by Jo Willow
I sat at my desk staring at the Forbes cover that featured Deacon Sloan. I’d read the article three times and was still no closer to a decision. He told me when I left that I had until Wednesday, and here I was, tearing my hair out trying to decide. I’d have walked away and never looked back if it hadn’t been for his brothers. Both had said he was a great guy. I didn’t see it, but they did and they knew him better than I did. Maybe he was a great guy and he was missing the same filter I was missing. That was a distinct possibility and I knew it.
There was also the money to consider. I had money and I’d invested well, thus I had even more money. I had loads of money and I wasn’t a greedy woman by any definition. I wanted to get out of the city and own a little land. I wanted to be able to run along country roads and buy a jeep. Maybe with a snow plow attachment. I wanted a driveway so long that I needed to plow it in the winter. I wanted solitude and the ability to sustain it.
It’s not that I’m against marriage or children or any of that stuff people swear by, it’s simply that I suck at relationships. It goes right along with that “over thinking everything” that I do. Men think with their anatomy and I don’t begrudge them that. I just don’t want to be a part of it and trust is tricky for me. I thought I knew Hamm and for two years he played me for my tits and a connection to my father. Every guy I dated before him seemed to want the same connection. My answer? Date my father. If they didn’t want to get closer to my dad, they cheated on me. No thanks, I’m done. Let Melody incubate the grandchildren. I’d be the strange cat lady out in the country. Except I didn’t do cats. I liked dogs. Yeah. A dog. Me and my dog out in the country. Was that too much to ask?
I was wallowing nicely in my dreams and self pity when my cell phone began to ring. I picked it up and it was a blocked number. I assumed it was my sister, she was always losing phones. She probably hadn’t programmed me into her contacts yet.
“Hello?”
“Dorothy, it’s Deacon.”
Silence. What was I supposed to say to that? How did he get my cell number? What did he want?
“Hi Deacon. What’s up?”
Might as well keep it friendly. He hadn’t insulted me yet.
He blew out a breath and for some reason I found myself feeling sorry for him. That was dangerous to my well being and I knew it, but I couldn’t help it.
“I was wondering if you’d made a decision yet. Now before you tell me to take a flying leap, I want to apologize for my behavior on Monday. I was way out of line and I know that now. In my defense, all I can say is, I didn’t think it through. I assumed a series of events that happen with the women I date, completely forgetting that you and I will have a business arrangement. I never should have grouped you in with those women and for that, I’m truly sorry. Can you forgive me?”
Well smack my ass and call me Gidget. Will wonders never cease? Deacon Sloan was on my cell phone apologizing. My inner voice was shouting that he NEVER apologized for anything and that made this a major deal. Now was not the time to get snarky.
“Of course I can. I understand that a man in your position has to protect himself. You jumped to conclusions and I overreacted.”
He sighed and I smiled. Two steps forward.
“Thank god you understand. I think we could be friends Dorothy. I like you. You tell it like it is and I think we’d make a good team on this project. Do you agree?”
“I do actually. I don’t have many male friends and your brothers impressed me. They also said that you’re a great guy. That counts for something with me.”
“They said that? Hmmm. Wow. Okay then. How do we proceed?”
Deacon Sloan was at a loss for words. Two shocks in one day. Mr. Control was at a loss. Maybe Anton and Pierce were right. Maybe he wasn’t an asshat after all. First impressions aren’t everything, I was willing to give it a shot and he obviously was as well. Why not? That snow plow was looking like a possibility.
“I need to get a feel for your life. Not just at work, but at home and in a social setting. I need to see how you live and be able to ask you questions in those settings. After I understand you better, then we’ll discuss your childhood and family. Are you okay with all of that?”
Deacon sat up straighter and smiled. This would work. She’d see. He WAS a great guy if he had to be. He’d show her. He even knew how to kick off their partnership.
