“Like what?” His voice is smooth and controlled. Daring me to incite myself.
“The way you talk to me… It’s so… so…” Of course, at the very moment, I’m at a complete loss for words, making me sound like a whiny twelve-year-old girl.
“Inappropriate?” He leans against the elevator wall and crosses his arms in a stance that makes him look like he’s posing for GQ magazine.
“Yes!” I shift from one foot to the other. I don’t know what to do with myself.
“Tell me. What did I say that was so inappropriate that you’ve taken the liberty to trap the CEO of a major corporation in an elevator?”
Triple crap. He’s right. My day just keeps getting… Ugh!
Oh my God, this is ridiculous. I lean over to release the stop button on the elevator but am blocked by strong hands.
“No, please, Mrs. Monroe. I’d like to hear this out, since it was worthy enough of halting us mid-ride.” His comment oozes with sexual innuendo.
Maybe it’s just my imagination.
“You can’t say things like that.” I feel the heat radiating on my neck. Oh what I wouldn’t do to take back the last five minutes of my life.
“Like what?” He is challenging me.
“Like, ‘I like to see you wet.’ It is completely uncalled for.”
He looks back at me with an amused grin. “Well, then, my apologies. And if it makes you feel better, you look much better dry and tepid.”
“Dry and tep—” My mouth stops midsentence. I can feel my ears turn red and my eyes furrow. Does this man really just say whatever comes to his head? And what does that mean…? Dry and tepid! Was that a dig at my personality? He’ll claim it’s not.
“Relax, Kathryn.”
Oh, we’re on a first name basis now.
“Relax?” My question is more of a rant than a concern. “You are the most diabolical man I have ever come across. You say whatever comes to your mind, not caring if it’s mean, crass, inappropriate…” I begin a mini pace back and forth in the elevator.
Asher enjoys the floorshow.
“You hit on me in an elevator, knowing full well that I am your employee, then ogle my breasts through my wet shirt, and take the next opportunity you have to discuss my being wet in an elevator…” I run my hand over the back of my neck. “And then there was that scene at the museum. You just walked away. Who does that?” I throw my hands up in aggravation.
“You have yet to approve any of my proposals. I mean, at this point, I’d prefer to hear you tell me they’re complete shit than have you utterly ignore me. It’s belittling and degrading.”
Oh, I’m on a roll. For someone who bites her tongue, I have finally found my voice.
My pace quickens and my hands move freely in front of me like an old-school Italian accenting every word with a dramatic gesture. “You want to play puppet master. You want to hold the strings and have all the control. Meanwhile, there are people upstairs who work hard and diligently who deserve your attention, and you disregard them because of someone else’s report.”
“What are you talking about? Who am I disregarding?” Of course that got his attention.
He’s staring at me with a look of confusion and concern. Oh, what a hole I’ve just dug for myself.
“Kathryn.” His voice is stern and determined. Leaning forward, Asher puts his hand on my arm, halting my movements. I look up into his perfectly sculpted face as he arches his eyebrows. “Tell me.”
Oh, what’s the use? I already dug my own grave. I might as well lie in it.
“Why did you deny Trish a raise?”
His hand still on my arm, Asher looks at me quizzically, as if he just can’t seem to understand what I’m saying. At this moment, I realize how close he’s standing to me. I can feel his breath on my skin and the heat radiating from his arm on mine.
Asher’s mouth opens to say something when a buzzing noise sounds from the speaker on the elevator panel.
“This is Asher Security. We registered that the stop button has been activated in your car. Is everything okay?”
Asher releases my gaze but keeps his hand on my arm.
“This is Alexander Asher. Yes, everything is okay. There seems to be a computer glitch with the cab. Please override the system and return us to the lobby. I’d like this car retired for the rest of the day, and have someone take a look at the control panel.”
“Yes, Mr. Asher. We’ll have you moving momentarily.” The speaker is silent once again.
