Текст книги "Pure Abandon"

Автор книги: Jeannine Colette

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

After dinner, I take the dishes to load the dishwasher. I look over at my husband, who is still seated outside with Gwen, wearing khakis and a light-blue polo. I can see how many women would fall for my husband. I remember how easily I did.

Running across the lawn at Towson University, my tote packed with textbooks and notepads, I had to rush across campus to make it to class in time.

I was walking up the staircase outside Stephens Hall when, of all things, my bag broke, sending books, pens, wallet, keys… everything cascading down the stairs. I crouched down to start picking up the contents. A volley of students ran up and down the stairs, but no one cared to stop and help, except for him.

“Here, let me get that for you.” A soft, warm hand reached over and grabbed a book from a step in front of me.

Mortified, I tried to brush off the kind pedestrian. “Thank you, but it’s okay. I can get it,” I said, grabbing the book out of his hand while noting lean, muscular forearms. I allowed my eyes to travel up and get a good look at the stranger.

He was six feet two with wavy dark hair and navy-blue eyes. With a perfect nose and broad shoulders, he looked like a Kennedy in that All-American kind of way. I had never seen a flawless face before. He was, for lack of better words, beautiful.

A crisp, white three-button Henley outlined his strong arms and lean torso. His jeans hugged his hips and showed a brief hint of boxers as he leaned over. I took a second to wipe the drool from my lower lip.

“Art major?” he asked, looking down at the text he picked up from the staircase. He flashed this jaw-dropping, Robert Redford grin.

“Art history minor.” I clarified, eyeing the textbook on Venetian art in the sixteenth century. “Marketing major.” As if he really cared what my major was. He was just being nice to a girl who completely embarrassed herself in front of her peers.

I glanced down at my watch realizing I was late for my class. “Thank you,” I said, grabbing the book from his hand. I ran up the stairs and spent the next hour thinking about the beautiful boy and his adorable smile.

When class was dismissed, I grabbed my broken bag and carefully placed my belongings inside. I wrapped two arms around the tote and held it like a package. It was the only way I’d get it back to the dorm.

Outside, I saw him standing by the exit where I’d left him. I braced myself, and my broken bag, and started across the quad. By bracing myself, I mean I put my head down and tried to make it across unnoticed. Unsuccessfully.

“Hey!” he called out. “Let me help you with that.”

I stopped in my tracks. Was he talking to me? Oh God, he is.

“No, it’s okay. I got this.” I held my bag tighter and tried not to look back.

I was halfway across the quad when his long legs strode fast behind me. “Wait,” he called out. “Can I least know your name?”

Oh man. The beautiful blue-eyed boy wanted to know my name. This guy had heartbreak written all over his face.

“No.” The word rushed out of my mouth and my feet rushed faster. My lips, however, couldn’t stop smiling.

By the time the dishes are loaded and the counters are clean, my mind has wandered far away with thoughts of extramarital affairs.

“You are uncharacteristically quiet tonight.” Gabriel comes up behind me and places his arms around my waist. I lean back into the comfort of his body.

“Just thinking.” I turn to my iPod on the counter and lower the volume.

“Thinking about what?” he breathes into my hair. “You only play Sia when you’re melancholy.” His voice is smooth with concern.

I rest the back of my head in the crook of his neck, and let out a breath that makes my lips vibrate. “Why do you think people cheat?”

Gabriel smiles into my hair and shakes his head. “I’m not answering that.”

I lean my face toward his. “Guilty?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, placing a soft kiss on the back of my head. “But I don’t want you getting any ideas.”

“I promise I won’t accuse you of cheating on me if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Gabriel exhales and releases me. I spin around and prop my back against the sink.

“Why do people cheat?” He crosses his arms and runs his index finger across his lips, pondering the question. “Why do people cheat?” he repeats. “Well, I can’t speak for myself because I’ve never cheated…”

I toss a dishrag at him, which he dodges, and lets out a small laugh. “Yes, we’ve established that, smartass.”

Gabriel makes his way around the center island toward the refrigerator. “Well, there’s this one guy in my office…”

“Who?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

Opening the refrigerator door, Gabriel grabs a beer and twists off the top. “Because you’ll start eyeing up everyone I work with because you know their personal lives. And some of these people I work with are good people. I don’t need you hating them because of a story I told you.” He looks at me with that you know I’m right look.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes.

