Mr. North

by Callie Hart

  “I didn’t go on a date last night. I went to a pre-arranged…god, I don’t even know what it was, but it was not a date. I wasn’t expecting him to do that. I wasn’t ready for him to do that. You’re gonna have to excuse me if I’m not bubbling over with excitement.” A jolt of pleasure hits me out of the blue, right between my legs. Raphael didn’t even touch my pussy last night, but he might as well have. I keep experiencing flashbacks of his hand connecting with my bare ass, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from running to the bathroom so I can masturbate.

  “Regardless of what you were expecting or what you were ready for, it’d still be okay if you were excited, Beth,” Thalia says. “I mean, come on. I know every line of that man’s face. He’s insanely handsome. Like Greek God handsome. You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to him.”

  I sigh heavily, sliding a book back onto the shelf from the cart of returns I’m wheeling around the stacks. “I can’t tell you that,” I agree. “But there’s something about him, Thalia. Something broken. He’s a nuclear bomb and his wiring’s all fucked up. At some point, a circuit is going to short and he’s going to blow. The fallout will be devastating. If I allow him properly into my life, it’ll only be a matter of time. Something’ll happen. Something awful will happen. He’ll lose his mind or he’ll break my damn heart, and I can’t do that right now. I am five months away from taking the bar. So are you for that matter. I think we both just need to concentrate on our workloads and passing so we can get proper jobs.”

  “What, and then maybe you’ll be in the market to have your heart broken?”

  “Maybe. Who knows?”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I’m being a realist . I’m protecting myself and everything I’ve worked so hard toward for the better part of my adult life.”

  Another book goes back on the shelf. Thalia is quiet for a moment. She sounds disappointed when she speaks again. “All right. Fine. If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is, I suppose. I won’t hassle you about it again. Just know…I think you’re making a mistake.”

  I don’t know why it’s so important to her that I connect with Raphael. On paper, her insistent need to know what’s going on with him and how he’s faring seems odd. I’d normally assume she has feelings for him herself, but I know my friend. There’s something else. Another reason she’s so desperate to know every tiny detail of Raphael’s life, and it’s kind of worrying that I can’t figure out what it is.

  “Let me know if you want to get dinner later,” Thalia says.

  “Ahh, I don’t know. I don’t think I can handle any more Raphael North talk.”

  “I won’t even mention his name, I swear,” she tells me. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  I know she’s lying, though. She won’t be able to help herself. She’ll manage to hold off for thirty minutes, an hour max, and then she won’t be able to contain it. Every other word out of her mouth will be Raph related, and I don’t think I can take it. The man’s taken over my every waking moment as it is. Spending the night talking about him will only allow him to consume me further.

  And right now, I’m beginning to wonder what will be left of me by the time Raphael has finished claiming me.

  *

  T here’s a small café in the front of the library building that sells toasted paninis and snacks, but I want something fresh for lunch today. Something green and healthy. I’m heading in the direction of a salad bar I sometimes hit up a couple of blocks away when I feel my cell phone vibrate in my purse. It’s him. I know it’s him. I’ve been waiting for a message or some kind of contact from Raph since I walked out of the penthouse. I already know he’s not the kind of guy to bombard a woman with a million text messages, but I witnessed the look in his eyes when he saw me to the glass door of the penthouse last night. He’s not going to leave this alone. He’s not going to walk away from it.

  I leave my phone exactly where it is in the bottom of my bag. Whatever he’s sent to me will either ruin my day or make it incredible. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m feeling. I was furious last night. I wanted to punch him directly in the dick for being so presumptuous. Then I wanted to feel his body on mine more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. And then I was so angry with myself on the drive home that I teared up on the subway. I can’t believe I allowed him to sweep me away in a moment like that. I mean, I let him spank me for crying out loud. Who does that? It was crazy. It was pure madness. But…I also felt insanely happy for a moment. I was so drawn to him. The kiss inside the VR simulation was magical. His body pressed up against me, his hold on me firm yet gentle… I was immediately pulled in so many different directions that I couldn’t process what was happening. And bent over his knee with my dress pulled up around my waist, my bare buttocks on display for him…

  I flush as I walk down the street, clearing my throat, hitching my bag strap higher on my shoulder. I have to look around to make sure no one’s noticed just how flustered I am. Can they tell I’m turned on just by looking at me? It must be so fucking obvious.

