“What time to you have to be at the Met?” I asked, helping myself to a mug of the steaming coffee.
“I don’t,” she grinned. “I have the day off.” She lifted a forkful of the scrambled eggs to her mouth and savored it, smiling as she swallowed. I loved the way she loved food.
I immediately reached for my cell phone on the floor next to my bed and hit Duffy’s number. I was hoping to reach his voice mail but instead he picked up.
“What’s up, dude?”
“I need you to cover for me today. I’m sick. I’m not coming in.”
Allee giggled.
“Bullshit. Are you getting laid?” asked Duffy.
Damn. It was hard to pull the wool over his eyes because Duffy thought with his dick.
“How many times have you done it?”
“None of your business. I owe you.”
“Just get me some of what you’ve got.”
I rolled my eyes. Poor Duffster. He really needed to get laid. Assured that he would take care of things, I ended the call.
“Where were we?” I asked Allee.
“We were here.”
She placed the breakfast tray on the floor and smothered me with kisses. The kisses led to another delicious session of lovemaking. A tangle of legs and tongues. Moans and groans. Two heated bodies that couldn’t stay away from each other. After we exploded together, we showered.
Facing me, she lathered my balls and then my rod, making it thick and hard yet again. “Oh, Allee,” I cried out as she ran her hand up and down the slippery shaft. Waves of pleasure were coursing through my entire body. I, in turn, rubbed her clit, turning it into a marble. Our breathing grew haggard. I held her as she arched her back and sensuously caught droplets of water on her tongue. She was so sexy. And beautiful. And mine. I thought I might have been dreaming until she cried out my name. “Madewell.” As she convulsed around me, my own climax met hers. Before stepping out of the stall, I lifted her into my arms and showered her with kisses.
We never left my loft. In fact, except for retrieving the Chinese food I ordered in, we never left my bedroom.
“I’ll pay you back for lunch,” Allee said, sitting cross-legged on my mattress as she fed me a heaping of Lo Mein.
“I’ll put it on your tab.” Before she could insert the chopsticks into my mouth, I smacked her lush lips with a playful kiss. I had no intention of ever having her pay me back.
While we continued to feed each other the tasty noodles, my landline rang. I let it go to my answering machine.
“Ryan, darling. I think we can make things right. It was just a little skittish skirmish. Mummy says we’re just having pre-nuptial jitters. Let’s have dinner tonight. I love you. Call me back.”
It was Charlotte. I knew it and so did Allee. The chopsticks that were heading into my mouth froze in mid-air.
“She’s still into you,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You and she belong together. You come from the same tribe.”
I cupped her head in my hands. We were still sitting cross-legged on my bed, facing each other. “Look at me, Allee Adair.”
She slowly tilted her chin up until her eyes met mine.
“It’s over between Charlotte and me. You’ve got to believe me.” I looked into her eyes so deep I could practically see inside her.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’ll show you what I’m full of.”
In a heartbeat, I tore off the shirt of mine she’d put back on. I left no part of her body untouched. It was all mine to stroke, suck, lick, and gnaw. She squealed with delight as I fumbled with the drawstring of my sweats and pulled them off. Spreading her legs, I thrust my hard thickness into her center and finished her off with an orgasm that rocked her body and mine.
I lost count of how many times we made love. Of how many times she’d come. And I’d come. Each orgasm was as spectacular as the one before, leaving us only wanting more. Finally wasted, we spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled up in my bed listening to music—she loved Adele, Edith Piaf, and Debussy—and talking about our dreams. She dreamed one day of living in Paris, working as a curator at the Musée D’Orsay.
“Do you speak French?” I asked, toying with her gold locket.
“Bien sur,” she replied, her French accent charmingly laced with her heavy New York one.
I, in turn, shared my dream of becoming a great writer. Like Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and all the greats before and after them.
“So, what else have you written besides bullshit articles for that piece of crap magazine of yours?”
Man, she could be acerbic. I thought my articles were good, for what they were, but instead of defending myself, I said, “Lots of short stories.”
“Let me read one”
I was taken aback. I had never shared any of my personal writings with anyone. Not my father. Not my mother. Not Charlotte. Not even my sister, or my best friend Duffy.
I got up from the bed and crossed the room to the desk where I kept a file of my stories. I randomly pulled one out. It was about an estranged father and son who finally bond when they’re both old men.
I returned to the bed, and Allee snatched it out of my hand. She immediately began to read. My eyes stayed riveted on her, my heart thudding. I wasn’t sure if my anxiousness was tied to my desire for her or my fear of what she would think of my writing.
“Why are you staring at me, Madewell?” she asked as she flipped to the second page. She hadn’t looked up once, yet she knew my eyes were on her.
“I’m not,” I said in defense.
“Bullshit. You’re staring at my legs. If you want me to finish this story, you’d better stop it.”
Man, she was irritating. And such a tease. The deliberately sexy way she was sitting with her knees bent and apart was making me horny as hell. I wanted her to read faster.
When she was done, she handed me back the story and looked straight at me. She fidgeted with her locket.
“You’re good, Madewell,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice, saving me from having to ask her what she thought.
“Not great?”
