FRAGILE: Part 1

by Kimberly Malone

  “Maybe coffee later,” I murmur.

  I smile as I tug at his suit jacket, pulling him back towards the bed, locking my eyes with his. Eli follows me obediently, as if he can’t say no, and I laugh when he finally stops resisting and lunges for me, and we fall onto the bed.

  ***

  After we shower, Eli gives me a gray robe with a blue “R” monogram on it, and we sit in his living room, sipping coffee and munching on toast and bacon. His condo is like my place, except for that it is as neat and bland as Marnvell Jeweler’s corporate building. My coat is hanging on the coat rack, while my dress is draped across the couch I sit on, and I spot my other shoe not far from the front door. At least both shoes had made it here with me; I was starting to worry I’d left the one shoe in Eli’s office and lost another pair of nude heels.

  “Thank you for breakfast,” I say.

  After such an intense night and morning, I’m feeling a little bashful around Eli. I also feel guilty for so quickly throwing myself at a near-stranger in what may have just been a one-time occasion. I hope Larisa doesn’t give me a talking to about “proper business relations,” and I have absolutely no intentions of letting Jonah know about this. I can’t imagine this counts as trying to avoid harassment charges.

  “You’re welcome,” Eli says. He eyes my bare feet, taking in my bright blue-painted toenails.

  I start to realize that while we had talked off and on last night, I still know very little about Eli. “So did you grow up in Atlanta? Or did you move here?” I ask.

  “I moved here when I was offered the job at Marnvell Jewelers,” Eli says.

  “Which was when?”

  “Some years ago.”

  I knew Eli had been guarded with me yesterday, but I sense it even more now that we’ve been intimate together. “Were you a CEO for another company before Marnvell Jewelers?”

  “No,” Eli says. He takes a sip of his coffee.

  Am I going to have to pry it from your lips? I wonder. “Is there anything you would like to tell me about yourself?”

  Now, Eli finally smiles. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having guests over for long.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Tell me about your company. Why did you start Ruby’s Jewelry?”

  And like that, Eli flips the conversation back to me. I don’t mind talking about myself, and I love to talk about my business, but I can tell he’s just trying to weasel out of giving information away. Whatever, I think. Be all mysterious. You’re definitely sexier because of it.

  “I’ve always loved jewels,” I say. “I mean, what girl doesn’t? But I had the chance to take some classes in high school on how to make jewelry, and I was absolutely fascinated with it. I did my own sketches for ideas and tried them out, and everything I made I sold! Pretty soon I was buying more and more equipment, and then teaching others how to make it so that I could focus exclusively on the design and overseeing production, and that’s how I accidentally became an entrepreneur.”

  “You make it sound so easy to build a huge company,” Eli says. He leans back slowly on the couch, as if he’s finally relaxing.

  I laugh. “Hardly. I didn’t sleep more than four hours a night until about a year and a half ago,” I say. “Every waking moment I was trying to run faster than time. There were days I went hungry because I was so busy, or because I was pouring money into my business.”

  Eli gives me a curious frown. “You are very passionate about your company.”

  “Oh yeah.” I wonder why that puzzles Eli. But given how subdued he is, I’m not sure if he’s passionate about anything. Does he feel at all? It’s not the first time that thought’s crossed my mind. But all I have to think about is Eli’s lips on mine and I know there’s a driving desire deep in him. Maybe hidden away, maybe unrealized, but the passion is there.

  “Do you have any hobbies or activities outside of your work?” Eli asks me. He refills our mugs with coffee from a copper carafe. I add sugar and cream to mine from the small tray on the coffee table between our two couches.

  “I like to run,” I say.

  “You have the legs for it,” Eli murmurs.

  I grin and cross my legs, forcing the robe I’m in to open up to either side of my knees. “I like art museums. Concerts, although I haven’t been to one recently. I like to go to the movies.” I also volunteer at the homeless shelter occasionally, but I feel like that’s pretty prideful to say, so I keep it to myself. “What about you?”

