I didn’t understand why someone who had part ownership in a house would walk away as he’d done. Noreen tried to blame it on their dog’s horrible accident, but it had always seemed as if there was something else going on. And now, BJ seemed to be brooding about something more than the ugly end of his pet’s life.
48
Now, Jared understood — Alexandra respected men with balls. All women did. Why had he let his fascination with her suck the life force out of him? He’d been too nice, too accommodating to her stated desires rather than thinking about what lay beneath her cool exterior. Hadn’t she proven many times there was a raging fire inside of her? She was the kind of woman who would respond to decisive action. She wanted to be dominated, as long as he didn’t go to far.
Knowing this, he’d searched for housing and found the perfect spot. She obviously had limited funds, and the place he’d found was fifty dollars a month cheaper than what they were paying Noreen. He’d considered offering to subsidize the rent and handle all the utilities himself, but he’d have to proceed cautiously with that. She was likely to rebel against the suggestion she needed his help. It was much smaller than Noreen’s place — seven hundred square feet. It was a cabin of sorts, a second structure situated on a one-acre lot, a few hundred yards behind a spectacular glass and redwood house on the bank of Soquel Creek. The cabin mirrored the six-bedroom main house in style — one wall consisted almost entirely of an enormous window looking out into the forest. The elevation was good, ensuring the property was safe from the occasional flooding that arrived during El Niño cycles. It was secluded and quiet, surrounded by trails and two-lane roads that were perfect for Alexandra’s daily run. It was closer to her office than Noreen’s bungalow.
Surely after the knife attacks on the mirror and Alexandra’s bedroom door, coupled with Noreen’s expectation that they function as her body guards, Alex had had enough. Noreen was unstable at best, and possibly dangerous. Her stories and her moods shifted minute to minute and there was no telling what the next change might be. She’d quickly yielded the knife and returned to her sad, needy persona, but she’d made that transformation before. It wouldn’t last. She was still furious at Alex for the perceived betrayal.
Alex would share his bed in the small cabin, but he would make it clear that didn’t imply they were establishing a relationship with its expected obligations. Safety was more important than relationship definitions. They had great sex and they needed to get away from Noreen — that was enough for now.
Tonight, he’d bring a bottle of wine to her room and they’d spend a little more time together, talking before they succumbed to kissing and slithering out of their clothing. Now that Noreen knew about him and Alex, there was no worry about being overheard, although they faced a much greater risk of physical danger as Noreen’s anger simmered toward an inevitable explosion. Alex would see that they couldn’t wait any longer to make other plans. She’d appreciate him refusing to brush it aside for another day, another week. She’d appreciate him putting effort into finding a place. He’d downloaded the four photographs provided online so he could show them to her on his phone without jumping around the website. He also had a picture of the main house and estimated costs for utilities.
The bottle of wine and glasses were in his room, waiting. It was dark now. Her car had been parked out front when he arrived home, but she was nowhere around. It was possible she’d gone for a longer run than usual. Still, it had been two hours. How many miles could she run in one go?
Twenty minutes later, time spent reading the same page repeatedly in a book on the nature of breath, he heard the front door open. He stepped into the hallway and walked toward the great room.
Alex closed the door, locked it, and turned. She dropped her keys in her purse. She wasn’t dressed in running clothes or work clothes — she wore skinny jeans and a sexy top that fell off one shoulder. Her feet were bare and she carried silver flip-flops in her left hand.
He smiled. “Playing hooky?”
She dropped her flip-flops on the floor and stepped into them. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”
She didn’t smile so he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to interpret her greeting — Joke? Annoyance? Affection? Something he couldn’t guess at?
She walked toward the kitchen. Her flip-flops slapped the tile. Without turning, she said, “Is Noreen around?”
“Are you looking for her?”
She laughed. “Hell no. Just asking.” She turned on the light and opened the cabinet. She removed a wine glass and set it on the counter.
He came up behind her. “Hey. I thought we could share a bottle. I have a nice Zin waiting in the bedroom.”
“Mine or yours?”
“Whichever you prefer.”
“Yours is better.” She paused. “Oh, I, uh…”
He smiled. “I saw. Cleaning out?”
“I just tossed stuff out of the way so I could vacuum and change my sheets. I forgot to move it back.”
“No worries,” he said. “I folded everything. There’s a stack in my closet.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”
It was unnerving. Her ironic tone was sharp — was it affectionate irony or bitter?
“I need to take a shower,” she said.
“Not now.”
She shrugged and fiddled with her earring. They went into his room. She kicked off her flip-flops. She removed the earrings from the holes in her ears and dropped them on his bookcase. She scraped at the hardened wax spots with her thumbnail.
“I was going to get to those,” he said.
She went to his meditation cushion and settled herself on it. She folded her legs easily into a lotus position. Unbelievable. He’d worked since the day he’d bought the cushion, and could barely manage to force his left foot onto his right thigh. Forget the right foot. She put her hands on her knees, forming a lovely teardrop with her thumbs and middle fingers. She closed her eyes. “Ohm.”