  There’s a line at the salad bar. A huge one. I groan as I join the back of it. Too late to walk somewhere else now; I only have another forty-five minutes to grab food and get back to the library. If I’m late, I’ll be stuck with all the shitty jobs Henrietta’s been hoarding to dole out as punishments whenever she sees fit.

  My phone feels like a block of C4, a looming threat at the bottom of my bag. Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. Do not fucking look at your phone, Elizabeth Marie Dreymon. I repeat this over and over again as a mantra while the line slowly creeps forward.

  “Excuse me? Beth, isn’t it?”

  The sound of my name startles me. I turn around, and behind me a tall, blond guy in a dusky grey suit is smiling down at me. Paxton.

  He takes his hand out of his pocket and offers it to me. “We met the other day. Outside the elevator?” He doesn’t say Raphael’s name. The very mention of it will have people’s ears pricking.

  “Yes, I remember. You’re Paxton. Thalia’s told me about you since we ran into each other, too.”

  The smile that spreads across his face is rueful. “I’m sure none of it was good. Thalia and I…we have a checkered past.”

  I return his awkward smile. “She might have mentioned something along the same lines.” It would be rude to tell him about the dark picture Thalia painted of him. There’s clearly so much history between them, between all three of them. I find myself wondering why Raph will see this guy but he won’t see Thalia specifically. There’s so much left unexplained here. I’m so freaking curious, but at the same time, I’m exhausted by the situation. It’s complicated and complex, and I’m an outsider. I get the feeling I’m never going to know the truth.

  “So funny that we cross paths with each other again,” Paxton says smoothly. “You’re on your lunch break? Would you care to join me at my table across the street?”

  On the other side of the road, L’Assiette, a French restaurant with a reputation for out-of-this-world steak and frites, has stood for nearly fifty years now. I’ve never eaten there before. The extortionately pricey menu and the three-week wait for a table had always put me off.

  “Oh, no, that’s fine. I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure you’re busy. I was just going to grab a salad to go and eat when I get the chance this afternoon.”

  “I already have a number of dishes ordered with the kitchen. My business lunch just got cancelled so you’d be doing me a favor, actually. I don’t want people thinking I order so much from the menu for myself, now, do I?”

  I can’t even see the counter inside the salad bar from where I’m standing. It’s going to be half an hour before I can order at this rate. I look at my watch, chewing my lip. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” I say.

  “Wonderful.” Paxton offers me his arm like some old timey Southern gentleman. I thread my arm through his, already wondering if I’m making a mistake. I’d rather go hungry tha
n invite more drama into my life right now, and where else can having lunch with this guy lead but to more drama. I’m irritated, though. I have no real reason to believe that Raph would be pissed if he knew I was eating lunch with Paxton—he could easily not give a shit—but the possibility that it might bother him gives me a bit of a thrill.

  Across the street, a platter of oysters is being delivered as we’re led back to Paxton’s table. The waiter bows deeply as Paxton dismisses him with a flick of his wrist. He doesn’t even look the man in the eyes—very different to how Raph engaged with Denny when he was serving us. Paxton shoos away another waiter who tries to pull out a chair for me, making a show of pulling it out for me himself. “I’m very glad I spotted you, Beth,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you the other day but I was late to see Raphael, and you looked like you were in a hurry to get out of there anyway.”

  I sit, sinking into the upholstered chair—way more comfortable than any chair in my apartment. I try to hide my surprise at Paxton’s words, but I mustn’t do a very good job. Paxton smiles, inclining his head politely. “I’ve known Raphael for a very long time. I’m sure Thalia explained our little story. How we went to school together, us four friends, joined at the hip.”