Thank God this enigmatic man is so quick on his feet. Bad enough I’ll have to endure the embarrassment and office gossip that will follow being stuck in an elevator with the big boss… a week after a recent outburst, no less. At least I have a valid story to go with why we’re stuck in here. No one has to know I pulled the trigger.
Asher’s eyes look back at me. He’s still holding on to me when the elevator starts to move again. When he finally releases me, I take a moment to check my appearance. From the reflection in the door, I catch Asher staring at me, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looks out of sorts. I want to thank him for what he said to security, and I also want to find out why he denied Trish her due.
But I don’t say a word.
I don’t know what I expected when we arrive at the lobby. Hoards of people waiting for the elevator, police, fireman, the media! Instead, and thankfully, the elevator doors open to a seemingly empty space. What did I expect? There are five other elevators.
Chin up and hands at my side, I make my way out of the building and down the block before I even remember where it is I was going in the first place.
I slam my keys on the side entry table as soon I walk through the door. It seems I slammed the door a little too hard too.
“Are you okay, Ms. Kathryn?” Carmen comes running to the entryway, Jackson in arm.
I reach over to grab the angelic little bundle. “Yes, sorry.”
Carmen grabs my purse from my shoulder and sets it, delicately, on the table next to my keys. Grabbing my hand, she says, “Come Ms. Kathryn. You work too hard. You try to be good wife, good mother, and good worker.” Ushering me into the kitchen, Carmen pulls out a chair. “You rest your feet. Carmen will take care.”
I do as Carmen suggests and seat myself, propping Jackson on the table. He babbles and laughs at my funny faces as piles of drool fall onto his bib.
“You like sardines, Ms. Kathryn?” Carmen calls from inside the refrigerator door as she produces a large bowl. “I make chicharron with pepesca.”
She leans down to show me the bowl in her hands. The little fish with their heads still attached look up at me.
“Uh, no thank you, Carmen. I’m full.” I smile up at her as she retrieves the bowl. Besides, I was thinking Gabriel might want Chinese tonight. I lean over and give Jackson a raspberry on the side of his neck.
“Mr. Gabriel called. He has a dinner tonight in the city. He tells me to prepare something for you.” She places the bowl back in the refrigerator and turns around.
Did he tell me he had a dinner tonight? He may have, but after yesterday’s argument, I was so mad he could have told me they found aliens in our backyard and I wouldn’t have listened to him. Then again, I went right to bed last night, so he probably didn’t tell me out of spite.
I put Jackson down and walk toward the entryway. Picking up my purse off the table, I search for my phone. Flipping it open, I look to see if I have any missed calls. None. The last call I received was earlier from Harvey telling me he’d be a few minutes late for our meeting.
“Carmen,” I call, “what time did Gabriel call?”
Carmen replies from the kitchen, “Around two o’clock.”
I was in the office at that time. He should have called my desk. He has my number. I place my bag back on the table and make my way toward the kitchen.
“You should go home. You worked hard today. I think I’ll take Jackson to the park and then we’ll have some of that delicious meal you made for us.” I�
��m lying. There’s no way I’m eating those little heads.
Carmen appraises me for a moment and then makes her decision. “Yes, Ms. Kathryn. I see you Monday.” She grabs her tote from the closet and slings it around her shoulder.
I watch her walk down the street until she gets to the corner and then gather mine and Jackson’s things to go for a walk ourselves.
Jackson and I take a stroll around the park and stop near a grassy knoll. Grabbing a blanket from under the stroller, I open it and spread it out on the ground. The sun is just about to set, so I take Jackson out of his stroller to let him play on the blanket. I know it’s getting late, but it’s the only time I have my little angel these days. Our nights are our special time.
I stretch out my legs and try to pull the grass off my heels. I should have changed into sneakers before venturing onto the dirt terrain. As I’m scratching dirt off the bottom of my shoe, I hear a woman’s voice.
“Is that Jack?”
I look up to see a blonde woman jogging up the hill. Very blonde and very fit. She looks younger than me, but not by much. Her hair is swung up in a ponytail and her very yellow Nike tank is clinging to her like a second skin. Her shorts are also very short.
