“But you already did. When he chased us.”
He shrugs.
“What happened?”
“Do you really want to revisit this?”
“I know I have been avoiding talking about him, but I’m ready. What next? How was he able to get me in the hotel room if you had made arrangements for him to leave?”
“So, my father had been in touch with him ever since he returned, says he has no idea Eric had been hounding us. Of course, my dad didn’t tell me a damned thing about him being around. He was hoping to have us both again, but he should have known better. Eric agreed to leave the next evening, but wanted some time with my father before he did so. I agreed for my father’s sake and because I thought that would be the easiest way to get rid of him. So, I stayed with my dad until the next afternoon and we parted ways. He went to say goodbye to Eric. I didn’t go along because I didn’t want to see him ever again. I never thought for one second you would be in his path that morning or afternoon; you were with Harrison. What my guys told me was he had a brief dinner with our father. Then my guys took him to the airport, watched him enter the gate. They waited until the plane departed. But there was that window of time, after he agreed to turn himself in and before he had dinner, almost 24 hours…that he fooled us all. He knew I was at Randall’s and that you would be alone.” It weirds me out that Taylor refers to his dad by his first name. The conversation has taken a bitter turn and I try to steer it in a different direction.
“He looked really beat up. Even more than the beating you gave him.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Taylor says mischievously.
“I wonder how that happened.”
Taylor shrugs innocently.
“What did you tell your dad about me?”
He sits on an empty spot on his desk, just above my head, and takes another sip. “I told him that he wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. About me being alone. He had always worried about that, that because of my — condition — that I would be left alone once he died. I told him I’m not alone anymore.”
“Did you ever worry about that, being alone?”
“No. I didn’t know something — someone — was missing.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He knew there was not much else to say. We don’t talk much about those kinds of things, I just told him that and left it there. He deserved to be told that, to know that between Eric and me, one of us will be fine. He just smiled, but at the same time I could sense a great relief in his body language. I know he thinks he fucked up with me, and Eric too. For all of his intelligence and wealth, he could never figure out his own sons.”
“I didn’t expect that you would tell your dad about me.”
“Honestly, I didn’t plan on it, but it just seemed fitting at the moment. It felt honest. So much of my life is putting up a front, even with my own family, and this was a simple act of gratitude towards the man who with all of his faults, did his best to raise me.”
His desk phone rings. “Sorry doll, I have to grab this.”
“Of course.”
“Yes, okay, put him on hold for a second. I’ll tell you when to patch him through…Shyla, I gotta take this.”
“No problem. I’ll go home and see you later?”
“Yeah, I might be a little late since you threw off my schedule.” His eye twinkles when he winks at me. When he gets on the phone, I attempt to pick up the papers and table decor I knocked over. Taylor motions for me to stop, mouthing he’ll get it later, but I insist. Once I am done, I kiss him on the cheek and head out.
As I reach the end of the corridor facing Marsha’s desk, I recall that she had something for me.
“Yes, here you go.” She pulls up a box from behind the reception area and plops it on its surface. “This was all stuff from your old office. I wasn’t sure where to send it. Taylor kept saying he’d take it to you personally, but you know how busy he gets.”
“Thank you! I am such an airhead, thanks so much for holding onto this for me.” Floating on the surface are some of the books I purchased when I started the job and a cardigan I had been looking for. “Yay! I have been looking everywhere for this sweater!”
“It’s so cute. I was tempted take it home,” Marsha jests.
As I emerge from H.I. with box in hand, there is a text from Taylor:
Mr. Sexypants:
I forgot to mention. Lizzy and Henry are coming over for dinner. A chef will be coming into the house at around 3, so don’t karate chop her or anything. She’s friendly.
It’s been a long time since the four of us have hung out and even longer since we just had friends over for dinner like normal folks. Upon my arrival to Taylor’s, I plop the box down in the foyer and immediately head to the bowl-tub for a nice long soak. I load about ten different bath potions and salts into the tub as it fills. My naked reflection stares back at me from the full length mirror, prompting an inspection. Most of the bruises on my body have faded completely, but there are a few that are turning in color. The shallow cuts on my arms are also healing over, except for the deep one I created to draw blood for the crime scene. I vow to myself not to do it again, not to put the razor to my flesh and watch the blood run. But it’s not the first time I have made that vow. The problem is, it is easy to keep until the moment comes when I need it, when I have the unrelenting urge to lose myself in the pain of slicing my arm. I had forgotten that urge until our last night in the darkroom, that out of control sensation, like I was spinning out of orbit with no way to stop the momentum. The cutting grounded me; it focused me. Now that I’m back here with Taylor, I don’t need it anymore. He grounds me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Since there are some visible markings on my arms, I opt for a long-sleeved emerald green chiffon blouse buttoned to the top, tucked into a pair of tailored cropped black pants with tan ballet flats. I put my hair up in a topknot, add just a little bit of watermelon-colored blush and matching lipgloss with mascara. Just a few minutes before three o’clock, there is a ring at the doorbell. My heart skips a beat instinctively. Being alone in such a big house, especially after the recent events, even with Harrison on the premises, makes me react to every small sound, every creak, as though it were a loud crash. A portly middle-aged woman with a white chef’s jacket is visible through the glass panel to the side of the front door.
