by Love Belvin
He stared blankly in my face before he shook off whatever reverie he’d traveled to that was caused by my unexpected actions. The waiter returned with my card and a receipt for me to sign. Although I didn’t acknowledge it, I felt the icy penetrative glare. As I collected my purse and we rose from the table, I reached down for my water to swallow a vitamin I took after meals.
After my first gulp, I managed, “So how old are you anyway?”
He mentioned his age and the pressures he felt from doubts concerning it. And in all honesty, I hadn’t forgotten Clarice’s mentions of his youth.
I’d been wondering since Friday, so it came as no surprise that I spit out water when he answered with indifference, “Twenty six.”
During our cab ride back to the office, I felt the tumult beneath the volcano as I leaned against the door, peering out of the window. I’d been dealt a lot of blows in my life, many of which I brought on by myself. I remember back when I was barely in high school, my step-grandmother, the mother of the church, told me after I’d been caught in the choir room making out with the head of the deacon board’s college-aged son that no matter how distraught I may have been by the backlash of my decisions, I was the sole contributor to them and I must own them. But in that moment, with Jackson, I was left feeling like I had help.
The earth should have opened up and swallowed me whole when I woke up this morning to spare me of the amount of humiliation I’d experienced in the span of seven hours. Self-imposed as it may have been, my decision to sleep with Jackson that night bartered more than I had taken into account before leaving the bar with him.
We’d been sitting in traffic for nearly five minutes when he goaded hollowly, “You’re one for dramatics.”
My head shot over in his direction to find him fixated outside of his window. I rolled my eyes into the air and went back to people watching. My silence wasn’t good enough for him.
“I mean,” his voice remained placid, “did you really have to fall to the damn floor back there?”
He was referring to when I dropped to my haunches, hugging my knees with my right hand while holding onto the table with my left, trying to level myself as my head spun from my lungs being restricted by my choking. I thought that hole was opening for me to jump into back at the restaurant.
Thirty-two…maybe thirty, but never would I have guessed he was twenty-six fucking years old. The boy made my body respond in ways men twenty years his senior never could.
This time when I looked over at him, his scowl was on me. Was he really expecting an answer?
“Answer me, Elle. Who needs to put on their big girl panties now?”
I drew a sharp intake of breath.
“Listen here, you adolescent—”
“Sweetheart, I’ve past my adolescent stage years ago.” He cut me off with an acute tone.
“Actually, most governmental agencies would classify you as an older adolescent!”
He craned his neck towards me, only inches away from my face and I could smell the mint on his breath when he whispered with raised eyebrows, “An older adolescent that has had your very juicy, very responsive, and very excitable ass, and is in current possession of your black lace La Perla’s.”
Did he really just…?
“Yeah, well I’m sure that’s one to go home and brag to your PeeWee League friends about,” I hissed as my arms crossed underneath my breasts. Suddenly, I felt exposed. Yet another phenomenon I hadn’t experienced in some years, but knew all too well.
A long and seductive roar came from Jackson’s core as he hooted, exposing his beautiful teeth. Absolutely gorgeous teeth that I wanted to knock out.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been with women nearly twice your age. I wouldn’t get brownie points for you.”
As astringent as he intended the comment to be, I caught the sentiment. There was something about Jackson that was far beyond the years of a twenty-six-year-old. I couldn’t quite place it, but he possessed an incandescent treasure that allowed him to slip past my age radar. It was also likely what had gotten him the seat of his father’s legacy at the firm.
“Kudos to you. And the last thing you have to worry about is the threat of Friday happening again.”
By this time, the cab had pulled in front of the office and I stormed out without concern of how the ride was paid for.
That evening, I did what I did best; I shopped. I never got a chance to look for something to wear to the firm’s party while out with Clarice that Sunday because I focused solely on her to ensure she was happy and comfortable with our pickings. I didn’t know when I’d go back out to find something for myself, but after that catastrophe with Jackson, I felt that evening right after work was as good a time as any to undergo retail therapy. After three hours of shopping, I found a dress my curves could live with.
