by Robin Cain
“Actually, I’m not hungry. I was just trying to find you to discuss something. Your assistant told me I might find you here. I was wondering if you might be able to spare just a moment of your time for me.”
Sadie, sensing the escalating discomfort, wiped her mouth with her napkin and began to gather her things. As she stood to slide her chair back from the table, she noticed that Citra hadn’t taken her eyes off Frank.
“Here, take my seat. You guys stay and I’ll head back to my office. I have piles of things to catch up on. We were done here anyway,” Sadie said, uncertain if either was listening, both clearly absorbed in a private moment.
“Sadie, are you sure?” Frank asked. Sadie suspected he was actually grateful for her departure. Citra quickly moved to take her seat.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Sadie turned to go. “Thanks for lunch.”
“I’ll call you.” Frank settled back into his chair across from Citra and motioned for the waiter. Citra said nothing as Sadie headed toward the exit. Sadie turned to catch Frank’s eye one more time, but he’d already begun having a conversation with the waiter.
So much for the perfect man.
Once outside and on the street, Sadie raised her arm to flag down a taxi. Unsure of what to think about Citra’s sudden appearance, she knew, as only another woman would, that there was something besides work linking those two. Just as the taxi pulled up, she glanced across the street and noticed an impressively long black limousine parked there. Limos were a dime a dozen in Los Angeles, but this one was familiar. She wasn’t sure until the window on the back passenger side quickly rose up, drawing her attention to a peek of Billy’s trademark blond hair. The limo quickly pulled way before Sadie got into the taxi. She shuddered at the coincidence, telling herself once more that L.A. just wasn’t big enough for the both of them.
Back in the diner, with Sadie now gone and the waiter having taken their order for two coffees, Frank turned to Citra, his obvious frustration straining the lines of his face.
“W-what is this about?” he asked as calmly as he could manage. He knew instinctively this was not work-related, but he desperately wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. “What is so important that you had to track me down like this?”
“What is this?” Citra mimicked, allowing her emotion to get the best of her. “You don’t return my calls for an entire week. You virtually disappear from the face of the Earth. How else was I supposed to talk to you?”
When tears began to well in Citra’s eyes, Frank’s guilt started to gnaw at his softer edges. He had been ignoring her and, when faced with the facts, he acknowledged she honestly didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. After all, he thought, she is a nice girl and they had lots of fun together.
“I’m sorry, Citra. I told you I’ve just been swamped with this building stuff.” The look on her face said his assurances weren’t working.
“Yes, and I can see why now,” she said.
“Come on, that’s not fair.”
“Everyone knows you’re becoming involved with her. You could have told me before I heard it from someone else in the office.” Her tears, bottled up for days now, slid down her cheeks.
Unable to deal with the direction this whole thing was taking, Frank pleaded with her to stop, but she’d have none of it.
“What happened to us? Aren’t I good enough for you anymore? Now it’s on to the next one? Is that how it goes?” She was now openly crying and some of the waitstaff were beginning to look their way.
“Citra, please, not here.” Frank gently tried to coax her, reaching out for her hand to lend some comfort. “You know I care about you. You should also know by now how much I respect and appreciate everything we have shared. It has just gotten so awkward at the office.” He intentionally let the remainder of his thoughts trail off.
Trying her best to compose herself, Citra blew her nose, fumbling with the Kleenex and trying to save her makeup. The waiter arrived with their coffees and, in an attempt to be as inconspicuous as possible, quickly set down their mugs and placed the fresh creamer and sugar between them. Before the waiter had a chance to sneak away, Citra responded to Frank, practically hissing, “Awkward? Now our relationship is awkward?”
“We have had this discussion before. What more can I say to you?” He was becoming more and more frustrated with her lack of understanding. “I was wrong not to call you all this time but, as I said, I was very busy.”
“So what is going on with you and this woman?” The words were spit out as if she had a mouth full of dirt.
“Citra, come on.”
“Tell me, Frank. I want to hear it from you.”
“She’s the building broker and we’ve been spending a lot of time together.” He was going to evade the truth as long he could.
“Well, is she earning her commission?” The bite of her sarcasm nipped at Frank’s conscience.
“Stop. You should know better than anyone how busy I can be at times. You know what’s going on with the company. You know how nuts it is. This building acquisition has just doubled the intensity.” He tried to speak in terms she would understand. “I won’t lie to you. Yes, we have seen a lot of each other, but it’s been business,” he lied. He hated doing it, but he couldn’t stand the hurt he saw in that beautiful face of hers.
“So were you blowing me off on purpose?” She clearly wasn’t going to let it go.
“Uh, no. It’s not like that.” The wind was dying in his sails. Missing his opportunity to be honest with her, he was now angry with himself for not having the balls to deal with her emotions. It seemed there was always something she could say or do to make him waver. He realized, in all honesty, that most times Citra simply just had to be there. Her tight little body drove him mad with desire.
“So, stay with me tonight and we can try to make up for lost time.” A seductive smile spread across her face and her eyes hinted at a scenario he couldn’t resist. She still had the power to make him weak in the knees.
