by Kayt Miller
“Meat,” he rumbles. “If there’s steak in it, I’ll order that,” he chuckles.
Once we place our orders, David leans onto the table getting a little closer to me in our intimate little table. He’s so close I can smell his cologne, and it makes me sigh. Scent is one of those things that really jogs your memory, and it reminds me of him standing so close to me in the alley there’s no light between us. His hand is in my… I clear my throat and sip my water. I know I’ve just made myself blush, but maybe it’s dark enough in the restaurant he can’t see it. Hopefully.
He doesn’t seem to notice the red blotches that I’m sure are on my neck and face. “So, what have you been doing for two weeks?”
“A little of this and a little that.”
One of his eyebrows rises high up into his forehead when I say that. It relaxes, and he leans back in his seat. “What does that mean?”
I’d love to tell him that I’ve been hard at work looking for another job but I haven’t. I needed a breather. “It means that I’ve been giving myself some time to think about what I want to do next. I have several options, and I want to be sure I make the right decision. I’ll get to work on it next week. I needed a break.” I repeat my earlier statement.
“I get it. Do you want me to make some calls for you? I know a few people at other investment firms who need a good secretary.”
“Secretary?” I hate that word. It’s archaic, and it has negative connotations in my mind.
“Assistant. You know what I meant.”
I give him a small smile, “Of course. No calls needed just yet. Thank you for offering, though. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” No, I won’t.
He leans back into my space again, “Have you been reading?”
“Reading? Of course. I love reading. I bought a new mystery by Dean K…”
“No, not reading for fun. Have you been reading up on any new businesses, investments, things like that?”
“Oh, some. I can’t seem to help myself,” I giggle.
I watch as he pulls out a pen from the inside breast pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a small piece of paper from his hip pocket and sets that on the table. Pen poised at the ready, he asks, “So, what did you find out? Anything of interest for me?”
I sit and stare at him. I set down the glass I had in my hand ready to sip. I blink. I feel the burn of tears behind my eyes, but I won’t do it. I refuse to cry. I will be strong. I won’t be silent, however. “So, let me get this straight, David,” I say as calmly as I possibly can. “You want some investment tips?”
“Well, sure, if you’ve got any.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“You asked me here tonight, not for a date, but for business advice.” It’s not a question. I set the napkin on the table and push my chair out to stand.
“Wha? What’s going on? What are you doing, Cass?”
I lean forward so my hands are on the table and I’m now in his space. “I’m leaving. Goodbye, David. Have a good life.” I stand up to my full height of five feet four inches, in heels; I grab my clutch and walk away from that table and that man and that life.
I walk briskly to the front and out the door into the crisp night air. Fall is almost upon us, I think as I open the door to a taxi sitting in front of the restaurant. I give the man my address and then I let the tears fall. I’ll give myself until he pulls up to my place to cry. After that… No more tears for David Flynn. He doesn’t deserve them.
Chapter 10: David
I don’t get it. What did I do wrong? Why did she stand up and leave me sitting alone at this table? I haven’t moved from this spot since she left five minutes ago. Maybe I should have gone after her. I could have asked her what just happened. Our food was delivered just as I lost sight of her behind the partition. She didn’t even eat her dinner, for God’s sake.
I stare at my plate, whatever hunger I felt when I walked into this place gone. I look over at her dinner and nausea hits me. “I fucked up. Again.” Why didn’t I realize what I was doing was wrong? Why didn’t I look at this from her perspective? She thought this was a date. I knew it the minute I saw her dress. Why would she assume it was a date?
Well, we did practically fuck in the alley outside of Emmit’s. I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Fuck!” I say sitting straight up in my seat. “I called it a date on the phone. I called it a fucking date.” I lean forward with my elbows on the table on either side of my plate. I lay my head in my hands and squeeze my eyes shut. “I fucked this up so badly, I don’t think I’ll ever get her back.”
