Just One Night, Part 2: Exposed

by Davis, Kyra

  Robert wet is a beautiful sight. With grace I didn’t know I had I raise one leg and wrap it around his waist, balancing myself against him.

  “Now,” I say.

  And immediately he’s inside me again. The warm stream beats gently against our skin as we lock each other in a kiss. He moves inside me, one hand supporting my leg and the other on my ass; my breasts are pressed against his chest. We’re intertwined, connected in every way possible. I keep my eyes closed so all I can do is feel—the water, him, the ecstasy. It’s a greedy and indulgent romance and as he presses into me, slides his tongue against mine, I moan.

  His rhythm increases. “My warrior,” he whispers as his breath mingles with mine.

  “Always,” I respond.

  He explodes inside of me as the water washes over us. In that moment I am the happiest warrior on earth.

  CHAPTER 10

  WHEN I WAKE UP the next morning, he’s sitting by my side, looking down at me. Slowly I remind myself of where I am, that I am again in his shirt. I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on my hip, only a thin sheet separating skin from skin.

  “You don’t have to go,” he says softly.

  I don’t fully understand his meaning. Is he referring to a specific location or is he talking about something grander, a declaration of us and what we can be?

  But he quickly brings me back to earth with a troubling clarification. “You could work from here today. They don’t need you there. I’ll talk to Love, maybe Freeland—”

  “I can’t let you do that,” I say. He already knew I was going to say that. I can tell by his tone, which carries only the faintest notes of hope, like violins that are all but drowned out by the heavy brass sounds of resignation.

  “I told you last night, I will not sit back and watch as he victimizes you. That’s not how I live.”

  I pause to consider the phrasing. It’s not how he lives. There’s something telling in that . . . but something I can’t quite place.

  “I can win,” I say, pushing these thoughts aside. “I’m stronger than Dave. Smarter, too. I can win.”

  “Not if you play by the old rules.”

  I shift uncomfortably in the bed, moving the sheet down to my waist. “You don’t believe in rules?” I think of my sister, I remember her dancing on a table, shedding clothes like so many restrictive social conventions.

  Robert smiles; his eyes flicker to the window, the port of entry for the hazy morning light. “There are so many old adages about winning. To the winner goes the spoils, the history books are written by winners, and so on. But there’s only one truly meaningful benefit to winning. You see, to the winner goes the rules. I believe in rules, Kasie. I believe in them because in my world I am the winner. The rules are mine to set. What I don’t believe in is playing by other people’s rules.”

  The arrogance of that is enough to wake me up. I look at him with clearer eyes. What does it mean to truly be a power player? I wouldn’t know; neither would Dave. It took me a day and a half to figure out how to get out from under Dave’s thumb. Today, at 5:45 p.m., I hope to have that situation a bit more under control. Asha will be harder, she’ll bide her time, sharpen her weapons, hit me when I’m the least protected. But Robert Dade is different. He dominates the world in a way that I don’t fully understand and it occurs to me that if I give in to my feelings for him the way he wants me to, he’ll dominate me, too. And the danger here is that with Robert I might not look for the escape.

  I will lose myself.

  Like now, for instance. See the way he looks at me? Like a jaguar looks at a mate. Without making a sound he roars for me. How easy has it been for him to get me to forget my many protests and reservations? How easy was it for him to make me risk everything for him?

  There’s a shift in the air. His hand reaches for the sheet and carefully he pulls it back. It’s just me, in his shirt, my hair covering the pillow. I sense his frustration, see that it’s mixed with a strong desire. It’s a hazardous cocktail.

  I sit up, draw away from him. “I need to go home and change my clothes. Will you drive me or should I call a cab?”

  There is a strain in our connection. His mouth twitches slightly as he swallows instinctive demands. “I’ll take you.”

  He gets up and leaves the room. He’s exercising self-control by not trying to control me. But I wonder how long that will last.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER we’re parked by my front yard. I don’t have my car here. It’s in the parking lot below the office building I work in. But I don’t bring up this inconvenience. I don’t want to risk people seeing him driving me to work. I’ll find my own way. Just like I’ve found my own battle tactics.

  I turn in my seat, a little hesitant, a little hopeful. “There’s a plan . . . one I’ve already set into motion.”

  “All right,” he says, nodding his approval before he’s heard a single detail.

  “I need your presence for it to work. I need you to be at this restaurant.” I pull out one of my business cards and scribble down a name and address before handing it over. “I’ll be meeting Dave there after work.”

  His smile spreads a little wider. “You want me to come?”

  “Yes,” I confirm, “at around six. Dave and I will already be seated by then. I’d like for you to come to our table and greet us, then choose a table for yourself. It doesn’t matter where.”

  “You want me to be inconspicuous?” he asks; there’s an undertone of humor to his question. I doubt Robert has ever been inconspicuous in his life.

  “No, I just want you to be close by but at a different table. I won’t be long. I should be leaving within fifteen minutes of your arrival, alone. I just need Dave to know you’re there as . . . as backup.” As a perceived threat.

  Robert nods, warming to the idea quickly. “Six o’clock, I’ll be there. But, Kasie, if he so much as raises his voice to you, I won’t stay at my table. He will have to deal with me. It won’t end well for him.”

