by Wylie Kinson
Emotionally raw, Ellis contemplated skipping the reception. It would have been much easier to console her wounded ego with a pint of Cherry Garcia. Instead, she decided to give Simon a little dose of you-coulda-had-it-but-you-blew-it. It was a matter of dignity to go to the party with her head held high, looking absolutely smashing. Hell, she had a knack for colors and accessorizing, she may as well use it for something other than empty rooms.
She arrived fashionably late and scanned the assembled crowd for three people—Simon and Cynthia so she could avoid them, and Remi, whom she intended to keep close for emotional support.
Her scum radar locked on Simon within moments, almost as if they had a psychic connection. Steely knives sliced through her gut at the thought of Cynthia and Simon spending the afternoon screwing. He smiled and raised his hand but Ellis turned away and practically assaulted one of the judges, shaking hands and babbling about the “terrific experience” she’d had.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Remi, but her intentions of shadowing him were dashed when she noticed he was in full-flirtation mode with another guest. Fortunately, there was no sign of Ms. Travers. She might not have been able to stop herself from clawing the bitch’s eyes out.
Ellis continued ’round the room, mingling with designers and answering the myriad questions thrown at her by the press and potential investors. Perhaps she laughed a little too loudly, tried a bit too hard, but she was determined to be charming. Every time she spotted Simon making his way toward her she managed to engage someone in conversation, but the inevitable happened and they found themselves in the same group chat.
Awkward minutes passed as the group talked around them. Ellis examined her shoe, turned her gaze to the giant chandelier, which dripped from above, studied the faces of everyone in the group…anything to avoid eye contact with Simon. Then his cell phone rang and he turned away for privacy. Ellis stole the moment to admire the way his navy dress jacket hung perfectly on his back and shoulders, the way his dark hair curled over the collar. She thought back to the morning he showed up fresh from the shower, with his hair still wet. Simon cleaned up beautifully, despite the fact that he was such a scoundrel. Even among the metrosexual businessmen and polished real estate tycoons, he was without a doubt the finest-looking man in the room.
Simon turned around quite suddenly, his eyes boring into her. Ellis felt abashed—he’d caught her staring! She could feel her face redden as he made his apologies to the group and left the room.
He was leaving. Ellis felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. The tension in her neck and shoulders drained as she watched him exit without a backward glance. He was clearly walking trouble, and Ellis hated him for making her feel so unsure of herself. Thank heavens the competition was over. She never had to see him again.
So why should that thought make her panic?
Ellis glanced between the clock and the door for the next half hour. He wasn’t coming back. She could shelve her show of bravado and go home to soak her sore feet and dive into the Cherry Garcia. She wished she had a cat, a little furry friend who would be waiting for her, happy she was home, if only because she had the opposable thumbs necessary to operate a can opener.
She knew it was against the rules but Ellis couldn’t help sneaking one last peek at the project that had consumed her life for the past few weeks. It was strictly forbidden to enter the house after the noon deadline but she decided that one stolen glance through the windows surely couldn’t be cause for disqualification.
Relieved to finally be able to kick off her high heels, she turned her car in the direction of the show house and pressed her bare foot on the accelerator. It was a short drive from the stuffy club to Oak Ridges. As she got within sight, Ellis pondered the thirty-six acre estate and could imagine the future of this place—children running around perfectly manicured lawns, gardeners trimming hedges, moms maneuvering their minivans into the circular driveways. A tinge of sadness washed over her, a feeling of regret that she couldn’t see her own future as someone’s wife, as someone’s mother. Ridiculous really, to feel sorry for herself, especially since Simon’s behavior proved her right on two counts—testosterone-dripping alpha males are not her type and all men named “Simon” are scoundrels.
She turned onto the narrow road that led to the show house and surveyed the dusty flat of land, lined with rows of Victorian street lamps and dotted with concrete foundations. Abandoned front loaders, backhoes and bobcats stood like silhouetted behemoths guarding the landscape.
Lost in her musings, Ellis didn’t take any notice to the black Mustang that buzzed past her going in the opposite direction.
Ellis killed her headlights and parked in the shadows away from the solitary house, where no one would see her car. She got out and noticed that the construction trailers had been moved to another area in the development, the gardens had been cleaned up and all signs of the past weeks’ frenzy were erased. The beautifully landscaped yard was well lit but the only lights she could see burning in the house were those in the foyer and main hall.
“Oh hell,” she mumbled in the dark. She’d come for nothing. She wouldn’t be able to see through the windows after all. But as the disappointment was settling in her chest, she detected a faint glow coming from the far side of the house where the office was located. Ellis strolled through the front yard, enjoying the feel of the freshly laid Bermuda grass between her toes and admiring the quick work of the gardening firm. They made it look as if the hostas and dahlias had had been blooming in the winding front garden for a full season.
She rounded the corner. Finally, a lucky break! The office lights had been left on.
But as she drew closer, Ellis knew that her luck had just run out.
