Feeling Some Type of Way

by Vera Roberts

  “Got it,” I jotted down, “anything else?”

  “Yes,” he walked around to the front of his desk and perched, “why are you so crabby today?”

  My eyes shot up at him and Ian hardened his gaze right back. “I’m here to do my job, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Mr. Ferguson?” Ian’s eyes twinkled at me as a devilish grin formed across his lips. “Wow. You are pissed at me.”

  “I have a lot going on outside work and I apologize you’re offended my life doesn’t involve you.” I replied. “Are we done here? I have a lot to do.”

  “No, we’re not,” his British accent bit back, and I let out a small breath to get ready for a lecture. That’s one thing the Fergusons are good at – pissing people off. I’m felt regretful my coffee cup is in my office and not in Ian’s face. “You’re not dismissed until I know what’s going on here.”

  “Fine,” I slapped the pen on the notepad and locked eyes with him, “my father is an asshole.”

  “I think we’ve already established that,” he countered.

  “I have to get rid of the storage unit holding my mother’s possessions or all of it is going in the trash on Saturday. It doesn’t nearly give me enough time to sort through things. I’m going have to buy another storage unit so I can transfer the items there until I have time to sort through everything. So, I’m going have to cancel going to the gala with you on Saturday as I’ll be too busy.”

  Ian calmly looked at me and I honestly felt like he was looking through me. “Is that really the reason you’re not attending?” He asked.

  I love how I just literally sat before him and explained as to why I couldn’t attend and he still thought I had an ulterior motive. I think Ian and Sam went to the same King of Assholes school and both graduated with top honors. “So now you’re accusing me of lying? Beautiful.”

  Ian’s eyes remained on me, though I refused to look at him. If I have to stay in here to entertain his Dr. Phil impersonation, I’m not giving him any more attention than needed.

  “If you need help with your mother’s items, I’ll be glad to assist.” Ian replied. “I’ll let you have time off so you can take care of it.”

  It was a very generous gesture of Ian and I know he didn’t have to do it. I’m very grateful. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem, Domi.” He smiled at me. “But there’s still unfinished business between us.”

  “Like what?” I finally met his eyes. I hate how I can be royally pissed at him but still find the emotion to give him head, though I’ve never given a blow job before. I’m truly the embodiment of the hypersexed virgin.

  “You’ve avoided me all week,” he folded his arms, “I wanted to talk to you about what happened last week.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” I replied. “I said what I said and you said what you said. I can be mature about this and still work for you. You can date whomever you like as will I. Once things become serious with whoever you’re dating, I can stop attending the galas so you can take her. I say we all win in this, don’t you think?”

  Ian chuckled and glanced at the floor. “There’s a saying in basketball when a player completely misses the shot. I’m talking it went nowhere near the backboard, the rim, or the net. It’s called an air ball and it happens quite often. Even athletes who are considered to be the top of their game have them.” He met my eyes again. “What you just said reminds me of that.”

  In other words, I completely missed his point. “You told me you didn’t want to date me.” I replied.

  “When have I ever said that?”

  “By dating and fucking other women,” I replied, “I think actions speak louder than words.”

  “You’ve known me for two years, right?” He asked and I nodded. “Name one girlfriend of mine. Go.”

  As I sat in Ian’s office, I struggled to think of one girlfriend. I thought of several dates he’s had but never a single girlfriend. Truth was, he never had any. I chalked it up to Ian being very particular with his taste and nothing more.

  “So, you may not have had a girlfriend, but you have had several dates and they all fit a certain bill,” Sam’s words about my weight shook me to my core, “and I don’t fit that size.”

  “Your body is magnificent,” he casually replied as if he discussed the weather.

  My cheeks flushed with deep crimson as I felt my thighs naturally part, though I quickly closed them before they caused any more embarrassment to me. Ian never spoke more than he had to; a trait I found out was established when he was a child. Whenever he did speak, every word was intentional and clear because he didn’t like to repeat himself.

  He could be cold and methodical like a killer or warm and loving like a teddy bear, depending on the mood and person. He never gave me reason to think he lied. “What?”

  “Domi, I always found you attractive and I told you so on many occasions. I even showed you once in particular.” An edge of regret swept across his face and I wondered what that was about. “Anyway, take the rest of the week off. If you need any help with your mother’s items, let me know and I’ll help you. I want you by my side on Saturday.”

  I want you by my side on Saturday. “Okay,” I replied as I got up and gathered my items to head home. I have a lot to do in a few days and that’s all I’m going to have.

  “Domi?” Ian called out.

  I turned around. “Yes?”

  “Despite how much you don’t like me right now, I’ve always cared about you.” He paused. “And I always will.”