  I accept the oyster fork Paxton holds out to me. “Four? She told me about you and Raphael. There’s another member of your group?”

  For a second, Paxton’s perfect smile falters. Only a second. It would have been easy enough to blink and miss the stumble in his facial expression altogether. I catch it, though, out of the corner of my eye. He masters his features in a heartbeat. “Oh…no. My mistake. Plenty of people wanted to join our little band, but we were always too arrogant and full of ourselves to pay anyone else any attention. They used to call us the Three Musketeers, you know. Our parents. They used to hold weekly meetings to try and figure out what the hell to do with us, their reprobate children.” I laugh, because I think it’s what he expects. “Please,” he tells me, gesturing to the table. “Eat. You don’t have much time. If I’m honest, neither do I. There’s a mountain of paperwork on my desk. Sadly, no matter how hard I wish, it doesn’t ever seem to do itself.”

  As he says this, the waiter returns with two fresh green salads and a plate of grilled meats. The smell is divine, enough to make my stomach audibly rumble.

  I place a selection of food onto my plate, eating slowly, savoring each bite. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask.

  “Well. I suppose…this is quite a difficult subject to broach. You seem like a smart woman, though, Elizabeth, so I won’t insult you by beating around the bush. I wanted to gauge your intentions toward my friend.”

  I stop chewing. “My intentions?”

  “Yes. Your reasoning behind spending time with Raphael. He’s…” An awkward look flashes across his face. “Raphael’s a very wealthy man. Wealthier than the rest of the New York elite combined. The past few years have been tough for him. It seemed prudent that I should figure out what your angle is before he ends up getting hurt.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t quite follow. My angle ?”

  Paxton’s smile remains firmly fixed in place, but something about him changes. Some sour note creeping into the lines around his eyes. “You’re a broke student who’s recognized an opportunity for herself. I don’t blame you. I’m sure most people in your situation would do the same. You’re in debt up to your eyeballs, you have rent and expenses to cover. An invitation to spend time with the richest man in New York was probably a gift from the heavens. He’s a means to an end. You think he’ll cover your tuition fees. Maybe buy you a nice little loft space somewhere that you can live in rent free.” He nods as he says this, not a hint of anger in his voice. “I get it, I really do. I’ve had dalliances with women and done the same thing. Covered their costs, helped them out financially when they needed it. Given them a car to use every so often. For men in positions of power, it’s fairly normal. But Raphael’s different. He hasn’t formed a connection with a woman in a very long time. He may seem distant. Reserved. Cold, even. But I assure you, he’s quite the opposite. He’s…fragile . I think it’s better for him if he forges a connection with someone of an equal social standing, who doesn’t ask too much of him too quickly.”

  I can’t believe my own ears. As I’ve been listening to Paxton talk so flippantly about the fact that I’m a money hungry gold digger, the food in my mouth has turned to ash. My tongue feels like a lump of raw meat. My pulse is hammering out a staccato rhythm that’s making my vision pitch and flicker. I look down at the plate in front of me, fighting my need to throw up. I put down the fork. “You think I agreed to see Raphael because I thought he’d give me money?”

  “Yes,” Paxton says. “I know about your arrangement. Six thousand dollars a month? That’s an awful lot of money for a few games of chess, Elizabeth.”

  Bile burns at the back of my throat. Slowly, dizzily, I push my chair back from the table and I stand. I can’t think straight. I can’t…fucking…think… “I told him I didn’t want his money,” I whisper. “I told him I wasn’t going to accept a dime. I didn’t agree to meet with him so I could fuck him for money, Paxton.”

  He rocks back into his seat, holding up his hands. “Oh, no. No, no, no, that’s not what I meant at all. Not just sex. God, I’m not accusing you of being a hooker. I’m referring to companionship as well as that kind of intimacy. Enjoying meals together. Spending time together. That kind of thing.”

  “Fuck you. You’re accusing me of being an escort,” I hiss.

