by JR King
“His boss is losing his head over this crazy chick.”
“Is she hot?”
“Hot like fire, stubborn like a mule.” Sara’s polite cough snapped me out of my thoughts. “Brace yourself. Take a big breath that goes all the way down.”
I nodded imperceptibly and tried to make my muscles relax. A strange familiar feeling singed through me when our eyes met, the drawing of a single finger across my throat kind of feeling. I’m a snowball in earthbound hell. Of all the questions that cascaded through my mind, the pressing question almost flew out involuntarily. “Is it him?”
“Discreetly look at your nine o’clock.”
My head whipped around like a recoiling snake.
“So much for being discreet, El!”
I felt insidious prickling over my scalp. With breath held, I risked a sidelong glance at the archway entrance. My heart leapt up into my throat. No way to head for the hills without making a fool of myself.
Alexander prowled toward us, moving with the agility of a cat. Grey coattails swayed back and forth, opening and closing, warning me about the man they shrouded. A velvet rasp and a snap of fingers and some nondescript person pulled up a chair for him. Repulsive. Could he be more obnoxious and ugly? Unbearable to watch, but I still reveled in inexpressible happiness…somehow.
“A fucking smiley, Elena? Buttoned-up and straight-laced girl like you?” The muscle pulsing in his jaw was testament of his mounting anger.
A flush of heat crept up my cheeks. His anger turned me on, maybe because it meant he was passionate about something. Ignoring the swell of anxiety in my chest, I tossed down my water, draining it in one swallow. It wasn’t strictly proper to drink and wipe your mouth in such manner. “Words failed me when I read you message. A fuck-you smiley was all I could cadge from a severely, severely limited fixed repertoire.”
“Don’t taunt the bull if you can’t take the horns,” Sara’s cackling little voice peeped.
A mischievous light flickered in Alexander’s eyes when he looked at her. “Sara darling, how’ve you been?”
The two of them engaged in debate as if they were the oldest of friends. No pastries, I only ordered fruit. I knew the bastard was trying to turn my own friends against me.
“Elena.” Alexander’s smile faded and his eyes grew serious. I looked over his features, wondering how I ever considered him anything less than magnificent. “I’ll absolve you for a quid pro quo exchange.”
Sara poked open her mini chicken potpie. “What would that be?”
“One kiss on the lips. An innocent little kiss.”
A part of me bristled at that, but another, the larger and needier part bloomed. “Sorry, can’t do.”
He bit into the curled end of a croissant. “Not nearly as sorry as I am.” He took another bite, reaching the other end of the croissant. “Not even close.”
Before leaving, his hot lips kissed my cool cheek, whispering, “Emolument.” It was dry and short but it excited me. I took out my frustration in the kitchen that evening, chopping tiny carrots—total euphemism—with unnecessary violence as I pulled together the crock-pot wine and tomato braised chicken.
Elena Anderson
The Unnamed Ristorante
I suspected I was going to drink a few glasses of wine, so I took a cab. Adroitly I shook my umbrella and pulled it together before I bulldozed my way through the door. “Ms. Anderson, Mr. Turner’s table is right this way.” I removed the woolly shawl around my neck as the maître d’ himself took my umbrella and my Allegri full-length jacket, and then showed me to the table.
“I’ll say, Jerry. Do I look like a squeamish little girl to you? I’ll do it,” Alexander gibed, standing beside the table. His voice was brittle and sharp, like shrapnel of broken crystal. His appearance somewhat surprised me. Since I met him, for the second time he wore something else than an impeccably pressed suit. Of all things, he had dark blue Earnest Sewn jeans on, complemented by a black Hugo Boss golf jumper. The long sleeves hugged his arms tightly. Damn the man, oozing smugness, and his ass looked better than mine in jeans. All muscle.
A wide smile crossed his face as he came up to me. “Good afternoon, Elena. Don’t you look beautiful today?”
I swung my face toward him and paused to take in his autonomous stare, inexpressive, stretching the pause into a lengthy and awkward silence before I spoke. “This is quite sketchy, Alexander. And here I thought that men of your class were decent.”
