Insatiable

by Lucy Lambert

  So I didn’t reach out.

  “If you get lonely I’m sure you won’t have any problems finding some company,” Quinn said, glancing pointedly in the direction of the bartender.

  She moved to storm out of the bar. However, she only reached the booth nearest the door when she stopped. I thought I heard her mutter something, but couldn’t quite make it out.

  I thought it might be something like, Be professional, but I couldn’t be certain.

  She pulled something out of her pocket and came back towards me.

  Unable to help myself, my heart started pounding. I thought that maybe she might have reconsidered.

  “I almost forgot this,” she said. She put her closed fist down on the bar, forced her fingers open, and pulled her hand back. The jump drive was there. “Please email me your thoughts on my suggestions. We’re getting closer to the deadline.”

  I wanted to say something, but couldn’t. My mind couldn’t find the words to express what I felt. She watched me, waiting.

  This was it, I knew. I could open up to her. Tell her things I hadn’t told anyone, not even Stacey or Alisha. Things I thought she could understand. I couldn’t, though. Just the thought of it gave me palpitations.

  Finally, unable to do more than groan inwardly, I responded with a crooked smile.

  She shook her head and then looked over at the bartender, “He’s all yours. Have fun.”

  I watched Quinn leave the bar, that ponytail of hers swishing from the force of her footsteps. From the corner of my eye, I saw the bartender lean back over the counter, clasping her hands close to where my sweating mug of beer sat.

  “I’m Ricki,” she said, “Has anyone told you lately how handsome you are?”

  God damn it, Quinn, I thought, Why did you do that? And then, Why did I do that?

  Chapter 14

  QUINN

  I couldn’t get that stupid bartender out of my head. She’d seen me get up to go and swooped in on Ward like a vulture on some tasty piece of meat.

  Well, more specifically, I couldn’t get the image of that bartender’s cleavage out of my mind, and the way it popped when she leaned over the bar like that.

  I’d wanted to tell her to take a hike, but couldn’t. Not after Ward had the nerve to smile at me like that. Like he didn’t even care.

  I marched up the street, looking for a taxi. Of course the taxis never came to this neighborhood much. Everyone here owned an Audi or three. Who needed a taxi?

  You just go have fun with that redhead, then, I thought with a mental sneer. I started wondering how bad things would be if I went to Ms. Spencer tomorrow and told her I wanted off the Phoenix Software account.

  Probably pretty bad. But beer from the bar swam in my head, and I let the fantasy entertain me for a while.

  Normally I didn’t do much drinking. I ended up taking my work home so often that I needed my head as clear as possible. Well, that, and I usually looked after the kids for Mary at least once a week.

  I turned back once and looked toward the corner pub. What had he meant with all that talk about discipline? He’d gotten nostalgic in there, turning into someone I could relate to.

  It was just another one of his tactics to try and get me in the sack, I figured. We’d come so close back on the third floor of the brownstone and he hadn’t want to give in so quickly.

  I couldn’t help wondering what it might like to be with him. Especially not with the warm fuzz from the beer filling my head. He knew how to kiss. He knew how to use his mouth. The way he touched me brought my body alive with desire.

  And we hadn’t even taken off any clothes. I couldn’t help fantasizing about being held in his strong arms, both our bodies slick with sweat as we slid together.

  The thing was, I knew I wanted that to happen. Some parts of me more than others. And at this point all my reasons not to no longer rang true, but hollow instead. Yet, in spite of that, I’d turned him down again.

  Better be careful. Soon enough I bet he’ll stop trying.

  Wasn’t that what I wanted, though? Him to stop trying, to leave me alone and in peace?

  I thought so. I used to think so.

  What I really wanted to know was how he managed to hit so close to the mark with his questions. But how could he possibly know anything about my past?

  Maybe the two of us were opposite sides of one coin. He responded to his own inner turmoil, burying it with a never-ending parade of beautiful women. I responded to mine by shutting men out before they could get too close.

