Ben kept one hand on the steering wheel and held mine in the other. Then he turned mine and began stroking my palm and I gasped. It was all I could do not to grab the wheel to get him to pull off the road. I considered using the legitimate excuse of my tattered thong which was driving me insane on a whole different level. I did have to do something about that and he had seen me in far more graceless situations.
“Ben,” I said “eyes on the road okay?”
He nodded but not before giving me a hot look that told me I had been right not to ask him to pull over. “We’d be there for days,” I thought, smiling to myself.
“What’s with the Mona Lisa look?”
“I was just thinking that these panties are damned uncomfortable now but I forbid you to pull over so I can take them off.”
“It isn’t a problem, Gretchen. I can take care of that for you in one more snap,” he smiled back.
“Nope, eyes straight ahead. I was smiling because I was thinking of you doing just that, then about sex in an SUV, which made me think of how tall we both are, and then how tawdry it sounds, but doesn’t really matter.”
He decreased his speed substantially. “So... If it doesn’t matter...”
“Do not pull off the road!” I said my voice rising.
“You’re afraid you’ll be out of control?" He asked hopefully.
“I’m certain I will, please speed back up.”
“This would be such a wonderful time to run out of fuel,” he said, looking at the gauge hopefully.
“Thank God you didn’t say petrol” I laughed, “As I mentioned before I’m even more of a sucker for that accent. It makes everything you say a tad more interesting.”
I reached into the side of my breeches and pulled at the intact side of the thong. No go.
As he turned occasionally to watch me struggle he finally grinned and said, “Seriously Gretchen, let’s pull over at least. I can take care of that easily.”
“And the bra even faster, unless I beat you to it,” I thought to myself. Remembering my pen knife I retrieved it from my jacket, pulling the breeches down just enough to slice through the lace.
“They don’t make them like they used to,” I said sadly.
“A fact which makes me fervently happy,” he replied, looking at the small shredded piece of turquoise on my lap as I replaced my pocket knife.
“Wasn’t there a matching bra?" He asked wistfully.
“No,” I said, “one of those utilitarian garments, nothing exciting, I pick them up at the women’s prison rummage sale.”
“Liar, I don’t know why I asked. The image will be etched in my brain forever. You know what’s unfair?”
“Life in general?”
“Yes, that of course, but Jethro...”
“Jared,” I corrected.
“Jared,” he said, rolling his eyes, “he just gets this serendipitous surprise of seeing you in your panties while you strolled around with your dog.”
I grinned “That is ridiculous. You know it didn’t happen that way.”
“But at the time he had known you for a month, and here I am patiently waiting, ready to nurse you to health or make love to you until you faint and he-.”
“Oh brother,” I interrupted, “who knew you could be so manipulative?”
“Please don’t use the word “brother” when you talk to me. Our parents were married a few months at best and we never shared a home.”
“Sorry, anyway I can’t very well put them back on and model them.” I held up the wad of lace ripped them in half and flung a portion in his lap before stuffing the remainder in my pocket.
“Not the best place in the world to fling them, love.”
I looked over at him and now it was my eyes which widened.
“I’m sorry,” I said laughing, “but somehow I think that’s been there.”
“Nevertheless, the damage is done. Are you sure we can’t resume our picnic? We had the rest of the day and it's highly doubtful there are more bears to interrupt us.”
No “cubus interruptis? I’m sure, but I can also assure you Jared has never been kissed like that or touched my lingerie,” I grinned.
Somewhat mollified, he nodded then gave a long silent pause “Wait, but you have kissed him?”
“Only where I shot him, after I thought he was going to kill me. You know that was months ago and it was completely an apologetic kiss. More like you would give, oh, a brother” I laughed. (At least it began that way, I amended silently.)
“And here I was hoping the shot was in the groin and you did irreparable damage.”
I smiled. “And just so you know, I have not dated him.” (I also decided to leave out the part about spending the night together since it didn’t count. Lucy had coerced her friend Jackson into lugging a tranquilized Jared into my bed that same night as a prank).
Ben nodded, satisfied. “But you will admit today with me was a date?”
“You men,” I said playfully, “always trying to label things, talk things out, trying to pin us down.”
“I believe you were pinning me down less than an hour ago, literally. “By the way, your place or mine? Actually your place is more convenient for my trip, but the schedulers don’t like change.”
“Your place or mine? You are so bad at your pickup lines I don’t think I’d ever have to worry about you and other women. Your place THEN mine.”
“As in, you’re not coming up? That’s it? I took the day off. This day is hardly over.”
“You need to slow down Ben,” he glanced at the speedometer, “No;” I amended, “we need to take it slow. You’re too important for me to screw this up.”
“Okay”, he said, “but you have to promise me something.”
“Do I?”
“Just keep an open mind okay?”
I nodded.
“I have to be out of the country for three weeks or so, I’m leaving late tomorrow, and I’d like you to come with me.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“I’d like you to come with me but it is work and it’s too dangerous. Not for me,” he added hastily “believe me; that is one place where I’m too valuable to lose. I can bring help to their economy if things go well and the corporations which hire me can realize a staggering profit.”
