Pure Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  The car starts to move.

  My body jerks as the car pulls away from the curb and I am suddenly nervous. “Oh, this is silly.” I concede. “It’s going to take longer navigating around the street than it takes for me to walk five blocks.”

  He smiles and it’s a mischievous smile, almost Cheshire cat like. “Nonsense. We were headed that way anyway. Besides, I’m sure you’ll find this to be a most convenient excursion.”

  He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to me. Tentatively, I take it and wipe down my neck and chest with it. I catch mystery man’s eyes following the handkerchief. I reprimand him with my stare and he laughs at the little exchange.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Kathryn,” I say automatically and then pause, almost hesitant to give out my full name. Oh, what the hell? “Kathryn Grayson.”

  “Like the actress,” he states, then cocks his head and frowns, just a little, like he’s thinking.

  “Yes.” That point is lost on most people. My mother was a fan. She was lucky when she married a man named Grayson. My mom, the old movie buff. I’m lucky she didn’t try to change my name to Marilyn after I married Gabriel Monroe.

  “I’m a Lawford man myself,” he says with a naughty expression across his faultless face.

  Peter Lawford was equal parts witty and sexy, but rumor has it beneath the charm was a troubled soul. Not many people my age know who he is. And from the looks of the man sitting next to me, he’s not that much older than I am.

  With my hands folded over my bag, I try to look ahead, making sure the driver knows where he’s going. My attention can’t stay focused long as I risk a glance or two at the man sitting next to me.

  His dark-blond hair is wet from the rain. It is just long enough for you to run your fingers through. I can tell from the way his legs stretch across the backseat he is tall, over six feet. And from the way he’s sitting, his thighs, lean and strong, can be defined through his black suit pants. He has a dominating quality about him.

  His bronzed skin looks like he could be Greek or Italian. I can’t tell. And when he looks up at me, I see golden eyes. I’ve never seen golden eyes before. I really have never seen anyone who looks like him before. Maybe in a magazine, but not in real life. He is quite… breathtaking.

  My fingers tremble, possibly from the chill of wearing wet clothes, I refold them over one another in an attempt to do something with my nervous energy.

  “I’m sorry, what is your name?”

  “Alex.” He holds out his hand. It is surprisingly smooth yet firm. “Just call me Alex.”

  “Alex, thank you for the ride. If you don’t mind, I just have to pull myself together.” I flip open the overhead mirror and take a look at my appearance, at least what I can see in the small reflective glass above me. Mascara and eyeliner is smudged around my eyes, and I do my best to smooth it out without poking my eye out. “I have a big meeting in about…” I glance at the clock on the front dashboard. “Crap, I’m late.”

  Alex leans toward me and flashes that perfect smile. “I’m sure whoever it is with will understand the circumstances, as strange as they may be.” He has a devilish quality to his grin. His golden hues hold my gaze. “Pardon me for being upfront, Ms. Grayson, but you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.”

  I blush at his compliment, yet I feel uncomfortable in his presence. I close the mirror above me and throw my makeup in my bag. Looking out the window, I see the glass skyscraper approaching. “Alex, thank you for the ride. I’ll just get out here,” I demand.

  But the car doesn’t stop. It continues past the building and pulls into a parking garage. My heart leaps in my throat.

  Where are we going?

  Where is this man taking me?

  Oh my God, I’m being abducted.

  “It’s okay.” He puts his hand on my leg. “Relax. I told you I’m no psycho. I work in the building too. This couldn’t be more convenient.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. What was I thinking getting into a car with a stranger?

  After a quick evaluation, I gain my bearings. The garage is on the other side of the building than the main entrance. The car drives down a ramp and turns a corner before pulling up beside an elevator bank inside the underground garage. The driver, Devon, I believe his name was, gets out and circles around the car to open Alex’s door.

  I pull my door handle, but before I can get out, Alex has swung around the car and offers a hand.