Reaching for his coffee while trying to locate his common sense, Frank considered her offer. It was important to keep his star performer happy, to keep her on his side, he told himself, while all the while trying to rationalize what he knew he was about to say. He waited a few minutes to give the impression that his decision had taken great effort, hoping he didn’t live to regret his decision.
“Alright, then,” he finally conceded. “Dinner it is.”
Citra showed her gratitude in a manner she suspected he’d appreciate, unhurriedly sliding her hand up his thigh and stopping only at a point that would leave him wanting for more. Giving in to the electricity of her touch, Frank was now fully aroused.
She was a beautiful woman, he told himself. There could be worse things.
The waiter appeared tableside with the bill. Frank pulled out a hundred dollar bill and, to acknowledge the waiter’s discretion, told him to keep the change. The waiter, guiltlessly profiting from his customer’s predicament, discreetly nodded and walked away.
Left completely spineless and now anxious to leave, Frank turned and addressed Citra, “I need to get back to the office. How about you?”
“No, I have an appointment I have to get to. That Metro deal needs my attention,” she said, referring to one of her newly acquired accounts.
Rising to leave, they agreed Frank would be at her place to pick her up at seven o’clock. When they got outside to the sidewalk, intending to remind him just how good she felt in his arms, Citra tightly pressed her firm, shapely body against him. She allowed her lips to briefly brush against his before slowly pulling away. With a wink and smile holding a promise for later, she tossed the brunette scarf of her hair over her shoulder and headed east toward her parked car.
Frank watched her purposefully stride down the sidewalk in what he knew she called her “fuck me” shoes as he tried to discreetly adjust himself in his pants. Likely fruitless—at least for the next few minutes—he attempted to refocus his thoughts on business a
s he headed in the other direction toward his office.
four
FRANK ARRIVED back at his office and found numerous phone calls to return and e-mails to answer. Deeply absorbed in the daily minutiae of MineWare, he didn’t realize the official workday was over until his assistant popped her head inside his office door.
“’Night, Frank.”
“Oh, good night, Janie.”
“Did you see the message from Ms. Roderick I left for you? She called when you were tied up with Japan, so I didn’t interrupt.”
Shit, I completely forgot to call her.
“It’s been a couple hours now,” Janie added. “Things all okay with the building deal, I trust?”
Attempting to mask his frustration, he replied, “Yes. Thanks.” He turned his back to let her know he was done talking, picked up the phone and dialed Sadie’s direct office line.
Frank got Sadie’s voice mail. He tried her cell number and there was still no answer. When her home number yielded the same result, he redialed her cell and left a message, explaining that a dinner meeting had come up and he’d call her back. He felt guilty for stretching the truth. He was certain he’d have to elaborate later but didn’t want to just yet. He simply wasn’t in the mood. He set down the phone, stretched back in his chair and, with his eyes now closed, didn’t see Janie slowly step away from his office door.
Frank massaged the sides of his head, cursing at himself for the position he was in. Questions about Citra were bound to come up. Why had Citra pulled such a dramatic stunt anyway? He had felt the strains of the relationship lately but, when put to the test, he didn’t have the balls to let go. She was just too good to lose.
He and Sadie hadn’t gotten to the point of any promises, but the look on her face while politely excusing herself from the table earlier in the day said it all. He hadn’t actually intentionally hidden anything from Sadie; ignoring text messages and calls from Citra when spending time with Sadie was simple common courtesy, wasn’t it? He had successfully avoided any explanation he probably should have offered.
If he was going to be at Citra’s by seven, he realized he had better get moving. The memory of her pressed up against him caused a stirring in his groin. Wasn’t that always what made him anxious to spend time with her?
Hours later, Sadie hit the replay button on her phone for the third time and heard the self-conscious faltering in Frank’s voice. She knew he was lying. Pacing back and forth like a caged animal in her kitchen, she was becoming painfully aware of how pitiful she was acting.
She yanked open her freezer door and pulled out a pint of Decadent Chocolate ice cream, fully intending to bury her frustration in thirty-two grams of fat per serving. It would likely only make her more miserable, but she told herself she could worry about that later. She became more and more irritated at herself with every bite. An entire pint of ice cream and several hours of bad television later, she went to bed.
Tossing and turning all night, waiting for the alarm to tell her it was time to get up, Sadie finally crawled out of bed with heavy limbs and a nagging headache. It was going to be one hell of a long day, she told herself, but thank God it was Saturday. No one else would be at the office.
Frank had never called back and, though she hadn’t actually expected him to do so, she was disappointed. She’d spent the entire night thinking about him. Busy drawing with the crayon of her imagination, she’d sketched him embraced in Citra’s arms. Though she knew her thoughts weren’t rational, she couldn’t shake the suspicions from her mind. Their body language in the diner—the way they’d looked at each other—could only be explained as desire; palpable desire. Citra’s beauty toyed with her insecurities.
Damn him. Why didn’t he tell me about this before?