  I wondered if that was what I sensed in him, a sort of sympathy, that I reacted to so harshly, that made me dislike him so strongly?

  He’s probably still in the bar, I thought, I could go back in and find out. But part of me feared that I might got back in there and find him with his arms around that pretty redhead’s waist, his lips locked to hers. And I don’t think I could have stood that.

  I walked three blocks before I saw a yellow cab. It was already engaged, so I needed to wait for a second, which I caught.

  ***

  Three days later I went down to the art department to talk with Anne about a couple layouts.

  A couple of her fellow artists sat at their tables, their tongues clenched gently between their teeth while they plied their trade.

  Anne herself sat in front of that bank of monitors, experimenting with different filters on the image of a smiling boy. She wore her headphones as usual, a tinny bass beat emitting from them.

  I touched her shoulder and she turned, frowning, at the interruption. When she saw me the frown flipped to a smile and she slipped her headphones down so they rested around her neck.

  “How are things going with you and Mr. Hotstuff?”

  I shrugged. “They’re not going anywhere. I don’t think I’ve talked to him in three days or so. Unless you count emails back and forth.”

  “That depends. Are they steamy emails, like with naughty pictures and that sort of thing?”

  “Definitely not!” I said, heat rushing to my face. “They’re just about the account. Progress reports, samples, that sort of thing.”

  Anne pouted, disappointed, “That’s such a shame.”

  I’d come down intending on speaking with her about the color choices in an ad scheduled to run in next month’s issue of Wired, but now I had to know what she was going on about.

  “What do you mean?” I said. I kept thinking, Be professional, but it didn’t have its usual effect on me. I glanced back at the other members of the art department, but their work preoccupied them.

  I wished I could lose myself in something like that so easily.

  “I mean that you guys have something!”

  That heat started in my cheeks again. “Yes, we have a business relationship. He’s my client. That’s it.”

  “That’s not what I saw when he came by.”

  I snorted, “I’m surprised you saw anything but Ward. You were like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes turn into throbbing hearts and your tongue unrolls down to your feet.”

  It was Anne’s turn to blush. She was pretty. “Can you blame me?”

  With no effort at all, I remembered the heat of Ward’s mouth against mine, the pulse of hot desire through my body, how close I came to giving in to him. “No,” I admitted, “I suppose that I can’t.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me and we both laughed before continuing. “No, I definitely sensed something. He definitely has a thing for you. Guys don’t just drop in like that to check up on business stuff.”

  “They do if they’re mega-wealthy CEOs with a lot riding on their next product release,” I said. The excuse sounded hollow even to me.

  “Please,” Anne said, screwing up her face. “I’m right and you’re wrong. And you know what else? I think you have a thing for him, too.”

  I snorted. “In his dreams, maybe. I can’t help the way he might feel, but I’m a professional. I don’t get into that sort of thing. It would violate our business relati
onship.”

  Anne gave me a look that asked me if I really believed the words coming out of my mouth. I had to admit that I wasn’t certain I could use the business relationship argument anymore. Not when we’d kissed twice and I could recall the exact pressure of his hand on my ass.

  “You’re different since you got that account,” Anne said.

  “What? No way. Okay, maybe I haven’t been sleeping as much, but can you blame me! My whole career’s on the line here…”

  “No, no. That’s not what I’m talking about. And I don’t mean it in a bad way. Not at all. You’ve changed.”

  “Name one way,” I said, crossing my arms tight enough that my shoulder blades hurt.

  “You’re wearing your hair down, for one,” Anne said, nodding at me.

  I reached up and touched the locks of hair lying against my shoulder. I glanced away from her. “Yeah, well, it’s just getting a little long for the bun and like I said I’m kind of pressed for time to go to the salon.”

  “Yes, it couldn’t possibly be because you know he likes it when you have it down. Not at all. Anyway, it’s not just that. You’re happier, too.”