“Good is the enemy of better.”
“What do you mean?” She was pissing me off.
“Next time, write with your heart and not the tip of your dick.”
Before I could ask her what she meant by that, her cell phone rang. I didn’t want her to answer it, but she insisted. Her thick brows furrowed when she gazed at the caller ID number. “Fuck. I’ve got to take this.” Her voice wavered.
“Hi, Sid… shit… okay… where?… okay… I’m on my way.” She ended the call and leaped out of the bed. She quickly donned her clothes.
Sid? Was she seeing someone else? A pang of jealousy slashed through me. “Who the hell is Sid?”
“My other boss. I’ve gotta split. I’m late for a massage client.” She hurried the words.
“Male or female?” While I was relieved that Sid wasn’t some other guy she was seeing, the thought of her touching another man made me cringe.
“A woman,” she said hastily to my relief.
She bounded down the winding stairs, with me, naked, trailing behind her.
She grabbed her purse, which she’d left on a couch, and hurried to the elevator. I pressed her against the metal door and pinned her to it with my body. I leaned into her, my lips heading straight for hers. To my surprise, she jerked her head away.
“Madewell, I’ve gotta go. Please.” Her pained eyes were begging me to release her. As much as I wanted to hold her in my arms forever, I let go of her. I pushed the call button, and the elevator door slid open. She scurried inside it.
“Can I see you later tonight?” I asked, holding the door open with my body.
She shook her head. “No, not tonight.”
I let go of the door and she disappeared.
Balls. She was out of my life again. Her sudden departure left me bereft. I was frustrated and restless. It was too late to go into the office, and too early to grab
a bite to eat. Besides, I wasn’t hungry. But I had to do something to release this crazy energy. The gym? Nah. I was too tired from my sexual workout with Allee. I headed back upstairs. My short story was still lying on the bed. After putting on some sweats, I reread it. I hated to admit it, but Allee was right. It was good, but something was missing from it. Taking it with me, I crossed the room and sat down at my desk where my laptop faced me. I opened up the document on my desktop and began to type, forcing myself to really put my heart and soul into the two main characters. To really feel what they were experiencing. More show, less tell. An hour later, I came to the words THE END, and I reread the story. You know what, it was a hell of a lot better. Sadness washed over me. The father and the son had gone on an emotional journey that had brought them to a peaceful place even though their lives were both coming to an end. I couldn’t wait to show it to Allee. Part of me wanted to call her, but damn it, I didn’t have her cell phone number. And she was probably busy with her massage client. Besides, I shouldn’t act too eager. My mother always said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Perhaps, that’s what kept her with my father.
Hungry now, I wound downstairs when my cell phone rang. I made a mad dash to the kitchen, where it was lying on the polished steel counter. I was hoping it was Allee and praying it wasn’t Charlotte. It was neither. It was my father. Ryan Madewell III.
“Hello, Father.”
“Ryan, I want you to meet me at the Four Seasons at six.”
He ended the phone call before I could say, “Yes, sir.”
His curtness unnerved me. What did he want? No one said no to my father, including me. Fuck. I had less than an hour to shower, shave, get dressed in full suit and tie, and get uptown in the middle of rush hour. Being late for my father came with repercussions. I was going to have to take the subway.
The Four Seasons bar was bustling. Well-dressed Fortune 500 executives were quietly mingling with each other, some with extremely attractive women beside them. Like my father, Charlotte hung out here too. Inwardly, I shuddered, hoping I wouldn’t run into her.
I spotted my father right away, seated at the ample corner table that was permanently reserved for him. Clad in an expensive, custom-made gray suit and matching tie that went well with his slicked-back salt and pepper hair, he was already nursing his thirty-dollars-a-pop scotch. Women eyed me as I wove through the bar to his table.
“Have a seat, son.” His eyes were steely, and his voice was cold.
I nervously sank into the plush leather club chair across from him.
His eyes stayed riveted on my face without blinking, and his mouth was pressed into a grim line. “Where were you this afternoon?”
“What do you mean?” I shot back, hoping a waiter would come by soon to take my drink order. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about my afternoon with Allee.
“You weren’t at the shareholders’ meeting.”
Fuck! I had totally forgotten about that dreaded meeting. My father expected me to be there. No ifs or buts about it.
“I called your office. They said you weren’t in.”
I fumbled for an excuse. “Um, uh, I was sick.”
His menacing eyes lanced into me. “Don’t bullshit me, Ryan. And don’t ever do it again. You will pay the price.”
With that, he slapped a hundred dollar bill on the table and strode off, his gait a blend of grace and arrogance. I was too numb to move. My own father, that bastard, had threatened me. Maybe, he should pay the price. But deep inside, I knew I could never beat my father at his own game. Or win a place in his heart.
I needed a drink. Desperately. My eyes darted around the bar for a waiter and then they grew wide. Heading out of the bar, was someone who looked a lot like Allee. At least from the back. She had long, ebony hair that cascaded past her shoulders, well-toned calves, and slender ankles. And a perfect ass. Except it couldn’t be Allee. She was wearing a tight, mid-thigh blue dress cut low in the back and matching six-inch stilettos. She walked seductively in them like she was born wearing them. No, it couldn’t be Allee. I must just be fantasizing about her. Damn the effect she was having on me.