To my surprise, the following morning, I received notification of my promotion via interoffice mail. It was an offer letter signed by Jackson himself. As foolish as it sounds, I struggled with accepting it. I considered turning it down and spending the next few weeks applying to other firms. J.G., Wizer and Hunter was one of the best, but it most certainly wasn’t the only public relations firm in New York or along the Atlantic coast. I could leave, given the right opportunity.
In my most honest thoughts I was able to admit that what I had done with Jackson that Friday night had set me back professionally. He was right in alluding to how messy this all could get. I mean, we slept together on impulse; clearly we were attracted enough to each other for the compulsion to hit again. I could control my emotions, but could he? I just didn’t know. I didn’t know enough about Jackson to gauge. I didn’t even know anyone who knew him to reference.
Clarice didn’t know him personally, but could have possibly known someone who did; however, I never told her about the debacle. This was for two reasons: one was I didn’t want her to know that I had resurrected my Jezebel tendencies, and two, I didn’t want to risk such a private matter getting out. I wanted to protect myself…and Jackson. I was good at protecting my lovers, particularly against their girlfriends—and in a few instances, wives—gaining knowledge of our lewd quests. Only here, it was Jackson’s professional reputation at stake. I couldn’t deny his fears of failing ringing true in my own life. In spite of my explosive behavior on Monday, he still took a chance on me. At the very least, I could keep our libidinous one-time affair sealed.
Wednesday rolled around and I still needed to accessorize my ensemble, so I decided to head over to Neiman Marcus to see what I could find on sale. I was feeling good knowing I could expect a 40 percent pay hike in the next pay period. That for me meant more shopping. I didn’t have many expenses. It was only me to look after. Now.
Once I’d decided I would make the move to New York City, I searched ceaselessly for affordable and comfortable dwellings. The prices for tiny boxes they called apartments were unbelievable. Although I was hauling a hefty savings behind me, I didn’t want to blow it all on rent. And I certainly didn’t want to lay roots by purchasing anything. So, I settled on a quaint-sized studio apartment that allowed me to experience intimacy without making me feel claustrophobic.
Even with an efficiency, my rent was nothing to sneeze at. It could pay a handful of mortgages back home. After paying half of my exorbitant rent with my paycheck, I’d pay the remainder with my savings. I had nothing else to do with it, but felt an obligation to the donor to use it sparingly. Having very few financial obligations helped me do that.
So, yeah, with that new hiked paycheck on the horizon, I went to Neiman’s for accessories. My dress was a black mini with an asymmetric tube-top lace bodice and a satin skirt, so I needed to decide on the material of the jewelry, like pearls, diamonds, and would the base be silver or gold. Then, depending on the metal, I needed to select the base color of it; would it be a silver base or gold. Decisions…decisions of the idle-minded. Again, in my current existence there was no substance. I accepted it and made the most of it.
O
nce I browsed the selection of onyx jewelry, I narrowed my decision down to onyx material with a gold base to bring out the undertone of my skin against the lace in the bodice. As I stood over the counter perusing pieces, I heard the annoying sounds of a young woman, cackling over a pair of shoes behind me. Her high octave pitches were so sharp that I mindlessly turned to give her my attention. And that’s when I saw a pair of familiar penetrative eyes burning into me.
It was Jackson. And he was with the screeching bird who begged every customer and associate in the building for their attention. Was she his girlfriend? She had to be, she looked to be around his age. I still felt the gut-blow every time I thought about that inconvenient discovery.
