BOUND: Together

by Cynthia Dane

  The privacy partition came down. Sherman swung his head around, lowered his sunglasses, and said, “Brooke is not going to like that. What were you thinking, Erica?”

  “You heard that, huh?” So much for privacy.

  “I knew what you asked her. Practically advertised it on your forehead when she got in the car.” He snorted. “I don’t want to be around when Brooke kicks your ass for bringing along an intern as your assistant. Can’t say I blame her. I know she’s cute, Erica, but…”

  “What is Brooke to me?” I spat. “My wife?”

  That made Sherman shut up, but it didn’t stop the toxic thoughts in my head. For every little fantasy I harbored for my personal life, there was a nightmare screaming at me to kill myself before I was sacrificed on the altar of heartbreak once more.

  Chapter 9

  NATALIE

  I made a grand mistake that night.

  After I had spoiled myself with that hour-long, rose-scented bath and two rounds with my battery-operated boyfriend (guess who was the object of my fantasies?) I pulled my phone over and logged onto a forum I used to frequent during my school days.

  I kicked my bed covers off now that I was finished bringing myself to enough orgasms to kill me for the weekend. The cool air blowing through my open window felt good against my sweaty legs as I kicked one over the other and clicked on one of the locked subforums of Business Gossip.

  This forum helped me maintain my brain cells during college. I didn’t have much use for it now that I was graduated and busy with actual work, but back in the day it was an invaluable resource for keeping my sanity and learning as much as I could about the secret side of the business elite.

  Under the CEO Romances and Foibles subforum I ran a search on Eric Mann and Brooke Pentecost. If there was any web source that would know if they ever had a thing, it was Business Gossip.

  Two threads popped up, both of them over five years old.

  The oldest one was titled The Secret Liaison of a Reclusive Heir and a Middle Class Prom Queen. The most recent one said Mann and Pentecost Break up!!!!

  I clicked that one first.

  The OP was a known shitstirrer, but the source she linked seemed legit. It helped that the first two responses were from people I somewhat trusted, since they had proof that they worked in executive offices. One of them even claimed to have worked for Eric’s father when he was still alive.

  “Corporate giant Eric Mann – who has recently ascended the throne of his family’s magnificent company – and long-time girlfriend Brooke Pentecost, of Utah, have reportedly broken up according to a source close to Mann.

  The couple were spotted dating as early as 2006 when they met at a national conference for business undergrads. Sources close to Mann report that he is devastated and has become more reclusive than usual. A source close to Pentecost announced that she is devastated as well, remarking that she thought they would soon marry. So what gives? What broke them up?

  Then again, this astute observer has seen this same couple having dinner as recently as three days ago. Granted, there appeared to be no affection between them, but it’s possible they are hashing things out!”

  I threw my phone down and grumbled into my pillow.

  I knew it.

  ***

  “Tell me more about the ice queen Jimmy Choo,” my best friend Casey said, while we had lunch for the first time since I started my internship.

  “First of all, it’s Cho. Jimmy Choo is a fashion designer.”

  Casey scoffed before downing the rest of her mimosa. It was her insistence that we come to a café a five minute walk from my office. After all, it was my lunch hour I decided to spend with her, so I begged – nay, demanded – that we eat somewhere nearby so I wouldn’t be late to work. I had recently received the materials about my upcoming trip to San Francisco, and was determined to memorize them by the end of the day.

  “Whatever. She sounds hot. Tell me more so I can steal her style.”

  Casey Diamond didn’t need to steal anyone’s style, least of all Jimmy’s, who had perfected it to the point that people could only imitate, never replicate. Jimmy and Casey had completely different facial structures, anyway. You couldn’t compare Casey’s soft and round face to Jimmy’s chin that was sharp enough to chop a man’s balls off. Both of them were gorgeous in their own ways. That also meant they could never pull off the same styles.

