The Client: A Second Chance Romance

by Hazel Parker

“You okay?” Corbin’s face is so close to hers that she feels his warm breath on her forehead. Both of his arms are wrapped around her, clutching her tightly. Her arms hang awkwardly at her sides.

  He loosens his hold on her and brushes her bangs out of her eyes. He smoothes her hair and stares into her eyes.

  Arabella is sure that Corbin can feel her heart beating through her chest. She can barely hear him through the roar of blood in her ears. His eyes are nervous, eager, and uncertain. She feels his desire growing in his pants. She feels her body clench deep down in reaction to his erection. It’s been so long since she’s stood this close to a man, since she’s been held in a man’s arms. She wants it to last and last. But, she clears her throat and steps away. His hands fall from her body.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” She whispers. Instantly, she misses the feel of his body pressed against hers. But, she reminds herself that she’s here to do a job. She’s here to fix Corbin up with the future Mrs. Corbin. She’s not here to rekindle an old romance.

  But, staring into his now green eyes in the winter sunlight, she finds herself glancing down at his pink, full lips. She wants him to kiss her even more than she wanted him to kiss her that first night on Valentine’s Day five years ago.

  He meets her searing stare for seconds or minutes or what feels like forever. She shivers.

  “You cold?” He notices her lack of winter coat. “Where’s your jacket?”

  “I don’t wear one.”

  “Why not?” He frowns and drapes his wool coat on her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed him carrying it before. She was too caught up in the feel of his hand and his body against hers.

  “I live nearby?”

  “Where?” He scans Palmer Square, the gray cement streets bordering the once green squares of grass, the beige sidewalks meeting at right angles in front of red-bricked shops and white-painted window-panes. Their view from the restaurant takes in a statue of a green lion in repose on a pedestal. Beyond the statue are low barren shrubs, empty rows where flowers will bloom in a few months, and low black chain-link fences to keep the dogs off the once green lawns.

  Arabella imagines the barren trees growing sensuously towards each other. She imagines their branches reaching for each other as if in an infinitesimally slow dance or a never-ending embrace. She can almost smell spring coming.

  “Across the square in a townhouse.”

  “Maybe you can show me sometime.”

  Her heart stops at the thought of showing Corbin her home.

  Never.

  He would see Tucker’s toy trucks and cars and blocks scattered on the hardwood floor. Even if her au pair managed to clean up the toys and keep Tucker in his nursery, the pictures of Tucker and Arabella on a yacht in the Caribbean, on a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, and on a cruise ship headed to Alaska would give her secret away.

  “Maybe.” She decides that delaying giving Corbin an answer is the closest she can get to not lying. She never wants to show Corbin her home. How would he feel knowing that she had his baby and never told him?

  “I parked by the library.” Corbin gestures to the walkway that passes the renowned ice cream shops and quaint boutiques. Walking along red brick pathways, they cross at the crosswalk, walk around the many windows of the Princeton Public Library, and enter the parking lot.

  He stops to pay for parking at an automated machine. Arabella marvels at how much cheaper the hourly rate is compared to the hourly rate in New York City parking garages. Corbin puts his arm around her waist and motions for her to follow him.

  “This isn’t necessary.” She stiffens at his touch of his hand on her back. Afraid of how much she likes it.

  “I don’t want anyone running into my matchmaker.” He smiles sardonically at her.

  “Thanks.” She walks rigidly. But, she wants him to slide his hand down to her bottom like he used to do and grab it. But, he keeps his hand at an appropriate resting point. She’s both relieved and annoyed at him for being such a gentleman.

  Was he always so...nice?

  Maybe?

  They stop at a black car that looks like a 911 Porsche, except it has two white stripes running up the hood.

  “Nice.” Arabella can’t help but admire the car.

  “Thanks.” As Corbin’s boyish grin spreads across his face. He opens the passenger door for her. She dips into the all black leather interior. It has a new car scent.

  When he gets in on the driver’s side and pushes a button to start the engine, she asks:

  “Is it new?”

