by Isabel Jolie
“I can’t imagine your uncle feels anything but admiration and love for you.”
I do not want to start crying. As if he knows, his lips take mine, lightly at first, then deeply. My emotional turmoil dissipates as he pushes me back on the sofa, his body’s weight cocooning me. The door buzzer sounds. Our food is here.
Sam and I are both unpacking the brown paper bags when he says, “You know, not only do I need a throw for this room, I could use a fur rug in front of that fire. Wouldn’t it be nice to sit in front of the fire and eat and drink?”
I bite my lip, imagining a scenario in front of the fire on a fur throw, but my scenario doesn’t involve food. “That would be nice.”
After dinner, he leads me to the bedroom. He backs me up to the bed and pulls my t-shirt off and tosses it on the floor. I’m standing before him in my white silk thong. It’s wafer thin and doesn’t expose panty lines, so it’s what I always wear when going to yoga class. It’s kind of sexy, but not what I would have chosen for Sam.
His hands go to my breasts, fondling each one. “Damn, you are perfection.” He kisses me. “These are perfection,” he says as he massages my breasts, worshiping them. My pulse thrums in my core. He kisses me with a hunger that is starting to feel familiar. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How perfect?” Soft kisses run along my throat and down to my breasts. “How perfect for me? These long legs, full breasts. You are my dream.”
How could this gorgeous man be so into me? That’s what blows my mind. This gorgeous man I saw in a coffee shop and thought I’d never see again. A fantasy. I remove his t-shirt and spend time exploring his muscular form. The dips and valleys. His perfect six-pack with a light dusting of hair that leads lower. Within minutes, we are both naked. The light in the room is dim. Outside, the sun has set, and city lights twinkle. For hours into the night, we explore each other’s bodies, discover secrets, and moan each other’s names.
In the morning, I stretch and become aware I’m alone in bed. Realization that I’m in Sam’s apartment hits me. I check the time. I need to go back to my place and then head over to school. And my bike is here.
I’m out of bed and dressed when Sam walks in, hair wet from a recent shower and in a suit. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says as he pulls me to him.
I push him back. I press my fingers to my lips as I mumble, “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”
He grins and leads me into his bathroom. “I might in the guest room. But why don’t you use mine?”
“You don’t mind?”
“I’m pretty sure we swapped body fluids last night. I’m good with it.” He grins. I reach over and grab his toothbrush. I try, but I can’t suppress the smile breaking out on my face.
I brush my teeth, then he grabs me and gives me a deep, vigorous morning kiss.
“I hate that I have an early morning meeting. Can I see you tonight?”
He’s already walking back out, so I take it this means he has to go. And so do I. I follow him out. “You want to?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.” His southern twang sounds, making me giggle like a schoolgirl.
He peers over at me as if he’s questioning my response. I’m aware that giggle is not my norm. But I’m happy. And he’s laying on the southern charm. “Well, then, I’d love to see you later.”
He holds me close while we wait for the elevator. “You know, if you still worked for me, I could see you every day at the office.”
I wrinkle my nose. “It worked out for the best, don’t you think? I’m not sure I want to be the intern banging the boss.”
He laughs out loud, kisses me, then smacks my ass as I enter the elevator. “Banging? Is that what you call it?”
There’s another man in the elevator, and I cannot believe he just said that in front of him. I am completely mortified, but I’m also having trouble not laughing out loud. I keep my head bowed to avoid looking at the stranger and hit the P button for parking when I realize Sam didn’t.
“Why are you going to the basement?” he asks.
“My bike.” The door opens, and the man walks out into the main lobby, a smirk on his face. Does this count as a walk of shame? Is an elevator ride of shame a thing?
Sam steps back in the elevator to ride down with me. We walk into the basement, and he takes me to a locked room and retrieves my bike for me.
He walks my bike back toward a door near the garage opening and nonchalantly asks, “So, you never answered me.”
“What was the question?”
“What are you calling this?”
I grin, thinking back to the man in a suit who overheard our conversation. “Well, banging probably isn’t the best word.”
He stops and pulls me to him. “That, I agree with.” He kisses me. Then slaps my ass. “Now, ride along. I want to watch that delicious bum of yours ride away in those skintight leggings.”
I shake my head, hop on my bike, blow him a kiss, and push off.
Chapter 13
Sam
“Good morning, Mr. Duke.”
Before I even sit down, Janet is handing me a steaming mug of coffee. She gives me my calendar and stands at my desk, pad of paper in hand, should she need to take notes.
I grin. Of course, I’ve been smiling like a quarterback who scored multiple touchdowns all morning. “Janet, have I told you recently what an amazing job you do?”
Startled eyes peer back at me from behind black-framed glasses. “Thank you, sir.”
I chuckle. She’s always so formal. Appropriate.
A soft tap on the frame of my office door sounds, making Janet turn to face the unscheduled intruder. If there is one thing that bothers her to no end, it’s when someone tries to catch me for a few unscheduled minutes. Sometimes I think if I let her, she’d stand guard with a crop and whap anyone who tried to do what Bill is trying to do right now.