  I hesitate. Coming from the lips of another man, that statement would imply that a physical fight was possible—a barroom brawl as it were.

  But I don’t think that’s what Robert means. I am anxious to win this war with Dave but I don’t want to completely annihilate him. I want him to rebuild a life without me. It’s easier for the victor when the vanquished sees a path out.

  But if Robert gets involved, if he handles things his way, I don’t think Dave will get the chance to do that. I don’t think Robert fights with a gentleman’s grace, following civilized rules of engagement. I suspect he fights like a colonial power, decimating those who hold the territory he hopes to claim. If I win this war my way, Dave will lose me. If we fight Robert’s way, Dave will lose everything.

  “He won’t raise his voice to me,” I say carefully. “If he sees you’re there, it’ll be enough.”

  Robert nods and I lift his hand to my mouth, kissing his palm. “Thank you,” I say.

  His eyes roam over my features, my hair, my neck . . . I feel an unwelcome shudder of excitement as I wonder where this will lead. I don’t have time for romance and yet something inside me knows that if he insisted, if he tried to take me right here, in his car, in front of my house, in view of all my neighbors and friends, I might not refuse even though part of me would want to.

  It scares me and yet the thought is exhilarating. Why is that? How can I fight so hard for freedom only to be enticed by captivity?

  “Go in the house, get yourself ready,” he says before leaning forward, gently kissing my lips. After a moment he pulls away. “I’ll see you tonight at six.”

  I feel him watch me as I walk to my door, hear his car pull away as I go inside.

  As I head upstairs my mind idly goes back to my undergraduate philosophy class. The professor’s favorite quote was from Lao Tzu:

  Mastering others is strength
. Mastering yourself is power.

  A little part of me worries that Robert Dade has the strength to take away my power.

  CHAPTER 11

  AFTER A QUICK taxi ride I walk into my office with renewed confidence; I’ve tucked concerns about Robert and me into my back pocket and I’ve almost forgotten they’re there. Things are going my way, I’ve chosen my weapons, selected my target. I have a plan. I’m ready for the day.

  My team has sent me all their individual reports. Barbara has printed them and left them on my desk. I can see they’ve been working hard. Their reports are more thorough and precise than they were before. Our goal is to help Robert position his company for a public option and now as I study the numbers and strategies of his various divisions laid out in neat detail, I can see how it all fits together. The trick of my job is to know what to focus on. There are always more numbers than you need, problems that don’t need an immediate answer, others that demand attention. But once you know what’s important and what can wait, when you can see with the kind of tunnel vision that allows you to block out the background noise and zero in on the one instrument that needs to be tuned, that’s when your job is practically done. I see it now: the marketing plan that would be best; I can see the path.

  I can see the path. Surely that will be the mantra for the day.

  I spend the first half of the day bringing it all together in a single report that will be submitted to Robert.

  Tom walks into the office. As usual he didn’t knock or give Barbara a chance to announce him. Barbara stands behind him now, a look of defeat weighing down her features. As usual I wave my hand in a gesture of casual forgiveness and she leaves us, quietly closing the door so we’re alone.

  He sits opposite me, his eyes flickering to my outfit. I’m dressed more conservatively than I have been for a while. Beige trousers made of a gentle fabric, a cropped blazer of a similar color closed over a long satin top that’s the shade of platinum. I’ve accessorized with a long silk scarf that I’ve strategically draped and tied around my neck. The only skin that is showing is on my hands and face. But I can tell that’s not what Tom’s seeing. He’s seeing the dress from last night and everything it exposed.

  I look down at my desk, squirm slightly in my seat, then curse myself for doing it. I don’t want to be reminded of that torture.

  “Is the Maned Wolf report ready?” Tom asks.

  I look back up at him, surprised. This is not the line of questioning I expected.

  “I’ve just sent a final draft to my team and to you, and in an hour the team and I will have one more meeting to decide which parts of the plan will be presented by whom.”

  “Is that what he wants?”

  “Who?” I ask, confused. “Rob—I mean, Mr. Dade? Of course that’s what he wants. It’s what he hired us for.”

  Tom raises his eyebrow. The question he doesn’t have to ask echoes in my ears. Is it what he hired us for? Or was it so he could claim you?

  The silent question leads me to memories of harsher, spoken statements.

  Prostitutes have sex for profit.

  Asha’s words. I close my eyes and try to force them from my head. I didn’t even know who he was when I met him. My actions were wrong but my motives had been physical, emotional, never monetary.

  “Does he want the entire team to present the report or just you?”

  I open my eyes. “I thought we were going to pretend that you don’t know about . . . about my relationship with Mr. Dade.”

  “Yes, well I thought about that, and if he asks me to pretend, then that’s exactly what I’ll do because, after all, this is all about what he wants.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  Tom cocks his head to the side; he hadn’t expected the question. “Why would I mock you? I like you and I respect you, although my definition of ‘respect’ might be different from yours. I’d respect a drug dealer if he did his job well.”

  “You have no morals.”