Sadie distractedly got ready for work and headed toward the kitchen to grab some breakfast before leaving. The empty container of ice cream in the sink served as a sad reminder of her lack of willpower, which didn’t help her current mood.
Bad men and bad food. When am I ever going to learn?
She’d fallen head over heels in love with Billy once upon a time, only to realize what a violent and deeply sick man he was. Now there was Frank and she knew she had begun to fall for him in much the same way. Granted, he hadn’t hit her or threatened her as Billy had— nothing like that—but she still felt violated. Why had Frank gotten involved with her if there was this other woman who obviously cared so much about him? And why hadn’t he even told her? Remembering Citra’s tall lean figure, she told herself to skip the food. She walked out of her house and slammed the front door.
As expected, Sadie was the only one to come in that morning. Piling her briefcase and coffee cup on her desk, she picked up the phone to check her messages. None from Frank. She forced herself to refocus.
To hell with him.
Sadie plopped into her chair, logged onto her computer and watched as the e-mails flooded her inbox. Her mind now occupied and her schedule busy, she forgot all about Frank for awhile. It was late morning before she answered her cell phone and found him on the other end.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi back,” Sadie replied, aware of the butterflies beginning to flutter in her mid-section.
“How are you?” He felt silly making small talk.
“Just fine, thank you. You?” Try as she might, she couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice.
“I’m okay,” he said. He decided to just forge ahead. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I have a business meeting.”
There was a silence on the line as Frank calculated which way to go with her response. “Anything you can get out of? I’d really like to see you.”
“I don’t know. I’d have to see if they can reschedule.”
“Try, Sadie. Please?”
Sadie hated the idea of being Frank’s “on-call” girl and hated being vulnerable, but she realized they needed to talk. This whole thing was eating her up inside. She told him that she’d look into it and hung up. She looked out the window and counted to one hundred as slowly as she could.
Traffic outside her window was at a standstill. A blue Toyota’s front bumper had come off in an accident, blocking passage of the other cars trying to get by. Sadie could hear the irate motorists’ horns screaming for action but saw that none of the drivers ventured out of their cars. When she reached a count of forty-five, a young man dressed in T-shirt, cut-offs and flip-flops got out of his car stuck at the very back of the line, walked past what had to be twenty idling cars and moved the bumper. The impatient line of apathetic, angry motorists all accelerated past him as he walked back to his car. Sadie shook her head in disgust.
Every man for himself. Seems to be the theme of the day.
Eighty-five... eighty-six. The phone rang before Sadie got to eighty-seven.
She answered and Frank began quickly, “Sadie, I know you’re trying to decide what to do. Please meet me for dinner tonight. Please.”
“Oh, alright, but only because I think we need to talk.”
“Great. Pick you up at seven?”
“Fine. See you then.” She snapped her phone shut without saying goodbye.
At exactly seven o’clock that evening, Sadie’s doorbell rang. Frank stood waiting, his arms loaded with two dozen crimson roses. She opened the door and his warm smile greeted her. Dressed in a body-hugging, backless black dress, Sadie also wore what Frank now recognized as “fuck-me” shoes. She had dressed, purposefully, to make him squirm. The image of desire, she’d never looked so enticing.
“Wow.” It was all Frank could manage.
“Well, I hope that’s a good ‘wow.’”
“Indeed.” He extended the roses and moved to kiss her on the cheek.
“Thank you, Frank. They’re beautiful. Have a seat while I get these in water.” She went in search of a vase and left him standing at the entrance. He caught a whiff of her perfume and noted the spicy undertones. A pleasurable stirring began in his groin.
Frank walked down the hallway to the living room with its expansive windows and view of the city. Sadie’s successful dot-com options were evident in everything that filled the room. Frank recognized the classic furniture pieces—Van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, Breuer; her taste was impeccable.
Sadie was back in moments, commenting again on the flowers, “These are just beautiful.” She placed the massive arrangement of roses on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa. Its spread now dwarfed the foundation on which it stood.
Frank turned to get a better look at Sadie’s outfit and his brain collapsed into jelly. She was stunning. He just wanted to take her in his arms. The roses had been a last-minute idea and now all he could think about was what her body looked like under that dress—what it would look like laid out for him on a blanket of those rose petals scattered on the carpet beneath his feet.
When Sadie began to nervously arrange and rearrange the perfectly assembled roses, Frank spoke.
“I made a reservation at Ernesto’s,” he said, referring to the castle-like restaurant situated on one of the highest elevations in town. Ernesto’s had originally been built as a home for a dot-com millionaire but, suffering from the typical nouveau-riche syndrome of “spend it like there’s no tomorrow,” the owner had been forced to sell it to Ernesto in a last-ditch effort to recoup some of his millions. Likely one of the priciest places around, the view alone was worth the price of dining. He trusted it was as good as he remembered. “I hope that’s alright with you,” he said, trying to get his mind off her voluptuous backside.
“Wonderful. I’ve never been. I hear it’s lovely. Shall we go?”
Frank agreed and they left for the restaurant. Making casual conversation on the way, neither was ready to address the issue of Citra that sat silently wedged between them.