  There he goes again. Tip-toeing a line he wants to cross but refuses to do so. Why do I do this to myself? “Thank you.”

  Four

  I thought my mother wasn’t a hoarder. How very wrong I was.

  As I stood in front of the storage unit, I felt tears forming in my eyes. From top to bottom, was nothing but boxes, bubble wrap, and a whole bunch of other shit I had to go through.

  It was Wednesday. I had three days.

  I called Adrienne to see if she were available to help me but she was too busy with wedding planning to be bothered. That left me, some gloves, God, and hopefully a kick-ass playlist on Pandora to get through the next few days.

  I let out a breath and shrugged off the anger and worry. I had work to do.

  I started with the smallest boxes and worked my way to the larger ones. I found old pictures of my mother when she was a child and a photo album leading up to her adulthood. I recognized some of the faces as people who were friends and came by to take care of my mother when she was sick.

  Another photo album contained her wedding day photos. She looked so happy with my dad, who surprisingly, looked equally happy. I rummaged through the box and found other photo albums from when me and Adrienne were babies and kids.

  I went through more boxes and found old clothing and shoes. My mother was a little over five feet tall and wore a size 8 shoe. I’m 5’9 and still trying to find the perfect size 10 shoe size. Yeah, I won’t be wearing any of her clothes ever.

  I took a small break and grabbed some water. I was rather impressed with myself. I went through just about all of the boxes and was almost done with the exception of the large items in the back. I could go back to work tomorrow.

  Of course, that meant I would have to deal with Ian for the last time. It’s clear I would never be his girlfriend, yet I couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that I might have been overreacting. I did know I was tired AF waiting for him.

  My cell phone shouted to me, ‘Bitch, you got a text!’ Gotta love custom text notifications.

  Yo, I’m coming down for the weekend. What are you doing tomorrow?

  Helen texted me. While I was close with my roommates, I was particularly close with Helen. I texted her back – I have a gala to attend with Ian on Saturday but I’m free all week.

  Gala, huh? You’re like the gala queen. I should start calling you that.

  Whatev. What are you up to?

  I’ll be in LA to
check out a show. I wanna hang out with you. Let’s go do something crazy.

  Helen was always the little devil on my shoulder while Michelle played the angel role to perfection. Michelle ain’t here, so…. Sounds good, I texted back, hit me up.

  I put the phone away and went back to going through the storage unit. I only had the big boxes in the back and I would be done. It was a bittersweet feeling – once I cleared out everything and donated it all way except for items I would keep, that was it.

  As I began going through one of the big boxes, I wondered what advice my mother would give me regarding Ian. Would she tell me to leave him alone? Would she tell me to keep seeing the good within him and not expect anything? Maybe a combination of both.

  I went through the first box and found a series of photographs. It wasn’t of anyone I knew and some were of random objects. I had no idea what I was looking at and just went on about my business to the next box.

  The next box had a series of paintings and comic-book like drawings. I recognized some of the funky shapes as artwork my mother hung on the walls at home and I thought they were kinda funky and cute.

  The remaining boxes contained a lot of artwork and some more photography. Obviously, this was something above and beyond my realm. I needed help deciphering it all.

  I needed Ian.

  A wave of emotion flowed through my body as I let out a breath. He told me to call him when I needed his help and he would stop by. I didn’t want to call him. I didn’t want to face him. I wanted him to leave me alone until Saturday’s gala.

  Time was not on my side. I needed to put on my big girl panties and deal with him. We were never going to date and I’m just a warm placeholder until he finds the woman he was looking for. I’ll just deal.

  I swallowed my pride and put a call into him. Just my luck, he picked up on the first ring as if he expected my call. “Domi?”

  I hate his deep British baritone. I hate how it makes the butterflies do a million dances in my tummy. I hate how my heart pitter patters whenever I hear it. I hate my thighs instantly warm to hearing his voice, as if they secretly said, ‘Come home, Ian.’

  I hate I have an overactive imagination. “I need your help,” I told him over the phone, “I found artwork in my mother’s storage unit but I don’t know anything about it. I need you to come take a look at it.”

  “What is it?” He asked. “Photographs? Drawings? Paintings?”

  “All of the above,” I mentioned.

  “Give me the location. I’ll bring my father with me.”

  I’d briefly met Anthony Ferguson during the galas, though we never spoken more than a few words. This shall be rather interesting since he was considered one of the world’s best art curators. I gave Ian the address and hung up. He was going be here in less than 15 minutes.