  I raised my eyebrow at that. “Ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve met a more infuriating man in my life. Besides, if this goes well it means I’ll make junior partner, Anne. The thought of a promotion makes me happy. Not him.”

  She gave me her Please look again. You know, she has a point, I started thinking. I stopped that train of thought in its tracks. I’d given her perfectly reasonable explanations and she could take them or leave them.

  “Shall I continue?” Anne said, an evil grin accompanying the question.

  “No,” I said, “Can we talk about something at work actually related to our jobs now?”

  “Sure, right after Trish leaves.”

  “Nice to see you, too, hipster. I have a bone to pick with you about some concept pieces,” Trish said.

  My stomach sank. I turned around to face her.

  “Quinn? I almost didn’t recognize you from the back. You actually look a little bit like a girl today. How are things going with Vaughn Ward? Ready to move over and put him into the hands of someone who knows how to take care of his needs?”

  I knew she was trying to get a rise out of me. I knew inside she was jealous of me and resented that I was better at this job than she was.

  No rational thought could keep me from boiling over, though. “Phoenix Software is already being taken care of the way it deserves,” I said, surprised at my own ability to refrain from telling her that she actually looked a little bit like she’d just walked in off whatever corner she normally worked.

  But hey, go me. Go willpower.

  The corner of Trish’s mouth twitched and she looked me up and down. “You know, you’re definitely not his type anyway. I don’t see why you’re even bothering with the hair. Ever heard of a straightener, by the way? Because every other woman in Boston has. But hey, keep going like that and I’m sure Ward will be requesting a replacement any time now. So disregard my straightener advice, please.”

  I wanted to reach up and touch my hair in indignation. My gorge started rising, the hurt and anger threatening to burn right through my cheeks.

  Trish basked in the warmth of that and I knew I’d let her win again. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and turned back to Anne. “I’ll come back later.”

  Anne winked at me and said so that only I could hear, “Don’t worry, I’ll put her work at the bottom of the pile.”

  “Can you hurry it up?” Trish said, “Some of us actually have work to do.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “Some of us do.”

  I left the art department with all my blood boiling. She’ll get Vaughn over my dead body.

  That thought stopped me in my tracks right in the middle of the hall. The intern pushing the mail cart behind me had to jerk to a halt to avoid running me over.

  “Sorry,” I said, stepping out of the way and leaning against the wall. I didn’t think I could still feel so jealous and protective of Ward, not after our little chat at the bar.

  More than that, I’d called him Vaughn. I never called him Vaughn, not even to his face. Always Ward or Mr. Ward.

  Vaughn Ward, who hadn’t tried to contact me except to reply to my emails telling me he approved of my changes and suggestions to the upcoming ad campaign.

  I did touch my hair, then. Maybe Anne’s right. Ward seemed to be keeping his distance now. Just like I’d always told him I wanted.

  But if that was what I wanted, then why did I let my hair down? Why did I nearly explode in an angry fireball at the mere suggestion that I might lose him to Trish?

  Not lose him. Lose the account. I corrected myself. It didn’t feel so correct, though.

  Finally, after three days, I let myself express the thought that had been lurking in the back of my mind since I’d stormed out of the bar.

  Why hasn’t he tried to see me again? I also remembered thinking that if I kept pushing him away he’d stay away for good. Was I already passed that point?

  I told him I wasn’t worth it. Does he believe it now? My heart sank at that suggestion.

  I don’t know why I did it, but I went back to my desk and started researching him. Not his company, not his success, but him.

  I typed his name into the Google Image Search and started scrolling through the results, my chin resting against my knuckles.

  Work, you should be doing work, I thought, making some token attempt to pull myself away from the search. This is a kind of work. Understanding your client helps you meet their needs better.

  It was a weak excuse. How could an image of Ward at a red carpet event, or this one here of him in the stands at a baseball game, help me with ad material for Phoenix Software?

