Business and Pleasure

by Jinni James

  “So, Elizabeth, are you going to tell me what this booty call was about? I’ve never seen you like this.”

  I look into his big, brown eyes. There’s no way I can actually tell him I needed release because another man got me all hot and bothered. I definitely can’t tell him I was thinking about that same man while we were having sex, so I go for my usual response.

  “Nothing. I mean…no particular reason, other than the fact I needed sex. I was at the bar and had a few drinks…and I wanted to get laid.”

  He eyes me like he doesn’t believe me. Maybe he does know me too well.

  “Okay, if you say so.” He sighs and sits up. “If you need it again, you know my number. I’m going to head home.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Steve.”

  He bends down and places a kiss on my forehead. “As always, Ms. Elizabeth, it was my pleasure.”

  He gets up, dresses, and once I hear the door shut, and I allow my eyes to drift closed.

  *****

  “Good morning, slut! Wake up!”

  Alright, I love my sister, but at this point, I want to kill her.

  “Becca, are you crazy? What time is it?”

  Something falls on my backside—my still completely naked backside, visible because I’m lying on top of the covers on my bed.

  “It’s time to get up. We need to go shopping for your big date tonight with Mr. Hottie. Plus, you probably need a manicure and a waxing. Now, there is your towel…and there’s a cup of coffee on the side table. Get up. You have thirty minutes before I come in here and drag you out of that bed.”

  This is not how I wanted to start my Saturday morning. On the one hand, I appreciate the thought, but on the other hand, I want to smack my sister and go back to sleep. But in the end, I catch a little of Becca’s excitement, and I decide to give in. I sit up and take a sip of my coffee. After the night I had, the hot, fresh brew tastes divine. Divine…and really strong. Becca doesn’t drink coffee very often herself, so she has never really mastered the art of making the perfect pot. This time, it tastes like she added a couple shots of espresso, for good measure. I finish the whole cup before I climb out of bed and head into the bathroom for a shower. Afterward, as I stand inside my walk-in closet and stare at my wardrobe, I can understand why Becca says I need to go shopping. I really don’t have anything other than business suits in here. A few casual clothes but nothing really date worthy. I throw on some jeans with my Louis Vuitton heels and a black, off-the-shoulder top, and I’m ready to go.

  For the next hour, Becca drags me up and down Madison Avenue then Fifth Avenue, until we finally find ourselves at Saks, which has always been one of my favorite stores. Becca hands me a sequined, black mini skirt, and I hand it right back.

  “Just try it on, Lizzy. You want to look hot tonight.”

  “Yes, I want to look hot but not like a hooker.”

  “Hookers do not wear this stuff, Lizzy. My goodness. You know, sometimes you can be downright prudish.”

  Becca turns and walks away to shop some more—hopefully, for something a little more reasonable—while I try on a few things myself. Everything I pick out is black or gray or some other equally dark color. Maybe Becca’s right, and I’m in a clothes rut. But I can’t help myself; I always feel more comfortable in dark colors. As I frown at my reflection in the mirror, Becca comes running up to me with something in her hand.

  “I found the perfect thing! Here! It’s black, but it’s so hot, and you will look amazing in it!”

  Becca hands me an asymmetrical dress by ABS. The cut looks very form fitting, with sheer sleeves covered in jewels. Although short in the front, the dress hangs long in the back, so I figure I’ll give it a shot. After all, Becca’s right. The darn thing is gorgeous. I try it on and instantly go from drab to fabulous. I look as if this dress were made for me. I rarely wear skirts or dresses that show this much leg, but right now, as I study my reflection in the full-length mirror, I can’t tell you why I don’t. My legs look a mile long, and if I do say so myself, I look rather amazing. I step out to show Becca and get a second, a little less partial opinion, and she just about comes out of her chair.

  “Yes! Oh, Lizzy, you have to buy that dress. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you!”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I agree. I’m buying it.”

  She claps her hands, obviously overjoyed. It’s hilarious to watch her reaction; she’s like a little kid, and you’d think she were the one going out with a handsome new guy.

  I buy the dress—along with a few other colorful things that I’m hoping will get me out of my fashion rut—and we head out to lunch. We stop in Cafe Fiorello, one of our favorite places, since Becca and I both love Italian, and the restaurant is close by.

  “So, tell me the truth…are you excited about tonight? What are you going to do?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I still can’t even believe I said yes. I mean, what was I thinking?”

  “You were probably thinking about how hot he is and asking yourself why the hell you shouldn’t say yes. I mean, you don’t seem to have any problems with any of the other guys you sleep with. Why him?”

  “Alex is intimidating. He’s different. He almost seems like the male version of me.”

  She lets out a loud laugh, and most of the other customers turn and look our way.

  “Why, Elizabeth Hamilton, you finally met your match.”

  She laughs again, but I don’t join her. Something about her statement sets my nerves on edge, and I quickly change the subject by asking her about school and her grades.

