by B. B. Hamel
Late in the day Sunday, one week of pleasure and bliss later, we killed our last hours together, draped across each other’s body on the sofa in his room. We had just finished a particularly intense session, and his shirtless chest was covered in sweat and his muscles rippled with each deep breath. We relaxed into each other’s arms, and I felt safe and content. I knew that I had to go back to work on Monday. It was already weird that a brand new employee was allowed a week’s worth of vacation days. I didn’t want to think about that, about the week ending, and instead concentrated on his body wrapped around mine.
“Tell me something,” I said.
“Hmm?” He looked down at me. I rested my head in his lap, and my legs dangled over the other end of the couch.
“Did you have many other girlfriends before me?”
He laughed. “You don’t want to talk about that.”
“Sure I do. I want to know everything about you.”
“You’ll just get jealous.” He shook his head and grinned.
“Oh will I? So it’s that many, huh?”
His grin grew larger. “Let’s just say, it’s less than two thousand.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you joking?”
He howled with laughter. “Yes I’m joking! Although, it is less than two thousand.”
I smacked his bicep. It was like hitting a rock. “Be serious.”
He struggled to make his face a mock mask of seriousness. “Amy, I am always serious.”
“Yeah, sure. Just tell me, how many girlfriends?”
“Fine. Not many, honestly. I had one in high school, two in college, and one about three years ago.”
“Four girlfriends? Seriously, that’s it?”
He made a ‘what can I say’ face and shrugged. “I was really busy most of my life. You’d be surprised how infrequently you meet people in this industry.”
“But I mean, look at you. Women probably throw themselves at you.”
“Sometimes they do, but it’s usually less for me and more for my money.”
“Can you tell the difference?”
“Not always. Which is why I rarely dated.”
That made a lot of sense to me. And it explained why he had a lot of trouble trusting me. He had given me small gifts all week, but I tried as hard as I could to resist them. On Friday, when I realized I was out of clean clothes, several boxes of designer pieces appeared in the foyer, all in my size. I refused them, but he insisted I try it all on for him, one at a time. When he gave me a direct order like that, I found myself compelled to obey him. The fashion show didn’t last long, thankfully, as he tore a particularly revealing dress from my body.
“Well, I’m only in this for the money,” I said jokingly.
“Good, because I’m only in this for your body.” He leaned over and kissed me.
“Well, what about you then?” he asked, pulling back.
“Three boyfriends. Two in high school, one in college. You’re the first person I’ve been with since I moved back to Philly.”
“That’s a real shame.” He shook his head.
“What do you mean?”
“The world was missing out on all of this,” he said, and gestured at me.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I said, and laughed.
This was the hard part, and we both knew it. Neither of us wanted the week to end, the easy ebbs and flows of our days blending into each other, the blurred lines between our bodies becoming ever more blurry. He ran his fingers down my hips and I shivered. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I should probably get dressed,” I said.
He grunted his response. I lifted my head up off his lap and stood, looking around the room. My clothes and his clothes were scattered everywhere, making a hurricane mess of his usually pristine bedroom.
“Oh wow, I really am a wreck,” I said.
“I had some hand in that mess. Carelessly threw your clothes around and such.”
I laughed and picked through the forest of clothes. He stood and helped, which only distracted me more. Eventually, after a few prolonged kisses, we managed to pack my bag and dress.
“Come on, I’ll ride with you to your apartment,” he said.
“No need for that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I insist. I’ll call the car, meet me downstairs.” He left the room, carrying my suitcase.
I took another look around. For some reason, I felt like I’d never have this perfect moment again. The bittersweet reality of the ending to our week of happiness washed over me, and I tried to savor it all. I looked at the books and the bed, a tangle of sheets and pillows. I remembered his body pressed against mine in too many places to count. The only thing I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to come back to this place, and to stay here like we did this past week.
After a minute of savoring the memories, I followed him downstairs. He was waiting for me in the hall, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a light leather jacket.
“Car’s outside. Ready?”
I wasn’t ready at all. “Let’s do it.”
He gave me a long look, then kissed me. “Why does this feel weird?”
“I don’t know. I’m seeing you tomorrow. It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go before I try to stop you some more.”
He opened the door and we walked out into the fading day.
We didn’t take more than a few steps before a man moved toward us. He was leaning against a car a few houses down, smoking a cigarette. As soon as he saw Shane and I, he picked something up from his chest and started jogging closer.
“Mr. Green! Mr. Green!” the man called out, and lifted the object to his eye.
“Fuck,” Shane said quietly, and hurried me down the stoop.
I heard the click of the camera’s shutter before I understood what was happening.
“Who is this, Mr. Green? New girlfriend? First girlfriend ever, maybe? She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” The man kept taking pictures, and Shane ignored him, hurrying us down the steps. The driver was outside of the car, and opened the door for us to get in.
“Come on Mr. Green, give me something. At least smile. Haven’t seen you with a lady in a very long time, this is big stuff,” the man said, and kept taking pictures.