Everything about her is very.
Jackson looks up and squeals with recognition. This is very odd.
“I thought I recognized this little guy!” she says, panting and pulling earbuds out of her ears.
I reach over for Jackson and swing him onto my lap. This mama bear is protecting her cub from the platinum lioness. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
She laughs and places her hands on her knees, still catching her breath. “I’m friends with Jack and his daddy.”
I glare up at her and dart my eyes at the vixen in yellow. “You know Gabe?”
“Oh!” She looks surprised, her gaze settling on my left hand. “You’re his wife?”
I slowly nod my head yes.
“I’m sorry.” She continues. “I didn’t know he was married. You’re so young. I thought you were the babysitter.”
Babysitter would be flattering if I weren’t still wearing my work clothes. In this case, it’s just laughable, and not in a funny way.
Staring blankly at this woman, I appraise her. Blonde, tan, young, and fit. I don’t know her, but clearly my husband and child know her. I look down to see Jackson smiling up. I wish I could telepathically tell him to scowl at her. My little cub is falling prey to the predator.
My mouth finds a way to catch up to my thoughts. “Who are you?”
In the upmost cheerful way she could possibly reply, she says, “I’m Becca!”
Of course she is. Not to judge, but she really doesn’t look like a Maude or an Arlene. She looks like she should have two pompoms in her hands and be doing the splits. Again, I’m not judging. Just observing.
“I’m sorry… Becca?” I stand and gather my blanket and baby.
“Yes, Jack and I see each other every Saturday. Isn’t that right, buddy?” She shines a luminous smile that shows either her skin is too tan or she uses way too many whitening strips.
If Gwen were here, she would tell me to stop judging and make a friend with this woman. I guess I could. She looks friendly enough. A little too friendly, but if Gabriel knows her, then she can’t be that bad.
“Jackson and I are here all the time. Surprised we haven’t run into you before.”
Becca looks up at the setting sun and then back at me, bouncing on her toes to keep moving. “Oh, no, this is an early run for me. I’m usually out here later than this. I like to run with the wolves, you know.”
We live in a nice neighborhood, but a pretty girl like her running at night is not a good idea. “That doesn’t seem safe.”
Becca gives me a half smile. “That’s what Gabriel said. He runs with me sometimes. Keeps the wolves away.”
My body halts for a second at the realization of her words. I don’t want to make assumptions but isn’t it odd for a married man to be running with a pretty blonde? Then again, I’m not a runner so I have no idea what runner’s etiquette is. I lower Jackson into the stroller and buckle him in. “Jackson and I need to go. It’s getting late.”
“Of course. Jack needs his book, bath, and bottle, right?”
I just stare at her, dumbfounded. The lioness shuffles from one foot to the other, trying to bring her heart rate back up. “Peace out, cub scouts! It was great meeting you. Later, Jack!”
Off she goes into the wild. Who was that woman? Maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical. She’s probably very nice.
Oh, who am I kidding? I hate her.
I hate her blonde hair, her tan skin, her toned abs, and the fact she calls my kid “Jack.”
They are driving me crazy. Last week, I could swear the flowers were even fuller and Friday, doubling in size. Today, I can barely see the fiery little redhead beyond the lavish display.
“You must have one green thumb.” What could she be doing to these flowers that they remained so healthy?
Trish giggles. “Maybe a black thumb! I am the worst with flowers. In fact, I kill every plant I’ve ever owned.”
“Then how do these look so beautiful? They look like they were just delivered.”
Trish looks at me with a curious expression. “That’s because they were just delivered. There has been a fresh shipment of roses every day this week. Mr. Asher loved the ones your husband sent you, so he’s had a fresh bouquet delivered every morning. Although, they seem to be getting bigger by the day!”
So I’m not crazy!
What kind of trick is he playing? Not to mention, this is a colossal waste of money.
