by Claire Adams
“Not really.”
“Yeah, well. He and his wife got divorced, she tried to get custody of the kids, it was a big fucking mess.”
“Annie and I weren’t married. And will never be married. So that’s one whole can of worms we don’t have to deal with.”
“She’s going to have your kid, though,” Jonathan said. “That’s going to be the tie that binds you guys for the rest of your lives.”
Was I mistaken or was he deriving some sort of enjoyment from this? A little bit of schadenfreude, perhaps?
“Eighteen years,” I replied, trying to keep my voice light even though my stomach was turning as I said it. Eighteen years sounded like a long ass time.
“It’ll be forever,” he said. “Yeah it’s eighteen years until you’re a legal adult, but if there’s grandkids or anything like that—”
“Let’s not even go there,” I said. “Grandkids? Please. This thing is the size of a sesame seed.” Confiding in Jonathan was obviously not the way to go. Not that I was expecting it to make me feel better, but his assertion that this was just going to bind Annie and me together forever was, well . . . not helpful, to it mildly. “Anyway,” I said. “Have you finalized the list with Dan about who’s going to be working on the Paradise Breeze?”
“I looked it over; Dan should be giving me a call any minute to go over a couple things. There was a conflicting schedule with Chapman, and Baker said something about not being able to stay the whole time in Nantucket, so we’re trying to figure out if it would make more sense to let him do the first leg of it or just take him off this completely. I know he and Martin have rapport. Oh, and Billy McAllister called and Ghanizadeh is going to be back around at some point next week; they’re not sure when exactly, but they’re going to want three or four more guys down there than normal.”
“Yeah, sure, great,” I said. “He must really like it there at—”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said.
It opened, and Daisy poked her head around. “Jonathan?” she said. “Dan’s on the phone for you.”
“Daisy,” I said. “I thought you left.”
“I did—I forgot my purse. I just came back to get it.”
“I didn’t even hear the phone ring.”
She pressed her lips together. “Well, it did. Just once, though, I was right there at my desk when it rang. I figured I might as well answer it.”
“Oh. Well, thanks. You’re heading out?”
“Yeah.”
“Going down to Failte?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’m going to get in touch with Caroline after I leave here. Anyway, I better go, bye!” She rushed out as though just being in the office was excruciating.
And she hadn’t looked at me throughout this whole exchange.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Daisy
I didn’t actually have any plans to meet up with Caroline; I knew she was in the middle of a big project, but I didn’t want Ian to ask me to hang out after work. The whole work day had been rather unbearable, though I’d done my best to just do my job and not let myself be affected by his presence.
Which was difficult, because I could feel his gaze on me, feel him watching me from his desk as I crossed the room to get some water, or as I answered the phone, or as I sat, with my back to him, typing things into the computer. And I knew, when I’d gone back in to get my purse, that he wanted to hang out, and that it would be difficult for me to say no to him if he asked.
Since I didn’t have any plans, I went home. There was no sign of Noah, and I breathed a little sigh of relief as I let myself into the building, then into my apartment. I changed out of my work clothes into yoga pants and a t-shirt, made some tea, then got my computer and went and sat on the couch. I resisted the urge of Facebook and instead opened up my resume and looked at it, then started browsing a few jobs sites. I had spruced up my resume after I’d left the salon, but I tried to tinker with it a little more, hopefully making it as enticing as possible. I decided to leave my time at Hard Tail Security off of it—I’d just pretend that I’d never worked there. It would be better than trying to explain why I was leaving after such a short time.
But that got me wondering: was I a horrible employee? Was this how it was going to be for me for the rest of my life? I’d go from one job to the next, either getting fired or having to leave because I’d gotten myself into an unbearable situation in the workplace?
I sent my resume to a few places, offices looking for admins, a hair salon looking for a receptionist with experience. A few of the job postings were ones that I had applied to before I got the job at HTS, and they were still open and looking for people.
After a little while of this, I put the computer down and went out to the kitchen to look for something to eat. I needed to go to the grocery store, but that could wait until tomorrow. I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. While I ate, I started wondering if perhaps I really was having a quarter-life crisis, as my mother had suggested. A colleague of hers had been writing a book about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk to him. Maybe he’d have some insight for me.
After I finished my sandwich, I found my phone and called my mother.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said when she answered. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“I was just grading some papers, so no, you’re not interrupting anything. I was thinking of giving you a call at some point, though. Would you like to go out and get coffee this weekend?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I think that’d be good. We didn’t exactly end things on such a good note the last time, and you know that I don’t like it when things happen like that.”
“I know.” There was no point in getting into an argument with her, in pointing out the fact that most of the time, the reason things ended the way they did between us was because of her. “But, actually . . . I was calling because I was thinking I might like to talk to your colleague after all.”
“My colleague?”
I knew she knew exactly who I was talking about, but she wanted to hear me say it. “Yes, your colleague. The one who’s writing the book about the quarter-life crisis. You said that he was doing case studies and interviewing people.”