He hoped she wasn’t mocking him. It didn’t seem that way, but it was impossible to read her sometimes. Most of the time. Maybe he couldn’t read her at all. He poured a liberal amount of wine into each glass. She lifted her arm, holding out her hand for the glass. Apparently she planned to drink her wine while sitting on the cushion. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, it seemed sacrilegious. But why? It was just fabric and stuffing. He handed the glass to her. Kneeling beside her, then sitting on his heels, he touched his glass to hers. “TGIM.”
She laughed.
Knowing he’d elicited that laugh dissolved his worries about some of the things she said, or didn’t say. He relaxed and shifted into a cross-legged position facing her. He took a sip of wine. “What were you up to all day? How come you skipped work?”
“I needed a break.”
He put the wineglass close to his nose and inhaled the aroma, waiting for her to say more. He shouldn’t have asked two questions on top of each other. He clenched his jaw. She made him feel as if he were prepubescent, asking questions that made him appear stupid, clueless about how to talk to a girl. No other woman had had this effect on him. With other women, he’d always been in control. He absolutely needed to take charge, but he wanted her so badly he was terrified of taking a wrong step. He moved the glass away from his face. “Did you hang out at the beach?”
She shook her head. She put down her glass on the carpet, re-formed the lotus position with her left leg on top, and picked up the glass.
“A secret rendezvous?” He laughed.
She smiled.
“You sure can sit easily in that position. Have you ever meditated?”
“Doesn’t everyone meditate when they’re sitting and thinking? I don’t see why it has to be an event.”
“Meditation is more like thinking about nothing, or not thinking at all. It’s about working to quiet your mind while watching the endless flow of mental judgement and analysis and complaining, rehashing the past, contemplating the future…”
She took a sip of wine. “Huh. Interesting.”
“How are you feeling? After that go-around with Noreen and her knife?” he said.
“She seems quite frightened of her ex…”
“Maybe.” He stood up and went to the dresser. He put the bottle of wine on the carpet and sat down again. “Or she’s afraid of her own mind.”
“That too. She showed me this photograph of herself with holes poked through the eyes. She said Brian, or BJ, whoever he is, did it.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Who knows. She does seem genuinely afraid…or genuinely…something.” She laughed.
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket.
“Do I get a refill?” she held out her glass.
He put down the phone and splashed wine into both glasses.
“It’s only a matter of time before she loses it completely,” he said.
“She does get off on the drama.”
“But we don’t know.”
“True.”
He liked it that she responded as if they were making plans together. Partners. A couple, maybe. It was a good sign. “It’s a bad situation.” He picked up the phone. “Check this out.” He tapped on the exterior shot of the cabin and turned the phone in her direction.
“Nice.”
“It’s small, but it’s a great location, and the price is right.” Holding the phone so she could see it, he scrolled through the interior shots and the picture of the main house.
She sipped her wine. “Are you thinking of renting it?”
“It’s large enough for both of us.”
She sighed. “Are you deaf? Or just hard-headed?” She unfolded her legs as gracefully as she’d arranged them. She finished the wine, put the glass beside the bottle, and stood up. “I told you I don’t want a relationship. The sex is great, but I’m not playing house with you.”
He stood up. He had to prevent her from leaving. “I know you don’t, and I’m not suggesting it. Just…we need to get out of here. I’m trying to protect you.” The minute he spoke, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
She laughed. She stepped around him, picked up her earrings and flip-flops, and went to the door. “Thanks for the wine.”
“What about friends with benefits? Roommates with benefits,” he said. “We’re just sharing a cabin and we can have sex, or not. Whatever. We don’t have to…”
“I’m not sure I want to be friends.” She gave him a smile that softened the words, slightly. She opened the door and was gone before he could take a complete breath.
49
The Thursday after I stayed home sick, Tess came into my office without knocking. She sauntered up to my desk and put both hands on the edge. She leaned forward. “Got it.” She straightened and crossed her arms, grinning.
The appropriate response was thank you, so that’s what I said, although most thanks rightfully belonged to me, because if I hadn’t kept nudging her, she would have dropped it. That isn’t something to point out to your boss, to anyone, in any situation. It was knowledge I’d have to enjoy alone.
The energy snapping in her eyes said she was riding an adrenaline high from winning, pride in knowing she’d done something to reward me and that she had power to impact my life. She tapped her phone and handed it to me. An approval email filled the screen, announcing a $4,328.23 annual increase for Laura A. Mallory — almost three hundred dollars a month after taxes. It’s not clear how they calculate such an awkward sum, and it wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for, but hoping and expectation versus actual cash aren’t the same. It was another small step toward the kind of life I envisioned. A life with a luxurious car, high end clothes, an elegant, spacious, well-decorated home…some travel…and all the creature comforts I craved.
“Tell me how it all happened,” I said.
She slouched in the chair and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing her narrow ankles in the same way a man might. She tossed her head back.
The experience had been heady even though it started out badly.