  Still, I had to admit that I liked looking through the pictures. He was a good looking man. I wasn’t even certain what I was hoping to find, or what I was looking for. Just something.

  And not seeing him in three days did get to me, a little. Maybe I wasn’t as googly-eyed about it Anne, but I still found him attractive.

  On a whim, I set the date filter back several years.

  There weren’t very many pictures. This would have been from around the time he was finishing college and I was just starting, I realized.

  “What is this?” I said, perking up. One picture in particular caught my attention. I clicked on it, making it bigger.

  It was a somewhat typical college picture. Three guys, clearly friends, their arms across each other’s shoulders. The young man in the middle bore a striking resemblance to a certain cocky, full-of-himself CEO I knew.

  “It can’t be…” I muttered, squinting and leaning forward.

  I remembered characterizing who I thought Ward had been in college to him at that pub. Handsome, cocky, a stick in one hand to beat away all the co-eds throwing themselves at him.

  Then again, Ward had also scoffed at that notion. And now I saw why.

  The man I saw in the picture was good looking. Or he would be, if he’d known how to dress, how to do his hair, that sort of thing. In the picture was a young man who was handsome and didn’t know it.

  His smile was full and too innocent. His hair was too long, the scruff on his cheeks and chin too scruffy. And it looked like sometime between then and now he’d decided to pack some muscle on. His shirt was too baggy and clashed with his skin tone.

  If I’d seen him at school I would have thought he was a member of the A/V or computer club.

  I probably would have found him cute, too. The kind of cute guy who, when he got invited to parties, spent the whole time glued to the wall, trying to screw up the courage to talk to that girl he had a crush on from his English 101 lectures.

  Not for the first time, I thought that I didn’t know who Vaughn Ward was. Maybe no one did. The picture in question was hosted on what looked like a long-forgotten college forum, so it wasn’t like people saw it every day or something.

  Wh
at happened to him? I wondered. Whoever he was then, he seemed happier than who he’d become now.

  I leaned back in my chair, trying to process the image. I had to smile, too; he still surprised me at every turn.

  “Who are you, Vaughn Ward?” I said.

  My phone rang, the sudden noise making me jerk in my chair. I answered it, my heart thumping against my ribs. My eyes kept straying to the screen.

  “Quinn, please come up to my office as soon as you can.” It was Ms. Spencer. Something in her tone made a pit open in my stomach.

  “Of course, I’ll be right up. Can I ask what this is about?” I said.

  “It’s better we talk in person. I’ll expect you shortly,” she replied. Then she hung up.

  I pulled the phone from my ear and frowned at it. What’s going on? Ms. Spencer usually only met with me to discuss the results of my projects. She tried not to micromanage her employees, preferring to give them leeway.

  People needed freedom to be their most creative, she told me.

  I started closing the internet browser on my computer, getting ready to go. Then I clicked the picture and saved it to my hard drive. It was an old forum it was hosted on, who knew when someone might decide to take everything down?

  When I got up to Ms. Spencer’s office I found her sitting behind her desk, as usual. She looked up at me over the rims of her glasses and I couldn’t decipher her expression.

  For a panicked moment, I thought that maybe Trish’s threat had been prophetic. That maybe Ward had decided that he didn’t want me on his account anymore and that Ms. Spencer wanted to break the news to me in person.

  Please don’t let that be it, I thought. Then I knew it wasn’t the thought of losing the account and the potential promotion that made the pit in my stomach widen, it was the idea of not getting to see Ward again.

  “You’ve changed your hair,” she said.

  Unconsciously, I reached up with one hand and touched my hair, “Yes. I… haven’t had time to go to the salon,” I replied, giving her the same excuse that I’d given Anne.

  I suppose if I said it enough times I might actually start to believe it myself. “Is there something wrong?” I asked, wanting to get to the point. I couldn’t help feeling nervous. I liked Ms. Spencer, thought of her as my mentor, even, but she intimidated me.