“Hello! I’m Betty, the chef for your dinner party.” Her voice is rich like a heavy sauce, but cheerful.
“Yes, please, come in. I’m Shyla.”
“Pleased to meet you! I just wanted to say hello, but I am going to bring in the ingredients for tonight.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, it’s all in a rolling cart. If you could leave this door unlocked or opened, that would be great.”
Less than a minute later she reappears at the door and I guide her to the kitchen. I offer her some wine, but she politely declines, reminding me she’s on the job.
“So what’s on the menu? Taylor surprised me with this dinner party.”
“How nice of him! He asked for an Asian theme tonight. So we are going to start with steamed vegetable dumplings in a plum-soy glaze and chicken satay. Next will be seared ahi tuna with edamame and cucumber salad a top a bed of sticky white rice. Then I have a Dirty Thai Iced Tea, a special cocktail of mine. Finally, an assortment of various ice creams.”
“Woah. I was just expecting some chicken-fried rice.”
She laughs a hearty laugh from deep within her gut. “I don’t think Mr. Holden brings me in to slap together some fried rice!”
Normally, I would leave her to do her thing, but it is nice to have company in the house and her presence is warm like a hug.
“Do you mind if I watch? I don’t want to hover, I am just fascinated by your talents.”
“Not at all! I teach classes as well, you should come to one.”
“I would love to.”
I stare intently as she masterfully chops carrots, cucumbe
rs and whatever other vegetables she has on the chopping board. She must notice how intently I am staring, because she pauses and asks: “Do you want to join in?”
“Me? Really? I don’t want to slow you down…”
“Any assistance can only help.” She sets me up with some vegetables and shows me how to do that speed-chopping thing chefs do. Although, when I do it, it’s still clumsy and slow compared to her near super-human speed.
Minutes later, I hear the clinking of keys in the front door. Taylor saunters into the great room, throwing his jacket and leather messenger bag on a sofa.
“Betty, I wouldn’t let her touch that food if I was you. You should see the stuff she makes,” he says as he loosens his tie.
I scrunch my nose at him.
“Oh, Mr.Holden, this lovely lady is doing an excellent job,” Betty assures him.
Taylor walks over to me and kisses the top of my head. I feel a warm tingle from his breath blowing along my hairline. It’s not the electric, sexual type, but one of tenderness and the security of being loved. He helps himself to my wine.
“It seems like you never pour your own wine these days,” I tease.
“It’s just that it tastes so much better when it’s touched your lips,” he whispers in my ear. “Betty, do you mind if I take my girl for a second?”
“Of course not. She’s all yours.”
“I’m not finished!” I insist.
“I think she’ll be fine without you,” Taylor winks at me.
He grabs my wine with one hand and my hand with the other and pulls me into the bedroom.
“Have a seat doll.”
I plop on the bed. “How was the rest of your day?”
“It was great, especially since a gorgeous woman stopped by today and gave me a nice boost of energy.”
I smirk.
“When are Henry and Lizzy coming over?”
“Around five-ish. You know, you’re welcome to invite Kristin and Chad if you want. There will be plenty of food.”
“Are you nuts?”
“What?”
“Hello? Henry and Kristin?”
“Oh, please. We’re all adults here, it’s not like we’ll be kicking them under the table or elbow-nudging them.”
“I know…but it’ll be awkward for them.”
“I can guarantee you Henry will be fine. He’s slept with half of the United States, if he felt awkward for every ex-fuck he’s ever had, he wouldn’t leave his house.”
“Oh, you should talk!” I pause for a second, realizing that comment could be taken as an insult, but instead he takes it in stride.
“Touché. I have to clarify: it’s no secret to you I’ve had my share, but to put it into perspective, Henry runs circles around me in quantity.”
“You sluts!”
“How about you?”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“How many?”
“Well it’s not 35, that I can tell you.”
“That I know,” he says presumptuously.
“Well, excuse me!”
“Oh I didn’t mean it like that. Touchy, touchy.”
“Four, well, five. Ugh.”
“Including me?”
“Yes.”
“Including…?”
I nod.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let that fuck with our night. Tell me about the others.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I lost my virginity to a kid named Dave Sanders.”
“Dave Sanders? Did he wear suspenders?”
“Oh stop it! He was my neighbor for years. One night, when my mom was passed out drunk, and his parents were out of town, I went next door to his place. We got high, and we did it.”
“You were a naughty girl.”
“I had my moments.”
“Your mom, you said she was passed out?”