  Paxton reacts as if I’ve struck him. He jerks away from me, surprised, but it’s a fake surprise. I can see that much now. His face may do one thing but his eyes show his real emotion. He’s been playing this as cool as he can, pretending what he’s saying is completely normal, acceptable, and understandable, but I can now read how much I disgust him by the sharp, hostile steel in his eyes. “Not very ladylike, swearing at a gentleman in public, Beth,” he chides. “Especially after he offered you a free lunch.”

  My stomach rolls, and I almost learn forward and vomit straight into his lap. Would serve the fucker right. I should never have agreed to come to lunch with him. The fact that I said yes has played into his argument, making me look like I’d do anything to get something for free. “You’re a pig,” I snarl, my eyes pricking like crazy. I can barely see through the tears that are welling there, clouding my vision. “I was trying to help Thalia’s friend. Nothing more.”

  Paxton nods, retaining his composure, even though mine has completely fled me. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a checkbook, opening it up. He clicks the ballpoint pen he retrieves after it, then looks up at me. “How much do you want?” he asks flatly.

  “What ?”

  “How much do you want to leave him alone?”

  “I don’t want anything!”

  “Come on, Beth. Be real. Be honest. Name your number. I assure you I have enough to cover your greed.”

  “You could pay me a hundred thousand dollars and I wouldn’t fucking take it. You’re a disgusting piece of—”

  “One hundred grand,” Paxton says. He bows his head as he writes quickly into his checkbook. He rips out a check and hands it to me, smiling. “See. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  I snatch up the glass of ice water on the table in front of me and I pitch it in his face. He clearly wasn’t expecting me to do this. He gasps, his mouth flying open, his shoulders rocketing up around his ears. Jumping to his feet, he swats at his chest, as if that’s somehow going to dry him off. “Don’t just stand there, get me a towel!” he snarls at the waiter. The man hurries forward, holding out a plain white cloth that was draped over his arm, and Paxton starts dabbing crazily at his soaked shirt and suit jacket. The waiter gives me a stunned sideways glance and the very ghost of a smile, but I’m too pissed to join him in his amusement. Paxton’s cool, calm exterior is long gone as he pins me beneath a hateful gaze.

  “You just fucked up,” he informs me.
“You really just fucked up.”

  I lean across the table, so there’s only a foot of space standing between us. My whole body is shaking, lit up with rage. “You know what, Paxton?” I fire back. “You’re the one who’s fucked up .”

  *

  I can’t afford to walk out on a workday halfway through it, so I go back to the library. The next five hours drag by, and even Henrietta doesn’t give me shit for being irritable. When six P.M. arrives, I don’t head home like I normally would. I march myself to the subway and ride four stops over to the Osiris Building. At the front desk, the same guy who helped me the other day is standing behind the desk, smartly dressed in an elegant suit, shirt and tie. He sees me coming, and all worry that I’ll have to remind him who I am flies out the window. “Ms. Dreymon, welcome back to the Osiris. I didn’t know you were going to be visiting us today.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it. Something came up, though. Can you please let Raphael know I’m here? I need to talk to him.”

  “No need,” Oliver says. “You have a standing appointment with Mr. North. He advised us to allow you immediate entry to the penthouse whenever you liked. Here, let me escort you to the elevator.”

  Well, that’s a shock. He told them to let me up whenever I wanted? When did he give those orders? Before or after he spanked the living daylights out of me? Did he want me to be able to sneak into his place unannounced, perhaps dressed in sexy lingerie beneath a long coat, ready and willing to service him?

  Oliver punches in the door code and moves aside so I can enter the private access room. He gives me a professional dip of the head, and then goes without another word.

  I do not take my shoes off in the elevator.

  It’s a stupid fucking rule anyway.

  My ears pop as the elevator hurtles up toward the penthouse, and the entire time I’m swearing under my breath to myself, spitting mad. I bolt as soon as the doors open, striding across the anteroom, up to the glass door. I don’t ring the bell mounted on the side of the wall. I lay my open palm against the glass, hammering on it, until the curtain moves to the side and Raphael is standing there in front of me.