  Eli hesitates, but this time I keep his eyes locked with mine, not allowing him to back out of this question. “I like to hike and camp,” he says.

  “Really?” I ask. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the camping type.”

  “I don’t do it often. Too much work.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  Chuckling, Eli looks off for a moment. “I run as well.” Then, he shrugs. “Not much else.”

  “Well, that’s something,” I say. “I’m not even sure I’ve gotten a birthday out of you yet.”

  “Whereas I know your birthday is July twenty-third,” Eli says. He smirks.

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” I say. While I meant it as a joke, it came out a little too easily, and I watch Eli hide again behind his stone face, sitting up straight on the couch again.

  Eli suddenly checks his watch. “I have to get to the office. I’ve sent for a dress to be delivered here for you, and my maid knows you’re here.”

  “Eli,” I say. I reach out, but he’s already stood up. He keeps a distance between us and nods to me once when he’s at the door.

  “It was good to meet you, Ruby,” Eli says. “The second time, at least,” he adds.

  I chuckle, though inside I feel a little defeated. Regardless, I give him a coy smile. “I enjoyed doing you, too.” I close my eyes as I hear myself. “Meeting you, I meant to say. But that, too.”

  Eli relaxes into a smirk, then he opens the door and walks out. I hear the door lock behind him, and I listen to his footsteps on tile as they fade away.

  I lean back in my seat with a sigh. How can one man fascinate me so much when I still know so little about him? There’s a part of me that is seriously thinking about just staying here. Eli expects me to leave, and I love doing the exact opposite of people’s expectations.

  Undecided, I search the condo out. There’s nothing that gives it any personality or reveals anything about Eli. I can’t even find any family photos. It doesn’t look like a home. It’s as if some hotel designer went through the condo and put everything into its damn, perfect place. The messiest thing is the bed, and I gaze at it longingly for a few minutes, remembering this morning and last night.

  For a guy who doesn’t like to talk about himself or show emotion, Eli’s an amazing lover. Not that I’ve had many—a couple of nights with one boyfriend hardly gives me much to compare Eli to. Regardless, Eli tops him, easily, and I’m hot again just thinking about Eli naked.

  There’s a knock on the front door. “Hello?” a voice calls faintly. “It’s Mary. I have a dress for Miss Jennings?”

  Taking a breath to calm myself, I head to the door and undo the lock, opening it up. Mary is, much to my surprise, a very old, very tiny lady with an incredibly warm smile. Draped over one arm is a blue dress in a plastic sleeve, and she has a plastic bag hanging from her other arm.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Are you Miss Jennings?” Mary asks.

  “I am.” I step aside, assuming Mary wants to come in. However, she just holds out the dress. “Oh, thank you. How much?”

  “Mr. Richardson paid for it,” Mary says. She hands me the plastic bag. “I went ahead and purchased some other supplies I thought you might need.”

  Inside the bag is a bunch of toiletries. “You’re very sweet,” I say. I’m trying not to think about how many times Mary’s done this, and I’m surprised by the fact that I’m jealous.

  Mary smiles at me. “Did you need help with anything?”

  “No, but thank you, Mary.”


  “You’re quite welcome, Miss Jennings.” Mary nods her head to me once and walks down the short hall towards an elevator.

  I close the door and lock it, and then set everything on the couch and go to my clutch to find my phone. I’ve got several texts and missed calls, most of them from Larisa. I dial her number. The phone only rings twice before I hear her pick up.

  “Ruby?” Larisa says on the other side. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I slept in really late.” That was mostly true. I was just also having sex with the hottest guy in Atlanta. Maybe the country. I take a breath to calm myself. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, I just hadn’t heard from you and I was really worried.”

  I smile as I walk around the condo. “Really, I’m good.”

  There’s a pause on the other side of the phone. “Were you with Mr. Richardson all night?”

  “Yep,” I say. I really don’t like lying, and I especially don’t lie to Larisa. Not anymore. I’m convinced she works for the FBI or CIA part-time. Nothing stays a secret around her very long.