  He effortlessly shrugs off the accusation. “Look, Robert is the biggest client we have. I want as many Maned Wolf projects—and as much Maned Wolf money—as our division can handle. I know that I need you for that but I also need you to keep him happy.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting that I have to fuck him?” I snap, the profanity coming to my lips a little too easily.

  He chuckles. “Of course not. That would be . . . what’s the word you like to use?” He snaps his fingers a few times as if trying to remember. “Ah yes, immoral. No, I’m not saying you have to fuck him. I’m saying you have to keep fucking him.”

  “You’re out of line.”

  “What are you talking about?” He shakes his head; his smile wavers. “I’m only asking you to do what you want to do.”

  “And I’ll do what I want to do,” I say simply. “But you have no right to expect it of me.”

  “Seriously?” He leans forward. I hear my cell ringing in my purse but ignore it. “Tell me, Kasie, do you enjoy your job?”

  I don’t respond. He knows the answer well enough.

  “Do you think it’s fair that I expect you to do your job?”

  “That’s different,” I say, seeing the trap.

  “Is it?” His posture is relaxed; he’s sure of his footing. “You enjoy your work and I expect you to do it. You enjoy fucking your client? I expect you to keep that up, too. And yes, there may be aspects of your job and your affair that you think are beneath you. Tasks that you find demeaning. It’s the nature of the beast. Work through it.”

  There’s a shift in the wind that carries my mood in a new direction. Tom is supposed to be my ally but if he switches sides, I’m prepared to draw blood. “Wasn’t it you who pointed out what will happen if Mr. Freeland finds out about Mr. Dade and me?” I ask. “Dave knows, Tom. You know that better than anyone. You should be encouraging me to find a graceful exit to the affair so we can all get out of this unscathed.”

  “Kasie, I’m getting out of this unscathed regardless. If you get fired, that sucks for me. Really sucks. You’re an amazing consultant, hands down the best analyst I’ve got. There’s a chance I’ll be up for promotion next year and if I get it, you’ll be partially responsible for that, and you’ll probably get my job. But empires rise and fall. Kings and queens are overthrown and replaced with others, ones who use different titles, wear different crowns but are every bit as ruthless as their predecessors. We’re all replaceable in the end.”

  Out in the hall I hear someone laughing, the hum of activity. “Are you threatening my job?” I ask.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Tom’s eyes idly travel the room. “My only goal is to keep the account. I’m sure Mr. Dade told you that he spoke with me last night?”

  “He did.”

  “He’s going to take care of Freeland, Dave, the works,” he says, as he finally brings his attention back to me. “And if Freeland has a problem with Mr. Dade’s terms, well he is only the cofounder after all. Mr. Dade will put the right pressure on the right people. You’ll keep your job as long as we keep that account and that means that it’s most definitely in your interest to keep him happy.”

  My fingers slide over the surface of my desk. For me it has as much import as any throne. I earned my place here. Dave got me the interview, not the job. I deserve to have the assignment given to me by Robert even if he didn’t know it at the time he gave it. “Mr. Dade and I have talked about this,” I explain. “He will not be taking care of anyone. I will. This is my fight and I’m fighting it alone.”

  Tom’s expression doesn’t change; his face doesn’t move. The only hint of frustration is in the way he squeezes the armrest of the chair, just tight enough to make the tips of his fingers go white. “That’s not a wise choice, Kasie.”

  “It’s the choice I’ve made. I meet with Dave tonight. By tomorrow he won’t be a problem anymore. Freeland will never ha
ve grounds to attack me. It’ll be done.”

  “And if things don’t turn out your way?”

  I press my lips into a thin line of rebellion. I will not entertain that scenario.

  “Ah, no plan B? Well then we’ll use mine: if you don’t have it under control, we’ll let Mr. Dade handle this.”

  “How? By telling the board of directors that they need to keep me on until he tires of me?”

  “If necessary. But don’t worry, Kasie. I doubt any man ever tires of you easily.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I growl.

  “Really?” He frowns. “You’re the one who got this ball rolling. And it’s a nice ball. We’re all going to get a lot richer because of your talents . . . all your talents.”

  Again I don’t answer and Tom sighs. “Look,” he says, his voice almost weary, almost angry, “I don’t really care how this is handled, as long as it is. But let’s face it, if you’re handling this yourself, it’s because Mr. Dade’s allowing you to do so. That man holds all the cards. Which brings me back to my original question. Does he want the entire team to make the presentation or would he rather you give it to him personally in intimate detail? Because I swear to God, Kasie, if you have to dress up in a G-string and pasties and give him this report while rubbing your ass up against a pole in order for us to keep his business, then you better get out the company card and book it on over to Fredrick’s of Hollywood.”

  “Get out of my office.”

  “No.”

  I lean back in my chair. “You want to keep Mr. Dade happy? Fine. How happy do you think he’ll be if I tell him you’re harassing me?”

  And now the smile is back. “That’s my girl. Now you’re thinking like the merciless businesswoman I know and love.” He stands up. “For the record, I don’t want to upset you. I want you happy, healthy, and available . . . to Mr. Dade. I’ll be keeping in touch with him, too, but you’ll always be the main point of contact—”

  “Is that supposed to be a pun?” I snap.