Without asking, he brought my right hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. His fingers were so long they went up the inside of my wrist. I wished I could ignore the staticky feeling between us. His body seemed to react the same way mine did to his touch. How many like me had elicited this response from him when they’d touched his body? What was his algorithm for hunting women? “Grant me a civilized lunch. Please?” His hand moved to my shoulder, and his eyebrows knitted together, dark as thunderclouds.
Ignoring his touch, I didn’t move.
“Sit down, Elena. You look like you’re about to be sick.”
I looked at him for another moment. Feeling hopeless, I sat down because I wanted to be off my feet. Not because he told me so.
“Good.” He nodded as if I had obeyed him. “Now,” he took his seat, “we have some things to discuss. I’m dying to fuck the ever living daylights out of you.”
I sucked in a breath, felt a traitorous shiver run through me. The self-righteous, pompous jerk spoke about sex just like that, as if he were discussing dinner. Absentmindedly he brought his hand up to his mouth and laid his forefinger to the side of his nose. Ogling him, I had to shift in my seat, ever so slowly, to ease the discomfort that was building.
The mile-wide smirk on his face told me I wasn’t discreet enough in my attempt to recompose myself. “See something you crave, Ms. Anderson?” he asked mockingly.
With a self-satisfied smirk of my own, “Hard to say,” I quipped.
Off her own bat, a waitress showed up, a rare occurrence in a place where waiting staff made you wait for hours. Clearly, Alexander and I had had different experiences in the same restaurants, also a reason not to date him. Swaying like tropical weed, she stepped up to him, wagging her rear end from left to right like a bitch in heat. Most likely she was engendering a hot flash, because wiry strands of hair were plastered over her face. She didn’t acknowledge my presence, her eyes locked on my drop-dead gorgeous date. Could I blame her? His annoying self-confidence, the knowledge that he’d get what he wanted should be tooth-grindingly irritating, and though it often was, it was also surprisingly attractive.
“My name is Sophie and I’ll be your waitress…this afternoon.” I stared in amusement at her seductive attempt. It was only short of a quick leap to the floor and a stroke of her back on his calf to show she could be a good…pet, I’d say. She began by leaning in closer to him to sum up the daily specials, excitement streaked through her voice. To accentuate her cleavage—obvious as it was—she crossed her forearms tightly. She was without shame, a floozy of first order, flirting with no consciousness whatsoever. When her breasts were almost tickling his forehead, Alexander shifted back in the tiffany chair. Additionally, he hadn’t moved his eyes from my face.
“My date will choose for us, Sophie. Won’t you, sweetheart?”
I couldn’t resist jibing at her. “Hello, I’m right here.”
Sophie’s eyes grew wide and round as she sought out my face.
Repeating the specials, she didn’t shift her eyes toward Alexander. Au courant with the menu, I ordered sandwiches and Chardonnay with as much grace as I could muster, but I suspected she was unimpressed. She shot me a diffident look before she reached for the unopened menus, viciously bringing her chest up to Alexander’s shoulder before going off in a huff. A slight wiggle in her hips, I watched her disappear. So many women wanted him. Why would he bother with me? Was it that I’d refused him? Bruised his ego? That’s it, he was trying to prove a point to himself; the no girl says no to me chal
lenge.
Restlessly, my gaze darted around the room. Starched table linens and polished cutlery and sparkling clean glasses. A typical lunchtime crowd: suits and ladies who lunch. Heads kept turning in our direction.
I knew my world was dangerously turning and tilting on its axis, Mitchell wouldn’t forgive this.
“I’m tired of going round in circles, Elena.”
I never sweat the small stuff, but being painstakingly aware that waitresses kept hovering around our table, incrementally moving closer, I exhaled noisily to reveal my exasperation. I shot Alexander a look that said, “You’re in charge of this show, you deal with them.”
A cruel smile played across his face. “Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves, Miss,” he told the nearest one. Considering his eyes were trapped in her cleavage, what a stony reaction he gave her.