  You couldn’t tell Casey that, though. She was the kind of woman never satisfied with how she looked or what she had, but was too chickenshit to get plastic surgery – even though her parents had offered to pay for it.

  “Case,” I said with a sigh, “Jimmy Cho is on another plane of existence from us. We would look like clowns if we tried that ice blue eye shadow.”

  “Whatever. So tell me more about your boss and how hot he is.”

  I love Casey, don’t get me wrong, and I need someone like her in my life to remind me that I’m a human being, let alone a grown-ass woman, and enjoy bouts of senseless, gossiping garbage now and again. I had belonged to that cursed forum, hadn’t I?

  I had failed on the good friend part, though. Recently, anyway. Ever since I started my internship, I didn’t have time to breathe or fart, let alone hang out with someone I genuinely liked. Which was a damn shame because we had a lot in common and thus a lot to rant and talk about. We were both Asian women raised by white families. We both loved trashy Asian pop music (although I was more a fan of Mando and Cantopop while Casey was a fool for K-pop) and had a mutual interest in economics and international relations. Casey was currently working in a local bank’s admin office, although she had sights on Wall Street. But there was one huge difference between us that meant I fulfilled many of my career dreams while she floundered.

  Namely, I was willing to work until I had lost all contact with the outside world. Casey believed in a work-life balance I could never hope to achieve.

  But it was fun to live vicariously through her. Every time she talked about the weekend parties and inter-office dramas from work, I giggled and pretended I was on the front lines of that kind of fun. Meanwhile, she was beyond thirsty for more than her mimosa – she wanted all the deets not covered by my NDAs about working for Mann-Garrett.

  Specifically, she wanted as many personal details about Eric as possible.

  “Ever since you said he was a dreamy hunk, I’ve been imagining you two being dirty in Cabo.” Casey cut me off before I could dispute a single thing she said – including calling Eric dreamy. As if! “Come on! Let me have this. I need to believe you’re out there fucking a hot businessman and taking his gold while you’re at it.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m not in this for the marriage connections.”

  “Of course you’re not. That’s a huge bonus.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Casey knew first-hand my mom’s opinions on these things, so she definitely got my reference. Stop acting like my mom! “So can you tell me when I’m going to marry him? I’ve always wanted a June wedding.”

  “Next year looks promising!”

  I forced the subject to change, preferably about Casey’s personal life above my own. She was dating some office manager named Trey, and once I got her started, she wouldn’t shut up about how good he was in bed.

  Wish I had time for a love life. Even just sex. Instead, I had inappropriate lust for my boss and a male coworker who had issues keeping his hands to himself. But you bet your ass that if he ever did that while on the clock, HR would be the first to get an earful. After I told Brooke.

  I hadn’t told anyone, however. Not even Casey. Ever since that shitty night at the bar, I had given Aiden the coldest shoulder possible. I didn’t talk to him unless professionally necessary, and I sure as hell was never alone with him. Not even in the copy room when we both happened to go in there at the same time.

  If I ever needed a cold shower from how I felt around Eric, I simply stood around Aiden for five minutes and was back to hives.

  “When was the las
t time you got laid?” Casey asked with a lowered voice. “You’re more pent-up than Mt. St. Helens in 1979.”

  “Really? A natural disaster joke?”

  “I could say you’re more tense than the San Andreas Fault…”

  I rolled my eyes. “No idea. Do you count getting fingered?”

  “It’s been almost two months. How are you alive?”

  “Not all of us function because of sex.”

  “Shame.”

  “Tell Trey I said hello next time you’re rocking the bed with him.”

  “He’d probably like that. He seems kinky.”

  “Spare me.”

  I returned to the office five minutes before my lunch hour was up. I happened to enter the executive elevator when Eric was already on his way up.

  We were alone the rest of the way.

  Well, almost alone. The man was on his phone the whole time.

  “…Yes, thank you. That sounds fantastic.” That wasn’t the usual business tone he used when speaking with partners and buyers. He sounded lighter… flirtier.