* * * * *
Simon left the Oak Ridges Development madder than a wet cat. This damned project was supposed to be over but thanks to the call he’d received at the reception, he faced a long night of work. He contemplated phoning Ellis but despite her chilliness toward him, he didn’t want her dragged into this mess. It was hard enough on him. Emotionally, it would crush her. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle Cynthia but something had to be done.
Goddamned women! Why did they get caught up in this pettiness? It was only a contest for damn sake. Simon shook his head with disgust and forced his fingers to relax on the wheel. Before he tackled the problem at the show house, he was going home to pour himself a very large brandy and change out of his monkey suit. Thoughts of his wardrobe brought a vision of Ellis to mind.
Simon had arrived at the cocktail party and done a cursory search of the room, but he hadn’t seen the perky golden-brown eyes he was looking for. He was searching out Ellis, who had left the show house before he had the chance to catch her. It wasn’t like her to leave before the absolute deadline, he’d thought at the time, just ten minutes before noon. He’d expected her to be fiddling with this and that until the last strike of the bell.
Cocktail in hand, Simon mingled, caught up with a few acquaintances, his father’s friends among them, but couldn’t stop himself from looking toward the door, eager to see that shy little smile form whenever their eyes met. He probably should have offered to pick her up but she was the one who insisted they keep things low-key—or no-key—until after the competition, so he hadn’t bothered to ask.
Then WHAM! When she had finally arrived, it was if someone had squeezed the air out of his lungs. Simon didn’t know anything about women’s fashion, but that dress! It was milk-chocolate brown, with thin straps that showed off her toned shoulders and graceful neck. The tailored sheath molded over her breasts and skimmed her body to mid-calf, and when she walked, Simon could see her long leg through the peek-a-boo slit up the side. He could imagine those long, honey-colored legs wrapped around his waist. Her bare arms had moved with the grace of a ballerina, waving at friends and acquaintances scattered throughout the room. The light from above played with the gold and amber streaks in her hair. The only jewelry she wore was a thick gold bangle
. It was all she needed. Ellis had a casual beauty that didn’t need the distraction of sparkling gems.
Simon had needed to be at her side and to hell with the competition or what the others thought. He had weaved his way through the crowd, only a few steps away when she’d caught his eye. Instead of the slow grin he had expected, she turned away. Perhaps she didn’t see him? No, Simon caught the icy glare on her face before she abruptly turned her back.
Man, would he ever understand women? First Cynthia had thrown herself at him with a level of aggression he just wasn’t used to, then sweet Ellis gave him the frosty shoulder.
* * * * *
“No, no, no, no…” Ellis chanted as she stumbled through the garden to the main entrance. She dug the master key from her handbag and raced for the alarm system. She reached the panel and was surprised to see it was already off. Still in shock over what she’d just seen through the window, she didn’t stop to think about the implications. Ellis made her way to the office, her bare feet doing double-time over the cold gray marble.
“NO!” she cried. It wasn’t a trick of the night. Two of the office walls were pink. Pepto-Bismol pink! How? She’d only left it nine hours ago and it was perfect. Someone had destroyed her work. She would be the laughing stock of the competition! Her reputation would be ruined! But why?
First Simon, now this! Ellis sank to her knees as her eyes filled with tears—tears of rage, frustration and sadness. She allowed herself five minutes. Just five minutes to be upset and then she would have to take action. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and tried to come up with a plan. Surely something could be done to fix this mess. Ellis stared at the floor. She concentrated on relaxing her body while the thoughts in her brain swirled until they began to align and form a pattern, like the interlocking grain of the gleaming wood. First she’d call Remi. Between them, they would come up with a plan to overcome this situation and redeem their design in the next thirteen hours.
She took another deep breath and opened her eyes. That’s when she noticed the paint tins in the corner—the unopened, full cans clearly labeled Divine Caravan, and resting alongside were brushes, rollers and a pile of drop cloths. “What the hell is going on?”
No matter, she thought, my action plan just got a jump-start. Ellis threw aside her clutch and began laying drop cloths on the floor and furniture. She surveyed the room and decided to roll first and cut around the edges later, once her hands stopped shaking. Prep work complete, she carefully tipped the tin of primer, letting the viscous liquid overtake the brim to pool in the plastic tray below. She popped a yellow fuzzy roller onto the handle and was about to dip in when she caught sight of the hem of her dress, mere inches away from the paint.
“This won’t do,” she said, looking down at her fancy outfit. She put the roller back down and stripped out of her three-quarter-length cocktail dress, leaving her clad only in a black lace strapless bra and matching panties. If she wasn’t so upset Ellis would probably find humor in her attire, but that was one emotion she didn’t have time for.
Ellis had been at it awhile when the sweat began to bead on her forehead. Her technique was rusty and she was determined to keep it neat. She’d worked as a painter with a group of college classmates one summer. Up and down, up and down, slowly and carefully so as not to leave splatter, she moved the roller over the walls of the office. She had nearly completed the primer coat when she heard the chuckle.