“Excuse me for butting in on your conversation, I’ve just come to fetch the drink menu and bring you water,” she hastened to assure him. And just like that, the scowl disappeared from his face, replaced by a knowing smile.
I reached for my empty highball and shoved it toward Alexander.
Pouring the water, he asked, “Why are toying with me?”
“Not pulling your leg. I’m just playing defense.”
Quietly confident, he didn’t respond. A gentle tease hung between us as we stared at each other. Awful thing, actually. His laser-like focus was unnerving, as were the dimples that formed in the crevices between the corners of his lips and cheeks when he smirked. “How’s work?”
“Fine,” I answered and tried to keep any whining nuance out of my voice. He arched a flawlessly shaped eyebrow. My mouth stayed shut. I’d learned that in company of a man like him, being quiet was the best defense. Unlike other men, there was no wavering in his stare, he listened attentively and processed whatever good or bad I said accordingly—always. What intimidated me was the heavy awareness that I was in the presence of brilliance, so the pressure of an intelligent response became high. His famous phrase—a life of mediocrity is a waste of a life—had been quoted to death and praised by the new generation. As a young girl, I never found intelligence sexy, geeks and nerd-fests creeped me out. As you know, I was the type of idiot who’d fallen for a rapist quarterback. Four years at Stanford had cured me of misconceptions, but concept of intelligence aside, the man before me had much more in him. Darkness. Ruthlessness. Experience. Confidence. Intrigue. Pick a word, any word, and add it up to striking looks. Interested yet?
In due course, the food was delivered.
We kept staring at each other. Not talking just looking, thinking, and wanting.
Alexander was the only one to put condiments on his sandwich. “Grilled vegetables on focaccia and pulled barbecue chicken on slightly crisped ciabatta are the perfect kind of post-sex food, don’t you think?”
I burst out laughing. “I’ve never tried.”
“Stop licking your lips, Elena. It gives me murderous ideas.”
That does it. When had I licked my lips? My mouth did feel like a desert. But how can you stop doing something if you’re unaware you’re doing it? Questioning my own sanity, a harsh look grew on my face. In the fit of temper, I hissed at him, “They’re my lips, I’ll lick them all I want.” I hoped I looked defiant. To my chagrin, more often than not, defiance came off looking petulant on me.
I expected receiving a dressing down or a drawn out harangue, but instead received a cold, “I need a breather.” He disengaged from the table, downed his wine, cursing that it didn’t take the edge off before he swept out of the restaurant.
“Check please,” I kindly insisted to our waitress. I was wholly ignored. See what I mean about different experiences?
“We’re leaving,” announced Mr. Dictator a minute later, his gaze impassive. “I’ll drive you back.”
I gulped down the last of my wine, gave him a cold stare. “Thank you, but no. Cab’s fine.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I already told you, follow my rules. I’ve had it with your insolence, your blight disregard for my rules is nerve-wracking.”
I paused to let that filter in. “Whatever. I’m done playing.”
The answer got me a dull nod. “That’s the spirit.”
I followed him to his car. Ever the gentleman, he gathered up my coattails to avoid getting them caught in the passenger door as he closed it. While he ambled over to the driver’s side, I inhaled deeply, delighted by the heady, masculine scents that pervaded the car, a blend of leather and aftershave.
“Thank you,” I told him once he’d settled into his seat.
Pressing the start button, “Clever girl,” he said, a sardonic smile curling his lips.
“Not clever at all,” I replied. “I got in a car with a stalker/psychopath. I don’t think the police officer will consider me as smart if something happens to me. What argument—,”
His lips came crashing down on mine, the crushing kiss cutting off further words and vital breath. His lips were demanding, almost overpowering. I had to gasp for air as his tongue invaded my mouth. He angled his head to let me enjoy the deep kiss, the warmth of his hand cradling the nape of my neck. I both loved and hated the sound of his shaky groan as he ended the kiss.
My surrender didn’t affect his dark mood. We drove back to my office without more than a few words between us. It felt like I had an albatross around my neck.