  Just enough time for my heart to calm down.

  ~~~~~

  “Hello, Dominique,” The Ferguson patriarch, Anthony, greeted me. An older man with white hair, sparkling green eyes, and a penchant for winking at only beautiful women, he was a natural charmer. It also explained why he was on marriage number four. “Ian told me you have some art work here for the Gallery.”

  “What?” I shot a look at Ian, who winked at me. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, I see. “I didn’t say that. I said there might be something but I don’t know what it was.”

  “Well, let’s take a look,” Anthony gestured to the storage unit. “What do you got here, kiddo?”

  I pulled the cover from one of the pieces and Anthony loudly gasped. “God Almighty! Where did you get this? Is this a replica?”

  “Um, I don’t know.” I looked at the artwork. “Who is this?”

  “This is Roy Lichtenstein!” Anthony exclaimed. “He’s known for doing comic-strip type art.”

  “Oh, how cool.” I honestly had no idea who he was but sensing Anthony’s reaction, Roy Lichtenstein was a popular dude. “Here are some my favorites here.” I pulled out a few drawing of stick figures and showed them. “My mom had these hanging around the home when I grew up.”

  “Domi,” Ian’s mouth formed a small O. “Do you know what you’re holding up?”

  “I just thought they were cute little figures,” I shrugged to Ian’s and Anthony’s amazement. “I didn’t know who or what they were.”

  “Domi, this is Keith Haring,” Ian explained.

  Anthony rushed over to the boxes and pulled out a few more paintings, gasping with each new discovery. I heard the names Robert Indiana, Jeff Koons, and Henri Maltisse among many others I had no clue who they were.

  Anthony turned to me and removed his spectacles. “Your mother owned all original pieces by these amazing artists! How did she acquire them?”

  “My mother used to be an accountant for many years before she became sick. One of the families she helped, gave her those paintings because the children didn’t want them and were going to trash them. So she took them and just kept them in storage.” I replied. “I didn’t know they were originals! That’s pretty cool!”

  “Cool is an understatement!” Anthony exclaimed. “I’m going to get on the phone with their respective foundations and ask if we can have them on loan while they sort out all of the details. We’ll have a gallery featuring all of them.” He turned to me. “How much are you willing to sell these for?” Anthony asked.

  “Well, the gallery can have them,” I shrugged.

  “No, we’ll discuss price later.” Ian interjected. “There’s a lot of business that will go on before anything final happens. We’ll have to talk with the estates of the artists because I’m sure they want to purchase them first.” Ian turned to me. “You’ve just became a very rich woman, Domi.”

  A few years ago, I could barely afford Taco Bell. Now I have a feeling I could buy a store. “How rich are we talking?”

  “At least ten million?” Ian turned to his father, who nodded.

  “At least,” Anthony agreed.

  My heart pounded so hard, it was deafening. I had trouble breathing and had to lean against the door opening to have some support. “Ten million?”

  “At least,” Ian repeated. He smiled as he approached me. “Your mother looked out for you and your sister. I guess she knew something about your father long before he revealed it.”

  “I guess so,” I’m starting to become overcome with emotion but I kept still. “I only have one request in all of this.”

  Ian and Anthony looked at each other before glancing back at me. “Yes?” Anthony asked.

  “If you’re going to feature any of this art, it should be in a special gallery dedicated to my mother. It’s only fair to her.”

  Anthony smiled. “Done.” He turned to Ian. “I’ll meet you back at the Gallery. I need to get on the phone ASAP.” He turned back to me. “Thank you, Dominique. We’re forever indebted to you.” He left.

  Anthony’s departure left just me alone with Ian and I assumed that was intentional since Ian was Anthony’s ride over here. We stood alone in the storage unit, just staring at each other because neither one of us wanted to be the first to say anything.

  I finally swallow my pride and speak first. “Thank you for coming, Ian. I really appreciate it.”

  Ian quickly walked over to me and wrapped his arm around my waist, pressing me against his muscular body. His lips feathered against mine, almost wanting to kiss me but he held back. My mother just saved the Ferguson and possibly, my relationship with Ian.

  “You’re welcome,” he breathed.

  As I tried to regain some sense of control and my mind came back down to Earth, I briefly wondered how many virgins lost their virginity in a storage unit?

  “I have an assignment for you,” he breathed, “but it might make you uncomfortable.”

  “Oh?” I clutched his arms. I loved how they flexed underneath my hands.

  “I’ll explain later but it involves a sex tape,” Ian released me and caressed my cheek with his hand. It’s become his signature touch
and I’ve grown accustomed to it. It was never condescending but full of love, hope, and want. “We need to play pass interference so it doesn’t get out.”

  “What?” I backed away from him. Did he do something with someone else and I need to clean that up? That son of a bitch!

  “It doesn’t involve me,” he seemingly read my mind, “it does involve Dean.”

  “Dean?” My eyes narrowed at him. “As in Sydney’s Dean?”