  “It’s on loan.”

  “Loan?”

  “Buckle up, Miss Wilder.” He nods at her seatbelt. She clicks it. He nods in approval. “I’m a member of an exotic electric car rental club.”

  “How often do you get a new car?”

  “As often as I want.” He turns on the radio, and an angelic woman’s voice accompanied with strings and light piano fills the car.

  “I love Enya.” She looks over at Corbin in surprise as he pulls back the shade on the sunroof. A dusting of snow covers the roof.

  “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

  “I don’t recall you listening to Enya.”

  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Miss Wilder.”

  “Why’re you calling me Miss Wilder?”

  “Because I’m your client, right?” His sardonic smile returns.

  “Right. Mr. Goode.” She feels giddy and edgy. She knows she shouldn’t flirt with him. But, she likes it when he flirts with her. She hopes he’ll continue. She hopes he’ll stop. Her stomach knots up at the contradictions between what she thinks she should do and what she wants to do.

  He steers the car out of the parking garage and out onto the local streets of downtown Princeton. Arabella looks at the children bundled up in winter coats. She notices the teenagers and college kids in light jackets and flip-flops. She marvels at their ability to stay warm in the cold. She sees mothers jogging while pushing strollers visiting.

  Immediately, she sees herself jogging in designer leggings and windbreaker, pushing an athletic stroller, and glancing lovingly at her husband—Corbin. He probably still jogs, given the excellent shape he’s in. She remembers he used to practice capoeira and jiu-jitsu. Glancing over his athletic physique, she thinks that he probably still does.

  Arabella’s eyes wander over to Corbin’s profile, down his chest, and back up to his eyes.

  “Yes?” He asks with the same sardonic smile.

  “I hope you don’t think anything’s going to happen at your house,” Arabella says without thinking and immediately regrets it.

  “Miss Wilder, I’m a gentleman. Remember?”

  “Hmmm,” she does remember. She remembers how he used to ask her permission to kiss her, to touch her, to make love to her. He said that he wanted her consent each step of the way. She thought it was hot. He never asked in an uncertain way. He was always confident that she’d say yes. He almost dared her to say no and to sleep with her untouched in his bed. She did once. She remembers fighting the urge to masturbate in bed while he slept beside her. She finally gave into the urge. He punished her for it in the most delicious way.

  “What’re you smiling at?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Goode.”

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “Fine. I’d rather not say.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s personal.”

  He broke out in a roar of laughter. The sound of his deep voice resonated through the car. It shot through her body. Blood coursed through her veins and ran straight to her heart and between her legs. She exhaled sharply. She wasn’t ready for the physical reaction to his laugh. They used to laugh together all the time.

  “Why’re you laughing?”

  “Because I know you.”

  “You do not.” She sits up straight in protest. Her breasts strain against the seatbelt.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He glances sharply over at her and at her chest, then bac
k at the road.

  “I mean, do we ever really know someone?” She leans into the seatbelt.

  “We know what they show us… What happened to the romantic I met years ago?”

  “Romantic?” She shakes her head. “You must have me confused with another woman. We met at an anti-Valentine’s Day party.”

  “Ouch. I remember... I remember everything.”

  The word everything hangs in the air like a dare.

  She wants to ask him what else he remembers. But this question could lead to a slippery-slope of feelings. Feelings better left locked in a trunk in the attic of her mind. She breathes in his cologne in the small space of the sports car. She wants to get out and run.

  “How much further?”

  “Tired of me, already?” His voice sounds hurt.

  “No!” She answers too quickly, too emphatically. “I am just eager to get match making.”

  “Just a few more minutes.”

  Inside, Arabella is a bundle of contradictions. She hopes that Corbin sits her down on his couch and confesses his love for her. She hopes that she has the courage to confess that she’s always loved him. But, the fear of what if rears its ugly head. What if he gets mad when she tells him that she had his child and kept it a secret for almost four years? What if he sues her for...for estrangement? She isn’t sure what he could sue her for, but he’s rich, and maybe he could find something? Intentional infliction of emotional distress?