And I need her. Not that way. Well, I would have liked to have had another taste of that beauty mark tonight. Part of me pictured her spread out on my big bed. I saw myself unzipping her dress and getting a first-hand look at all of her. Her tits, er, breasts were practically clawing to get out of that snug, green dress. My dick went rigid the second I saw her in that pin-up girl outfit. She looked like a bombshell. “Fuck!” I say a little too loudly.
“Sir?” says the hostess. “You’re going to need to keep it down. You’re disturbing the other customers.” She smiles at me coyly. “Do you need anything? Anything at all?” she adds leaning against my table. Her hips are so small I’m pretty sure my hands would touch if I wrapped them around her. I’d break her like a twig if I ever tried to bed her.
“Can you just box these up for me?” I say pointing to both plates. Maybe if I follow her home and bring the food, I can talk myself out of this situation and into her bed. What the fuck am I saying now? Talk myself into her bed? She’s not my type. She’s definitely not my type.
I pay the bill and wait near the front entrance for the food. When the hostess hands me the bag, she also slips a small piece of paper into my breast pocket. Her number. I give her a small smile, and I’m out the door. I know Cass lives close by, but I hop into a taxi and give them her address. I’m dropped off on the corner and walk the half block to her apartment building. I look for her name on the building list, but don’t see her name. I recall her place was on the second floor. I peruse that list and press the buzzer for apartment 2C. Nothing happens, so I press 2B. “What?” I hear a male voice surrounded by the crackling of the old intercom system.
“Uh, yeah, I’m looking for Cassandra Darrow. Does she…?”
“Wrong apartment,” the guy mutters, and the line goes dead.
I press 2A, and a woman answers this time, “Yes?”
“Hey, I’m looking for Cassandra Darrow. Do you know which place is hers?”
“Uh, no.”
“She lives on the second floor.”
“There’s no Cassandra in this building.”
“Are you sure? She’s a bigger girl.”
“She’s fat?”
“Yes, I mean no. She’s voluptuous.”
The voice snorts on the other end of the intercom, “We’ve got no fat chicks named Cassandra in this building. Maybe she moved.” Click. She hangs up on me too.
“She moved?” When the fuck did she move? I step down off the stoop of her building and wander back to the main road. “Who would know where she lived?” I’d call her, but I doubt she’d pick up the phone. I scroll through my contacts to see if anyone there would know. Mallory’s name slides by, and I press the call button.
“Hello? David Flynn? Why are you calling my cell phone at this hour?”
“It’s not even eight o’clock.”
“I need my beauty sleep.”
“Where does Cassandra live? I need an address.”
“Why should I give that to you? Better question… why don’t you already know her address? She was your assistant and practically your wife for ten years, and you don’t know where she lives?”
Wife? “I had the address of her old place.”
“She moved out of there like three years ago. Jesus, you’re so self-centered.”
“Self-centered? What are you talking about?”
“Where do I start? I’d tell you, but I need my job. You’d fire my a
ss if I told you how I really felt about you.” I hear her mutter ‘jackass’ under her breath and know I’ve fucked the pooch on all of this work shit and with Cassie.
“I’m trying to make things right. Will you give me her address? Please?”
She sighs into the phone. “I will, but if you tell her I gave it to you, I will hurt you.”
“I promise. What is it?” I listen as she lists the address. “Are you sure? That’s a pretty upscale neighborhood.” It’s not far from my place.
“I’m sure. You should have been paying better attention to her, the beautiful person she is rather than what she could do for you.” I hear her mutter, “Self-centered asshole,” and then she hangs up the phone.
I walk a few blocks until I’m able to grab a cab. I read off the address,“1606 N. Mohawk, please.” I watch the city fly by my window thinking about what Mallory just said to me. What I did tonight was wrong. Okay, not just wrong, it was reprehensible. I was using her. I guess I thought an expensive dinner and a little conversation would bring back my ringer.