“Okay, as I was saying…” Gabriel waits for me to interrupt, but I don’t. “There is this guy at my office who has been having a long-standing relationship with another woman who works in our building because, as he says, his wife hasn’t had sex with him since his kids were born.”

“How old are his kids?”

Gabriel pauses to think. “The youngest is… seven?” He’s clearly guessing.

No sex in seven years? I can’t imagine not being intimate with someone you love for that long. “That still doesn’t give him cause to cheat.”

Putting a hand in his pocket, Gabriel leans against the refrigerator and takes a swig of his beer. “I can see how a lack of intimacy can cause someone to stray. How would you feel if I stopped having sex with you?”

“I doubt that would ever happen.”

Gabriel flashes his Robert Redford grin. “Well, I could just close up shop one day. You never know.”

I hate that he’s being so offhanded. Doesn’t he know I’m very sensitive on the topic? Perhaps he doesn’t since we’ve never discussed it before. We’re just coming out of the honeymoon years of our marriage. Before this, everything was fun and exciting. Now, as my mother has said, marriage takes work. Whatever that means.

And let’s be honest. Gabriel would never close up shop. I could burst out laughing just thinking about it. He sees my reaction and raises his eyebrow, confused by why I would find that comical.

“And then there’s the case of a woman I work with who—”

“A woman!” I can’t contain my surprise.

“Yes, Kat, even women cheat.” He patronizes.

I scrunch my face at him. “I know. I just wasn’t expecting you to know a woman who cheats on her husband.” I lean onto the kitchen island and gaze at my wedding ring. “What is her reasoning?”

“Apparently, her husband let himself go. He won’t go dancing anymore or even to dinner. She refuses to divorce because of the kids. And I only know this because she has slept with a good friend of mine at the office on more than one occasion. And he told me her reasons.”

“And what are his reasons for sleeping with her? Is he married too?” Either Gabriel works with a bunch of heathens or the law profession is full of more sinners than saints.

“No, he’s single. Not everyone is having an affair.” When I look up, Gabriel is leaning over the other side of the island, toward me. He grabs my hand and gives my palm a warm kiss. “You know what we need?”

“What?”

“Date night,” he says into my skin. “Why don’t we go to that exhibit you want to see? Just me and you.”

My chest feels like it has been lightened from a thousand worries. “I’d love that.”

He places my hand on top of his and draws tiny circles on the inside of my wrist. “You know you have nothing to worry about with me, right?”

“I know.” And I do. In the years we’ve been together, I never took Gabriel to be a philanderer. It’s just not his style.

And just for validation, after Gwen has retired for the night and Jackson is sound asleep, I plan to take my husband to bed and make sure he doesn’t ever feel the need to stray. But after I change Jackson and rock him to sleep, I enter the room to see Gabriel passed out on our bed.

Maybe tomorrow.

The room is dark except for dim lighting coming from the credenza and the lights of the skyline beaming in the small space. I stand in my office, facing the windowed wall, looking out onto the Empire State Building.

A body approaches me from behind, tall and strong, the presence overwhelming. His hands start on my shoulders and glide down my arms, down to my fingertips. He takes my hands in his as he uses his mouth to tilt my head and brushes my neck with his lips, slowly caressing it with his tongue.

His left hand travels down my arm, taking the spaghetti strap of my dress along for the ride. His right arm follows suit with the other strap. My dress pools to the floor. I’m wearing nothing underneath. He is naked behind me and I can feel his form against my skin. The ridges of his chest, the strength of his thighs, and his rock-hard erection. His solid body presses against mine as his mouth continues to caress my neck. His hands circle around my waist and drift south to my thighs, stroking the inside up and down, making me wet from just the proximity. His fingertips get dangerously close without touching yet make a promise to be back.

I moan in pleasure. I want more.

Does he know how wet he makes me?

He will soon.

His mouth caresses my shoulder as his hands graze slightly over my nipples, tempting, teasing and causing me to shiver with pleasure. I press my back into his groin and beg with my body to be taken. My core throbs with anticipation.

I want it.

I need it.

His hand wraps around my neck, holding me still as the other travels back down to my sex. I whimper at the feel of his hands hovering just outside my entrance.