  Not only was he speaking with a woman, but he was definitely enjoying it.

  “I’ll see you in San Francisco. Make sure we don’t miss our appointment.” He turned off his phone and glanced at me. “Did you have a nice lunch, Ms. Chen?”

  The elevator doors dinged open. “Fantastic. Catching up with an old friend.”

  “So was I.”

  I hated that look on his face. Lovesick puppy.

  I had a crush on my boss, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It had officially reached this is a problem levels.

  San Francisco was going to be a trip in more ways than one.

  Chapter 10

  ERICA

  I counted down the days until my trip to San Francisco. Catching conversations with Natalie around my office should have been easier, but we were both so busy with our separate tasks that I barely had the chance to say good morning or to thank her for the day’s work. The most time we had to interact centered on long, drawn-out meetings and going over the trip. But Brooke was doing most of Natalie’s training now, catching her up to speed on what to expect and how to conduct herself as my unofficial date for the weekend.

  Sherman had been right. Brooke truly did not appreciate me going behind her back and assigning new tasks to the interns. Particularly, to Natalie.

  But she took it professionally, even if she did it with a glare in my direction or a sigh beneath her breath. Because that was her job, and the reason she was good enough to be my personal assistant was her level of top notch professionalism. She wasn’t the type to giggle or blow kisses to appease a tired ego, but she could diplomatically smooth over anything – including her own anger. Toward me.

  My goal was to hide my ulterior motives for being around Natalie. Oh, it helped that she was competent enough at the tasks I assigned her that it was a no-brainer even if I wasn’t attracted to her. But I had to watch my reaction whenever someone said her name. I couldn’t let anyone – least of all Brooke or Sherman – know that I wanted nothing more than to invite Natalie back to my manor and have my way with her for half the night. Not only was that grossly unprofessional, but I was also hardening my heart to the potential storm brewing in the distance.

  Rejection. That was it.

  I spoke with my therapist on the Wednesday before the trip. When I brought up my recent bouts with gender dysphoria – not that I ever knew which damned way it went – she suggested that my problems stemmed from penis envy or some other Freudian shit. I walked out of her office madder than hell, but stayed up half the night wondering if she wasn’t wrong.

  Of course it was penis envy. If I had a real dick, I wouldn’t worry about Natalie – or any other woman I met in the wild – wanting to be with me! Most women were heterosexual, weren’t they? They didn’t want a woman dressed up like a man. They wanted the full package. All of them, but mostly the important one.

  Brooke had already proven that. It was another reason she couldn’t know about my attraction to Natalie. Not only would she ride my ass because of how unprofessional it was, but because she didn’t want me to get hurt like she had hurt me a few years before.

  I tried. I really did. I put in considerable effort into rationalizing away my attraction to Natalie. But that meant I turned to other unhealthy pursuits, like embracing my potential feminine side.

  My closet was full of designer dresses, handbags, and makeup palettes I never wore out of the house. I barely wore them at home. Every once in a while, I was driven to strip down and try on a luxurious bra and throw a dress on top of it. I’d slip on a pair of Valentinos and look at myself in the mirror, wondering if I felt more natural like this or in my tailored suits. I certainly looked… different. My legs, for one. You could see them, as hairy as a man’s but skinnier, and more toned. I suddenly had curves, too. My hips were outlined instead of concealed. My breasts were accentuated. I daresay studying myself while wearing those clothes was as much curiosity as it was anything else. But the question was…

  Which was the costume?

  “You look great in that,” Sherman said one night, when he came into my chambers with a thick folder in his hand. It was late enough for him to be at home, but I knew he was pulling an all-nighter before the trip. My security is as much about concealing my real identity as it is protecting my well-being. Sherman took both as seriously. “I really like that color on you. Too bad you can’t wear it more often.”

