Beholden

by Madison Michael

  Before he completely filled her view, Sloane was able to admire the lobby of the Palmer House. It was still magnificent, even after all these years. Built in 1873, or rather rebuilt, after falling victim to the famous Chicago Fire, the lobby was impressive. Under its painted ceilings, and gargoyles and cupids at the mezzanine level, was the grand staircase, huge candelabras and sofas full of people having afternoon tea or cocktails. The oversized chandeliers filling the room with abundant light were accompanied by the muffled sounds of background music and conversations. Sloane never ceased to be awed by the massive space, unlike any other in the city.

  “So, what are we eating?” Randall’s question cut into her thoughts as his face blocked her view.

  “I am eating appetizers, entrees and desserts,” Sloane responded chillingly.

  “Lighten up, ice queen, what’s a little company gonna’ hurt?”

  “Ice queen?” Sloane had never heard that before, although she acknowledged it was fitting. Before she could get a response from Randall, a young man in a navy suit approached her, hand outstretched in welcome.

  “Ms. Huyler, so nice to see you again,” Kenny Wallace attempted to greet Sloane warmly. She barely acknowledged the caterer, failing to shake hands. The young man recovered from the snub quickly, offering his awkwardly outstretched hand to a waiting Randall. “Kenneth Wallace, Hilton catering.”

  “Randall Parker, nice to meet you,” Randall took the proffered hand in a brief shake before sliding his arm around Sloane’s waist like he was staking his territory. Ignoring the evil look she flashed him, he tightened the hold when she tried to twist away. “I am assisting Ms. Huyler with the tasting today.”

  “Yes, yes of course.” Kenny buzzed around the two of them like a busy bee, chatting about the room size, the set up requirements and every small detail for their consideration. His voice sounded miles away to Sloane. She was unable to concentrate on anything beyond the feel of the large, warm, masculine arm wrapped about her waist. That thought quickly evaporated when Randall pulled her tighter against his side. Then she could think of nothing but the feeling of incredible security and rugged power overwhelming her senses.

  What the hell is wrong with me? It may feel good, but it’s still Randall. What am I, desperate? Yeah, maybe, but not that desperate.

  “Get your mutts off of me, you oaf” she whispered when they were out of Kenny’s earshot, pushing at his chest.

  Sloane had known Randall for years. They were introduced when Wyatt mentored her MBA class. Randall was also a graduate of Kellogg, along with Wyatt’s other close friends, Tyler and Alex. All were elite Lake Forest boys, all hockey players, all players period, at least until Wyatt had succumbed to marriage without even a whimper of resistance.

  They were devastatingly good looking and desirable too. Even Randall, known for his smart mouth and lack of refinement, was a catch for any lucky woman. Of course, his behavior was all an act. No one could grow up amidst Lake Forest society, attend Duke and Northwestern Universities and run a highly successful and stodgy firm without knowing how to conduct oneself. His rough ways were all for effect and Sloane knew it. That didn’t make them any less irritating.

  If he is so annoying, why is something as simple as his arm around my waist such a turn on? I cannot let him see the way he affects me. I would rather die. It isn’t him. No of course not. It couldn’t be that Randall Parker affects me like this. It is that it has been months since Wyatt left and I haven’t been with anyone since. I would be like this with an ape, after so long. Oh yeah, Randall is an ape.

  Sloane was snapped back to reality by the sound of Randall’s deep voice saying “that will be fine.” Now she had to wonder what he had just approved and take back control of ‘her’ meeting by wresting Kenny away from Randall.

  “Sorry, what will be fine?” she asked in a haughty voice that brooked no argument and easily covered the fact that she had not been paying attention. Sloane then stared down the caterer until he stammered like a little boy caught with his hand deep in the cookie jar.

  “Nothing is fine, Ms. Huyler, until you approve it, of course.”

  Perfect, he is back to being obsequious and Randall is relegated to the non-entity he is.