Once in my office, I place my bag on my desk and turn on my computer. Waiting for the machine to power up, I place my Starbucks and a paper I purchased downstairs on the desk and take a few moments to relax. New York news is the same every day. Today, it’s the latest Ponzi schemer being followed in and out of his Park Avenue apartment by media and angry clients looking for their money. I read the name over a few times. What was the name of Gabriel’s client? Could this be him? I have to remember to ask him when I get home.
Gabriel and I have been fine since our argument over the baseball game. And by fine, I mean we’re existing.
I asked him about the girl in the park over the weekend and he looked at me like I was crazy before realization crossed his face and he laughed, and said she was just some girl he runs with sometimes to keep pace. He actually referred to her as the “bouncy blonde.” He didn’t know her name, which I found odd since she knew so much about him. He just shrugged it off and said she got extra chatty a few weeks ago when he was out with Jackson. He seemed surprised she remembered so much about their conversation since he didn’t even remember it until I brought it up.
While Gabriel parked himself at the kitchen table this weekend, filing an amendment, I took the time to hang out with Jackson, my sweet boy. This week, the little angel has decided to play favorites with his toys. If he’s playing with his set of blocks, he always goes for the blue round one. If he is playing with an animal puzzle, he always wants the farmer. His cruising is getting good. Pretty soon, I’ll have a little walker on my hands and then I’ll be truly exhausted.
I felt bad Gabriel was so caught up this weekend. Watching him opening up the law books again, I knew this was a big case for him. I hung out at the table with him and read a book while he typed away at his laptop.
Our life has certainly changed from that first night ten years ago. I don’t know what my life would be like if I hadn’t walked into that bar.
As soon as I entered McCloon’s, the sounds of the Spin Doctors sang in my ears. No matter what year, that song never gets old.
And just like a mirage, he was standing there—the boy with wavy dark hair and navy-blue eyes, who helped me with my books outside of class. Blue jeans and a pair of Lacoste sneakers, he was the epitome of a relaxed college guy.
I should have been used to seeing his face. Three times a we
ek, for an entire month, he stood outside my building and asked me my name. It’d become a bit of a game for the two of us. He asked, I didn’t answer, and then he’d walk me to my Art Theory class on the other side of campus.
Every day he told me a different story about himself or something he’d learned in class. I’d become used to our walks, so much so that my Behavioral Science lecture in the building became my favorite because it meant at the end of class, I’d get to see him.
He always made a point to tell me where he’d be later that day. I wanted to go but I always found an excuse not to go.
After a month, I had no more excuses.
“It’s you,” he said, his eyes wide with amazement.
“It’s you,” I reciprocated.
He was much taller than me by a whole head. I had to look up at him when he spoke. “So are you going to tell me your name yet?”
I stood there unable to contain my blush. He always made me feel the need to play coy. I decided before coming out tonight that if I saw him, I was going to tell him my name. Yet for some reason, I just couldn’t form the words. All kinds of awkward and embarrassed, I walked over to the Beirut, trying to think of something clever to say.
He was quickly behind me. “Let’s make a deal. We’ll play for it. If I win, you tell me your name. If you win, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
I was going to tell him my name anyway, but I enjoyed a good game. And I also happened to be really good at beer pong. Shame, since I really didn’t want him to leave me alone.
“I’ll take that bet.” I finally found my voice, realizing I might have to throw the game.
He grabbed plastic cups and started arranging them in a triangle, filling each of my cups with beer well above the normal amount.
“I think that’s enough!” I said, putting my hand over his, halting him from pouring any more.
“I’m just hedging my bets,” he said, releasing that Robert Redford grin again. “Ladies first.” He motioned for me to take the first shot.
Leaning over, I sank the first two balls. As the rules go, I got to go again. I sank the third but missed the fourth. Each time I got a ball in the cup, he had to drink. And that meant watching him bring the cup to his beautiful mouth and watching his Adam’s apple enlarge each time he quenched his thirst. I had kissed three boys before that day and, at that moment, I really wanted to bring that number up to four.
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