  A short while later, we’ve finished lunch, so we head over to the salon. We get our nails done, and I get a trim, since I haven’t had my hair done in ages. Finally, we both get a waxing—a full-body waxing, at Becca’s insistence—and I complain nearly the entire time. I can’t help myself; that shit hurts like hell. Finally, at three in the afternoon, we decide it’s time to head back home. As we are riding up in the elevator it hits me that I never asked Becca what she did last night.

  “So,” I say, and grin, “how was your night with…what was his name? Doug?”

  “Yes. And it was fine. Same thing, different guy.” She lets out a laugh.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “I don’t know. He mentioned he’d like to go out sometime and gave me his number. I’ll think about it.”

  “Becca, you do realize you’re never going to have a meaningful relationship with anyone if you don’t give them a chance.”

  “Says the pot, as she calls the kettle black.” She winks at me.

  “Touché, dear sister.”

  We enter our apartment, and Becca goes straight to her room, no doubt to pass out. I wish I could take a nap, but I just know there is no way I could sleep right now. I am definitely too nervous about tonight. Why does he even want to go out with me? I can’t stop myself from wondering what this date is all about. He promised we wouldn’t talk business, so I doubt it has anything to do with his attempt to take over Hamilton Publishing. So, what’s going on? Maybe he feels the same heat that I feel when we’re near each other. On second thought, men don’t think like that, right? I decide to kill some time by reading a couple manuscripts I brought home from work. But before I make my way through a chapter, my phone goes off.

  “Be there in an hour to pick you up. I am looking forward to seeing you again, Elizabeth.”

  My heart comes to a stop, and I suddenly had a hard time breathing. He’ll be in here an hour! I jump out of my chair and run as fast as I can to my bedroom to get ready. Luckily, I already have my makeup on, I just need to do a quick touch up and slip into the dress I already have laid out on the bed, along with my black, peep-toe heels from Dior. I am ready within twenty minutes, which leaves me with nothing else to do but wait. As I sit and look out over the beautiful, Manhattan view, I stuff my shaking hands beneath my legs in an attempt to still them. Why am I so nervous? Probably because he intimidates me a little. Should I sle
ep with him, or not? Under normal circumstances, I probably would…after all, he’s an attractive man, and I’ve always done exactly as I please when it comes to satisfying my sexual urges. But no. I won’t sleep with him. I can’t sleep with him. Not the first night, anyway.

  Decision made, I feel a tad better. Sleeping with him the first night could spell disaster. Who knows? Maybe that’s all he’s interested in. So if I sleep with him, he might lose interest before he has a chance to get to know me. No…no sex. Tonight, we’ll talk, and that’s it. I don’t know him…don’t even know if I can trust him. The buzz from the intercom shocks me out of my thoughts. Becca’s running footsteps sound from the hallway; she must be racing to get to the intercom before I do.

  “Hello?” Becca shouts, and I cringe.

  “Hello. I’m here to pick up Ms. Hamilton.”

  “She’ll be right down.”

  I stand, just as Becca comes bouncing into the room. Her excitement hits me like a physical punch in the gut, rattling my already shaky nerves. You would think she was going out with him.

  “Are you ready, Lizzy?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Oh, c’mon. Don’t worry. Just go out and have a good time. No expectations. No disappointments.”

  “Okay.”

  I grab my purse, my keys, and my cell phone, and then hug my overly excited sister.

  “Have a good time.” She squeezes me tightly.

  “Okay,” I say again and pull back. “See you later.”

  Becca grins. “Oh, you will definitely see me later.”

  She pushes me toward the door.

  The entire elevator ride down, my heart races. What the hell? You’d think I’d never been on a date before. But this one’s different. For one thing, the man owns half of Manhattan. What could he possibly want with me?

  The elevator doors open, and I see him. For a moment, I can hardly breathe. He is totally, absolutely gorgeous in his charcoal gray Brioni suit.

  “Good evening, Ms. Elizabeth Hamilton.”

  He picks up my hand and gently presses his lips to my knuckles. Although very old fashioned, his behavior makes me feel cherished and respected, and I eat it up.

  “Good evening, Mr. Alexander Preston.” I answer him just as formerly.

  “You look absolutely stunning tonight.” He gives me hand a light squeeze.

  I manage an embarrassed “thank you” as he leads me outside to his black limousine. We settle into the back, but he still hasn’t released my hand.

  “I am very happy that you decided to come out with me tonight. You won’t regret it. I have a wonderful evening planned, one I sincerely hope you enjoy.”

  My voice is gone. I can barely breathe, much less speak, so I smile and nod and then spend the next few seconds struggling to gather my composure. Alex must sense my need for a moment to myself, because he gives my hand another squeeze, and then directs his attention to the driver. “We can go now.”

  As the car pulls out, I finally manage to speak. “I’m sure whatever you’ve planned will be lovely, Alexander. Thank you.”

  He releases my hand, only to brush his knuckles down my cheek.

  “Alex. You’re to call me Alex, remember?” He gently reminds me.

  “Yes. Alex.”

  He sighs quietly and then nods toward the street in front of us. “We’re almost there. Another block.”