I yearn for it… crave it. I feel a burning inside my belly and it builds bigger and bigger, higher and higher. I can feel it…almost taste it…

I pop up suddenly.

Oh my God! Did I just have a sex dream?

It was so real, so vivid, and so… delicious. I felt every yearning and pleasurable movement. I’ve never had a dream like that before. It was so lifelike. I want to go back to sleep and continue. I nearly exploded in my sleep. Who would have known my body could do that?

Do many women have dreams like that? I should ask Malory at lunch tomorrow. Oh, she will have a field day with that dream. She lives for stuff like this. I can certainly share the vivid imagery of that room, the sensation, the feeling of how he felt beside me.

Maybe I shouldn’t tell Malory. I could hold on to this story. While I wouldn’t mind telling her about the dream, she will want to know one major detail that I’m not willing to share.

No, she’ll think something is up. I know people are already trying to figure out the new girl at the office. Malory and I are friends, but who else is she friends with that she might share my story with? And if someone else knows, who will they tell? I know how office gossip goes. It’s hard to pass up.

No, I won’t tell anyone about my dream tonight. I will not tell anyone I had the most mind-blowing sexual experience in my sleep or that the man who left me wanton and begging for more was Alexander Asher.

I’ve spent a good part of my morning avoiding most people in the office by having meetings outside of the building. I know everyone heard my obnoxious outburst at Asher on Friday and are all gossiping about it. They’re trying to figure out how I got into it with the big boss. That’s what offices do. Even I’ve been privy to my fair share of water cooler conversations.

Reluctantly, I told Malory I’d meet her for lunch, so we take a seat in a corner booth at Café Dell’arte. I know she wants to dish on some office gossip. My concern is I’m the main course.

“You seem to be fitting right in.” Malory takes a bite of her salad, looking exquisite in a sheer black button-down with matching camisole underneath. Her skinny black pants show off her exquisite figure.

“I can’t say last week was easy. Sparring with Heather is no easy feat,” I murmur. Just thinking about how I won’t have to face her every day calms my nerves, but having to deal with Asher is another story. I don’t know what is worse.

“I heard Heather isn’t the only one you’re sparring with.” Her teeth crunch down on a ripe cherry tomato.

Here it goes.

“Wow…” I pretend to look at my nonexistent watch. “That took you all of fifteen minutes!”

Malory sips her wine and gives me a quizzical look through the glass. “The man is unnerving. I know. I’ve worked with him for the last three years, since he bought Erik’s company. It doesn’t hurt he’s irresistibly handsome.” She pauses to gauge my reaction.

I turn my head to the side and take a sip from my water glass as I sneak a look around the restaurant. I know she’s reading my expression, so I’m trying to act as cool as the cucumber in my salad.

“Oh, come on, you prude. He’s delicious and you know it. I thought you knew who he was when you took the job, but when I found out you’d never seen him before, I was dying to know what your reaction would be.”

“And what was my reaction?” I ask.

Malory lowers her eyes, her brow perked up as she speaks slowly, almost intrigued by what she’s about to say. “You absolutely fell apart.”

I shake my head. “Seriously, Malory. I had a fight with the boss, but now everything is resolved.”

I’m dying to tell Malory about what really went down Friday. From the car ride to the argument and the roses that were sent to my office, it was the craziest day I’ve ever had at any job, and she is the person I want to talk to most.

Malory and I used to have a great rapport where we would gossip about everything and anything that happened at work. Back then, we were colleagues. And while she always held a position above me, she was never this high on the company food chain. Nattering with the vice president about my own personal indiscretions is a huge no-no.

I’m also dying to probe Malory for information, but I don’t want her to know I’m interested in anything having to do with Alexander Asher. Instead, I change the course of the conversation.

“So how is it going soliciting advertisers?”

She kicks her head back, shrugging her shoulder. “Easy as can be. Once they hear the Asher name, they start opening up their wallets. We have big names acting as underwriters for the concert in the park. I’m trying to work a deal with some silent donors for the gala you’re putting together, but that’s going a little slower than planned.”

“I can help you with that,” I offer, while the waiter comes over to refill our water glasses. I thank him and listen to Malory.

“You have enough to do, you little go-getter. Did you see Heather’s face when you came up with the idea for two events? I was slightly rooting for Asher to give you the concert in the park just to piss her off.”