“Oh, Carl! Right. Yes, he’s still diligently at work on it. And he’d be more than happy to talk to you—I think it’ll be a good thing. I’m so happy that you changed your mind!” She really did sound happy, and for a moment, it seemed as though maybe I was doing the right thing. Maybe this was what I needed; it would give me some perspective, help me get started down a different path where I made better choices all around. “I’ll send his information over to you once we get off the phone,” my mother continued. “And that way you’ll have it if you don’t get around to calling him right away. What brought this sudden change of heart?”
I had been hoping to get the information without having to divulge too much, but that obviously wasn’t going to be the case.
“Is that . . . person still following you? The one you thought was stalking you?”
“Yes, he is. He’s rather persistent.”
“Interesting.”
“Interesting? I’m not sure if that’s the term I would use. Isn’t there some sort of . . . I don’t know . . . psychological treatment he could undergo?”
“It would have to be something that he wanted to do. Unless it was court mandated, that is. But it doesn’t sound like he’s done anything dangerous, or anything to break the law yet.”
I sighed. “And you’re not at all concerned that there’s this psycho following your daughter around?”
“You know,” my mother said, “I had someone who you might be able to call a stalker.” I wondered if she had even heard my question. “This was a long time ago, back in college.”
“You never told me that.”
“It never really came up. But he’d hang around my dorm, or he’d coincidentally be there right as I was getti
ng out of class. He knew which classes I had, and when, and at first I tried to be nice to him because I didn’t want to come across as rude, but then it started to get annoying. So I eventually had to tell him in no uncertain terms that I was not going to be fucked with and he better leave me alone. And he did.”
It was weird to hear my mom say “fuck.” And I had a feeling that there was more to the story, that this person hadn’t been as into her as she was claiming, because it didn’t seem like it would be so simple to just tell someone to leave you alone and have them do it.
“You weren’t afraid at all?”
“No, I wasn’t. And while I understand that fear is a perfectly natural reaction to have in a situation like this, from the sounds of it, you don’t really have anything to fear, either. What this sounds like is you’re dealing with someone who has low self-esteem, who you’ve possibly led on with your actions or what you’ve said—”
“I didn’t lead him on! If saying hi to someone and trying to be a decent human is leading them on, well . . . that’s just ridiculous!”
“I’m not saying you did that, or that you consciously did it. Sometimes we do things we’re not aware of, and people can be sensitive to that. Especially if this is someone who doesn’t feel very good about himself to begin with. Perhaps you should talk to Carl about this, too. It might be worth mentioning.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with a quarter-life crisis.”
“Well, in your case it might.”
“I’m not even necessarily saying that I think it’s something I’m going through . . . I just . . . I don’t know. I feel confused about some stuff.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. But you do realize this isn’t going to be a talk therapy session, right? That’s not what this is. This is someone who is trying to collect data for a book.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said, sighing. “If it starts to border on a talk therapy session, I’ll tell him to start billing me, okay?” There had been times when I’d wondered if I should be expecting a bill in the mail from her. It honestly wouldn’t have surprised me.
“Well, I’ll get his contact info over to you, and then the ball’s in your court. But Carl is very nice, and he takes his work seriously.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later. We can figure out a good time to get together for coffee or something in the next couple of days.”
Her email came through a few minutes after we got off the phone. I looked at his phone number on the screen, but I hesitated in calling. I decided to wait; maybe I’d do it tomorrow. For now, I would continue my job search.
At work, though, it was hard to pretend that everything was normal. I could feel him watching me, whether it was when he was sitting at his desk, the door to his office slightly ajar, or when he was across the room, talking with Dan or Jonathan, his eyes landing on me, almost daring me to look over at him.
I wanted to. I wanted to look over at him so badly, even though another part of me didn’t want to see him again. I felt like I was getting pulled in two directions; the rational part of me demanding that I stand my ground and not let myself be pulled back in by whatever force had drawn me to him in the first place. But the emotional part of me was aching with desire to just be near him again, to have him look at me the way he did.
The whole day passed like this, intensifying to the point that I felt like I was going to explode. The air felt like it was crackling and I wondered if anyone else in the office could sense it. How could they not? I knew Ian could. Jonathan, though, seemed oblivious as he went about his business. Toward the end of the day, he stopped by my desk and asked when I wanted to get together for my first lesson in self-defense.
“Maybe this weekend?” I asked. “I don’t have too much planned.” I could feel Ian’s eyes on me.
“Sure,” Jonathan said. “Saturday afternoon would be good. I was thinking you could come down to the mixed martial arts gym I go to. There’s a space we can use.”
“Okay,” I said. “I think that’ll be good.”
He grinned. “Great. I’ll text you about timing and everything, but I’m thinking maybe two or three.”
“You two making plans without me?” Ian called from his desk. His tone was light, joking, but I could tell he was forcing it.