Before Tess could even begin making her pitch, Steve had tried to dominate. First, he’d winked at her and pulled out a chair, holding it while she sat. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently, increasing the pressure as if he was about to give her a massage. She’d told him to have a seat and he chuckled. It was the kind of chuckle that tells a woman she’s cute and charming, an object designed to amuse the man, not a business peer.
Despite the queasy feeling in her stomach, fearing that she was seeing evidence she’d never recover from her dual-headed mistake, she took a long, slow breath. She stiffened her back and told him not to touch her. Inside, she was quivering, certain that all he saw was her naked body, that the brief hour they’d spent in bed consumed his thoughts, that she would never be on an equal footing again. She worried she was making an even worse mistake trying to get his support for expanding her team and recognizing its importance. The meeting felt like a flimsy, transparent attempt to stake out her territory. He would hold the indiscretion over her. Possibly, he’d suggest they continue on a regular basis if she truly wanted to enlist his support. If she reacted, he’d point out again her lack of control over her emotions.
While she sat worrying, he rambled on about his Sunday golf game. She smiled and nodded as he described his best putts, his shockingly long drives, his analysis of the mental aspects of the game and how well he’d mastered them.
As he talked, she suddenly realized he had no idea she wasn’t really listening, and in the same moment, realized also he had no idea she was consumed by self doubt — her failure existed only inside of her own head. He might be hoping they could continue, but it was equally possible he was terrified she’d do something to damage his career, and the winking and squeezing were designed to keep her under his control, to turn the blame on her and influence her behavior.
She interrupted the play-by-play golf tournament to tell him that before she got to the purpose of the meeting, she wanted to discuss the incident where she’d raised her voice at the customer. She said she didn’t appreciate his criticism, that he was out of line — he didn’t understand the background of the situation.
It seemed as if Steve physically shriveled before her as she told him the sales team had gone on to win a $1.4 million, three-year contract with that customer after she’d raised her voice. The customer had an aggressive company culture and the reason they were all speaking over her to begin with was a result of that culture’s influence on the meeting. They’d been using their interruptions and confusion over the terms of the support contract as a tactic to get a better deal for the contract renewal. When she raised her voice, they gained respect for her.
She informed Steve she wouldn’t tolerate him questioning her abilities and her suitability for her role ever again. Constructive criticism was fine, but he’d implied she’d lost control. She had not. He was out of line and in danger of harassment with his comments about typical female behavior.
Half of what she described was bullshit, of course. The team had won the million-dollar contract, perhaps because of, but easily in spite of, her outburst. All that nonsense about company culture and negotiating tactics was a flamboyant embellishment.
Then, she’d taken the sex bull by the horns, so to speak. She’d decided that instead of acting as if she’d done something wrong, she’d treat it as if he was the one who should be worried. She told him it was a pleasant little encounter and she hoped he didn’t think it meant anything. She’d been concerned he read more into it, that he’d think they would end up in a relationship and she was simply not interested.
By the time she circled around to asking for his support in approaching their management for my pay increase and additional headcount for her team, Steve was looking at her with a curious and surprised expression of respect.
As she told me the story, her face grew more animated. She appeared to be having the time of her life, reliving each word. The air in my office
hummed with her strong, articulate voice. It was obvious why customers liked listening to her, why she was so persuasive, and why she’d done so well in her career. That voice was mesmerizing, every word perfectly pronounced, a clarity in her tone that made the listener want to take a bath in the pure musical beauty of the English language.
For someone who had risen so effortlessly to a rather high position in a male-dominated world, I was surprised that she’d let him get the better of her to begin with. Maybe all that self-doubt about living out of a backpack or suddenly signing up for motherhood had thrown her whole system out of whack. It’s funny how a bunch of things inside your head can start to make the entire world appear to shift around you.
She sat up straight and crossed her legs.
I smiled. I folded my hands together and rested them on the desk. “This won’t prevent me from getting an increase during the regular performance review process, will it?”
“No. And by the way, Steve really went to bat for you.”
“So did you,” I said.
“Yes, but he fought like the company was in danger of going under without you.” She laughed. “The email he sent with his recommendation for why he agreed with my request was almost embarrassing.”
I turned slightly and looked out the window. I thought about Steve Montgomery and his tall, lean runner’s body, his fine brown hair, and dark blue eyes. Those eyes took in a lot. He was always watching, always calculating. He’d fixed those eyes on me during meetings. When my eyes met his, he quickly looked away. His office was on the floor above mine, at the opposite side of the building. Yet I’d seen him walk past my office at least three or four times in the space of a few weeks. Possibly he was on his way to a conference room on my floor, possibly not.
Tess stood up and tugged her jacket hem. “Anyway, he asked me to let you know how much he values you. That the increase is well deserved.”
I stood up and reached out my hand to shake hers. I held her hand for a moment longer and held her gaze equally long. “I’ll be sure to express my gratitude.”
The Woman In the Mirror: (A Psychological Suspense Novel) (Alexandra Mallory Book 1) Page 25