“I made sure my hair covered it. And I used some foundation, too.”
“Ah, so comforting. Wouldn’t want your father to see what sort you’d hooked up with.”
“I didn’t say that. And that’s not fair.”
“No? You were happy enough to get him away from me.”
“Because I thought you were uncomfortable.”
“I was.” He bit off the words. “Bloody uncomfortable.”
“I already apologized. It’s not like I set this up on purpose. In fact, I’m not sure why you’re so pissed off.”
He seethed, visibly growing angrier by the moment. That sense of being off balance dropped into stomach-clenching dread. “Alec—talk to me.”
For a few minutes, she thought he wouldn’t. Finally, he spoke. “You’re obviously very attached to him.”
Not what she’d expected. “Yes? I love him. He’s my dad. Why are we fighting about this?”
“We’re not fighting.” But he had that set to his jaw and kept his eyes steady on the road, though the traffic hardly required that level of attention. “It gives me food for thought.”
“What thoughts?”
“Your attachment to your father and your attraction to me. The games you enjoy playing. Your daddy.”
She felt like she’d been sucker-punched. Once, in college, a drunken girl had swung her beer mug in a wild dance and clocked Amber on the head. Giving her the spins. Sickness foamed in her gut, a rancid combination of outrage, hurt and—worst of all—shame.
“It’s not like that.”
“No? What’s it like then?”
“I don’t have a sex thing for my father. I have a sex thing for you.”
“You can understand why I’m confused.”
“No, I can’t, actually.”
“Because you haven’t given it proper thought.”
“You were the one,” she said softly, so she wouldn’t yell, “who said that all fantasies are okay. That what we did together wasn’t shameful or wrong because we both enjoyed it and hurt no one.”
He didn’t reply. Just that muscle at the corner of his jaw, twitching.
“Have you changed your mind about that?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s not the same thing.” He had a rigid set to his face. “It’s a hard thing to look at a man, one you’d consider an equal under other circumstances, and have him wonder what you’ve been doing to his young daughter. Knowing at the same time that it’s far worse than he imagines.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m getting tired of this.”
“Are you?” He sounded terribly cool. “Inevitable, I suppose.”
“Stop that! That’s not what I mean. I’m tired of you casting me in the role of despoiled innocence. I get that you’re obsessed with Faust and his damnation, but isn’t that a little overly dramatic?”
“Obsessed, am I?”
“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, the myriad and delightful ways that obsessiveness manifests totally rock my world, but it’s past time for you to get over yourself and accept that I’m a full participant in what we do together. I want what you do to me.”
“You’re too young to know what you want.”
That washed in like an icy wave. “Funny—my dad just said those exact words to me.”
“Perhaps you should examine the truth inherent in them then.”
“Perhaps you should wake the fuck up and figure out that you are not my dad!” By the end, she’d shouted it, curling her fingers into her palms so the nails cut in.
She’d startled him with her anger, judging by the flash of white as he glanced at her and away, adjusted his hands on the leather-bound steering wheel.
“I apologize,” he said stiffly, clearly not meaning it. “I regret to have failed you in this, also.”
“Oh, knock off the crap! You haven’t failed me in anything. I don’t know if you could fail if you tried. But we are not acting out some Faustian cycle of damnation and innocence. Maybe it’s time for a new metaphor. One that takes into account who I am as a person, rather than as a symbol.”
“You’re the one who keeps inserting that into our conversations.”
“Because, so far, it’s our common reference. Until we build more.”
“That’s it then, isn’t it? We don’t share references in common—different generations, cultures. Nothing beyond a certain sexual compatibility.”
“You make it sound so distasteful.” And it hurt her heart.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do I? I don’t mean to. I’m recognizing the bare facts. It’s the mat—”
“Don’t you dare say that’s the mature thing to do.”
“Fine. I won’t say it then.”
They rode in silence for a while. He behind his wall of stone and she wondering how the hell to salvage this. If she could or should. Had she been wrong, all along? Did he only want her for what she represented—a nubile piece of ass, the forbidden fruit.
“You know, I never once felt any shame over what we did until this. I hate it that you do.”
“Amber...”
“Let me ask you this. Why do we at least have the Faust metaphor as a common reference?”
He frowned slightly. More that she’d broken the silence he’d taken refuge in more than anything, she thought. “It’s a classic.”
“No, because I read up on it, so I could understand you. Did you study mine?”
“Lolita? You know I don’t—”
“Not that,” she cut him off. “You know—or you should—that I only picked that to poke at you. Maybe I shouldn’t have because you completely missed the point.”
“And what point is that?” he asked in a tone of infinite, and patronizing, patience.
“Morpheus. Gaiman says the story begins when the King of Dreams must decide whether to change or die.”
“Ah, yes, the comic book.”
“Fuck you and your condescension, Alec.”
Stopped at a light, he gave her a longer sidelong look. Maybe paying more attention to her than his own angst for the first time since he started the fight. “You’re upset.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“All right then. I understand. This isn’t working out—which I anticipated.”
