sleeves, he rolls them up. I stand there and glance around while I wait, wondering if any of the people milling around might think the man I’m with is my boyfriend.
It’s criminal, that’s what it is. This is the dangerous territory I swore I would steer clear of.
One afternoon can’t hurt.
It’s one afternoon of escape. One afternoon of pretend. No one even knows we’re here, standing in the middle of this park. Dana probably thinks we’re stuck in LAX traffic.
If I give myself up to this short little escape, no one will ever know. I can pretend everything I want is right in front of me and it will never matter. Soon, Mr. Mulroney and I will be back at the office. He can go on being his distant self and I can continue watering plants, doing everything I can to pretend he doesn’t exist.
“Do you like Star Trek?” he asks from over the top of the car. The sunlight glints off the rooftop, making it hard to look directly at him.
It might be the weirdest question he’s ever asked me, and that includes the “Did you like what you saw?” one.
“Uh… it’s okay. I used to watch it whenever I stayed home sick from school.”
He starts walking, and I follow. The trail he picks is a familiar one. It leads to Bronson Caves. I’ve visited them a couple times, although the first time I was severely hung over.
“Do you like Star Trek?” I ask him.
He slows down and matches his pace to mine so we’re side by side. “I love it.”
I laugh a little. What do you know? Simon Mulroney is a real person with real interests. Semi-geeky interests, at that.
“They filmed a lot at the caves here,” he continues.
“That explains why every time they landed on a new planet it looked just like Southern California.” What I said isn’t particularly funny, but the corner of his mouth creeps up anyway. “Which Star Trek do you like the most?”
“The original. I wanted to be in it. When I was a kid, there was this cottonwood in our backyard and I took all these wooden boards and made a fort in it. I pretended that I was a crew member stranded on an alien planet waiting to be rescued.”
I laugh. “And were you rescued?”
He smirks. “Maybe I would have been if I had more patience. It’s hard to stay marooned past dinner.”
“So which were you? The nameless crew member who always gets killed right after landing?”
“Kind of. I was the nameless one you think has been killed but is really alive. The crew goes back to the ship, leaving his body behind, thinking he’s a goner when he’s actually just sustained a shoulder wound and is busy learning how to grow his own crops.”
I’ve rarely heard him say so much in one go, and the subject is hilarious. I burst out laughing and he joins me.
“That’s quite a plot twist,” I say. “Maybe you can buy the rights to the series and start it fresh with that new spin.”
The first cave looms in front of us, a small gaggle of people hanging out around its entrance. We stop and wait for a group of slow walking tourists to pass through.
“I’ll always think of it as the bat cave entrance,” I say.
His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s way before your generation.”
“Star Trek is way before you generation. I know you’re not that old, Mr. Mulroney.”
“Maybe I just have good skin. Mulroney Pictures has been around for a while, you know. Who do you think cleared the land and killed the mountain lions so the back lot could be built?”
I giggle and look down at my feet. I had no idea he was this funny. Maybe it’s being away from the confines of the office that allows him to relax and let loose.
“You know they used the crushed rock fro
m here to make nearby city streets,” I say. “That was from nineteen oh three to the late twenties, but some movies filmed here while the quarry was still in use. Lightning Bryce. Riders of the Purple Sage.”
I look back up to find Mr. Mulroney staring at me.
I bite my lip and look away.
“You’re a human encyclopedia,” he says, his words so low I can barely hear them.
I self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear. “Just when it comes to some things. Try telling that to my high school math teachers. I was dumb as a bag of rocks when it came to calculus.”
“And now you don’t use calculus,” he says. “By the way, who’s even seen Lightning Bryce? I don’t even know what that’s about.”
“It was a Western serial. I’ve only seen one.”
He’s still staring at me. A hot flush begins in my stomach and rises up.
“Come on,” he finally says.
The spell broken, he heads for the tunnel entrance. I follow behind at a fair distance. The cave is slightly cooler than outside, simply because there’s no sun beating down on our heads. The short tunnel splits into three. Mr. Mulroney goes in the direction the few people ahead of us take, and we come out into the canyon like area behind the cave. Hills are visible in the distance. Pressed against the face of one of them is the white Hollywood sign.
“Do you feel it yet?” I joke.
He turns around to face me, his face blank. “What?”
“Like we’re in Star Trek. I can pretend to shoot at you with my blaster if you want. You can run and hide behind that rock over there.”
Mr. Mulroney laughs, and the sight of it is so beautiful I can’t help but stare. Who is this man standing in front of me? He’s shown so many faces, but which one belongs to the real him?
Or maybe he’s just a psycho with bipolar disorder. That would explain everything.
I chuckle as well and kick the dirt around in front of me. His legs edging closer jerks my attention back to him. He’s less than a foot away and still looking down at me.
My breath hitches. Is he going to try something? Here, in front of half a dozen or more people?
They would just think he was my boyfriend. No one would know he’s my dick boss.
The dream sends a sweet shudder through me. If Mr. Mulroney were to kiss me, I would let it happen. I’m already swept away in this fantasy. I committed myself to it before I even got out of the car. One afternoon of letting go; of simple enjoyment.
Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) Page 34