  “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

  I chuckle as I walk to the kitchen. “It was an amazing idea.”

  Another pause. “So he’s handsome and good in bed?” Larisa asks. Even she, the ever-practical one, can’t resist Eli.

  “Oooooh yes.”

  “Lucky.”

  Now I laugh. Sometimes Larisa surprises me, and this is one of those times. “So what are you up to?” I ask.

  “I’m actually at home relaxing,” Larisa says.

  I open different cabinets and then the fridge, looking for food, although I’m not sure what I want. “Is Ken with you?”

  “No, I had to kick him out,” Larisa says. She sighs. “Just not the guy for me. Whines about too much.”

  Larisa can be fairly critical, so her definition of “whining” is different than mine, but I have to agree with her for once. I’d hung out around her and Ken a few times, and while he had model-like hair and good manners, the man complained about a lot of things—including the shampoo bottles that some hotels provide for their guests for free.

  “That’s a shame,” I say. “He really did seem like a nice guy otherwise. But you’ll find someone better.”

  “I might try Mr. Richardson,” Larisa says, her tone light.

  “Well, if you do, good luck trying to learn anything about the guy. He’s like a brick wall. About the only thing I’ve discovered about him is that he likes to go camping and hiking.”

  “You’ve spent the night with Eli Richardson, and that’s all you know about the guy?” Larisa chuckles. “What have you been doing?”

  “Hey, hey, we’ve been talking,” I say and laugh. “He just asks a lot of questions about me every time I ask about him.” I realize I’m staring into a well-stocked liquor cabinet. It’s got everything I could have imagined, and I dimly recall watching Eli getting me another martini from this cabinet last night. I think he was down to just his pants by that point. Maybe nothing.

  “Where’s Mr. Richardson at now?” Larisa asks.

  “At his office,” I say.

  “Ah. So did he tell you to wait for him?”

  “No, and he sent me a new dress. I think he intends for me to leave.”

  “But you’re not going to leave, are you?” Larisa asks. She laughs, and I can imagine her shaking her head. “Ruby! You are so obstinate sometimes.”

  I grin, as I pick out a plump apple and set it on the kitchen counter, next to a jar of peanut butter I found. “Are you okay by yourself today?”

  “Me? Are you joking? I’m lounging in my pajamas, coffee in one hand, chocolate in the other, watching TV. I’m in bliss.”

  I laugh as I find an apple cutter in one of the drawers. “Alright. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’ll just want to know all the details tomorrow,” Larisa says, a smile in her voice.

  “Lunch?” I suggest. I suspect Eli’s going to work Sunday as well…and that assumes he lets me stay another night.

  “It’s a date,” Larisa says. “Don’t tell Mr. Richardson.”

  Laughing, I bid her a good day and hang up. I slice the apple, spoon some peanut butter onto the plate, and take a bite of apple with peanut butter on one end before walking around the condo some more. My headache is being persistent today, and I search through my clutch for medicine before getting myself a glass of water.

  After finishing my water and eating the apple with peanut butter, I take my second shower, this time savoring it and using the stuff Mary got me. Afterwards, I change into the blue dress. It’s long-sleeved but shorter than I had anticipated, only coming midway down my thighs, and it fits me very well. I shed the dress, freshen up with my make-up kit in my clutch, and then tidy up my stuff, setting it into a neater pile in the bedroom. I’m not a neat-freak like Eli seems to be, but I know that nothing kills a romantic mood like a mess, and I figure it’s probably a big deal for Eli. It’s a little cool to be walking around naked, and I slip on the robe again and bump up the temperature a degree before going back, getting myself another glass of water, and then heading to the living room and watching TV from a fancy leather couch.

  I don’t normally do nothing, even on weekends where I’m not officially working on my business, but today it feels good to rest. I’m amazed at how tired I feel. I just chalk it up to an amazing night and a hangover.