That’s definitely what she was––a ringer. She was my secret weapon at IIM. She had a knack for discovering the best places to invest money. Every morning, she’d bring me my cup of black coffee, a printout of my schedule, and a stack of the financial sections of all of the major newspapers. If she thought something was worthy of my attention, she’d jot down little notes and symbols in the margins.
They reminded me of hobo symbols from the turn of the century. Back then, hoboes placed markings on fences, posts, sidewalks, buildings, trestles, bridge abutments to aid them and others of their kind in finding help or steering them clear of trouble or lead them to good food or a place to sleep.
In Cassie’s case, her symbols told me that something she read in the paper could show a high rate of return. If that was the case, her symbol for that was a car. If something were liquid, she’d draw a raindrop. The bull market was a bull’s head, of course. When a company was worth a buy and hold it was an outline of a hand and for a return of innovation, like the Alte Frau deal, she’d draw a light bulb. She’d also give me warnings about things we’d already invested in or things to avoid entirely. Whenever I saw a triangle with an explanation point inside, I knew I needed to pay attention. I learned pretty quickly to heed these little gems.
Early on, I ignored her tips, and when I discovered I missed the opportunity to double my bank account from something she’d noted in the Wall Street Journal, I started to take her symbols and doodles seriously. That’s when we became a well-oiled machine. She’d find the new ventures and research them while I’d manage my customers advising them to trust my expertise. Once I started to win and win big, I became the golden boy of Ingot Investments.
We were a great team, Cassie and I. We made a lot of money for the company, I was showered with promotions and more money, and she came right along with me making a little more money with each promotion. It was perfect. She never once asked that I give her credit for her work. She liked our system too.
When she heard me tell the story about Alte Frau at the office party that day, I saw the disappointment on her face for the first time in ten years. I’d stolen her story. She was the one waiting for her doctor. She’s the one who reluctantly picked up that magazine. She’s the one that pocketed that thing and brought it to work. She was the one to do all of the background research before she even brought it to my attention.
Sure, I took a risk investing my clients’ money. But, I do that every day. It was her win, and it should have been her getting the recognition. But, I took it because I am a self-centered asshole just like Mallory said. Why I thought I could handle the new job without her is beyond me. I think I took her for granted. No, I don’t think, I know. I used her and then left her to swing in the wind.
When the taxi arrives at her address, I’m shocked at the place before me. Even in the dark, I can tell this place is nice. Too nice. Something doesn't add up. Did she inherit money? Does she have a wealthy man in her life? Maybe she’s subletting from someone. Oh, I know! She’s got, roommates. These places are huge. She’s probably got three or four roomies. Yeah, that makes the most sense because these townhouses in this neighborhood probably range in price from half a million to over a million dollars. This place is not in Cassandra Darrow’s price range.
I double check the address and see she lives in ‘C.' I walk to her door and knock. When I hear nothing, I knock again. I look to my right and see a button. Pressing it, I hear elegant chimes through the door. “Just a second.” I hear her voice getting closer to the door. Before she opens it she asks, “Who is it?”
Good girl. You never know who’s knocking on your door at this time of night. “It’s me. David.”
There’s hesitation then a groan on the other side of the door.
“Cassie. Please? I brought our dinner. I want to apologize.”
“Fine,” she mutters. I hear several locks disengage, and I wait for her to open the door wide, but it only opens an inch or so. “Go ahead. Apologize. Then please leave.”
“Please, Cass? Let me in.” Okay, I’m on the edge of begging. Not my style but I’ll do what I need to do.
“Fine,” she mutters again. She pulls the door open abruptly and stands aside.
I step in, and the first thing I notice is her outfit. Fuck! She’s got on a tiny tank top and even tinier shorts. She’s in her pajamas ready for bed. Her hair is up in a scrambled up bun. Her makeup from earlier is gone. I get a glimpse of her pale skin, all of it, from her face down to her braless tits. Her arms are exposed and her legs, Jesus there’s a lot of leg to see, but it’s the first time I notice just how small she is. I’ve got to be standing a foot taller.
