“I read about that,” I replied. “I did my homework.”
Our eyes locked, and it felt just for a moment as if the hum of the restaurant died away completely leaving us alone in some silent bubble, just the two of us.
His mouth closing over my nipple, his tongue flicking at my sensitive flesh, his fingers grazing slowly up the inside of my thigh ...
Just then the waitress came to take our order, reality crashing back in as she leant over us, pouring out two glasses of water from the elegant jug on the table, then placing our heavy, leather-bound menus in our hands.
I looked down at the many options on offer — flitting back and forth between a healthy-sounding salad and what I really wanted: a greasy, fatty cheeseburger.
Screw it.
“I’ll take the cheeseburger, medium rare,” I said, “with extra pulled pork and shoestring fries on the side.”
I watched Blake’s right eyebrow slowly raise as I placed my order, and he shook his head a little, too, as if he’d never been out to lunch with a woman who’d order a cheeseburger before.
“And for you, sir?” the waitress chirped.
“I’ll have the same,” he said, as if this was a game of chess and he’d just reached checkmate.
I still had my doubts, though.
I needed to know that this was real — that he really and truly wanted me to work for him, and that his email hadn’t been for some other kind of reason, despite my stupid little crush ...
Once we were alone again at the table, Blake leant in towards me, folding his hands in front of him, every inch the confident, successful businessman. “I need you to know,” he began, “that when it comes to matters of business, Jessica, I don’t play games. I’m deadly serious. I’ve built my reputation based on strong, fast decisions, and so far I haven’t made any mistakes. I’m not making one now, am I?”
It was so strange, it was like he was able to read my mind.
“You won’t regret it,” I heard myself saying. “I can do this.”
§
We talked as we ate, but despite my shyness and my efforts to change the subject, Blake managed to keep the focus on me. I found myself telling him pretty much everything: growing up in the sleepy, suburban town of Glenbrook Falls, my conservative parents, my years studying design at Savannah, and then finally moving here to New York and finding work at Marianne’s agency.
“And your boyfriend?” Blake asked, his grey eyes once more piercing me right to my core. “What does he do?”
Wait a moment.
How does he even know that I have a boyfriend?
“He works in a bar,” I said, angry at myself because, despite telling him almost everything, I still hadn’t even mentioned Greg.
This isn’t a date, Jessica.
It’s good that you’re finally getting your relationship out in the open.
“But he’s got a degree in business management,” I added. “He’s looking to network, but you know, not everyone can be born with the right connections. It’s pretty tough out there.”
“No, of course,” Blake replied sensitively.
I wondered what someone like him, born into all that privilege, must think about a guy like Greg— a regular guy, trying his hardest, but born without a silver spoon in his mouth.
I was about to speak, to say something else about Greg, to play up his good qualities, when something caught my attention: a rhythmic buzzing sound, coming from my tote.
“Oh shit,” I murmured, when I realized what it was.
I pulled open my bag and looked at my cell, and sure enough, I’d had sixteen missed calls and four text messages (all variations on ‘WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?’), and all from Marianne. I felt the color drain from my face as I looked at the time, realizing I’d been away from the office for well over an hour now, even though this meeting had only felt like five minutes.
“Everything okay?” Blake asked.
“I’ve gotta go,” I replied. “But let’s do this. I’m in ... All in.”
“Great,” he said. “We’ll finalize the details at my apartment, tomorrow morning. I’ll have my PA email you the address.”
“Wow. You don’t mess around either, do you?” I said, still a little taken aback by just how quickly everything was moving.
“Never,” he said, with a deadly, icy seriousness.
§
“Where the hell have you been?” Marianne screamed, when I finally returned with her shopping, just over two hours late. “Didn’t you see your phone? This really won’t do, Jessica.”
“I’m so sorry,” I began, placing the groceries gently by her desk.
My heart was in my mouth, and I felt sick wondering just how in the hell I was gonna get out of my latest mess and win Marianne back round this time.
“First you lose us the biggest client we’ve ever got close to, then you screw up a simple coffee order, and now it takes you two fucking hours to pick up some kale? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just fire you right now.”
Bingo! There it was, of course!
I hadn’t been thinking straight; I knew that I needed to seize this get-out with both hands.
I don’t have to quit if she’s gonna fire me ...
“Well, the thing is,” I said, letting my lip tremble on purpose, summoning everything I’d remembered from high school drama classes. “The thing is ... I don’t know whether I am cut out to work for you, Marianne. It’s so demanding. I really don’t think I’m right for this job ... This whole place, New York, it’s just too much. Greg wants us to move back to Glenbrook Falls and I think he’s right.”
As I spoke, I felt hot tears welling up and spilling down my cheeks, unsure whether they were real or fake.
And seeing me so utterly pathetic must have activated some dried up kernel of kindness deep down in Marianne – well, either that or maybe she just enjoyed seeing me cry – but either way, I watched her face change, becoming softer, concerned even.
“Oh, darling,” she cooed, her sudden sympathy taking me aback a little. “Oh, sweetie.”