“Yeah, she started drinking a lot when I was in high school, it was bad for a while, but she’s been sober for years. She helps other addicts for a living now. It was a pretty lonely time when she was at her worst. That’s when I started all this.” I motion to my arms.
“I see. Was it awkward?”
“Yup. He lasted like 2 minutes. But I don’t regret it. We had known each other for years and he was a nice kid. It was his first time too.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. We moved out of the building eventually and we lost touch.”
“Who was the next guy?”
The summer before college, I dated some guy. Meh.”
“Then Rick?”
“Yes.”
“Was he any good?”
“Taylor!”
“Oh don’t be such a prude.”
“Doesn’t this make you jealous?”
“Of course it does, but I like getting jealous as long as I win. It makes me wanna teach you a lesson.”
“Oh does it?”
“So was he?”
“Yes, he was if you must know, I mean for a normal person…but, then things fizzled. We just lost it.”
“A normal person?”
“I mean not a natural-born sex machine like you.” Taylor laughs and reveals his pristine crooked smile.
“I’ll have you know, this is not all natural talent, but a finely cultivated gift.”
“No, something about you, they way you are, that can’t be taught.”
“Are you trying to turn me on? Because it’s working.”
“I don’t think I have to try very hard.”
“I don’t know how I feel about your sass.”
“So you’re the only one who gets to be sassy?”
“Yes. Well, you can act sassy all you want, but I’ll make you pay,” he says in suggestive manner.
“Poor me,” I say, stretching out on the bed.
Taylor sits next to me and pulls me onto his lap. He slowly unbuttons my blouse and pulls it down past my shoulders, revealing my décolletage. Tenderly, he kisses my neck; all the fine hairs stand at attention. I lean my head back to invite more kisses, and he responds by lightly biting and sucking. He slides his left hand into the cup of one of my bras and massages my breast. The other hand slides down in between my thighs, over the fabric of my pants. He applies firm, even pressure with his palm and massages me, each wave of pressure building me up. His lips and hands all over me brew a heady sexual sensory overload. I moan, signaling him that I am ready to come soon. Each moan becomes louder, my voice quivers, and just as I am about to explode, he stops.
“Wha— huh?”
“I told you I would teach you a lesson.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He cocks an eyebrow to confirm I already know the answer.
I stand up to face him. “This is so unfair! You asked me to tell you. And now you’re going to give me blue clit?”
“Blue clit?”
“Yes, like blue balls, but with a clit.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“You played me.”
“I did ask you. I did want to know. And I want you to sit at the dinner table tonight with your pussy hot and wet, begging for me to fuck it because no one can fuck you like me. And you would beg for my cock, even if it meant getting on your knees and groveling, but you would never do that for them.”
He’s right. I am dickmatized. “Sure Taylor, whatever you think.” I say in a mocking tone, my bottom half still tingling, waiting for the fireworks show that was just seconds from happening. He grabs my arm.
“I’m right and you know I am. Tell me your pussy isn’t throbbing right now.” I remain silent. “I thought so. Now, maybe later, I’ll relieve her if you ask nicely.” I remain quiet, stewing in a mix of anger, sexual frustration, and desire for him to finish. “I’d like you to pick out my outfit tonight.”
“Really?” I am surprisingly touched by the invitation. Taylor is so independent and particular about his things. His closet screams control-obsessed freak. In fact, I lau
ghed to myself a few weeks ago when my designated area in the closet seemed to get a visit from the closet-organization fairy during one of Taylor’s sleepless nights.
“Okay, this is exciting. It’s like dressing a Ken doll with genitals!”
“On that note, I’m gonna hop in the shower.”
“Will you keep the door open, so we can talk?”
“Yup.”
As Taylor heads into the bathroom, I peruse the closet, eventually passing the hidden door to the darkroom. When will we go in there again? Am I ready? There is only one way to know for sure, but dinner plans are imminent. I shift my focus back to my immediate task, picking out a thin sand-colored merino wool sweater to wear atop a navy blue and white checkered shirt with a pair of dark structured jeans. I tie it all up with a maroon pair of unworn Vans slip-on leather sneakers.
As I lay the clothes out on the bed, I turn to seek his approval on my selection and catch myself off guard with how fucking sexy he looks. The details of body are only slightly diffused by the fog on the shower door as he tilts his head back to rinse out his hair. Beads of water roll down every muscular curve of his body. His penis, even in a flaccid state, tempts me to awaken it. I just want to jump in and bone him. He’s right, I’m going to be hot for him all throughout this dinner.
He walks out of the shower with his wet hair slicked back and a white towel wrapped around his waist. “So, what have you got for me?”
I point to the clothing laid out on the bed.
“Not bad. Comfortable, dare I say a bit preppy?”
“I don’t know about preppy, I would say stylish yet casual. You wear suits all the time, since we are amongst friends I wanted you to be comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
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