“That sounds wonderful Dor’. I know how to begin. There’s a charity thing at the MoMA this Friday night. I’m a major contributor, it’s one of my things so I’m expected to attend. If you’re free, you could go with me. Watch me schmooze and do my thing.”
I found myself giggling and felt him smile on the other end.
“Schmooze huh? My dad’s a contributor as well. I happen to be free Friday night so it’s a great way to kick off our collaboration. I accept.”
“Great! Dinner’s at eight, but cocktails and schmoozing start at seven. Is six-thirty too early?”
“Not at all. Let me give you my address.”
Deacon stared at the sheet that contained her phone number and moved his eyes to her address. How he hadn’t noticed it before, he wasn’t sure, but his heart skipped a beat and he felt a bead of sweat break out on his forehead. She recited her address and it matched the one on the page. She lived one floor below him. How had he not known this? How had he not passed her somehow?
“Deacon? Are you there? Did you get that?”
“Uhmm...Dorothy? How long have you lived at the Rock?”
“You’re familiar with the building?”
“Yes. How long have you lived there?”
“I bought it a year ago. Why?”
“No reason. I love the area and just wondered. I’ll see you at six-thirty. Oh, and thanks again for the opportunity. I can see already that this will be the start of a wonderful friendship.”
“No problem and I’m looking forward to it. See you Friday Deacon. Love you.”
It was all I could do not to piss myself laughing. I waited a second before I added the hook.
“Gotcha.”
I heard him take a deep breath and I couldn’t hold the laughter any longer.
“Not funny Lincoln. Not funny in the least.”
“Hell yeah it was funny! Do you know what I would have given to have seen your face just then? Damn you’re easy.”
“I lost ten years of my life just then. Don’t toy with my emotions woman.”
“See you Friday Deacon. Have a pleasant week.”
“You do the same. Bye.”
He clicked disconnect and sat back in his chair. The female that would make him a mental case lived one floor below him. One floor was all that separated them and she was writing his biography. He was grinning because he found that he genuinely did like her. Her humor would be an acquired taste, but at least she HAD a sense of humor and that made him happy. He didn’t know why that was true, but it was true all the same. He wondered why he didn’t go ahead and mention their living arrangements. He shrugged to himself and turned to his computer, finally ready to get productive. He’d tell her Friday. It was no big deal. She’d find it as interesting as he’d found it, he was certain. Dorothy Lincoln was back on board and Deacon was once again in control. Life was good.
Let me tell you some of the good things about being a Lincoln. First, I guess you could say that if I’m in a jam, I could theoretically drop the name. I never have, but I could. Everyone knows my folks. Melody uses it to her advantage, but I’ve never had to. I’m thankful for that because I’d rather spend a night in jail (knock wood) than have to invoke the name of my father.
Second, there’s my sister. Melody, as I stated earlier, went to school to be a fashion designer. That can be advantageous at times. Mainly it comes in handy when I need something drop dead gorgeous and I have no clue what I’m looking for. Not for one second was I kidding myself. Call it what you want, research, foundation laying, whatever. I was going to a major fundraising gala on the arm of Deacon Sloan. I had to loo
k like I belonged there.
My sister was more than accommodating. She was ecstatic to be dressing me for the event. It helps that I trust her judgement and fashion sense. She can cut three holes in a sheet, toss it over her head and add a rope belt and the bitch is ready for the runway. It makes me sick, but in a good way. My mother is the same way. They can wear anything. Me? Not so much. Most “fashion” is designed for the body frame of a thirteen year old boy. No curves and lots of leg. That leaves me out in the cold. I have an hourglass shape. Not ideal for the fashionistas that haunt the boutiques and the places I needed to go to find the perfect dress.
Then there’s the issue of shoes. I don’t have big feet, I have clumsy feet. Heels and I have a nodding acquaintance but it’s a strained relationship. If I have a few drinks, we become estranged in a heartbeat. Fickle damned feet... anyway. My sister was thrilled with my request and she did herself proud.