  “As I was explaining to Mr. Parker, I have arranged for you to taste four appetizers, three main courses with a variety of sauces and four desserts. I hope that you will find something to your liking in this group. If not, we can ask the chef for some alternatives. We want everything to be perfect for your guests.”

  As they walked the long corridor, Mr. Wallace explained the options for the layout of the ballroom. Sloane had chosen the ballroom months ago, when she reserved the hotel for this event, but she listened politely now as he explained the options for number of tables, cocktail service before the event and other details should they choose to expand beyond the limits of the room she had selected.

  Once in the ballroom, currently stripped to barebones, Mr. Wallace escorted Sloane and Randall to a back corner where one table was set with several place settings. He motioned to a place for Randall and held out a seat for Sloane, carefully avoiding the draped tablecloth as he slid her chair into place.

  “As you can see, we have laid out a number of place setting and napkin options, consistent with your color palette. Just let us know which you prefer. Meanwhile, I will inform the chef that we are ready to begin.”

  Once he was out of earshot Sloane turned on Randall.

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Just being helpful. With so many decisions to make, I presumed you would benefit from my mouth.”

  Something about the way Randall said that made Sloane think he was not talking about menu tastings. She felt perspiration form between her small breasts and pool in her bra. Nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs, she willed the sexual thoughts – and this infuriating man - to go away.

  “What do you think Sloane,” he drawled, leaning closer so she could feel his warm breath upon her face. “Think you might enjoy my mouth?”

  “You are a complete pig,” she responded, primly pressing her lips and her legs tighter together.

  This infuriating man knows exactly how he is disturbing me.

  Sloane stopped fidgeting as a pair of servers placed beautiful china in front of the two of them in perfect unison. The service and presentation were flawless and for a brief time, Sloane was able to think about something other than her budding and unwelcome desire for the handsome, broad shouldered specimen sitting beside her.

  The platter contained four tastes, each beautifully presented on small plates of differing china patterns. There were small bites on two dishes and two delicate cups, containing a small measure of soup, on the others. Mr. Wallace stepped forward and began describing the offerings with unabashed pride.

  “First we have our salad with brie and baby pear poached in saffron served with a lovely champagne dressing. Next,” as he pointed carefully, “is a fresh cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto and served with tomatoes, Parmesan and seasonal greens. These are popular summer choices, Or perhaps you prefer one of our soups. Today we are offering our lobster bisque – always a favorite, but a slight extra charge – and a delightful asparagus and pea soup. Enjoy.”

  With that, he stepped away, out of hearing distance, but close enough should he need to be summoned. Sloane and Randall were left to sample the inviting appetizer options and discuss them privately. Sloane resigned herself to tasting the dishes with Randall, and watched his face as he tried each choice. Surprisingly, she found herself interested in his opinion.

  “Well, I would eliminate the bisque right off the bat,” he said almost before swallowing it. She thought the flavors were heavenly and was reluctant to discard it too quickly. “I think people will find it a bit heavy for a summer evening and it’s a benefit so you want to raise money, not spend it.” Randall was forthright in voicing his opinion, which Sloane appreciated, recognizing that he was taking this responsibility seriously. Frankly,
she thought he was right about the bisque too. His logic was excellent.

  “I see your point,” Sloane conceded begrudgingly. Then after a small spoonful added, “I think this other soup won’t appeal to everyone either.”

  Randall agreed. They savored the non-soup options, discussing the complex flavors and presentation. They argued the merits of each dish before agreeing that either would be a good selection. Mr. Wallace, as soon as he saw that they were done, motioned to the servers who swept away the plates efficiently and quickly deposited the entrees.

  “We have excellent wine pairings for all of the dishes, of course, so you could have a lovely Sauvignon Blanc with the appetizer, say, followed by a Chardonnay or Pinot Noir with the entrée. We can bring out samples, of course. Perhaps one white and one red?”

  “Sure, bring them please,” Randall answered quickly, giving Sloane a wicked smile. He was never one to turn down a drink.

  “Do not get drunk, or so help me, I will never forgive you,” Sloane threatened.