For half a beat, just before Shane got into the back of the car, he hesitated. I could see the blind rage in his eyes, his face contorted into a snarl, and I thought he was going to go after the guy. Fear dropped into my stomach, and I looked between the two of them. The man was thin, dark haired, and wore ratty jeans and an ill-fitting sweatshirt. He had bags under his eyes, and his skin was paunchy and covered in stubble. He hesitated as well, seeing the look on Shane’s face and the tension in his body.
But Shane pulled himself together and helped me climb into the car. The man resumed taking pictures as Shane followed me in. He pulled the door shut, and the doorman put my bag into the trunk.
“Mr. Green, come on out and chat, I just want to ask some questions. Let’s see the girl, show her off a little bit. The people want to see her! Come on out, Mr. Green, Mr. Green.” The man continued to yell and taunt until the driver got back into the car. They immediately started moving.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Green,” the driver said. Shane nodded in return, and put the divider up. I could tell he was seething.
He looked out the window, and his whole body was tense and filled with rage. This was the first time I had seen a paparazzi around Shane. I was beginning to think he had exaggerated them, but there the guy was, the real deal, taking pictures and trying to get a rise out of us. It was unnerving and violating the way the man yelled and tried to get in my face. I felt a little dirty, and confused. Why would he be such an asshole to Shane? They were perfect strangers. Logically, I knew it was the man’s job to act like that, but even still, it was disorienting to actually be a part of it. I felt a step closer to understanding Shane’s dominating need for privacy.
&nb
sp; I reached out and touched Shane’s hand. He flinched briefly, and his whole body tensed, then he relaxed and took my fingers into his.
He looked over at me, and his eyes seemed distant.
“It isn’t your fault. I forgot about them,” I said quietly.
He growled in return and nodded. “I did too, but I shouldn’t have. The fucking scumbags always come back, just in case I screw up.”
“Shane, that wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my fault, Amy. I got lazy and sloppy. We should have gone the back way.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
His eyes smoldered. “I do blame myself,” he said, and his tone was firm and angry. I had never heard him speak that way to me before, and I could only gape at him in surprise.
His face relaxed immediately. “I shouldn’t snap at you.”
I squeezed his hand. “I understand.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. It’ll be fine. Just don’t go on the blogs for awhile, and if you see anybody lingering near your apartment with cameras, don’t engage them.”
I nodded. What exactly was going to happen now? I had no idea, and I was terrified of what this was going to do to him, and to us.
21.
Back at my apartment, I felt unreasonably paranoid. Nobody was lurking outside my building, and they couldn’t have learned my name already, but Shane had walked me up to my front door anyway. He kissed me there, but he seemed distant and forlorn, and I couldn’t tell what was happening inside of him. I spent the rest of the evening hitting refresh on the few gossip blogs I knew would run a story about a tech company billionaire, but our picture never showed up. I was exhausted, so I went to bed pretty early, but I tossed and turned all night, imagining how Shane would react to our picture on the front page.
The next morning, I woke up to my cell ringing. It was a half hour before my alarm usually went off, which was really weird. I checked the caller ID and it was Darcy.
That was even weirder. She never called me this early in the morning, and my heart sank. I imagined a thousand different scenarios, each one worse than the one before it. Was she hurt, or was my family hurt? I swiped right and answered.
“Hello, Darcy?” My voice was groggy, but I was wide-awake.
“Hello there you little harlot!”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, you little slut. Got anything to tell me?”
I had no clue what she was talking about. The sun was barely up, and I had to be at work in a little over an hour. Did she seriously call this early and wake me up just to play some weird guessing game? Annoyed, I rolled myself in my blankets.
“What are you talking about? It’s so early, Darc.”
“I know, sorry, but I couldn’t wait. I saw your little secret, you hoe.”
“Seriously Darcy, tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Go check Techie Rumors, right now.”
Adrenaline hit me hard. Techie Rumors was a popular East Coast gossip blog for tech companies, and it was the exact place I didn’t want to hear about right now. I unrolled myself, grabbed my laptop from the floor next to my bed, and navigated to the website.
I thought I was having a heart attack, my chest was pounding so hard. Two posts down, put up right around midnight last night, was a picture of Shane and me leaving his townhouse. We looked washed out and frazzled, a combination of not having seen the sun unfiltered through windows for a few days, and having been ambushed by an asshole paparazzi. I looked bad; bags under my eyes, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled. Shane looked radiant, as usual, despite the enraged looked on his face. That scene played itself out in my mind again: the man appearing with his camera, Shane hustling me into the car, Shane nearly attacking the guy, and our eventual getaway.
The text accompanying the image wasn’t too bad. They didn’t know my name, so they referred to me as “Brunette Hottie with Shane Green,” and speculated about the reason for my visit. They talked a lot about Shane’s reclusive nature, and how I was the first person they’d photographed leaving his house in over a year. Remembering Darcy, I picked the phone up to my ear again.