  “Please, Ms. Grayson. It’s the least I can do. “

  I take his offered hand and stand outside the car. Having never been here before, I don’t know how to get to my office.

  As if reading my mind, Alex motions toward the elevator bank and hits the call button. The doors immediately swing open and we enter. Just this mystery man and me. I feel out of place, soaked with rainwater and a dirty dress. This man standing next to me is dry and pristine in a black pinstripe suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. The moisture in his hair has dried and the few raindrops he had on his jacket have evaporated. He stands tall and confident. I feel small in comparison.

  My body shivers from the chill of my wet clothes. I cross my arms to regain my warmth.

  I hit the button for my floor, but the car doesn’t move. Alex leans over and puts his hand on the small of my back. It must be the warmth of his skin that causes me to shiver again. I’m so cold, and the heat is welcomed. His hand takes up most of my back, and I find myself wondering what it would be like traveling across my body.

  Stop it, Kathryn!

  With his other hand he reaches around my body and places a card in the panel and hits a code before the car starts to move.

  My senses are heightened. My eyes trying to block out his square chin and strong jaw line. My nose blocking out the sensual smell of his cologne. My ears trying to ignore the sound of my breath speeding up, and my touch trying not to cause my knees to fold at the mere feeling of his hand on my back. I pray he can’t tell how unnerved I am.

  He leans down and softly hums into my ear, “Ms. Grayson, how do you like your coffee?” He sounds sensual, as if he’s asking me to go to bed with him.

  “Um, strong and black.” I quiver, swallowing… hard.

  “Good answer.” He says, releasing me in the process. I didn’t realize he had pulled me farther into him until I miss the heat of his body.

  The elevator door swings open. Trish, the redhead at reception, greets us with an awesome smile. “Good morning, Mr. Asher!”

  Asher?

  “Morning, Patricia,” Alex says and heads down the hallway. “We’ll need two coffees… black. Ms. Grayson and I have a meeting. We’ll take them in her office.”

  I stop in my tracks.

  Stunned.

  Holy shit.

  That is Alexander Asher.

  Asher!

  I am so embarrassed.

  No, I’m pissed.

  No, I am FURIOUS!

  “Who do you think you are?” I stamp into my office, stopping just past the doorway, with my wet head.

  Alexander Asher is standing in front of me looking as innocent as a lamb. “Excuse me?” His voice shows how amused he is.

  “Did you know you had a meeting with me? When I said my name and the building… you knew exactly who I was!” I can’t control myself. My hand has made its way in front of my face and my pointer finger is waving dramatically in the air. “And that move in the elevator. Do you realize you are my boss? That is so wrong on so many levels!”

  Asher walks toward me with a determined look, his eyes intense on mine. He inches closer. The weight of his body leans into me as he swings his hand around my body and slams the door closed.

  His hand is resting on the door with his arm enclosing my head. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for the entire office to hear. Do you, Ms. Grayson?”

  This is not the ten-year-old brat I imagined. This is a man. A very arrogant man.

>   “Will you explain to me just how I ended up in your car?”

  “Pure coincidence.” He withdraws and walks toward my desk, taking in the room. His presence dominates the small space. My tiny office feels even smaller with him in it.

  “I am many things, but a liar I am not,” he says, taking a seat behind my desk. “Or you can believe I have a very skilled driver who purposefully plows into potholes on rainy days just so I can pick up beautiful women.”

  Beautiful? Does he see what I look like? I’m soggy and damp. My hair is a mess of curls and matted ends, but he is staring at me like I’m crème brûlée waiting to be devoured. I feel my ears turning red. Why does this mystery man have such an effect on me?

  Well, he’s not a mystery anymore. He’s Alexander Asher, billionaire mega-mogul philanthropist and my boss. I must be getting hot. I take off my trench coat and hang it on the door.