I eyed Alexander in his seat, taking note of his dejected pose. He took a string of business calls, and between the speakerphone and the Guns N’ Roses he was playing on the stereo, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways even if I wanted to. I didn’t mind at all. I was too busy thinking about Mitchell. Expectedly, I didn’t need to give Alexander the address. Like a lot of the things he’d done, the realization that he knew almost everything about me sent a tingle up my spine, one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He liked me enough to do his research. Isn’t it kind of flattering when you look at it like that?
“I’ve got half a mind to fire him! I have his DIN. Have his EA email me the fucking password, I’ll end the out-of-the-way discussion right now,” he snapped, listening to executives quarrel during a conference call.
I asked, “What’s a DIN?” when the mic was muted.
“A dial-in number for a VOIP conference call. Our CCs are secured. The audio-visual department generates a new password for each call.” He took a softer tone. “I reckon that there are far better ways to spend an early afternoon, Elena. Are you sure you want to go back to the office?”
A tingle of excitement lingered within me. “Like?”
His grating arrogance crept back to the surface. “On the silk sheets of my bed. Smooth, soft, white, and extremely warm and enjoyable…among other things in similar vein.”
My eyes burned a hole in the side of his face. I imagined his chin covered with bluish-black stubble, looking like a smear of dirty oil on flesh. I imagined it scraping the sensitive flesh of my underside as he went to work between my legs. I, Slut. “I’m not up for grabs.”
He laughed, mirthlessly though. “If Mitchell died tomorrow, I wouldn’t lose sleep.”
“Gosh! That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“It isn’t. Jerry has his sources. Mitchell’s using you to get Anna back. She’s…why don’t you ask him? It isn’t my place to say. I might be a dick but I’m not a whistleblower.”
Lies, all lies. I didn’t believe a word of it. “Oh please. You’re an arrogant, haughty, manipulative—,”
“Nothing wrong with being any of that if it’s one’s true nature. Elena, people aren’t all sunshine and plushy Beanie Babies and fucking pink candy clouds. A smart, Stanford-educated girl like you can surely find more useful things to do than trying to label people’s behavior—mine, or someone else’s.”
“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind,” I quoted Dr. Seuss. “I guess you do not matter to me.”
“You’d rather ne
ver see me again? Never kiss me again?” His voice was low, purposeful.
Dead silence filled the car.
He gave me a sideway glance. “Answer the goddamn question, Elena.”
“That’s right.” Lie. Every delicious bit of this mysterious man fascinated me. What made it worse was his utter lack of concern about my opinions regarding his character and actions. Christ, it made him hot, and it shouldn’t. I closed my eyes and began rubbing their underside. When I opened them and stared at my hands, there were no graphite smudges of mascara on my fingertips. My appearance wasn’t all unsightly; I had a sliver of dignity left.
“You scream assessment-freak, so give it to me, babe. The final assumption.”
“You scream manipulator. Always wearing a suit, except when you’re stalking me, never speaking or looking at people surrounding you, always wearing a badge of arrogance.”
“Are the Stanford psychology text books written by a twelve-year-old?”
“Harvard has an Egotism 101 class?”
“I wear suits because they happen to suit my mood. Don’t get the appeal of dressing up like a—what’s the right word for it?—plebeian. I don’t look at people often because when I do, girls want to fuck me and weasels think I’ll seduce their pathetically named—Candy or Melody or Destiny or Crystal—girlfriend. I don’t talk to people because I seldom find anyone worth engaging in conversation.” He paused to let out a chuckle. “Poor fucks have no clue about introversion, but you? You disappoint me, Elena.” I was speechless. Before I could retort, “Here we are,” he announced. The car stopped curbside, and I got out without thanking him. He had a few more parting words for me as I closed the door. “Take good care. You’ll find out soon enough.”
What a rude, anti-social, egotistical liar. This was his game. I quickly went back to my office and focused on work the rest of the afternoon. Difficult endeavor, since I kept thinking about an intoxicating promise he made to me. To fuck me into incoherence.