  My hand pressed against my stomach and the thin leather belt cinching my waist. I wore my most recent acquisition that had arrived in the mail while I was at work: a size four navy blue A-line dress that gave me cleavage. I was positively giddy when I unearthed an old pair of blue Louboutins and paired them with that dress. My head concocted a story of me heading out for a night on the town, having cocktails with my girlfriends and dancing with the first pretty person I saw. Of course, if I actually tried doing that, I would freeze in terror. Nothing was more frightening than going out in the world as a woman.

  Not that I pulled it off. There was a reason I didn’t sleep with all the escorts I hired. Some of them taught me female socialization, just like the tutors I had growing up drilled male behaviors and styles into my head. A lovely woman named Bev taught me how to walk in stilettos, and another one named Yvonne showed me that I, too, could apply my own mascara. They were like big sisters to me.

  Then there were the ones like Kerry, who filled a different role in my sad existence. At least I had the money to throw at them.

  “Thank you.” I stopped fussing with my hair and kicked off the shoes. I hadn’t been fishing for compliments. In a perfect world, nobody would have seen me that night. Sometimes my dress-up time was purely therapeutic. I escaped. I lived a life I could never live, not even by chance. In those moments, when I stared down a powerful woman in a gorgeous dress, I felt like I could trailblaze my way through business and love.

  I knew it wasn’t true.

  Sherman waited until I sat on the edge of my bed before holding out the folder in his hand. “Got the details for the seating arrangements at the gala and did the usual digging. I have… news. That you may find favorable. Or not. Like I know, honestly.”

  I raised my eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

  He sat in a chair nearby. “You and Ms. Chen will be sharing a table with none other than Ms. Evangeline Warren and her long-term girlfriend Ms. Nadia Gaines. You’ve met them before, yes?”

  “That certainly is some news,” I said, not commenting on the question. “Put us at the table with two of the biggest lesbians in the country.” That would do wonders for my identity crisis. “You wouldn’t come all the way up here to just tell me that, though. What else is it?”

  Sherman cleared his throat. “I have reason to believe that… Ms. Chen may know them already. Or at least one of them.”

  My ears perked up at that. “Natalie? What about her?”

  “She and Ms. Gaines were at the same co
nference a few years ago.” He pulled out a list of names, presumably from the conference in question. “After that came up in our background check, I had one of my men do more digging. Let’s just say… he’s still acting like a fool about what he found out.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  Sherman showed me grainy security photos depicting two grainier women cavorting in a hotel hallway and stumbling into someone’s room. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was supposedly looking at.

  “It’s Ms. Chen and Ms. Gaines.” Sherman snapped the photo away again. “Doing exactly what you might be thinking.”

  “Ridiculous.” I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t afford to believe it. Natalie? Having sexual relations with other women? It would be too good to be true. Besides! I know that Sherman and his crew have access to FBI levels of security and connections to some of the best in the business, but I found it hilariously laughable that he could dig up this old “evidence” from years ago. Even Sherman wasn’t that good. “What business is that of mine, anyway?”

  “Thought you might like to know.”

  “Why?”

  He cocked his head at me. “Why wouldn’t you? Anyway, I need to be getting home. My wife is angry I missed Grey’s Anatomy night.”

  I barely knew what that was. Some TV show? “Thank you for your diligent work as always, Sherman.”

  He spared me one last look before leaving my room. As soon as the door shut behind him, I shimmied out of my dress and let the information that Natalie might be gay hit me upside the head.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I didn’t sleep well for many nights.

  ***

  The closer we came to the trip, the more nervous I became. I was popping my anxiety medication like it was candy. Luckily, it wasn’t the very strong prescription medicine. It was the over-the-counter herb ashwagandha that Brooke picked up for me every week when she made the rounds at the corner pharmacy. Nobody questioned a healthy woman like her buying pads, Midol, and the occasional Monistat. Didn’t matter if they were for me. I wonder what she thought the first time I asked her to do that after she began working for me?