  At five o’clock I turn on the radio of a nice sound system that’s wired throughout the place, set aside the robe, and then I head into the kitchen, feeling much more rested, hungry, and anxious to know what Eli will think of me still being here.

  I find everything I’m looking for to cook up chicken with a nice strawberry and pecan salad. I don’t know if Eli is returning for dinner, but I make sure to cook enough for him. I’ve just set the sliced and seasoned chicken strips into the oven when I hear keys jingle at the front door, and I’m washing my hands when Eli opens the door.

  “Good afternoon!” I say cheerily.

  Eli freezes mid-step at the sight of me. After a few seconds, he takes another step into the building and closes the door behind him slowly. “Good afternoon,” he says, his tone guarded.

  “Hungry?” I ask. I start shredding the romaine lettuce for the salad.

  Eli sets his keys in a black glass bowl on a table by the door and walks towards me. As he comes around the counter, his eyes take in the fact that I’m completely naked, and he pauses, one hand resting on the kitchen counter.

  “Did your dress not come?” Eli asks.

  “Oh, it came,” I say. I’m having difficulty reading whether he’s happy to see me or not, although given that his gaze keeps running up and down my body, I guess he’s happy. “It looks very nice and fits well, thank you.”

  Shifting back a step, Eli’s face hardens a little. “Why are you still here?”

  “I’m sorry, is there another girl coming?” I ask lightly.

  “No.”

  “Other guests coming?”

  “No.”

  “Is it so bad that I wanted to see you naked again, then?”

  Eli finally relaxes into a smirk. “Am I supposed to match you?”

  I laugh. “Well, you’re sexy in clothes and out of clothes—so no hurry. But you should definitely match me at some point.” I slice strawberries into bits to add them to the salad. “How was your day?”

  “Fine,” Eli says. He sits on a bar stool on the other side of the counters, watching me work. “What are you making?”

  “Chicken with a strawberry and pecan salad. Anything you don’t like? Or anything you’re allergic to? I assumed not—since it’s your place.”

  “I don’t like pears,” Eli says. “Not allergic to them though.”

  “Pears?” I ask. “Why pears?”

  “They have a funny taste and texture to me.”

  “Okay. No pears, got it. Unless I’m mad at you, then there might be pears.”

  Eli
chuckles. “Would you care for a drink?”

  “I’d love one. No more martinis for me though. I had way too many last night.”

  Still snickering, Eli nods his head once in agreement. “So what would you like?”

  “Eh, I like a lot of stuff,” I say. “What are you having?”

  “I was just going to have whiskey, but since you’re here, how does a margarita sound?” Eli asks.

  “Sounds excellent.”

  Eli sets about getting ice from the refrigerator while I spread out pecans in a pan to roast them in the oven. “The way you were talking earlier today, I thought you worked Saturdays,” he says.

  “Normally I do,” I say. I open the oven, put the pan with pecans inside, and check on the chicken before closing the oven back up. “But I was pretty tired today. Actually, been feeling a little more run down this month,” I add, thinking back to my schedule. I hadn’t worked weekends very much this month. “Guess I’m getting old,” I say.

  Eli gives a snort in disbelief. “You’re not old. You could be a model.”

  “Why thank you!”

  He sets a very large margarita glass on the kitchen counter for me, the rim of the glass coated in salt.

  “Now that’s how you do a margarita!” I say and take a sip. “Thanks!”

  Nodding his head, Eli sheds his suit jacket, hangs it on the coat rack, and sits on the bar stool again. He leans forward, his eyes watching me as he takes a drink of his margarita.

  After a long pause, Eli sets his margarita down. “I’m not suing you,” he says, his voice low.

  I feel miffed that he brings it up, and I raise an eyebrow at him as I mix the salad together. “Is that why you think I’m still here?”

  “Why else would you be cooking in my kitchen?” Eli’s eyes drop to my chest. “Completely naked?”

  “Because I find you mysterious, attractive, and I thoroughly enjoyed last night and this morning,” I say. “And now I’m hungry.”