  She remembers Nora telling her about a case where a plaintiff sued another one of big pharma clients for intentional infliction of emotional distress. She doesn’t remember what their argument was. But, Nora won. She always won. She was scary in the court. Lawyers feared her. She was a modern Medea, out for revenge against a scorned lover. Except, Nora’s revenge extended to all parties she deemed weak who allowed themselves to be taken advantage of by big pharma companies. She had no sympathy for the wounded. Arabella always wondered who hurt Nora. But, she never asked.

  Corbin expertly drives the car onto a long driveway with a high black wrought iron fence. He stops at a keypad and punches a few numbers in. Then the gates slowly swing open. Arabella tries not to look impressed. He maneuvers the car along a gray gravelly road that seems to go on for a mile.

  “Are we there yet?” She hopes her joke doesn’t come off too corny.

  “Just about.” Driving beneath the canopy of leafless trees that meet in intricate designs like lacy lingerie, Arabella can’t help but imagine herself putting on an Agent Provocateur black lace bra and panty with nude and black suspender belt that connects to black lace thigh-highs. Corbin loved peeling off her panties and leaving the suspender belt and thigh-highs on, when they made love.

  Arabella crosses her legs at the memory of Corbin fingers gliding up her legs, caressing her, teasing her. She feels that deep down clench, and she interlaces her fingers to keep from gripping the car door.

  “You okay?” Corbin asks with a funny sound in his voice.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You look like you need to take a shit.” He raises his eyebrows at her.

  “Very classy.” They laugh. She watches the four-car garage door slide up slowly. Inside are other cars hidden beneath beige car covers. As soon as the car stops, Arabella opens her door and jumps out.

  “Hey! I would’ve gotten the door for you.” Corbin calls through her open door.

  “I just need to stand up.” She shuts the door—careful not to slam it—and breathes deeply, counting down from ten. When she gets to one, he appears on the other side of the car. It’s so low that she can see his entire torso over the hood.

  “You okay?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Yeah. You already asked me that.”

  “You’re acting funny.”

  “Am I?” She swallows.

  She wills her eyes not travel down his ridiculously toned torso again. She wills herself not to wonder if he’s still growing hard for her. What does it matter? She’s not going to kiss him or make out with him or have sex with him. She tells herself this over and over again. She hopes that she can withstand touching him through the house tour.

  Being so near to him brings into sharp focus her four years of celibacy.

  After Tucker was born and the blow from the loss of her parents she just wasn’t intersted. For two years she felt fine not having sex. Then in the third year her libido came back, she started to pleasure herself again. Now, in the fourth year, her libido seems to have been awakened by the undeniably hot Corbin. No wonder she stayed with him for a year. He’s a gentleman. He’s the best sex of her life. He’s available. She stops herself from thinking about their future together.

  She was hired to set him up with someone else. Some other lucky lady. Someone who she hopes will treat him well. Treat him better than she did.

  “Right this way, Miss Wilder.”

  She wonders why he’s calling her Miss Wilder.

  She follows him through the pristine garage, through a glass door and into a spacious kitchen.

  “Wow.” She can’t help but exclaim about the open floor plan. The blue and white French kitchen with steel appliances and an island that opens up to a spacious family room takes her breath away. There’s a glass showcase that takes up the entire wall opposite them where the TV and entertainment system usually stands. Inside is a life-size cardboard figure of the Princess of Pop.

  “Wow.” Arabella moves towards the showcase.

  Inside on glass shelves are seven golden Grammys, one Emmy, one Tony, and one Oscar. Above the awards are seven large black frames with platinum records with the names of Dana’s best-selling albums. Below the awards are enlarged reproductions of her bestselling album covers: there’s Dana wearing a nude rhinestone bodysuit against a sky-blue backdrop and singing into an old-fashioned microphone; there’s Dana reclining on a white chaise lounge wearing a white retro one-piece swimsuit with a halter-neck and high-waist shorts; there’s Dana’s face in black-and-white with her hands delicately touching her cheeks and her eyes closed.