It’s six o’clock on Friday night and I’m sitting at my vanity. My sister has an arsenal of cosmetics and products splayed out in front of me like a mobile salon. I can’t pronounce some of the designer names on the labels, much less tell you what they’re for. With me, less is best. I run, I sweat, I shower. A little powder and blush and a sweep of mascara. For the most part, that’s me done. When I get to my destination, I add lip gloss. I like strawberry and I tend to lick it off if I apply it too soon. Once again, I digress.
I’m sitting in my strapless bra that’s a deep emerald green to match my dress. I have on a matching thong - which I hate but my sister insists it’s necessary for the lines of the dress - and a garter belt with stockings. Once again, she swears that pantyhose will screw up the dress. Fair enough. She’s the fashion designer.
She puts the last pin in my hair and inserts pearl stud earrings. Next comes the emerald green antique choker with the drop pearl in the center. I have to admit it. I am drop dead gorgeous sitting there in my underwear with my hair half up and half down, a whisp of curls falling around my face. I’m wearing makeup, but not too much, with a touch of green shadow that seems to make my eyes glow. The woman knows her stuff. Time for the dress.
I stand and she unzips the garment bag, a grin on her face that can only be described as a fairy godmother dressing Cinderella. She holds it close to the floor and I step into it, the sound of silk rustling all around me as she hoists it up. She laces it up the back while I adjust the girls. I’m showing way more cleavage than I’m comfortable with, but she assures me that it’s not half of what I’ll see at the gala. Once she’s finished, she turns me toward the floor length mirror and I gasp.
“Wait! We forgot the shoes!”
She places them in front of me and I have a silent conversation with the three inch emerald satin stilettos that are staring me down. I’ve walked in them all day, back and forth across my hardwood floors, getting used to the feel of being tipped forward, my ass pitching up for the world to see. It felt strange, but I adjusted and I think I’ve got the hang of it now. They’re not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought they’d be.
I step into the shoes and the whole thing comes together. This is as good as it gets. I look like a different woman. I’m now a notable five-foot-seven. My dress is emerald green silk that catches the light as if holding on for dear life. The top is a corset design, pulling in my waist and flares at my hips into a comfortably full skirt. It’s not what you would call a ball gown, but the flare is enough for me to walk comfortably. There’s no slip beneath it, so when I walk, it shows the outline of my legs and if I do say so myself, running has been my friend. I have toned, shapely legs and the dress accents that asset nicely. I look naughty, yet nice. I look good enough to be with Deacon Sloan.
My sister is chewing nails, waiting for a comment of some kind.
“Well?”
“I’d cry but you’d kill me for ruining my makeup. You outdid yourself and I’m not sure how I’ll repay you.”
Her smile is enough. She’s practically hopping with excitement. We’re so busy congratulating ourselves that we almost miss the chimes announcing his arrival. Our eyes grow huge and all I can mange is, “Eep!”
Melody runs to the door before I can stop her and throws it open. I start walking down the hall, that suddenly seems like the longest hall every made, and notice that he’s standing at the end of it. My sister looks like the cat that ate the canary as she chews on her bottom lip with a wicked gleam in her eye. A gleam that thankfully, he can’t see, as she’s standing to his side and slightly behind him. His eyes are on me.
My first thought is if I thought I looked good, I had no clue what “good” really was. Deacon Sloan in a three piece suit is yummy. Deacon Sloan in a tux is panty melting. Sincerely. I’m not just saying that. He. Is. Devastating.
As I get closer I see that he's clenching and unclenching his hands as if he’s nervous. That’s almost comical to consider because this man commands any room he’s in. Nervous? No way. Yet, that’s how it seems to me. That little voice inside me is grinning and singing the theme from the Love Boat. I inwardly cringe.
I stopped in front of him and he leaned towards me. Unsure of what my move should be, I elect to stand still. Actually, the shoes made that decision. I forgot to practice going backwards. Whoops.
His breath was warm against my ear and I almost started swaying but I held firm, holding it together.