Jonathan looked at me and winked. “We might be,” he said, speaking slowly, as though deliberately taunting him. “Daisy’s interested in learning some self-defense. We’re going to try to get together to work on it this weekend.”
“I see.”
He didn’t say anything else besides that, and when I snuck a glance into his office, he was looking down at his desk, writing something.
A little while later, Jonathan left. I went to the bathroom, and when I was coming back out, Ian was there, standing by my desk.
“So, you’ve got plans with Jonathan,” he said.
I nodded. “We just made them today.”
“You’re suddenly interested in self-defense?”
“I think it’d be a good thing to learn. I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” I said. “And Jonathan said he knew something about it.”
“He does. I do, too. You could’ve asked me about it.”
“I know. Jonathan was right there, though, when I was thinking about it.”
“So it’s a matter of convenience?”
I finally looked at him, after avoiding direct eye contact all day. He was staring right at me, and I felt a warm shiver go down my spine, that I tried my very best to ignore.
“It’s a matter of I was interested in learning about something, and someone who knows something about it happened to be right there. So I asked him. That’s it.”
He nodded slowly. “I’d be inclined to believe that,” he said, “except you’ve seemed distant.” He took a step closer to me, and I swore I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. I took a step back, trying to put some distance between us. I didn’t want him to know how strong his effect was on me, even now, when I was trying to be completely immune to it.
But it’s not like you could just turn those feelings off, could you? It wasn’t that easy. If it were, I imagined that Noah would’ve forgotten about me a long time ago.
“Have I?” I said. I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall by the water cooler. “It’s a little past five. I better get going.”
I grabbed my purse and stood up, but as I was about to step around my desk, he put his hand on my wrist.
“The doors are locked,” he said. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”
He gave me a long look, undressing me with his eyes.
“Why would I appreciate that?” I asked, feeling my resistance starting to waver.
It felt as though his skin was searing into my own where we were touching. “I really need to go,” I said tightly.
But he didn’t release my wrist; instead, he pushed the straps of my purse off my shoulder and down my arm, so it fell on the floor. He turned me to him and reached up, pulling my shirt open, buttons popping off.
“Hey!” I said, but I could already feel my body giving over to him, wanting him closer.
“I’ve been watching you all day, and you suddenly playing hard to get has been such a turn on.” My shirt fell open, and he pushed my bra up, running his hands down the sides of my waist as he began to kiss my breasts. My head fell back, and I closed my eyes.
“I’ve got to leave,” I said, even though it was plain as day in my voice that leaving was the last thing I was going to do.
He held onto my hip with one hand and slid the other hand up my skirt, slipping his fingers into my underwear, which was already wet.
“That’s a good girl,” he said.
He kissed a trail from my breasts down to my navel, pulling my skirt, and then my underwear, down with his teeth. He let them fall at my feet, and then he stood up, unbuckling his own pants.
He pushed them down and his cock sprang out. He pulled me toward him and then put his hand
s on my shoulders. I sank to my knees in front of him, and he held onto the back of my hair as I slowly took the head of his cock into my mouth.
I moved my mouth slowly down the shaft, trying to keep my lips over my teeth, feeling the way his cock pulsed and grew harder inside my mouth. His fingers entangled with my hair. When I got him in as far as I could, I held him there for a moment, and then slowly pulled my head back, until just the tip was in my mouth. I moved my tongue around in circles, and I reached up and took hold of the rest of him, my hand slick with my own saliva, easily sliding up and down. He groaned. I let my mouth slide back down, then back up again, increasing my speed until it felt like his cock was going to explode in my mouth.
He pulled me up, an intense, concentrated expression on his face. And just like in the movies, he swept his arm across my desk, knocking off the cup of pencils, the folders, the stapler. He lifted me up and plunked me down, then quickly reached for his pants which were still down around his ankles, where he grabbed his wallet and pulled out a condom.
I stayed upright but leaned way back, letting my knees fall apart. He slid my ass closer to the edge of the desk and then slowly pushed his cock into me. It occurred to me then that anyone could just walk through the door. He said he’d locked it, but maybe he was just saying that so I’d be more comfortable. The idea, actually, aroused me, made me feel like I was doing something I shouldn’t be.
Which I totally was.
I wasn’t supposed to be here, practically naked, legs spread on my desk, his cock easing into me. Oh, but it felt so good. He was so hot, and I watched his face as he slowly started to move his hips back and forth. His lips were slightly parted, his brow furrowed, the expression on his face one that could easily be confused with pain. But if he felt even half as good as I did, pain was the furthest thing from his mind. I pushed back against him, almost as if he I was trying to get up, but he gripped me tighter, held me there on top of the desk while he fucked me.
Afterward, my whole body was buzzing, and I didn’t know how I should feel. He had a satisfied grin on his face as he hitched his pants back up. As the pleasure started to recede, all I could think about was him having sex with his other secretaries in this office, too, probably right here on this desk, like it was some sort of initiation into the club of women who not only worked for Ian but also had sex with him.