And she actually got out from behind her desk and came around it to give me a slightly clumsy, awkward hug. I remained silent, breathing in the cloying, too-sweet scent of her perfume, resting my chin on her bony shoulder, as she continued to speak.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I should have known that it was all getting too much for you. I understand, sweetie. We can’t all be cut out for this kind of work. I may have been hard on you, but honey, you have to understand, that’s just how this world operates, and I guess some of us just can’t take it.”
“I guess so,” I said, and I found myself letting her continue to get the wrong idea, letting her believe that I was just quitting, due to the stress and pressure of the job, letting her believe that I didn’t have ‘what it took’ to stick it out in the industry after all ...
Just like that, it seemed to be decided.
I’d be leaving.
She didn’t even want me to work out my notice, and I realized that Marianne had hugged me not to comfort me, not because I needed sympathy, but because she had finally won. She’d beaten me, and now she could move on to her next victim.
I stepped back out into the main office, dazed and dizzy, heading over to my desk to collect up my few personal possessions; just a framed photo of Greg, a couple of pens, and my trusty hardbound notebook, all of them fitting easily into my MOMA tote.
I looked over at Talia, hard at work at her desk, then at Suze and Patrick, both also typing away. They all seemed as if they were concentrating just a little too hard at their work, trying to give off the impression that they hadn’t heard every single word of our little exchange, even though Marianne had made sure to keep the door to her office propped open for the whole sorry thing to ensure maximum humiliation.
For a moment I considered saying goodbye.
But in the end I just turned and slipped quietly out of the office, closing the door gently behind me on the way out.
I was halfway across the lobby when I heard Talia’s voice calling out behind me. “Jessica, wait!”
I turned and stopped.
“Oh my God,” she said, sympathetically. “I heard all that. I’m so sorry. But you shouldn’t take it to heart ...”
“It’s okay,” I began.
“No, no, no,” she continued. “Just come back in tomorrow. Marianne will forget it even happened. It’s not the first time she’s taken things too far.”
“You don’t understand,” I replied, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve got a new job. I’m starting tomorrow. A real design job, too, not just fetching coffee.”
“Oh wow,” she said, her face breaking out in a genuine smile. “That’s awesome. I knew you had it in you. I’m sure I’ll see you around soon!”
§
“So?” Greg asked eagerly over dinner. “What do you think?”
“It’s lovely,” I said, forcing myself to wind another few strands of his homemade tagliatelle around the tines of my fork. It was lovely, but after my hearty lunch with Blake that afternoon, I didn’t have much of an appetite.
And on top of that, I felt strangely nervous about telling Greg my news, too. He’d been so proud of me when I first got the job at Marianne’s firm and I knew he’d think this new decision irresponsible. He’d never been one to make rash decisions – even tonight’s dinner choice had been planned out days ago.
I still hadn’t quite decided on the best way to break it to him. After all, I was still in the dark about a lot of it, at least until tomorrow morning when I was to meet with Blake at his penthouse, as per the short perfunctory email that had arrived late in the afternoon from his PA, Juliet, simply containing a time and a link to map directions.
And it wasn’t as if I could say: Hey honey, remember that sexy billionaire I was researching? Well, I turns out he’s really into me and has poached me from Marianne so I’ll be working just for him from now on …
“You’ve been quiet all evening,” Greg said softly, placing his fork on his already empty plate. “Is everything okay?”
And at that moment it felt like there was a chasm between us, not just the few inches across our tiny dining table.
I felt another guilty twinge as I thought about all that had gone on, all that I hadn’t yet communicated to this man, the man I was supposedly in love with, and who I supposedly wanted to share the rest of my life with.
I knew I needed to tell him at least some of what was happening, but I didn’t want to alarm him, or make him jealous, either. After all, Blake was exactly the kind of successful businessman Greg dreamed of becoming …
I just need to tell him I’m working for Blake.
That’s almost the whole truth, isn’t it?
“There’ve been some changes at work, actually,” I began, hesitantly. “Rather big changes, in fact. We won the Matthews account. And because of all the hard work and research I put in, Marianne has decided put me in charge of overseeing the design of his apartment. I really thought she’d do it herself, but I guess she’s busy with other projects and she must think I’m finally ready, and ...”
I knew I was digging myself deeper and deeper, but it was as if I just couldn’t stop talking, I was so nervous.
“So um, yeah, I think I’m gonna be going solo on this, under Marianne’s close supervision of course ...”
I scanned Greg’s face for a reaction.
“Jessica,” he beamed. “I’m so proud of you! That’s fantastic!”
“I guess it is,” I replied, forcing myself to take another mouthful of pasta, trying to convince myself that this was basically almost the whole truth anyway. “I guess it is …”
CHAPTER FIVE
I was due to arrive at Blake’s penthouse apartment at 9 a.m. sharp. I got up making sure I had plenty of time to get ready, leaving Greg still half asleep, and tried to go about my regular morning routine, picking out the same kind of outfit I’d have worn to the office (a black pencil skirt, a plain white blouse and my trusty Mary Janes), my hair done up in a sensible ponytail.