“My, my, aren’t you a picture.”
She turned to see Simon leaning on the doorjamb with a cocky expression on his face.
Ellis was just too tired and too angry to worry about her state of dress—or undress, as was the case.
“Well don’t just stand there! Pick up a goddamned brush and get to work! And while you’re at it, please explain to me why these walls are pink!”
“Why don’t you give me that,” Simon said, holding his hand out for the roller.
“No. You cut. My hands are too unsteady.”
“I don’t like cutting.”
“Well neither do I,” Ellis lied as she turned her back to him. She quite liked the precision involved in tape-free cutting. It was extremely satisfying, watching that fine bead on the edge of the bristles create a perfect line. But not now, not when her hands were shaking and her nerves in a state of near panic.
Simon grunted but picked up the three-inch brush and purposely let her question go unanswered. They worked in silence, their backs to one another, until the first coat was almost complete. Simon concentrated hard, focusing on the edge of his brush, anything to get his mind off her perfect ass under a scrap of lace he longed to rip off with his teeth. It was hard to deny the urge to turn around to look at her working in that sexy getup. Every time he blinked he saw her image, like she was imbedded on the inside of his eyelids, teasing him, taunting him.
Ellis, meanwhile, didn’t have it any easier. Embarrassment, anger and longing, three very different emotions, battled inside her. How could he carry on with Cynthia when he’d led her to believe they had something special together? He made her believe that after the competition they might pick up where they’d left off. But now, here she was feeling underdressed and exposed. He didn’t so much as offer her his T-shirt!
Oh God, she wanted him. Her heart pounded, throwing off the rhythm of her strokes. She gritted her teeth and began to prepare a new can of paint.
Simon finished cutting and turned to catch Ellis stirring the can of Divine Caravan. His stomach muscles clenched as he watched the way her hips swayed from side to side as she turned the big wooden stick through the thick paint. Her black lace panties resembled little shorts—they rode low on her hips and barely covered her bum. Her just-right breasts, ready to spill out of the top of her bra, shimmied with every rotation of the stirrer. Simon tried to produce enough saliva to swallow but his mouth suddenly felt dry. There was a familiar tightening in his groin, a pressure against the front of his jeans that caused him to growl with annoyance.
“Here, put this on,” Simon peeled off his T-shirt and threw it at Ellis.
“I’m not wearing your sweaty old shirt.” Ellis caught it one-handed, threw it to the floor in feigned disgust and stomped barefoot from the room. She just needed a moment to breathe, a moment away from his sexy eyes, his made-for-sex body and especially away from his visible arousal. She opened the kitchen fridge, grateful to whoever left the case of water. She chugged one bottle down, grabbed two more and headed back to the office, slowly, allowing her emotions to settle before she had to go back in. Maybe she would put on his shirt and spare herself any more humiliation. Besides, it would smell like him and that couldn’t be a bad thing.
Ellis walked in to find Simon wearing nothing but a tight pair of white knit boxers.
“Very cute, Simon,” Ellis said, acting angry to cover the surprising shock wave of lust sweeping through her. “You think this is funny?”
“Hey, just trying to break the tension,” he said. “I also thought I’d give you a taste of my agony.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Put your pants back on,” she said, tossing a water bottle in his direction.
“Only if you put on my T-shirt,” he said, catching it deftly in his left hand, the paintbrush still in the other. “I can’t work with a half-naked woman.”
“And speaking of…” Ellis muttered.
“Speaking of what?”
“Speaking of half-naked women, did you enjoy your afternoon tête-à-tête with Cynthia?” Determined not to show any sign of emotion, especially jealousy, Ellis forced a halfhearted laugh.
“Eavesdropping?”
“No!” Ellis protested, wondering why she felt she needed to defend herself. “I just happened to be walking by.”
“Well, your timing was a bit off.”
“You could say.”
Their gazes locked, each trying to determine how the other felt. Ellis wanted an explanation but she would never admit it.
Simon desperately wanted
to explain but his stubborn pride prevented him. After all, he didn’t do anything wrong and it rankled him that Ellis believed that he would betray her with Cynthia, of all people. Besides, she was the one who had wanted to brush him off after the closet affair. He’d have been happy to take her home to bed that very night!
“Nothing happened,” he growled.
“Never mind, Simon,” Ellis said with a hint of bitterness in her voice. She turned with intent to nonchalantly walk away but her foot came down on the paint key and she stumbled forward. Ellis bit her lip to stop herself from yelping and steadied herself on a nearby chair.
Damn it! Her heart ached, she was half-naked and this whole situation had her feeling vulnerable and flustered. She had to regain a sense of control.
“It’s none of my business how many designers you carry on with, just leave me out of your harem, please.”
“Nothing happened Ellis, nothing,” Simon said, raising his volume a frustrated notch. “Cynthia and I have worked together on a number of projects and she throws herself at me every time. I try to avoid her when I can but it’s not always possible, so I pretend to play along but I always, always walk away.”