  Asher leans his weight back, causing the chair to recline. He draws his hands up in front of his body and rubs the pads of his fingers against each other. He’s wearing an impish grin and looks beyond comfortable sitting in my seat. “I am very sorry if you were mislead, Ms. Grayson, but this is all simply a misunderstanding. I like to think of myself as your knight in shining armor who rescued you from the perils of the rain, which at this moment seems to be giving me my just reward.”

  Confused, I follow his eyes, which are no longer holding mine, but are staring down at my chest.

  My chest!

  My trench coat must have soaked through to my white blouse that is now completely see-through! My breasts exposed through my bra, my nipples rock hard from the cold air. I grab my trench and hold it against my chest.

  Outraged, I grab the door handle and swing it open ignoring Trish who is standing on the other side of the door holding two black coffees.

  “It’s Mrs. Monroe to you!” I raise my hand and flash my wedding ring at him. Shit! I’m not wearing one today. What the…? I lower my hand in aggravation and motion toward the open door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to compose myself and put myself back together.”

  “Mrs. Monroe?” His brows curve in confusion. His eyes wander around the room. He is completely taken off guard. Rising from the chair, he adjusts his cufflinks and speaks in a professional manner. “Well, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  Poor Trish stands frozen in the doorway, not knowing if she should be coming or going. Behind her, people scurry through the hall.

  Asher passes by me, careful not to brush shoulders, and heads out the door, taking my nerves with him. Mortified, I close the door, trying to block the eavesdroppers’ view of my disheveled appearance.

  “What happened to you?” Malory looks at my soot-covered ensemble in horror. She is seated at the conference table, closest to the door.

  All heads in the conference room turn to the door as I enter the room, late for the meeting. My clothes are now dry thanks to the hand dryer in the ladies bathroom, but track markings of Midtown still give evidence of my interesting morning. I pulled my wet hair into a slick bun. The most polished look I can achieve given what I have to work with.

  “You look like you were run over by a truck!” she hisses.

  “An SUV actually.” I send a death gaze down to the head of the conference table where Alexander Asher is seated.

  He looks at me with those golden eyes, making my ears turn red again. He stands, keeping his eyes trained on mine, and motions for Heavy Harvey, who is seated to his right, to stand. “Mrs. Monroe, please take a seat. We were just about to discuss the venue for the event.” He puts emphasis on the Mrs.

  Crap, why did I tell him to call me by my married name?

  “No, please, Harvey, stay seated,” I say, preparing to take a seat in the back corner of the room. Harvey is already walking toward a chair in the back of the other side of the room.

  “Mrs. Monroe.” Asher motions toward the chair next to him. “ Sit.” He is so dominating. It is sickening.

  “It’s Ms. Grayson, please.” I stress the Ms. right back at him. He looks at me with intrigue as I take the proffered seat.

  “If we’re done here, I’d like to continue with the logistics conversation.” Heather breaks the tension. It’s the most welcoming thing she’s done since I arrived.

  “Yes, logistics.” Asher composes himself and takes his seat.

  Heather polishes her hair and swivels her chair in Asher’s direction. With her big brown eyes, she gazes at him, attempting to captivate his attention. “We’re going to need a bigger venue.” She looks at him as if he is the bigger venue she needs. A light bulb goes on in my head. This must be why she doesn’t like other women.

  Asher doesn’t seem to be interested in Heather’s attentions. He is purely business. Not the same carefree yet seductive man I met an hour ago. “I don’t understand. What is wrong with David Geffen Hall?”

  “Mr. Asher, “ Gretchen chimes in, “every single act we’ve asked is available. This event is going to draw way too many people. This is a huge problem for us. If we don’t find a new venue, we’re going to have to turn down performers, and I’d hate to turn any of them away and risk burning a few bridges.”

  “Asher… um, Mr. Asher…” Heather corrects herself. “We have the venue booked and the folks at Lincoln Center have donated a lot of their time and more to this event. It would be in bad taste to break that relationship.”

  “It would be in worse taste to limit our event.” Asher puts his fingers to his mouth, brooding and detained. “What about the Opera House?”