Jackson’s gaze pinned me against the counter and hiked my breath. My heart rate increased and suddenly I felt we were the only two beings in the room, communicating something that I wasn’t quite sure of until I saw his amber eyes shift down my size five frame, only stopping when they landed on my bare thighs. All of a sudden, wearing blue denim, mini shorts with a sheer sleeveless cheetah print blouse and a black blazer to provide a barrier against the slight autumn breeze wasn’t the best idea. Especially since I wore those mini shorts with suede wedge pumps. I knew my legs looked amazing; I worked on them nearly five days a week to get that exact response from myself as well as appreciative men. But today I didn’t want one of those men to be my future, older-adolescent boss!
I wanted to look away, but it would have been too awkward to act as if I hadn’t seen him. I didn’t want to yell across the store and join the ranks of his friend in the classless pool. Instead, I did the first thing that came to mind to break that transmission I felt between us. The one I hated! I gave a courteous nod and snapped my neck back to the jewelry counter.
I knew it was childish and exceptionally rude, considering he would possibly be my boss in a matter of days. Yeah—about that… I wasn’t too keen on being guided by a man barely beyond the legal drinking age. Particularly one I’d slept with on a whim.
The associate called my attention back to the jewelry and I selected the most breath-stealing trio set that included earrings, a ring and bracelet that was sure to impress. I recalled a set of bracelets at home that would work well on my other arm against the onyx, and instantly grew excited about the jewelry portion of my ensemble.
Well, as soon as victory had arisen so did the weight of my reality when I felt the warmth of his proximity, causing my head to shoot up in the correct direction and land my sights directly into his eyes. Those damn eyes!
“Ms. Jarreau, or can I call you Elle?” His voice was throaty and…masculine. I didn’t allow it to conquer me.
“Elle is fine considering we’re outside the office. How are you, Jackson? What a surprise seeing you here,” I greeted wryly.
And that’s when the sales associate informed me, “That’ll be $545, ma’am. Can I charge it to your Neiman’s card?”
I shook my head no and handed her my American Express. When I returned my gaze to Jackson, I could see he was taken by the cost of my purchase, his mouth slightly ajar.
“Are you okay, Jackson?” I dropped my chin and widened my eyes to express sarcasm.
I didn’t like people in my business and quite honestly, I was happy he’d caught a whiff of my purchase to emphasize I didn’t need him or his affluence for anything.
Jackson blinked and gathered his bearings in no time. “Yeah. Ummmmm…It’s come to my attention that we’ve yet to receive a response from you regarding the offer to join our team.”
I took a quiet gulp to decide on my wording. I didn’t want to be rude and certainly didn’t want to pussyfoot around the pink elephant. But I also didn’t think this was the time to discuss such matters.
“Right. Well, according to the letter, I have until Friday, close of business to accept before the offer is rescinded. And I fully intend on taking advantage of that time to decide what’s the best move for me.”
Jackson steeled. I could quickly surmise he wasn’t expecting that response. He was jolted for a few seconds and I had no desire to throw him a lifeline. Instead, I signed the receipt and accepted the bag from the associate and turned my body until I stood directly in front of him. I heard his obnoxious friend call out to him from the shoe department where I’d so happened to be heading.
“I think your girlfriend is calling,” I noted with as much sass as I could borrow.
His head jerked back and then shifted into the direction of his howling friend before he rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. But in an instant, his eyes darkened as he came to some resolve and his lips twitched up into a predator’s grin.
“My girlfriend. Right.” Immediately, I wondered what that meant. Why I cared was beyond me. “As far as the offer, I want you to know the entire team was blown away by your proposal and it would greatly disappoint should you decline, not to mention it would mean that we’d have to start the vetting process all over again.” He paused to give me a lingering glare before crossing the walkway to rejoin his friend.
I tried not to appear as though his final words had a lasting effect on me, so I moved from the spot he’d left me in and headed over to the shoe department myself. I made every effort to not look up and around for Jackson. It was very difficult a task considering how loud his friend had been in there.