  We arrive at the restaurant within minutes, and when I see where he’s taken me, I once again have to fight for composure. Holy shit. He’s brought me to Maze by Gordon Ramsay. I’ve never eaten here before, but I’ve heard it’s amazing. We walk in, and everyone takes notice. I’ve always hated feeling like people are staring at me, but I quickly realize it’s not exactly me they’re staring at; it’s him. The hostess walks us toward the back of the restaurant to the chef’s table, and I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. We have our very own chef’s table at Maze! It’s hard to wrap my mind around the idea. I sit in amazement and watch them cook and work in, and as I watch them, I realize Alex is watching me.

  I turn to him, brow raised. “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “Yes… you’re staring at me.”

  “Yes, I am…but no, nothing’s wrong.”

  “Then why are you staring?”

  “You enchant me, Elizabeth.”

  A delighted smile claims my lips. Damn, the man knows exactly what to say to make a woman blush. I lower my gaze, hiding my hot cheeks from his view, but it’s only a matter of seconds before the talented chef once again draws my attention.

  “Have you never been here?”

  “No. I’ve never had a chance—or a reason—to come here.”

  As I look up, I see the waitress bringing us our first course, butter lettuce salad with Pommery mustard vinaigrette tarragon and pickled red onions.

  The food is amazingly, melt-in-my-mouth delicious, and as course after course arrives, I enjoy and savor every morsel. The entire meal, from appetizer to dessert, is everything I expected it to be. Throughout the meal, Alex keeps me entertained with stories of the things he’s seen and done since moving to the city. From the tales he tells, I come to realize he’s one of those people who live life to the fullest—a participant, not a spectator. When we are finished, and all the empty dishes are cleared away, he turns to me and takes my hand.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  I nod, vaguely addressing his question, as I’m once again distracted by a strange, vibrating zing that races between our clasped hands. This evening has been one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life, and suddenly, I don’t want the experience to end.

  “Why do you look sad?” he asks. He has this amazing ability to read my moods, almost before I even recognize them, myself.

  “I don’t want to leave.” I admit.

  He lets out a laugh. “Oh, Elizabeth, we’ll come back here again sometime. I promise you. But I have another surprise for you. Let’s go.”

  I stand, and he nods at the waitress as we make our way back outside to the waiting limo. Before I know it, we’ve arrived at our next destination, and I’m pleased to see we’re at the Lunt Fontanne Theater.

  He steps out of the limo, reaches his hand out for me, and once again I’m taken aback by the spark of electricity that flies between us. My gaze flies to his face. Did he feel that? No, obviously not. His expression is impassive, if a bit curious…probably because I’m looking at him strangely. I shake my head and smile. “What are we seeing?”

  “Ghost, the musical, of course.” He winks at me.

  Ghost! We’re seeing musical rendition of Ghost! How will I ever sit next to him throughout such a romantic play? As I follow Alex inside, I take several deep breaths and tell myself everything will be fine.

  We settle into our seats, and as we watch the musical, every now and then, I glance at Alex, and every time I do, he’s smiling. I think he knows I keep looking at him. The most dramatic part of the musical begins, where Molly realizes Sam is with her, and tears fill my eyes once more. I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. I will not cry. I will not cry. But it’s too late. Tears fall one by one down my cheeks. How can you not cry at this story? The musical is so much more powerful than the movie. Seeing the story played out, right there in front of you and not on a screen, is much more emotional. More real. Something brushes my cheek. It’s Alex, wiping away my tears, and then he places his hand on my thigh and squeezes gently, as if to show his understanding. Instinctively, I place my head on his shoulder, and he hands me a tissue.

  This is the best idea he could have ever had.

  As the show ends, I take Alex’s hand, and he leads me back to the waiting limo. He releases me only long enough for us to climb inside, and then draws me close and takes my hand once more.

  “Did you enjoy the musical?”

  “Yes. Very much. The entire evening was just amazing. Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome. May I kiss you, Elizabe
th?”

  For a moment, I’m struck speechless, unable to catch my breath. What a gentleman! What man, in this day and age, actually asks permission to kiss a woman?

  “Breathe, Elizabeth. I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

  I let out a sigh.

  “No. I mean, yes. Kiss me. Yes, please do.”

  Without another word, he leans over, and as I close my eyes, I can feel his breath on my lips. The anticipation is killing me. He kisses the corners of my mouth, and then places his lips against my own. To say fireworks went off would be an understatement. Every single nerve in my body tingles with electricity—the same feeling I get when he takes my hand, only tenfold. His kiss floors me, and I realize I could do this forever…every single day, all day long, for the rest of my life. The thought both scares and exhilarates me.

  His light kisses turn passionate, as we fall under each other’s spell. He nudges my lips with his tongue, and I open for him. Heat blossoms between my legs. I swore I wouldn’t sleep with him tonight, and I meant it. But at the moment, for the life of me I can’t remember why I made such a stupid vow.

  Alex pulls back way too soon, but he dips his head and places one last soft kiss on my lips. In that moment, I know I am his. As crazy as it may sound, I realize I’d do anything for him. He pulls back again and lets out a sigh.