  “Unavailable,” Heather says. “We’ll have to go through the list and limit which performers we have.”

  It seems like a silly problem. David Geffen Hall holds almost three thousand people. That’s a huge audience for a charitable concert, but I suppose it would be nice to have an even bigger venue. Maybe next time they should consider a sports arena. Although, that would be rather extravagant.

  I don’t know where the idea comes from or why in the world I say it, but the words just slip out of my mouth.

  “What about Central Park?” I inquire.

  Heather props her curvy body up to attention. “Out of the question. We’re talking security and a bigger production, not to mention getting the mayor’s permission.”

  “Yes, it’s just too much to do in the allotted time.” Gretchen agrees. Heather shoots daggers at me for suggesting it.

  It was a stupid idea. I’ve seen concerts done there before. Good Morning America does it every week. But I have no idea what goes into securing a space like that. I rest my right elbow on the arm of my chair and place my palm against my forehead as it falls heavy into my hand. It’s not even ten in the morning and this is officially the worst day of my life.

  “No, no, wait. I’m the one footing the bill here.” Asher places his hands on the table, a pensive look on his face. “That could work. It’s been done before. It would be big, much bigger than anticipated. And if so, we might be able to get all the networks to bid in on this.”

  My head perks up, stunned he is actually considering the idea.

  “But that doesn’t solve the Lincoln Center dilemma.” Heather directs the concern at me.

  “Keep it,” I shoot back. Oh, I am on a roll today!

  Asher leans toward my chair. “What do you mean keep it?”

  I feel my pulse quickening the way it has been since I got into his car. I hate being on the spot. And by him. It’s all so unsettling. The adrenaline rush is providing me a moment of complete clarity.

  “Do a concert there too. Keep a top artist for yourself. Spotlight a few of the lesser knowns. Hold a private concert for high rollers. Give away some seats to the kids this is benefiting. Turn it into a gala.”

  “You can’t really be serious?” Heather is irate. Her body is bobbing back and forth toward the desk, looking around the room to see if anyone else agrees with her. “Again, you need the city’s approval to use the park.”

  Asher eyes look
up toward the ceiling as if he’s taking my idea and dancing around with it in his head. He begins to nod his head as the thoughts work their way through. “The park doesn’t concern me. The mayor owes me a favor. A pretty big favor too, and I’ve been waiting to cash in on it.” Asher leans back in his chair and draws his hands together in a triangle in front of his face.

  He looks across the table and directs his attention toward Erik. “You know more than I do on this matter. Can you put together two productions, one in Central Park and another at Lincoln Center?”

  It looks like Erik wants to say no, but he knows he can’t. Instead, he says, “It will be tight, but you know we can.”

  Heather shoots more hateful glares in my direction and Gretchen’s mouth purses. I don’t think she’s mad, just overwhelmed by the turn of events. She should be happy. Her problem is now solved.

  Asher scribbles a few notes on a yellow pad in front of him. “Good. Then two events it is, going on simultaneously. Erik, I will need someone to work closely with my office to make sure the Central Park event has what it needs from the mayor’s office.”

  Heather lurches toward Asher, exuding overeagerness. “I will be in charge. With all due respect, Kat, you are just too new to take on such a large responsibility.” She is so smug.

  Asher pays no mind to her comment. “Heather, I will connect you with my office upstairs to get all the details.” He seems pleased with the way the events are coinciding. “Mrs. Monroe, you will be working with me on the private event. Since it has now become a gala, I want to be involved in every aspect.” He looks up at me. “And I like the idea about the kids. I’ll have my office take care of that.”

  Heather nearly falls out of her seat. I want to do the same. First of all, I was hired to work alongside Heather, not lead my own project. And secondly, I can’t work with this man. I try to come up with my best plea to excuse myself from the position. “I’ve only been here a week and was hired to work with Heather. Central Park is going to be a large production. She’ll need assistance. You should hire someone else to produce the gala.” The irony that I’d rather work with Heather is not lost on me.