“You didn’t anticipate this—you made it happen. You did everything you could to sabotage this from the beginning. I was falling in love with you and you only looked for an exit. Because you were afraid.”
He didn’t reply, staring hard at the cars ahead.
“Nothing at all to say to that?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You could tell me I’m wrong. That you’ve been falling for me, too. That you understand that’s what about me that gets to you. That you know this has never been only about sex or about the taboos. For either of us.”
He didn’t reply. Only that moody flex of his jaw.
“I’m saying that this is a really excellent opportunity for you to tell me you care about me. That you see a future for us. I really need to hear that right now.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
He might as well have driven a knife through her heart. She couldn’t stand to be trapped in the car with him for another moment.
“Congratulations, then. You finally succeeded in running me off. I’ll make my way home from here.”
“Amber!” He reached for her as she opened the car door, but she’d surprised him and got out in time, the rain hitting her with a cold blast of reality. For once her timing was perfect—the light turned green and horns blared, forcing Alec to go through the intersection. She didn’t think he’d follow, but to be sure, she went the other direction on the one-way, walking in the rain until she got chilled, then duck
ing into the subway and riding the train to her stop.
When she walked into their apartment, Kiki, ensconced on the couch, didn’t look up from the manuscript she was reading, making a note in the margin. “Is the sex weekend over already? I didn’t expect you home after all those hearts. So—are you in love?”
“I was stupid.” Amber stood there, stricken. “We broke up, I think.”
Kiki pretended to glance at the watch she wasn’t wearing. “Right on schedule for you, huh?”
When Amber didn’t answer, Kiki finally looked at her, and her expression crumpled in sympathy. “Oh, honey...”
And Amber burst into tears.
* * *
She’d left her things behind, including that ridiculous bag. Alec went about the place, picking up a discarded hair tie here, her earrings there, digging out the glittery sandals she’d worn to breakfast from under the coffee table. She’d left her cosmetics scattered on the bathroom counter, her shampoo in the shower, a pile of discarded clothes on the floor. A considerable diaspora of belongings, given her short occupation.
Seeing what she’d brought and hadn’t got out stabbed at him. A red cocktail dress, in case they went out for dinner, he supposed, a lacy nightgown, a bikini, a pair of running shoes. All of it emblematic of her enthusiastic optimism, her faith in him. Prepared for anything, not having any idea what they might end up doing.
Hell, she’d been prepared for him to turn her away at his door. As he’d eventually done—it had only taken a couple of days. Record time to break her heart.
Congratulations, then. You finally succeeded in running me off.
He packed it all carefully into her bag, as if by handling her things meticulously he could somehow make up for his clumsy behavior in the car. The way the words she’d needed to hear had stuck in his throat, trapped behind his anger and uncertainty. He’d have his driver deliver it all, so she’d have it for the morning, tie things up between them that way. She’d stormed out wearing his jumper, but he could let her keep it. Or burn it, judging by that last, viciously betrayed and devastated look she’d thrown at him.
Better for her to be angry. She was young and resilient. She might be upset now, but she’d get over him. Find someone more appropriate. Someone who wouldn’t hurt her as he had.
He couldn’t stew about it. He’d warned her from the beginning that he wouldn’t be good for her and he’d proved it.
You made it happen. You did everything you could to sabotage this from the beginning.
Shaking off the accusation, the gut-scraping regret that he’d proven himself to be as unworthy of her as he’d ever predicted, he turned to repacking her shopping bags. He caught her scent as he folded the schoolgirl outfit, making him falter. She’d a few things in there she’d bought but hadn’t used yet. Two sets of lingerie, in pink and black. No new pink blouse—he’d have to stop in the morning and buy one, make up for what he’d shredded and had no way of mending. Find a way to get it to her as a sort of farewell gift. Perhaps he’d find one of her bloody emojis to explain.
Oh yes, encapsulate the entirety of his regret in one cartoon image.
In the bottom of the bag was a slim, vivid book, the receipt tucked in the flyleaf.
A cover worthy of a Faustian tale, a bloodied hand in repose, virulent orange behind, bore the title Preludes and Nocturnes. Reflexively, he turned it over to read the back...the home of Morpheus, the King of Dreams. Ah. She’d bought it for him, he suspected. Planning to share it at some point.
Not realizing how quickly their implosion would arrive.
He should send it back with her other things. Pretend he hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t rifled through the rest of what she’d brought, mooning over her loss as the tomblike stillness of the flat settled around him.
Taking the book back to the living room, he poured a stiff whiskey, and sat down to read.
* * *
In the morning, he arrived at work as wearied as when dreams of craving Amber had disturbed his sleep. This time her cursed story had done it. The King of Dreams must decide whether to change or die. The metaphor didn’t escape him—no doubt as she’d intended—Morpheus outliving his captors and his prison, waiting for it to crumble into nothing before he walked free.
He wanted to talk to her about it. Wanted to talk with her, full stop.