I never wore much makeup. I’d always had good skin – even as a teenager, I never had any zits. I always felt so intimidated, whenever I strayed into a department store beauty hall, wondering where I would even begin. Usually I just wore a touch of mascara.
But as I looked myself over in the bathroom mirror that morning, I felt like I needed something more.
I still looked like a college student, after all, and knew that today I needed to look like a woman. The kind of woman Blake worked with, the kind who dined in his restaurant and slept in his hotels with their Chanel handbags and their $900 shoes ...
Perhaps even the kind he dated?
I dug around in my Hello Kitty wash bag, finally unearthing a small black tube: my only lipstick. I don’t think I’d even worn it since graduation.
I applied it in the mirror, and took a final look at myself. I was pleased with the effect the coral lipstick had; I looked a lot more grown-up, maybe even a little sophisticated, and I felt that much-needed boost of confidence I’d been searching for as I imagined Blake’s subtle approval when he noticed ...
Because, unlike Greg, he will notice, won’t he?
I packed my notebook in my best handbag, kissed my slumbering boyfriend goodbye on the forehead, then strode confidently out of the apartment.
It was only as I was finally out on the street, savoring the cool stillness of the morning air, hearing the soft hum of traffic down at the end of the block, passing the early morning dog-walkers and commuters, that it really hit me:
I’m working for myself now!
It felt simultaneously scary and exhilarating, and I allowed myself to smile as I slowed down to a more comfortable pace, knowing that I had plenty of time to make my way across town, even enough time to call into a coffee shop and pick up a coffee and a pastry, too, if I wanted.
I looked around at all the other well-dressed, confident women, all heading off to work, and for the first time in my life I truly felt like maybe I was one of them.
§
“I have an appointment with Mr Matthews,” I said to the girl at the desk, trying to keep my voice cool and steady, trying to sound like a professional.
The receptionist nodded, pressed a few buttons, then said, “Collins will see you up,” gesturing towards the smartly-dressed, elderly attendant, standing by the bank of elevator doors.
“This way, madam,” Collins said in a soft British accent, his kindly blue eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled at me, leading me off across the lobby towards an elevator set slightly apart from the others, and as I followed him, I found myself flashing back to a moment in my childhood – a magical trip I’d taken with my aunt to Chicago one winter.
She’d taken me to a huge toy store and I’d been allowed to choose anything I wanted. And then, afterwards, we’d taken afternoon tea at a fancy hotel restaurant, where we were served by a kindly old waiter with a British accent, just like his ...
Collins stood aside, letting me enter the plush, delicately lit little elevator, and even invited me to sit down, gesturing to a small velvet-covered padded bench.
I didn’t know places like this still existed!
I took a seat, as daintily as I could, while he keyed a number into the bronze touchpad on the wall. I took a final look around the sparkling, heavily-polished lobby, before the doors swished closed, and the elevator shot us upwards, towards Blake Matthews’ penthouse.
Before I knew it, we’d reached the top, the doors sliding open.
Collins gestured for me to step out, and I found myself in a small lobby. I looked around, unsure for a moment as to where I was. There was a huge marble table standing in the center of the room, on which stood a heavily perfumed display of orchids. And on the far wall was a large, gilt framed painting – of a red-headed female nude, her green eyes unflinching, as if gazing fearlessly right out at me, her legs spread wide apart, absolutely
everything on display.
In front of me were two large mahogany doors, but there were no signs.
Which one leads to the penthouse?
Where the hell am I supposed to go?
I stood for a moment, unsure quite what to do with myself, whether to knock or call out, but just then the door on the left opened, and out strolled Blake, barefoot in his scuffed blue jeans, a simple grey T-shirt fitting his upper body tightly enough to give a clear indication of his muscular, athletic physique beneath. Dressed so casually, he looked younger than his years – almost boyish.
Oh my God, is that really what he looks like beneath his shirt?!
If he’s gonna dress like that every day how the heck am I going to get any work done!
“You’re early,” he said with a wry smile.
“Am I?” I asked, a little embarrassed, and sure that I’d just about timed my arrival perfectly. But I didn’t want to pull my cellphone out of my bag to double-check.
I could feel him looking me up and down, obviously assessing me, and suddenly I felt way over-dressed: my blouse, my skirt, my lipstick ...
Oh no.
Have I got this all wrong?
I could feel myself blushing, absolutely desperate to break the heady, heavy silence between us – it seemed to be becoming a habit.
“So,” I blurted. “Which way to your penthouse?”
“You’re in it.”
“But ... the doorman? The elevator?”
“Collins? He’s been with me for years. I wouldn’t have him work for anyone else.”
He has a private elevator?!
No way ...
“Shall we,” he said, stepping back to gesture me through the door on the left, which he held open like a gentleman.
The click of my shoes rang out loudly as I stepped into the completely bare room beyond. It was such a loud, cold sound compared to Blake’s soft barefoot stride, and I could feel his icy gaze following me into the room. I wondered briefly if his eyes were on my ass, which boys had always told me was my best feature, and a silly little part of me even found myself wanting him to be looking at it.
Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy Page 4