  “Promise,” Randall responded, crossing his heart like a small boy and flashing Sloane a roguish grin.

  When did he get so damn good looking? Stop, stop, stop! The man is crude and disgusting.

  If Sloane was completely honest with herself, she had to admit that right now he was excellent company. He approached the tasting thoughtfully and was being both helpful and fun. It was better to have a second opinion when choosing the meal and Randall was turning out to be a good partner for the project. They were comparing grouper with mango salsa, chicken with Brie and tarragon and a steak that only Randall was sampling since it was covered with exotic mushrooms.

  “I loathe and detest mushrooms,” Sloane explained, so first Randall ate all the steak on his dish, then swapped plates and polished off hers. In fact, she barely took a bite of each offering, while he assured that both plates were empty when they returned to the kitchen.

  “You hardly ate anything,” he observed. “No wonder you are so skinny.”

  “I am not skinny, thank you very much.” Sloane was clearly offended by the remark. “I am appropriately thin.”

  “Hah! That’s a joke,” Randall chided. “You are bones, Sloane. Beautiful bones, but still just bones.”

  Sloane felt a rare blush move up to her cheeks. She wanted to ask Randall if he really thought she was beautiful, but she knew it would sound like she was fishing. She was dying to fish though. She who had been showered with attention had not had a man pay her a compliment in forever.

  “Thanks, I think,” she mumbled instead.

  Randall sat back in the velvet dining chair, wine glass in hand, replete with rich food. He surveyed the room slowly before his eyes came to lite on Sloane again. She looked elegant and sophisticated. A long sleeved, high-necked beige dress skimmed her delicate curves. Her classic heels and bag were the same colorless beige and her eyes popped as the only color, a deep, Caribbean blue.

  “This will be a nice space for the benefit. You chose well. You did choose this space right? While you were still chair?” She nodded and he continued before she could provide more of an answer. “I was actually kind of amazed that you were chairing the event and managing a full time job, especially with everything that was going on with your dad.”

  “I could have managed it all if they had just let me,” Sloane responded, hurt still evident in her voice almost a full week after the repugnant board meeting.

  “Yeah, but isn’t this actually easier? I imagine work is hell right now, trying to hold onto clients, reassure them and get the work done without your partner.”

  Sloane picked her head up in a haughty move that she had made her signature. Using one small hand to push her thick mane of dark hair over her shoulder, she prepared to launch into her rehearsed speech about the health of the business, about her superb skill in running it and how everything was just fine.

  She had given the speech almost daily to someone or other. Now it rolled off her tongue easily, if insincerely. She had said these words to her clients. Most left anyway. She had said them to the press, but they still led the news with the worst of her father’s offenses and dragged down the family name. She had said them to her so-called friends; those she thought would stand by her through thick and thin. They had been the first to give her platitudes and disappear.

  She was thinking all of this as she prepared to put on a brave face and launch into her routine yet again. Then she looked into Randall’s eyes. She knew he saw through the façade. He was looking at her openly, trustingly. It was the look she had hoped to see from friends but that had been sadly missing from all around her. Sloane crumpled under it.

  “C’mon, let’s be honest. My business stinks; my clients are running for the hills. This benefit was about all I had left to keep me busy and sane. And it was my last chance to feel connected to anyone.”

  That felt remarkably liberating. I should have just told the truth a long time ago.

  “Do you want to talk about it? I am happy to listen, and help if I can. I hope you know that, Sloane.” Randall rested his bear-paw hand on her thigh, letting her know he was there for her.

  The touch was electric for Sloane. The heat of his hand, bare skin on nearly bare skin sent warmth through her whole being. Sloane felt power in those long fingers lightly caressing her leg, and a sensuous connection. Tenuous as it was, Sloane wanted the feeling to last. She could think of nothing now but the feel of Randall’s hand on her leg, inching toward the edge of her stocking, moving along her body, doing amazing things to her.

  He asked you a question, or something. No, he offered compassion. Wonderful, welcome compassion.