But it was over, as it should be, and he’d leave it there.
Joe gave him a funny look, possibly because he was later than usual, but only said good morning as he passed, Jean not at her desk, oddly enough. Alec booted up his computer, bringing up his task list to focus on the day ahead. His first conference call had been canceled and a new meeting scheduled starting in ten minutes. A prickle of foreboding crept up his spine—followed by Lily rapping on his doorframe. Her folded arms and the look on her face sealed the clang of doom rattling his brain.
“We need you in the goldfish bowl, Alec,” she informed him. “Emergency meeting.”
“All right then.”
If she expected him to ask what this was about, he wouldn’t. After all, he knew. Had known all along he’d face this moment, and the best he could do would be to meet it head-on and accept full responsibility for his actions.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned/Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
There—he’d found a new metaphor at last. Perhaps Amber would approve.
Before he even entered the executive conference room, he could see Amber, pale and brittle, sitting at the table with the other partners and Tim from Human Resources. Amber had her hair up in that coil she probably thought made her look more sophisticated, but had the effect of showing off the fine bones of her face, making her eyes that much larger by comparison. She looked tired, waifish, and he thought she’d been weeping. She caught his eye, but he couldn’t read the message. Oddly, he most wanted to sit next to her. Take her hand or pull her against his side. Comfort her as she eviscerated him in her just revenge.
He’d focused on her to such an extent that he failed to immediately register that his admin Jean also sat at the table, thin-lipped and a glitter of rage in her eye.
Lily closed the door, sealing in their conversation, though everyone passing by glanced at the unusual meeting with avid curiosity. Within an hour, everyone would know what he’d done, a public shaming he deserved.
“Alec,” Bill began, then sighed. “I’m frankly at a loss at how to proceed here.”
Tim cut in. “Bill—we have procedures and they’re clear-cut. We should follow them. Alec. A complaint has been lodged against you that you’ve sexually harassed one of your direct reports and may have exerted undue influence on a junior colleague. Possibly causing that colleague to be advanced without merit and causing her professional reputation damage.”
Which is it, he wanted to ask, did I advance her without merit or cause her damage? All a Christ-bleeding mess. He wanted to throttle somebody, though he had only himself to blame. Oddly, Amber caught his eye again and he nearly heard her think it. Dark Alec. “I see.”
“Is it true?” Bill asked. “Are you having or have you had an affair with Amber here?”
He met Amber’s gaze across the table. She’d lost no time filing the complaint with HR, not that he could blame her. Still. “I—”
“It’s nobody’s business,” Amber cut him off. “I refuse to have this very intrusive inquisition into my personal life.”
She glared at him, at his shocked silence.
“Amber,” Tim said in a soothing tone. “You’re not in trouble. We simply need to get to the bottom of this. If nothing has occurred, then we’ll put this behind us. But Mr. Knight needs to respond to the allegation.”
Everyone but Amber turned to him expectantly. Especially Jean, who wore an unpleasant smile. Jig’s up. Time to face the fires of hell.
“Yes
. I engaged in a sexual relationship with Ms. Dolors. I take full responsibility. The fault is entirely mine.”
Bill and Hai Lin looked flabbergasted. Lily slammed her hands on the table. “How the fuck could you? We discussed this and you swore to do the right thing.”
Tim turned to her. “You were aware of the relationship?”
“Alec came to me and said he was attracted.” She spit out the word. “He asked me to take Amber as my direct report to remove himself from temptation. Were you fucking her already then?”
“Yes.”
“Goddammit, Alec—”
“Excuse me!” Amber stood up and raised her voice to cut Lily off, speaking directly to her. “With all due respect, Lily. I appreciate you as my boss and as my mentor. But don’t talk about me like I’m some brainless idiot. Alec was not engaged in a sexual relationship with me, he never sexually harassed me. We engaged in a relationship together. It was consensual. As soon as we decided on our mutual attraction and acted on it, Alec took the appropriate steps to remove me from his supervision. There are no company rules against interoffice dating. I want to be on record stating that I have no complaint against Alec.” She said the last to Tim and sat again. Picked up her bottle of water and drank, her hand shaking, not meeting his eye now. Instead she stared fixedly at her finger chipping at the water bottle design, holding her eyes open wide the way she did when she was trying not to cry.
“Why did you file a complaint, then?” He couldn’t help asking her. Figuring he deserved to hear the answer.
“I didn’t, thank you,” she snapped, flicking a glance at Jean.
“I saw you,” Jean said. “In Central Park on Saturday. We took the kids into the city for some sightseeing and I saw you go by in the horse-drawn carriage. He was all over her,” she added in a tone of disgust. “And suddenly everything that’s been going on here made a lot more sense.”
“Such as?” Alec asked, aware of the ice in his own tone. Tim flinched a little and opened his mouth to intervene, but Jean beat him to it.
“We’ve all seen it, you giving her special favors. The McCloskey account. Suddenly she’s privy to the partners’ meetings.”
Under His Touch Page 27