“Where are you going?”
“I really can’t say exactly, the Middle East, I’ll be moving from place to place. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is leave you after the day we’ve had. If I could send someone else I most definitely would.”
“But you’re a venture capitalist, why venture there?” I asked.
“I do a bit more than that. Venture capitalism was always the simplest way to label my work in the past. But I left the company just as you stopped answering my calls for a while and suddenly you had a new, may I say very odd job and a completely different life and actually so did I. With all you had going on my work was literally the last thing I was interested in discussing. But now I own an international, very specialized consulting firm.
I do tell people where to put their money and when it is safe to do so, with a slightly different emphasis on the “safe” part. You read the news, you know more than one dictator has been overthrown, the people are moving toward some semblance of democracy throughout some regions?”
“Of course I know that,” I said.
“Global businesses are getting ready to pounce on all those countries as soon as it is practical. I’m to be their man on the ground, as it were, advising which governments have the best chance of success for my investors.”
“But, why you? I never knew you were doing things like that.”
“It’s a small firm, you knew I traveled for business, you knew I advised on start-ups and expansions. I speak several languages. The world has come to be a place where companies are more powerful than countries.” I’m traveling too much now, but it’s for us. I’m building it up while I look for someone to take over that part so I can spend more time with y
ou.”
I nodded doubtfully too concerned about the “for us” part at the moment. “You promise you won’t be in danger?”
“Of course, I told you I’m particularly well suited for this work. Think of it this way, these regions are still considered high risk, so every possible scenario for my protection is mapped out in advance. Then consider what is going on here in the United States. People walk into their routine jobs, schools or shopping and suddenly there is a gunman mowing people down. No one is ever prepared for that in those places. But when I travel for business I have people waiting to ensure my protection and safe passage every step of the way. I’m safer there than I was just moments ago when you were trying to steal my virtue.” He smiled, “Wait, if I had exaggerated the danger wouldn’t you feel duty-bound to stay tonight?”
“Gah! I never knew you to be so underhanded. When were you going to tell me?”
“I just found out this morning. That’s the way this works, you prepare then wait. I was just planning to ask to see you tonight. Then you called and I made arrangements for our afternoon. Everything for my work is always organized for me by the client and overseen by my assistant.”
“Your chances of getting what you want are much better if you return in one piece, but I’ll drive you to the airport.”
He shook his head wistfully. “You can’t.”
“I can’t? What do you mean?”
“This is very competitive line of work when it comes to new opportunities in those countries. There are just a handful of us who do it but it is very cutthroat. I mean that figuratively of course. No one outside my company knows; only two there, and I won’t be flying commercial. But you can still stay the night with me,” he added hopefully.
“Nope, I’ve already texted Lucy twice to look after Mosey today then I turned off my phone. I imagine she has an interrogation room set up for me. Water boarding at Gitmo would have been deemed unnecessary if the government had hired Lucy.”
“Well, I won’t see you for three weeks. I probably won’t be able to email or text but I’ll try to find a landline and call every two or three days if I’m able.”
I frowned, “I understand companies and their need to keep their plans secret but this seems extreme. Just return to me.” I said, taking the remnant of lace from his lap and putting it securely in his pocket. “Call this incentive, like when boys go off to battle with pictures of their sweethearts. NOT that I am calling myself your sweetheart,” I said hastily, tucking my half in my own pocket. “But maybe I’ll let you see the replacement pair when you return safely.”
“I do expect to see them, briefly, then on the floor,” Ben smiled. Then handed me his phone and said, “I carry around photos of my sweetheart. Check the pictures in there.”
I scrolled through and saw pictures of me at Christmas, then on a sailboat laughing up at the camera, in a tree reading at their English estate. Guiltily, I remembered that I had told Jared once no one knew about my penchant for climbing trees. But I hadn’t technically told Ben; he caught me there with a book in the high crook of a tree eating an apple. When I looked down he was snapping a photo of me. I had thrown the apple at him in embarrassment which he caught handily. I remembered he had put the apple in his teeth, slung the camera around his neck and come up after me. We had spent the afternoon talking about books and plans and where we saw ourselves living someday and what the first thing we could ever remember wanting to be. I had read a book about female spies and watched countless documentaries about Jane Goodall, so I had already been torn between the two. Six years older than me, Ben had just been a member of the family I had hoped would stay awhile.
“I remember that day,” I said tapping the picture to enlarge it, “you said the first thing you ever wanted to be was a lorry driver.”
“You almost fell out of the tree laughing, I had to grab you,” he said smiling. “I couldn’t believe you got me up there at my age in the first place.”
Ben still had a wistful smile on his face as he pulled into the front of his building. As a valet started to move toward us Ben waved him away.
“Unbuckle so you can be in the driver’s seat,” he said, removing his own. He jumped out of the Rover and came around to open my door.
