by Erin Noelle
Using my dresser as a crutch, I pull myself up to a standing position and strip out of the clothes I’ve been in all day. The events of the last fourteen hours have exhausted me physically, mentally, and emotionally—from the anticipation over the morning presentation, to the overwhelming nerves during the dinner with Madden, and everything else in-between. I detest that the last thing in my mind is the memory of him, which taints all of the positives. Part of me wants to forego the shower and just climb into bed, but I know I’ll feel better once I scrub myself clean, at least for a little while.
The following morning, Jae is waiting for me in our office with a look of hopeful enthusiasm evident all over her face. Before the door even shuts behind me, she pounces.
“Blake, Blake, Blake. Tell me how wonderful it was! I can’t wait to hear all the sordid details,” she cries as she races to my side.
Laughing softly, I shake my head at her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jae, but nothing sordid occurred.”
“What? You’re joking, right? Did you turn him down?” She fires questions at me faster than I can set my purse down to answer.
“We had a nice dinner. The conversation was good; we talked a little about ourselves, but mostly about work and the project. Then, he drove me back to my car and that was it. I drove home.”
I’m not sure why I don’t want to tell her about the sweet kiss on the head and his final words; I just don’t. I guess I’m afraid she’ll make more out of it than it was, and I don’t want to have to answer continuous questions about if I’ve heard from him or seen him. Chances are—other than for business purposes—I won’t have contact with Madden Decker again, despite his auspicious remarks. A man of his stature doesn’t strike me as the type to spend many nights alone.
She stares at me in disbelief. “I’m not buying it. The man was interested the second he laid eyes on you, and he even went through the trouble of calling your boss to ensure you’d have dinner with him.”
“Perhaps he really wanted to talk about video game graphics with me,” I suggest. “Did you ever think of that?”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffs. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you hear from him again. I know it won’t be long.”
Rolling my eyes, I sit down in front of the computer monitor, ready to get started with the day’s work. “Okay, Miss Matchmaker, I will,” I promise. “Now what are we tackling this morning?”
We spend the rest of the day compiling data on different soccer teams and players. With the upcoming World Cup, everyone agrees it should be the first game we focus on. Yesterday, Mr. Thompson assured us we’d have two other assistants assigned to us by the end of the week to help us with the first phase of input. The hours pass rapidly, and before I know it, it’s time to call it a day. Much as I expected, I didn’t hear from Madden all day, but I admit I did check my phone a couple of times in the rare chance Jae might’ve been right. No messages. No missed calls.
Red brake lights of never-ending traffic greet me as soon as I pull onto the freeway, so I turn my iPod on to some Snow Patrol and sing loudly to all of the neighboring vehicles. One older lady shoots me a dirty look as I bounce up and down in my seat, dancing as I belt out the lyrics, but several others smile at my silly antics. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, and it feels surprisingly freeing.
As I’m crooning to my makeshift audience about opening their eyes, the music misses a few notes through the speakers, causing me to look down at the screen of my phone. My pulse mimics the beat of the song, skipping wildly when I see a text message from Madden waiting to be read.
Do you trust me yet?
Giggling like I’m twelve instead of twenty-two, I contemplate my response. Without seeing his face or hearing his tone, it’s hard to know if he’s playing around or being serious. I opt for a light-hearted reply, hoping it’s the safe route, and type it out as I continue to sit at a standstill.
Are you choosing my dinner again?
Nervously, I press the send button and wait for his response. In less than a minute, my phone lights up again.
That’s what I’m hoping for. Can I pick you up in an hour?
Completely caught off-guard, I sit and stare at the screen dumbfounded. The car behind me honks their horn, alerting me the traffic is beginning to move. I need to answer him, but I don’t know what to say. I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want to go, but I don’t want to seem overly eager either; not to mention, I don’t want him to know where I live. Exiting the highway at the next possible place, I pull into a gas station parking lot to finish the conversation.
Friday? Meet after work?
I hope the suggestion implies interest without desperation. Meeting him Friday will not only give me something to look forward to and time to mentally prepare going out with him again, but I also won’t need to worry about getting up early the next day…not that I plan on staying out too late with him.
Compromise. Tomorrow for a working lunch—you can update me on project. Dinner on Friday is a date—we can discuss details over lunch.
The word date stands out like it’s flashing in all capitals, even though it’s not. Uncertain if I even need to respond again, I decide not to and restart my car. The remainder of the drive home, I continue to ask myself if I know what I’m getting myself into, and even though the answer is a resounding no, I can’t wait to see him again tomorrow.
AFTER DINNER ON MONDAY night and lunch on Wednesday afternoon, I may kill myself if something doesn’t happen with Blake tonight. A man can only handle so much. Ever since Monday morning, I can’t stop thinking about her and the perfect combination of beauty and obedient personality she’s comprised of. It’s almost as if someone made her specifically for me and dropped her into my life—a reward of sorts for putting up with Easton and his tiresome, ridiculous antics, as well as Emerson and her increasingly smothering behavior.