  Trying to regain her composure and clear her mind of its sexual meanderings, Sloane nodded rather than reply. After a silent moment, she was about to answer but the servers arrived just then with their dessert selections. Four tempting confections of chocolate or berries and flakey pastries were placed – just so – before them on the table. Sloane thought they looked too beautiful to eat, but Randall dug into each with gusto. He left his hand on her thigh, unconsciously, although Sloane was conscious of nothing else.

  “Where do you put all that food?” Sloane was honestly curious, but also needed to keep the conversation going, keep her mind off the feel of Randall’s fingers skimming her thigh.

  “Dunno,” Randall replied around a mouthful of flourless chocolate cake with a delicate raspberry coulis. “Hockey maybe?” he continued once he had swallowed.

  He pushed her plate of sweets closer to the edge of the table in front of Sloane, encouraging her to taste the delights. She took a dainty bite of each then reluctantly placed her fork on the plate. She loved sweets, but years of hearing her mother say “you can never be too thin or too rich” had taught her to be content with just a bite. She took a last, longing look at the four choices before pushing the plate away from her.

  “Go with the chocolate mousse thing,” Randall suggested offhandedly.

  “I was thinking the berries and meringue made the prettiest option.”

  “You don’t eat it cause it’s pretty, you eat it cause it tastes good. Go with the chocolate,” Randall countered giving her leg a gentle squeeze as he slid his hand higher on her thigh. “Everyone likes chocolate, sinful, milky chocolate.” His voice was a low rumble, warm and inviting.

  Is he talking about the dessert, or did we just change topics? And when did it get so damn hot in here?

  Bowing to his suggestion, Sloane signaled to Kenny who returned to the table, clipboard in hand. Sloane gave Kenny the menu choices, selected the place setting and the wine pairings and thanked him for his hard work. After being reassured that he would email everything in the final contract later that day, they prepared to leave.

  Randall removed his hand from Sloane’s leg, sliding the hem of her dress up her thigh as he stood to pull back her chair. He waited, an expectant look on his face until she reached for her purse and stood. He immediately wrapped his arm about her waist possessively.
Sloane knew she should make him move it, but she liked the solid feel of him beside her.

  “My pleasure, Ms. Huyler. Mr. Parker, so nice to meet you.” Kenny shook hands with them both and thanked them profusely. The Children’s Hospital Benefit was a large event for the hotel and Kenny was treating Sloane and Randall as the important clients they were.

  Watching Randall say his goodbyes to the caterer, Sloane was struck by how different they were in appearance. Randall stood a good four inches above the caterer and had at least 30 pounds on him, all muscle. Randall was broader through the shoulders and chest. He stood now, confident and clearly in control. He forced his way in to the tasting uninvited, yet it was obvious to Sloane that, as far as Kenny was concerned, Randall was running the show.

  Did I defer to Randall? Did I lose my authority here? How did this happen? Did Randall actually take control? I don’t think he did. He just has that air of authority, the confidence that made Kenny think he was in charge. Hell, for a while, I thought he was in charge. And I liked it.

  “Well, Kenny,” Sloane decided to regain the upper hand one last time, “I will be in touch to review everything one last time the week of the event. I expect the final headcount numbers will be available a month ahead of time. And I will get the final contract soon?

  “Yes, Ms. Huyler, you will have it later today, in fact.” Kenny reiterated patiently.

  Feeling back in charge, Sloane straightened her shoulders just a bit, catching Randall looking at her. His knowing smile unnerved her. It also turned her on.

  This man knows all my problems. He knows just what a controlling bitch I can be, but right now, I swear he is looking at me like I am naked. What the hell?

  “So where you are you heading now?” Randall broke into Sloane’s thoughts. “Maybe we could grab a drink?”

  “I should really go back and get some work done…” Sloane hesitated. He was turning his boyish charm on her. It was working too. The feel of his hand on her leg and his arm around her waist was still fresh and she realized she wanted to be with him. “…But I have time for one drink I guess. Nothing major, I already had that wine with the tasting.”