Imagine my surprise to find myself directly behind him, in line and watched as Jackson footed the bill for three pairs of designer shoes. A part of me wanted to snicker and the other wanted to curse his ass out for accusing me of plotting to do what his young companion was doing to him, and that was pimpin’ him. I didn’t know much about this Jackson Hunter character, but what I did realize was that he’d become more enigmatic by each encounter.
three
The event was held at The Edison Ballroom and the ambiance was festive beyond measure with richly lit colored lights and bold artistic décor. The room boasted a 1930s theme with contemporary furnishings of that era and celebratory flair. The floor was filled with circular tables, pulled back several yards from the stage. Music blasted from surround sound speakers, giving the room a spirited energy.
By the time Clarice and I arrived, the party was in full swing. I recognized familiar faces from the moment we entered. Clarice conjured the biggest smile and the widest eyes, soaking up the festivities. This was her joy, she loved being out in festive-like settings as this. Me, not so much. But I couldn’t deny how the firm went all out for this event. There was food or drinks served in just about every corner of the place. The idea was for you to let your hair down, something I found difficult to do in my personal life, much less around my professional colleagues.
I slid my shawl from my bare shoulders, revving my nerves to play nice socially and put one strappy sandal in front of the other to start my stride over to the bar. Clarice followed until we found available seats.
“Oooh, girl, I’m hungry! You think I could sneak one shrimp cocktail in without popping the zipper on this bad boy?” Clarice jeered, referring to her gorgeous emerald green gown.
She was glowing and I tried convincing her of that from the time we left my apartment together. I didn’t understand why she was so hard on her appearance. Clarice was a tall, meaty woman, but far from obese. She was built like her mom, broad shoulders and wide hips. Sure, she could stand to shed a few pounds, but that wouldn’t alter her shape. Had she put more effort into embracing it instead of going the self-depreciation route, her organic attractiveness would beam through. She really was a natural beauty.
I completed my drink order, turned back to her and admonished, “Enough already. I’m not taking your shit tonight. You look wonderful and I’m proud of you for being so willing to step outside of your comfort zone. It’s paid off big time and at the very least, we’re going to celebrate that tonight.”
The bartender eventually handed over our drinks and I held my martini over to her, proposing we make a toast. She quickly caught on and obliged.
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��To Clarice’s sexiness and all the men who will follow the trails of her effortless seduction!” I smiled big and wide, happy with my proclamation.
A slow and bright smile eclipsed her face and her shoulders rose in slight bashfulness, but her comeback was classic.
“And may they all have big dicks.” I almost spit out my drink. She continued, deep dimples in tow. “And may they have them all hanging out for me to judge which one is the thickest and the longest so when I get ready to sit on it—”
My eyebrows cocked in total horror and amusement as I tried to motion with my head for Clarice to look behind her. Thankfully she caught on quickly and turned to see John Wizer leaning into the bar behind her to place an order.
And right on cue, Clarice rose to the occasion.
“Mr. Wizer!”
John Wizer tilted his head to see her. He was taller than Clarice, who was perched on the bar stool. His eyes grew larger once he registered her person.
“Clarice! You know it’s John here…and back in the office for that matter. How are you?” He took in a gulp of air, admiring her beauty. “Don’t you look quite exquisite! My, you’re stunning.”
Though the statement could read suggestive, John appeared quite neutral about it. There were no racy undertones.
“Ah, Mr. Wizer, you say that to all of the ladies on your payroll. I bet you’ve used those lines dozens of times tonight, but I’ll take it. Tell me more!” Clarice’s lively personality was never to fail.
John Wizer turned two shades of maroon at her jester. He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a tight squeeze, quite endearing.
“Mr. Wizer, this is my—I mean your new senior account manager on the latest RFA, Elle Jarreau. She was notified this week of her new appointment.
Something stirred in my stomach, and initially I was shell-shocked, paralyzed in place. I still hadn’t decided to take the position and I never told Clarice because if I did, I would’ve had to open up the can of worms of my knowing Jackson prior to Monday.