Most of the other single females I’ve encountered in my life have had hidden or secondary agendas when it comes to dating. I’m no twenty-six year old billionaire that has ladies lining up to accommodate my every wish and desire, but I know I’m a good-looking guy that takes care of himself, managing a rapidly growing company with a nice cushion in the bank. A natural-born leader, I’ve always been a bit of a control freak, but only one other person in my life has made me feel the need to dominate and protect them in the way Blake does. Unfortunately, my relationship with her ended ugly and had me questioning my sanity on more than one occasion. All the others were just a way to pass the time; I never cared much if they came or went, Emerson included. There were a few crazies mixed in over the past few years, direct results from my lack of good judgment and over-indulgence of alcohol, but I’ve kept that to a minimum recently as I’ve concentrated on expanding the company.
“Easton is on his way in to see you.” Caroline’s voice pulls me from the daze I’m in as I sit at my desk after lunch.
“Thank you,” I reply seconds before the door swings open and my younger brother strolls in.
He’s dressed in some outlandish golf outfit—a bright orange shirt, with orange and turquoise plaid pants—and based on the burned area at the bridge of his nose, I’m assuming he just got off the course, instead of heading to it. The happy-go-lucky smile he always wears is in prime form. It must be nice to not have a care in the world.
“How’s my favorite big brother?” he asks spryly, walking to the mini-bar and pouring himself a glass of scotch.
“I’m your only brother, Easton,” I reply, unamused, “and yes, please, help yourself to a drink.”
Strolling lazily over to my desk, he sits down in the chair across from me, pretending he didn’t hear what I said. He looks around at the papers on my desk and crinkles his nose in disgust. “You work way too much, Mad. You need to relax or you’re gonna end up having a heart attack like Dad.”
Sometimes I can’t believe we’re from the same genes and grew up in the same house. Both of my parents have always been det
ermined, hard-working people, and they instilled those same qualities in us as kids—well, at least they tried to. Easton, from the time he was a small child, has always been a carefree soul who’s never worried about anything except what made him happy, and unfortunately, my parents babied him and allowed him to act that way. Now that he’s thirty-two, he still acts like he’s twenty-two with no responsibilities or obligations.
“You don’t work enough,” I say deadpan as I turn to face him. “What do you need, Easton? I’ve got quite a bit to do before I can get out of here, and believe it or not, working until eight on a Friday night isn’t my idea of a good time either.”
“I’m glad you brought up having a good time; I want you to come with me to a charity event tonight. It’s a poker tournament, and the proceeds go to some national battered wives group or something—I’m not really sure. There’s going to be some good contacts there.”
I shake my head and ask, “What kind of good contacts? People who are interested in investing in Decker Enterprises?”
“Professional athletes who could promote the new video games,” he offers with raised eyebrows, like I’m supposed to jump at the opportunity now.
Sighing, I realize there’s no hope with him. “Sorry, man, I can’t. I have plans, but you go ahead and see if you can talk to some of them. I’d love to get backing from the players; maybe once we get the games ready, we can get them in to test ‘em out.”
“Plans? With who? Emerson’s going as my plus one,” he questions with obvious confusion.
“Believe it or not, I do have a life outside you, Emerson, and these office walls.”
“Bullshit. If you really have a date, bring her too,” he counters. “I’ll get all of our names on the list.”
I contemplate his proposition, and think it may be a good idea. Blake may feel more comfortable in a public setting with other people than one-on-one with me, and if we do discuss the video games, it may be beneficial to have her there to discuss the particulars.
“Okay, I’ll bring her. Where, what time, and what’s the dress?”
He spends the next few minutes giving me the details and calls his contact to get Blake and myself on the list of attendees. As he leaves, his happiness is evident, and I have to admit it does fill me with a little joy. He may be a pain in my ass, but he’s the only sibling I have.
Picking up my phone from the corner of my desk, I text Blake about the change of plans.
We’re going to a black tie charity event tonight instead of dinner.
I’ll pick you up at seven. I need your address.
It takes her forever to reply, and I’m just about to call her, when my phone alerts me of an incoming message.
We can do dinner another night.
What the fuck? Did my message seem like a question? Perturbed, I type back.
It’s non-negotiable.
I’m not waiting another night to be with this damn woman, and her hesitancy confuses the shit out of me. I can see it in her eyes when she’s with me that she wants to be there with me; the connection when we’re together is undeniable. Damn near smothering, it hangs so densely in the air between us. There’s something else there, though…something holding her back. Maybe she needs more guidance than I originally thought. I don’t have time to play games with this today; I have an event to attend tonight, and she will be by my side. Picking up the phone, I dial Mr. Thompson’s direct number.
“Joseph Thompson speaking,” he answers jovially.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson,” I reply courteously. “It’s Madden from Decker Enterprises. How are you on this beautiful Friday?”
“Oh, Mr. Deck—, I mean Madden, yes, good afternoon. I’m doing well, thank you.” I can almost hear him sit up straighter in his chair. “What can I do for you today? I hope all is going well. The girls have been keeping me updated with the progress this week.”