“You’re breathtaking Dorothy. I cannot tell you how pleased I am.”
He leaned back, waiting for my reaction. My face must’ve betrayed me because now he’s smirking, making it easier for me to gather my thoughts.
“Hey, I’ve got the hottest date in town tonight and I had to stake my claim. You clean up nice yourself there Deke.”
My sister’s chin hit the floor and I gave her “the look”. She put her hand over her mouth and recovered quickly. Deacon? The jury was still out.
He tilted his head, trying to decide if I was kidding and going for effect, or serious and trying to scare the shit out of him. He must have went for the humor because I got the full dimpled smile and my heart began to race, but I smiled in return and winked. He shook his head and offered his arm, which I gratefully took. The shoes were still vacillating on whether or not to behave.
As we walked out the door, I pressed my luck and looked over my shoulder at Melody.
“Don’t wait up.”
I felt him stutter a step and I started laughing. He shook his head as he pressed the elevator button.
“You’ll be the death of me Dorothy, I swear it.”
I touched his nose and smiled.
“You need to lighten up Deke. I’m harmless.”
The elevator door opened and he ushered me inside.
“Why are you calling me Deke?”
I thought a moment and then remembered.
“Anton called you that and it suits you. Don’t worry, I won’t call you that in public.”
He relaxed and patted the hand I had curled into his arm.
“Thank-you. I appreciate that.”
The doors opened to the lobby and we took a step out of the elevator.
“In public, I’ll call you, Sir.”
“Dorothy....”
He was doing that jaw flex thing and I knew I’d pressed my luck for the moment.
“God you’re easy.”
He shook his head and opened the door of the building where a sleek black limo waited at the curb, the back door open with the chauffeur waiting patiently. He felt the stutter in my step and grinned, pulling me a little closer.
“Well what do you know? I finally scored a point.”
I glanced at him and he looked almost boyish in his glee. I smiled because I liked that look on him. He looked carefree and happy. For a second his walls were down and I saw the “great guy” his brothers spoke of.
I was in over my head from the minute we pulled up to the entrance. We were positioned so that he would exit first, but I held him back a moment. A seemingly endless red carpet stretched out before us le
ading to the front door and photographers stood poised at the ready for the next famous face they would capture for the society pages tomorrow. Was it daunting? Hell yes it was daunting and I wasn’t ready. Not even close and I didn’t mind speaking up.
“Deacon, wait.”
He turned to me in confusion and then realization filled his eyes, closely followed by something that I interpreted as sympathy.
“Hey, there’s no reason to be nervous.”
I was unconvinced and he saw it.
“Dorothy, breathe. Listen to me babe. You look positively edible. Trust me, I’ve been to enough of these things to know what will work and what won’t. You, are going to turn heads and I’m lucky to have you by my side. Don’t think I don’t realize that, I do. We can do this because we’ll do it together. Okay?”
I stared at him looking for some kind of sign that he was bullshitting me. Something. Anything. But it wasn’t there. He believed what he was telling me, I could see it in his eyes. He tried one more thing and it was a low blow.
“Dor’, do you trust me?”
And there it was. I was Dorothy Lincoln. Daughter of Brian and Catherine Lincoln. If I looked ridiculous or fell flat on my face tonight, it not only reflected on me, it reflected on them. There was a lot at stake and suddenly all of the confidence I had in front of that full length mirror back at my apartment, faded into mist. I had zero faith in myself and it was a strange and foreign feeling.
Deacon waited patiently for my response and in turn, he didn’t seem to give a flip if the photographers waited as well. His focus was on me and I drew from that.
“Yes. I trust you Deacon.”
He gave me the full dimple smile and something about it calmed me down. I could do this. I could do this because Deacon Sloan said I could.
“You ready?”
I couldn’t find the words so I nodded rapidly, my curls bouncing on my shoulder. He winked and wove the fingers of his left hand through the fingers of my right.
“Then let’s kick this pig babe.”