“Why, hello, Ryan.” A too-familiar voice hurled me out of my fantasy. I looked up. It was Charlotte with a flute of champagne in her hand. She was dressed in a stunning tweed suit, Chanel I thought. “Do you mind if I join you?” She took the empty seat to the right of me. My stomach churned.
She took a sip of her champagne. “I’m sorry about the other night. I think I may have had too much to drink.”
“There’s nothing to apologize about,” I said without a trace of emotion.
Her classically gorgeous WASP face brightened. “So we’re back together.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No.” I was actually now glad I didn’t have a drink because it might have blurred my thinking and made me say things I didn’t really mean or want to say.
Her cat-green eyes narrowed, and her voice took on a snippy tone. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s over between us. I don’t want to see you anymore, Charlotte.”
Her face turned into a glacier. I thought she would throw the flute at me—just what I needed, another gash—but instead she slammed it onto the table. Inwardly, I sighed with relief as she leaped up from the chair. “Call me when you’ve come to your senses,” she hissed before storming out of the bar.
I finally ordered a drink, pleased that I hadn’t given Charlotte any hope for reconciliation. There was another girl working her way into my heart. The complicated, mysterious, and beautiful, Allee Adair.
EIGHT
“What’s she like?” Duffy asked me first thing in the morning before we sat down to review the upcoming edition of Arts & Smarts.
“A lot different from Charlotte. She has dark hair and lives in Queens.”
“No, I mean in bed.”
I rolled my eyes. Like I said, he thought with his dick. My silence gave him the answer he was seeking.
“Find out if she has a friend.” Duffy never had any luck in the girlfriend department. The poor bastard needed to get laid before his dick withered away.
I thanked him for covering for me yesterday and then told him to get to work. The magazine was going to press on Friday. There were tight deadlines to meet.
As for me, getting into my work was easier said than done. I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was Allee. I felt different about her than the other girls in my past, including Charlotte. There was something about her that made me feel connected to her despite our social and cultural differences. She challenged me. Made me think. Made me laugh. Made me take stock of myself. Made me feel alive. And made me fuck like I’d never fucked before. I hardly knew her, yet I was afraid of losing her.
With shaky fingers, I dialed the Met and, once again, asked my favorite operator to give her a message to call me back. The jovial operator, who was by now used to me calling, promised to get the message to her quickly. I hung up the phone.
All day I waited for her to return my call. She didn’t. Damn it! Why didn’t I take down her cell phone number? I had no other way to get in touch with her.
At six thirty, I had my work done for the day. I marched past Duffy’s desk and asked him if he wanted to go for a drink.
“No action tonight?” he asked.
“You overestimate me, Duffster.”
One hour later, I was drunk as hell. Damn that girl.
NINE
The week went from bad to worse. The printing press malfunctioned, shorting our circulation, ultimately costing Madewell Media a shitload of money. And me, a shitload of grief from my father. Worse, Allee didn’t return my calls. No matter how many messages I’d left for her, including one that I had found her eyeglasses—she had left them behind in my loft when she’d rushed off to her massage client. Interestingly, when I had put them to my eyes to see how nearsighted she was, I’d discovered that they were pretend glasses; there was no prescription in the lenses. I was
baffled by why she would wear such big, nerdy glasses when, in fact, she really didn’t need them.
As the week progressed, a slew of negative thoughts passed through my head. They kept me kept me distracted at work when I couldn’t afford to be and tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning, further affecting my ability to get anything done work wise. Maybe I was just a one-night stand. Or she thought I was a jerk (I’d been accused of that before). Or thought I had gone back to Charlotte. Or I wasn’t her type. Maybe Sid was more than her other boss. Or she met someone new. Or something bad happened to her.
That was the last thought that crossed my mind on Friday. It was eight thirty in the evening; I had been working late the whole week to make up for lost time. Panic gripped me. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? Grabbing my overcoat, I raced out of the office and asked Marcus to drive me as fast as he could to the Met. Thankfully, the Met was open until nine o’clock on Friday nights. I had to get there before it closed. To see if she was there.
The mid-November night was chilly, and storm clouds threatened. My heart beat a mile a minute as we inched uptown. The bumper-to-bumper Friday night traffic was miserable. At this rate, we’d never get there in time. At Forty-Second Street and Madison, I jumped out of the car and began to run uptown. A former track star and marathon runner, I could do it. I had to do it!
My heart raced, and my lungs burned as I charged up Fifth Avenue, weaving in and out of the swarms of pedestrians. If people were staring at this crazed runner, I was oblivious.
When I arrived at the Met, it was after nine. Hundreds of people were flocking out of the front doors. I was panting. My eyes searched the crowd in desperation for her. I hoped I wasn’t too late. Finally, after the crowd had thinned, I spotted her. She was wearing a drab gray wool coat and a striped knit hat along with a new pair of eyeglasses that were almost identical to the ones she’d left at my loft. She looked worn-out as she trudged down the steps. Fuck. Maybe something was wrong with her. I mounted the steps two at time, hoping to meet her half way.
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