My dick is hard as a stone again. I want to push her up against the wall and fuck her brains out right now, but the look on her face tells me that’s not going to happen––at least not yet. “I brought your dinner,” I say smiling as sincerely as possible.
She takes the bag from my hand and moves into her place. I watch her ass swing as she walks up three steps into the main part of the house. I’m not sure which is more beautiful, her ass or this place. “Wow, this place is amazing.” I want to ask her who owns it but I’m afraid she’ll tell me it belongs to her lover or something. I don’t need to know that shit.
“Thank you,” she says putting her box of dinner in her refrigerator. She hands me back the bag with my meal still inside.
“You don’t want to eat your dinner?” I assumed we could sit down and finish what we started.
“I’m not hungry,” she says as she crosses her arms just under her chest forcing them up and out even more.
My dick is going to die a painful death if she doesn’t stop doing that shit. “You ate when you got home?” Why am I fixated on this?
She sighs and moves out of the kitchen around the corner into a nice sitting area. There are bookshelves on either side of a gas fireplace. It’s too warm yet to have that going, but this room is cozy and decorated to feel elegant and comfortable at the same time. Whoever owns this place must like light colors because most of the furniture is pale with dots of bright color here and there.
“This place is fantastic.”
“Thank you,” she says as she sits down in an oversized chair. She brings her legs up under her and leans on to the left arm. “Have a seat.” I sit down at the end of the sofa closest to her chair as she adds, “ I should have asked you… Can I get you anything? Water? I don’t have any whiskey so…”
“Uh, no thanks. Mind if I use your bathroom?” I need a minute and using her john is a good excuse for some alone time. I feel like I don’t really know this woman––like we’re meeting for the first time. But, I need to shake that. I look at her face and see how beautiful she is but also notice that her eyes are a little red and puffy. “Were you crying?”
“No,” she says way too quickly.
Like a dog with a bone, I don’t let that go, “Did I make you cry, Cass?” I lean
over the arm of the chair to get a closer look. “Did I make you cry, baby?” Okay, why the fuck did I call her baby? I watch her wince at the term of endearment, and I believe I deserved that.
“You didn’t make me cry. It’s allergies.”
I reach out and place my hand over hers. She’s warm and soft. I grasp her wrist and pull her enough, so she’s out of her chair standing I front of me. I place my hands on her hips and look up at her. Her breathing has increased. I can tell just by the up and down motion of her breasts. It’s a sight to behold. “I’m sorry about earlier, Cassandra,” I whisper as I slide my palms back so I can squeeze her ass. “I was a selfish asshole.”
She lets out a snort, “You think?” she adds just as I slide my palms underneath the legs of her tiny sleep shorts. She lets out a moan, but it’s quiet one. I want to hear the ones from the alley again.
“You’re not wearing panties.”
“Not to bed,” she pants.
“You’re a naughty girl, Cassie.”
“Uh huh,” she says absently. I’ve moved my right hand up to the edge of her shorts ready to pull them down. I look up at her for permission. “We shouldn’t,” she says quietly.
“But you want to? Because I know I want to. Look what you do to me, honey.”
She peeks down at sees the giant tent in my slacks. She nods, and I move so fast she doesn’t have time to change her mind. Her shorts are on the floor in seconds. I look at her pussy and see it weeping. I pull her to me so I can place my nose on her bare mound. It must be the craze today. Most women are shaved completely bare these days. I’ve heard it heightens their arousal. Honestly, I don’t care what her pussy looks like, as long as it’s dripping wet for me.
“Open your legs for me, Cass.” She steps first one leg, then the other out, until she’s nearly straddling my legs. I bring my palm around and slide it between her legs. I move her wetness around until I feel her clit move out into the open. “Gorgeous,” I mutter.