As he walked me back he reached for the handle, and then stopped. Pressing me against the space between the two driver’s side doors where we were out of sight of the valet and front desk he leaned down for a kiss and I responded again with a scandalous hunger until suddenly it was broken and he was opening my door.
“While you’re waiting for me, just remember, that’s just a short trailer for coming attractions. Once I return I’m adding staff and I won’t be going anywhere for a long time. Not anywhere without you.” he kissed me softly and buckled my seat belt. “We’ve been apart too much lately. Sure about not staying over?”
I nodded weakly, fighting off the impulse to pull him into the car.
He chuckled, grabbing my hand from its death grip on the steering wheel and he stroked my palm gently before dropping something into it. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes away from him to look down.
“I’ll be back soon but in the meantime, here is an extra key to my place if you want to stay in the city awhile.”
Then he kissed me again and pulled the bit of turquoise lace from his pocket so it showed just slightly and winked.
I waited, watching him walk into his building as I tried to remember how to start Bessless.
Facebook Post: Is there a Rosetta Stone that covers many languages--just the swear words? Charlotte traffic makes me crazy. Also, it may be embarrassing to sit in a class constantly raising my hand to ask "How to you say "You stupid M*************** idiot, the sign says YIELD.” And by the way, “yield” does not mean "speed like you have a bleeding child in the back seat and you have a police escort to the hospital."
Chapter 4
As long as I was uptown I wanted to see Dallas. If I couldn’t get past his secretary Marge, at least he would know I made the attempt. I parallel parked near the square, fed the solar operated meter and popped into the lobby. It didn't bother me that I was going commando, a thong is just a hint above that anyway, and I do wash my clothes after I wear them, thank you very much. I stepped into the ladies room to freshen up. Then I approached the registry, signed in and the security guard waved me up into the sanctum of Goldberg, Helms and Micheaux.
I whooshed up to the 22nd floor in luxurious silence and stepped out. The receptionist, Anne was ensconced behind a broad mahogany desk and peered at me curiously as I approached. “Dallas in today?” I asked confidently.
“He is,” she said after glancing down at leather bound book where she penned the schedules of everyone who mattered. For some reason I found this comfortingly traditional, recording the comings and goings of everyone by hand. “I don’t see an appointment right now Gretchen, would you like to try and see him?”
“Please,” I smiled, “I was in town and thought I would take a chance he might be available.”
She pressed a button and connected to Dallas’s secretary. “Marge, Gretchen Gallen is here if Dallas is still free.”
I went to a leather wing chair and sat down. In a matter of minutes Marge was briskly entering the lobby from the opposite entrance. Our eyes locked and she gave a slight nod before turning away, leaving me to follow meekly in her wake. We walked back to the corner office passing her desk in silence. Then she rapped on Dallas’s door and opened it. Immediately I was transported from the chilled and formal wide hallway into a warm smoky bear hug as Dallas pulled me into the room. He was a lean, wiry and wizened man but you forgot about that within seconds of meeting him. When you saw Dallas you felt his power and within seconds the enormity of his real stature
“Get in here gal! Want something to drink? Marge, get Gretchen a coffee and me…” he looked at his watch, “It’ gotta 5 pm. somewhere. Bring me a bourbon rocks.” Marge walked to the opposite side of the enormous office and poured his drink and delive
red it precisely at the center of a coffee table.
Dallas guided me to a stuffed chair in the corner and sat himself down on a cracked but elegant leather one as he hunched down over the small coffee table and selected a cigar from an inlaid box.
“I still can’t believe they let you smoke in here,” I smiled as he clipped and lit it.
He waved at the ceiling grandly. “Had the sprinklers removed.”
“You get away with murder.”
“Haven’t tried yet, but possibly, yeah more than likely.”
He tapped the cigar and his sharp knees began a little jittery dance before he crossed and uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He gave me an appraising look with delighted but concerned eyes as though searching for signs of recent injury. “You look good, girl,” he finally pronounced in a satisfied tone.
Marge knocked lightly and came in, balancing a tray with my coffee in a porcelain cup, with a white china sweetener holder with a varied selection of sugars and a tiny pitcher of cream. Hugh, a partner and former friend of mine, slipped in behind her and strolled over to Dallas’s bar and began to sort through the various glasses until he found one suitable for some bourbon.
I felt as though the marrow in every one of my bones had turned to frost. I stared at him; then forced myself to blink. I was suddenly self consciously aware of my very non-corporate attire. Not that I should care what he thought of my appearance. Hugh had dropped me from confidante and best work buddy to persona non grata right after I scored a big coup at the firm and before everyone else noticed my subsequent downward slide. I had to respect his nose for imminent failure, but I despised him for it too. He had avoided me well before my spiral became apparent to anyone else, but then, he had known me better than most. I don’t think I had exchanged a word with him in the months since he had come upon me, tense and white-knuckled, waiting to hear if the big merger I had initiated had gone through. It was hard to believe, looking back, that I had ever been reassured by his presence.
2 Maid in the Shade Page 7