“All is fine, no worries,” I ensure him. “I’m actually calling because an event has just popped up on my radar for this evening that I think may help the project. The event itself is a black tie charity gala for battered women, which is a cause I always support anyway, but in addition, I’ve been told there will be numerous professional athletes in attendance. I’m hoping to discuss the new video game line with some of them, perhaps to get some backing and support for when we roll it out.”
“Ah, I see. That’s a terrific idea for marketing,” he responds, the confusion of where he fits in evident in his voice.
“I know it’s very last minute, but I was hoping that Ms. Liu and Ms. Martin could join my brother and myself in order to provide specific details about the games in case they arise. I think it would be most beneficial for all parties.” I pause a brief moment to let the information sink in, and then continue. “I would send a car for them this evening, and also provide a dress allowance so the ladies can find something nice to wear, if necessary. I’d hate to be presumptuous, but Jae and Blake seem like hardworking young ladies, and I’m not sure they have something suitable for an event like this.”
He clears his throat as I wait for the answer I want to hear. “Well, I think it sounds like a tremendous idea, and I’m thrilled you think so highly of my girls to invite them to something like this. I’ll need to check with both of them to make sure they don’t have any prior plans they can’t get out of, and also to discuss the dress situation with them, but I’ll get back to you shortly. What time would the car pick them up?”
“Seven o’clock, and please let me know as soon as possible,” I answer and hang up with a victorious smile.
I know damn well the only plans Blake had were to go to dinner with me, and I can’t decide if I want her feisty Asian coworker to attend or not. She may help Blake feel more comfortable, but it may also force her to keep a business distance from me.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Thompson calls back to let me know that unfortunately, Ms. Liu is unable to make it due to family obligations, but Ms. Martin will be ready to be picked up at the office at seven o’clock. He also states that she declined the money for a dress, which irritates the fuck out of me. I know a twenty-two-year-old who’s fresh out of college, working an entry-level graphics job, and driving around a base-model Jetta doesn’t have the money for an evening gown. I will see she gets reimbursed.
Much as I thought, the next few hours pass in the blink of an eye, and I’m scrambling to make it home in time to shower and get dressed. I call Sarah while I’m en route so she can get my tux out of the closet and make sure it’s pressed. As soon as I pull into the driveway of my Calabasas home, I jump out of the car and rush inside. Twenty minutes later, I’m clean from head to toe, and despite the need for a haircut, I look pretty fucking sharp. I thank Sarah multiple times as I scurry back out the door and make my way towards Burbank. If both ladies would’ve attended, I’d have sent the town car as I indicated to Mr. Thompson, but since it’s only Blake, I’m picking her up myself. I want to arrive there with her on my arm.
Gratefully, traffic isn’t too terrible on the 101, and I pull up in front of Blake’s office building just five minutes late. I message her that I’m here and wait anxiously for her to come out. Having only seen her in business clothes, I can’t wait to see what she looks like dressed up in evening attire. My dick jumps with excitement at the thought. The girl has me thinking like an adolescent boy again.
Minutes later, she appears from the left side of the building wearing a floor-length, black evening gown, looking sexier than I could’ve ever imagined. With each step she takes towards my car, my smile grows wider. Hopping out of the car, I open the passenger door for her and greet her with a half-bow, much like a chauffeur would. I stare at her unabashedly, taking in all that is Blake Martin. The sleeveless dress is simple, but opulent, solid black with an iridescent shimmer when the light hits it just right, but the best part is the back, which other than the tie around her neck is completely fabric-free until just above her ass. Her hair is piled into some sort of messy knot on top of her
head, with a few loose tendrils framing her face, and her make-up—although heavier than I’ve seen before—looks natural, making her incredibly amazing eyes pop out more than normal, and her full lips beg for me to kiss them.
“Good evening, Ms. Martin.”
“Madden,” she replies curtly before sliding onto the leather seat.
Once we’re both in the car, I continue to stare at her, unable to tear my eyes away.
“Do I look okay?” she asks apprehensively.
“You look perfect,” I reply as I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth, kissing her knuckles softly. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”
Glaring at me, she mutters, “I believe I was told it was non-negotiable.”
I nod and chuckle. “I believe you were. I couldn’t wait another day to see you again. I’m sorry Jae couldn’t make it.”
Driving off into the early evening before she can respond, I turn up the radio to the playlist I created for her, hoping she’ll sing along. After having her in my car on Monday and Wednesday, I’ve been looking forward to hearing her sweet voice again reverberating through the small space. The drive to Hollywood Hills takes almost an hour, and when we pull up to the home where the party is being held, I notice her begin to tense up.
“You’re going to be fine, Blake,” I reassure her. “Stay close to me and I’ll introduce you to the people I know, but keep in mind, these are my brother’s friends more than mine. He thinks some professional athletes will be here tonight, and I’m hoping to tell them about the new video games.”
“Yes, Mr. Thompson briefed me on everything. Please don’t leave me alone,” she pleads with a shaky voice. “I get freaked out in social situations sometimes—like, really freaked out.”
The alarm and distress in her tone cuts at me, and I want to ask what happened for her to be so fearful about being with strangers, but now’s not the time. Leaning across the center console, I press my lips against her forehead. “I promise I won’t.”