“Darcy, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. See it yet?”
“I guess we should talk.”
“Yeah we should talk, you lucky whore! Holy shit, Shane Green?”
I had never heard Darcy this excited before, and I couldn’t blame her. I still questioned my luck every time I saw his beautiful form and his soft, full lips.
“We’ve been together for a little while now, but I haven’t been able to tell anyone.”
“Why the hell not? I’d be screaming it at every random stranger. Shane Green! He’s so hot, and rich too.”
“He’s amazing, Darc. But it’s complicated.”
“Yeah, everything’s complicated kiddo. Except, you have a hottie billionaire, which seems simple to me.”
I sighed. How could I have explained this to her without making Shane sound like a psycho? Or me, for that matter.
“He’s really into this privacy, you know that. It’s not a coincidence that they hardly ever print anything about him, because there’s not much to print.”
“How did you guys meet?”
I laughed. “We met on that dating app you suggested, Matchstick.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously, that’s how we met.”
“No really, shut up. He’s your boss now, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, but we met through the app first. Apparently he used to go on there anonymously to flirt with people, because it’s hard for him to meet girls as a normal person. We hit it off before I knew who he was. When I went into that meeting to sell my app, we recognized each other. And it sortof went from there.”
“Shut up. That’s absolutely unbelievable.”
“I know. It’s all true, too. And you can’t tell anyone about it.”
“Too late for that, honey. Your picture is all over that blog.”
“They don’t know my name, and they don’t need to. Please, Darcy. You can’t tell anyone about this.”
“You have my solemn word. My god, Shane Green! What’s he like?”
“He’s amazing. Seriously, he’s perfect. I don’t know what he sees in me.”
“You’re a catch yourself, Amy. He’s the lucky one.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m the rich one.”
She laughed. “You have to tell me everything.”
And I did. For the next half hour, I ran through the beginning of our relationship. Eventually, I had to hang up and get ready for work. As we talked, I felt something leave me, and I realized it was the burden of a secret I didn’t want to keep. Since this first started, all I wanted was to tell Darcy, or anyone really, about my relationship with Shane. In a lot of ways, it felt unreal or fake. But this image on that awful gossip site, plus my conversation with Darcy, made it all solid.
I got dressed, and as I went to leave the apartment, I realized something. Everyone in the office reads that blog. Everyone. And they were all going to recognize me.
When I got to work, I could feel the whispers more than I could hear them. There was an odd hush in the room as I walked through it. People looked, but looked away just as quickly, and what was once a vibrant, loud place was suddenly quiet and awkward. I quickly made my way to my desk and sat down. I kept my eye away from everyone, pulled out my laptop, and booted it up. Before I could put my password in, Linda’s head poked around the divider.
“Hello there, Boss’s favorite.”
I turned around. Linda’s face was absolutely beaming. “Hi Linda.”
“I saw the blog. You are the luckiest person in this building.”
“I don’t feel that lucky right now.” I felt paranoid and angry. I felt exposed.
She waved her hand in the general direction of the office. “Forget those vultures. It’ll blow over soon enough.” She scooted her chair around and moved closer. “You have to tell me. Wha
t’s he like?”
“I can’t talk about it, Linda. I’m sorry.”
“Come on, just a little detail. Solid bod? Gentle lover?” Her eyes were full of humor.
“I really can’t talk about it.” Fantastic lover, more like, I wanted to say.
She pouted. “Fine, I get it. But look, if anyone gives you a hard time, tell me about it. I’ll take care of them.”
“Thanks Linda, I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Mr. Green! Lucky girl.” She shook her head and slid back to her side.
I was lucky, but I didn’t know what this sudden outing would mean for us. I knew that Techie Rumors didn’t have a huge readership because of how specific its audience was, but everyone we worked with would now know. As I logged into my computer, I found an email from Shane. It said, Amy, when you get this, come to my office. We have to talk.
That was what I had been dreading since I got into the car yesterday. I knew what he was going to say: he was a private man, and his privacy had been taken from him because of me, and now we couldn’t see each other. I almost couldn’t face it. I wanted to go home, curl up on my couch, and pretend like none of this had happened. I felt violated when the paparazzi took the photos, but I feel it even worse now that everyone knows about Shane and me.
As I got up from my chair and started walking back toward his office, I suddenly understood him in a way I didn’t before. People’s eyes followed me, and I could feel their whispers. Each step felt like a slight burn, as if I were walking further into a fire. Suddenly, my privacy had been violated in a way I hadn’t thought possible. I always took my anonymity for granted. I was never a person worth caring much about; I wrote a decent app, but other than that, I was normal girl working at a coffee shop. Now though, I was dating billionaire CEO Shane Green, which meant that I was someone people wanted to talk about and take pictures of. Worse yet, we worked together. What sort of ethical issues would be brought up in the coming days?