I sip my coffee and watch Bill and Janet face each other, settling back in my chair to enjoy the show.
“Mr. Withers, do you need to meet with Mr. Duke?”
Bill nods, looking to me and disregarding Janet. “Do you have a few minutes, Sam?”
Janet glances down at my schedule and answers for me. She’s not one to be railroaded. “Staff meeting starts at nine a.m. He may need some time to prepare for it.”
There was a time when I did need time to prepare for the weekly staff meeting. But now, it’s more of a formality. The department heads have eight a.m. staff meetings with their teams. The heads come into my office at nine a.m. for an executive staff meeting, and we review any urgent issues or concerns.
Back when we were in start-up mode, Monday mornings were mission critical. Now, we are a better staffed, lucrative, well-oiled machine. It’s not public yet, but I am going to be transitioning out of the CEO role for Esprit. I’ll be leading up our yet to be named VC division, but I’ll keep my seat on the board. Now, I sit in these meetings and listen.
“Jan, it’s okay. He can come in.”
She turns to me and nods.
“Everything looks good on the calendar today. Can you make sure I have something scheduled with Jason this week?”
“Yes, sir.” she responds and heads out the door as Bill steps in and takes a chair in front of my desk. She closes the door as she leaves.
“Bill, how can I help you?”
He shifts in the chair so his shoulders and back are ramrod straight. I always find people’s posture to be telling. I might think he’s trying to oversee me. But a long time ago, I decided it’s his military background coming out, and this is his natural disposition.
“Sir, I wanted to check in and see if the background report on Ms. Grayson was sufficient.”
“Yeah. It was good. Didn’t see any concerns. Did you?” I know damn well there are no concerns. She’s financially secure. She’s not someone who is targeting me because she saw me on some most wanted bachelor list. But I believe in making my employees feel their worth, and I know he
thinks what he does is life-saving.
“No, sir.” His gaze shifts to the ground then back to me. “May I ask, sir, are you planning to continue to see her?”
I pull my shoulders back and look him in the eye. “I am.”
“Then, sir, I would like to encourage you to consider assigning security to watch her.”
My grip tightens on my coffee mug. “We’ve been over this, Bill. That’s not necessary.”
“Sir, there are additional concerns.”
“What concerns?” I bark out.
“We have had sightings of Ms. Ray. We suspect she has seen you with Ms. Grayson, and she may have taken an interest in Ms. Grayson.”
I rub my hand through my hair and focus on my breathing. With my head back against my office chair and eyes closed, I ask, “Has she violated the restraining order?”
“No, sir. Not that we have observed.”
I lift my head, lean forward, and glare at him. “Give me a rundown of the sightings.”
“I don’t have them with me, but I can send you a full report. Sir, I am suggesting a security detail for Ms. Grayson in an abundance of caution. That is all.”
Damn. I huff. “I am not a celebrity figure. This is insane.”
“Sir, in the Manhattan area, you are frequently cited as being one of the most desirable bachelors. The Post mentions when you eat out. There are bloggers who talk about where you are. Someone tweeted a photo of you yesterday at the Boat House.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. Ms. Grayson was smiling in the photo. But the caption read ‘Sam Duke Flavor of the Week?’ It doesn’t look like she staged it. Have you checked her Instagram account?”
I pause, torn between throwing him out of my office and hearing him out. “No.”
“It’s mainly food and places. No selfies. She doesn’t fit the profile of someone seeking publicity.” I nod, then he adds, “Even though she was smiling in the photo.”
I run my hand through my hair, trying to regain a semblance of calm. I’ve had my fair share of women seeking social media fame, but that’s not Olivia. I remind myself he’s simply doing his job.
He continues. “The PR team is monitoring the situation.”
The situation. My life is not a situation. I rap my fist on my desk. “None of that is dangerous. You mentioned a security detail?” I am losing my patience. Publicity issue or danger, Bill? Pick your fucking gun. The man constantly recycles the same arguments he made before the board when he recommended I live with security. I wouldn’t be so against it, but it feels like fucking surveillance.
“No, tweets aren’t dangerous, but we do believe Ms. Ray could be. As you know, stalkers are often unstable, and one out of two stalkers who make threats end up—”
“I am well aware. You have about two minutes before people are walking in that door. I don’t need a recap of your spiel. What does this have to do with Olivia?”
“Sir, Ms. Ray is obsessed with you. She has to stay away from you because of the restraining order. It is not a stretch to believe she will now transfer her obsession and start stalking Ms. Grayson if she is seen regularly with you.” The unspoken point he is making is that Olivia and I were seen all around Manhattan together on Sunday. The fact that this has been communicated to him via his security minions has my hands balling into fists. It’s like living in a fucking fishbowl.
I am glaring at Bill when there is a knock on the door and Janet’s head appears. “Mr. Duke, are you ready for the staff meeting?”
I continue to glare at Bill as I answer, “Yeah, send them in.”
Collin, my partner at Esprit and one of my best friends, walks in first with others trailing behind him. He’s carrying a file and his ever-present notebook. He heads over to the conference table that sits on the other side of my office.