  “I keep those for Chloe.” Corbin trails behind Arabella to the showcase.

  She turns to the wall to the right and takes in the large four-square portraits of the Princess of Pop done in the style of Andy Warhol’s iconic silk prints of Marilyn Monroe. Each background is a different color: red, yellow, green, blue.

  “This is...amazing.” Arabella looks at the many frames on the glass end tables of Dana posing and smiling in various evening dresses: there’s Dana wearing a red dress as an homage to Marilyn Monroe when she sang happy birthday to a former president turning 80; there’s Dana wearing a long silk black gown on the red carpet at the Grammys; there’s Dana in a Victorian gold and cream gown that trails down the entire staircase at the entrance of the MET to the Gala.

  She turns around and takes it all in: the large brown leather couch in sections with large ottomans and the glass coffee table with children’s books covering it. On the blond hardwood floor are various children’s toys: American Girl dolls, Build-a-Bears, half-finished puzzles, LEGO castles, and space stations, and boats.

  “Chloe’s toys.”

  Arabella sees the twinkle in Corbin’s eyes when he speaks about his daughter. His obvious love and care for his daughter pulls at Arabella’s heart. Her heart strains against the secret she’s keeping from Corbin.

  When she thinks about her job to set up Corbin with other women looking for love with a billionaire, she feels jealous. She’s not a jealous woman. She was never jealous of Corbin or any of her boyfriends. They always sought to lock her down. She loved that Corbin never asked her to be his girlfriend. He never tried to keep her home. He let her go out dancing with her girls. He let her vacation separate from him. The space he gave her so freely allowed her to stay with him for longer than any boyfriend—non-boyfriend—that she ever had.

  Although Arabella and Corbin were never official when they travelled together they would have appeared to be. They went to friends’ birthday partie
s and engagement dinners together in The Hamptons, West Palm Beach, and Aspen. They spent many weekends away from New York City making love in his family homes in Nantucket, Jackson Hole, and Napa Valley. Arabella loved holding Corbin’s hand and walking along the crowded streets of New Orleans and the deserted streets of Newport, Rhode Island. She loved surfing with him in sunny Big Sur, California and warm Kauai, Hawaii.

  She picks up a silver-framed black-and-white photo of Corbin and Dana laughing with baby Chloe in between them on a porch swing.

  “Where was this?” Arabella tilts the frame to Corbin who walks up behind her and looks down over her shoulder. She inhales his cologne. Her heart beats quickly. She resists leaning back into him.

  “This was in The Hamptons in August...a few months before Dana died.” Corbin’s eyes appear far away as if he’s back on the porch with the mother of his child.

  “You really create a space for Dana in Chloe’s life.” Arabella turns to look up at Corbin standing so close that if she leaned back, then her bottom would fit into his pelvis. She resists the urge to lean into him. “How will you create a space for...a new woman in your life?”

  He looks into her eyes and appears distressed.

  “Not someone to replace Dana,” Arabella quickly adds. “No one could ever replace her but for a woman coming into your home…this is a lot.” She wants to stop before she digs a bigger hole for herself but at the same time her professional opinion is he needs to tone it down if he is indeed ready to move on.

  “That’s why I called you. I need help finding balance. How much do I keep for Chloe to remind her of her mom? How much do I clear out to make room for someone...else?”

  Arabella wants to look away from Corbin’s eyes, but she dares not miss out on his hopeful, loving, lustful gaze. The familiar feeling of anticipation fills her. She relishes Corbin’s closeness. She is gleeful and frightened of the possibility that Corbin could be thinking about loving her. A fireball of hope explodes in her gut. She’s ablaze deep within at the chance at love again with the one-who-got-away—the one-she-let-get-away.

  “I think I can help you with that.” She turns to face Corbin. “I can help you make space for that special woman and to help you get back out there.”