Bill stands, acknowledging our meeting is over. In a low voice designed to keep our conversation private, he says, “Please, for Ms. Grayson’s safety, consider it. That’s all I’m asking.”
Our meeting starts. My phone sits flat on the table before me. Collin starts off the meeting, and then others take over, giving project highlights. I want to take the meeting agenda that’s sitting in front of me and rip it up and punch my fist into the wall.
A notification comes across my phone. An email from Withers. I pick up my phone and tap to open the email. There is a list of locations Ms. Ray has been seen at over the past two weeks with dates attached. As part of protocol, my security detail keeps an eye out for this woman. I do agree with Withers that she’s unstable. As far as the danger she presents, I’ve never been afraid of her. I did find it unnerving to see her constantly located on park benches near any building I was in. She’s definitely obsessed. But would she act on her obsession? Harm someone? I’ve never bought in to the theory she’s dangerous. Of course, Withers’s presentation to the board showed otherwise. He shared stalker case after stalker case where an obsession turned deadly.
The list provides bulleted locations and dates. McKittrick Hotel. Central Park. High Line. Manhattanville Coffee.
My hands turn cold as I read the Manhattanville Coffee bullet. The date isn’t the one when I first saw Olivia. There are many dates listed that I have not been on the upper west side. She’s been following Olivia, not me.
Collin touches my shoulder, and I snap back as if someone punched me. “Hey, are you okay?”
The others are walking out of my office. I focus on the wood grains running along the conference room table and think through what I need to do. “Yeah.”
“Something seems off. Is something bothering you? Are you okay with this transition?”
I stare out the window. “Transition?” I am not following Collin’s questions. I couldn’t tell you one thing that was mentioned during our staff meeting.
“Yeah. If you aren’t into the VC work you’ve been doing, we can pull you back into the business side. Don’t feel like we’ve made any changes that can’t be adjusted. I’m not trying to kick you out of the business.” Concern radiates off Collin. I return to staring out the window. He’s reading me wrong.
“It’s not that.” I rotate my seat to face him. “I started seeing someone.”
Collin’s head jerks back, and he squints. “Really? That’s what this pissy mood is about? A woman?” he asks, sounding incredulous while he points at the conference room table.
“That crazy chick may be stalking her now.” I watch his expression transition from incredulous to distressed. He gets it now. He pulls out one of the chairs closer to me and sits in it. “What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know.” I stare out the window. “It’s so fucking ridiculous. But…Olivia. She’s in grad school at Columbia. I can’t ask her to put up with a security detail following her around. I don’t wanna put her in danger, but…” I sigh, staring out the office window at the winter gray sky and mix of skyscrapers.
“Do you think she’d ever really do anything? You know, a lot of people with obsessions never act on it.”
“She’s been following Olivia.”
“I mean act on it with violence. You know, do something bad. Hurt her. Do you think she’s capable of hurting her?”
I lift my head and shake it. “I don’t know. But how can I risk it?”
“Yeah, maybe you should keep your dating confined to Texas.” I glare at him. He smirks. “You know, this all started when you got listed as one of the top ten most desirable bachelors. And that Ms. Manhattan blogger?”
I lift my eyebrows to signal he should continue.
“She keeps tabs on where you lunch, go out. That’s kind of creepy. But she does it for, like, fifty men around the city. It’s mixed in with all the gossip.”
“How do you know this?”
“Lori tells me. She gets her weekly email and tells me if you’re mentioned. Or if I am.” He taps the table. “I think Lori really just checks that shit to keep tabs on me. She’s been happier since I haven’t been incl
uded on the bachelor lists recently. I think it makes her think everyone sees us as an item, and I’m off the market.”
I rest my head on the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “Dude, you guys live together. You are off the market. At any rate, what are you suggesting? Have our PR team work to keep me off those lists?” This whole situation is ludicrous. “How many people read that shit?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never looked into it. I’m gonna guess the blog readership is low. The Post?” He waffles his head back and forth like he’s weighing possible answers. He has no idea. “Seems like trash to me.”
I tap my fingers on the arm of my chair. “It doesn’t matter. Most normal people wouldn’t think twice about a bachelor list.” Besides, I’m pretty sure Ms. Ray never used published media as her source for my whereabouts.
“What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t ask her to have a security detail. She’s in grad school. No one wants some guy following them around on campus. At some point, classmates would pick up on it. I don’t think she’d be in any danger. But can I risk it? On the other hand, I hate having security tailing me everywhere. I can’t ask her to deal with that invasion.”
He cocks his head as he studies me. “Well, I have to say, I can’t remember the last time you wanted to date someone. Guess I always assumed you were doing all your dating back in Texas. But if you like her, you should date her. You’ve got the ability to keep her safe. If you have a real reason to think she’s not safe, then listen to Withers. The man lives and breathes security. I’d bet that man is, like, assassin level. He’s like James Bond. Use him. Don’t let fear win.”
I bite the corner of my lip thoughtfully before I respond. “I don’t know. This one’s too important to move forward on without thinking it through.” Analyze and evaluate the risks. We built a company making well-thought-out strategic decisions.