“Oh, thank God he didn’t. She is one scary woman.” I see my “in” for information. “Did something happen between her and Alexander Asher?”

Malory purses her lips and nods, eyeing me up. “You are a smart girl. I was waiting to see how long until you had everyone pegged. No, as far as I know, she hasn’t gone to bed with him… yet. That doesn’t mean she can’t try. The girl has got it bad!” She lets out an exaggerated groan.

I expel a sigh of my own. I hadn’t realized I was even holding my breath. The fact I’m relieved to know Asher and Heather aren’t together is disturbing.

It is a pretty big office, though. There are plenty of other women there. “Has anyone in the office slept together?” I sound like a schoolgirl.

Malory takes another sip of wine and talks, holding the glass in her right hand, speaking matter-of-factly. “Kevin in production and Trish have been dating for a while. And Gretchen and Harvey had a thing going, but that’s over.”

I nearly spit out my drink at the thought of tied up Gretchen getting it on with... “Heavy Harvey!”

“Oh my God, you have a nickname for him!”

I flush with embarrassment. How rude and juvenile of me. I can’t believe I said that out loud.

Malory doesn’t seem insulted. “I must say that’s a perfect name for him. And the answer is yes, Gretchen and ‘Heavy Harvey,’ as you call him, got down and dirty at a Christmas party two years ago. She was mortified when everyone found out, but it turned out she kinda liked him.”

“I shouldn’t have called him that. I feel bad,” I murmur into my salad.

“Don’t. He’s a fat ass. He’s been grossing me out for years,” Malory says, and I cringe at her words. I said he was heavy, not gross. The man is actually really sweet.

She continues. “And never underestimate people in this business. Everyone sleeps with everyone. That’s how they get ahead.”

I wonder what Malory means by that. Correction: I know what Malory means by that, but is there an underlying meaning? Is that how Malory got to be Vice President? She has come a long way in the two years I’ve been out of work. Then again, she lives and breathes this business. This is New York. It’s no surprise a woman would hold a high title in her thirties. We’re breaking the metaphoric glass ceiling.

But how many people could she have slept with to get where she is today? I’m not naïve. I guess I just have higher expectations for those around me. And I choose to believe Malory is where she is because of hard work.

Malory pays the bill, as she always does, and we head back to the office.

Exiting the elevator, I see the display of white roses taunting me, reminding me of Alexander Asher. They are still thick and blossoming, yet more plush and rich.

Walking over to them, I put my nose to their soft white petals. They smell delicious. My eyes widen at the scent… tobacco and vanilla.

The hair on the back of neck stands on edge.

He’s here.

My spine stiffens at the thought of seeing him again but I turn around to confront the man who has me on pins and needles. Looking about the space of white and mahogany I see there is no one seated in the waiting area and Trish isn’t at her desk. She’s probably in Heather’s office.

Malory has gone straight down the hallway, heading to a meeting, so it’s just me alone in the lobby. Asher is nowhere in sight.

Continuing to look around the room, I follow the scent back to its original location. The flowers. The scent is on the flowers. They smell like him in the most bizarre way.

It is quite possible I am going insane.

Gabriel and I made plans to go to the exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art on Wednesday since he’ll be working this weekend and traveling the next. We hope he’ll be able to sneak out of the office at a reasonable hour.

We haven’t had a date night in months. Any free time he has is always spent with Jackson. I get it. Gabriel’s top priority is his little boy. I love that about him.

We had a great weekend despite my meddling mother being there, but I’m excited to spend some alone time with him.

Holding my phone up to my ear, I talk to Carmen to check on Jackson, when there is a soft rap at the door. I peer up to see Trish wearing an orange-and-blue striped skirt with a schoolboy shirt buttoned to the neck. Her hair is fastened into an adorable fishtail braid that cascades down the side of her head. She’s holding two coffee cups in her hands.

“Coffee break?” Trish asks, and I motion for her to come on in as I hang up the phone.

Today, I dressed in a blue, cap-sleeved wrap dress and nude heels. Dressing up makes me feel like another woman. Much nicer than the ripped jeans I wore this weekend.

Trish places one of the coffee cups on my desk directly in front of me. It’s black. She remembered. And then I remember she was front and center last week for my Asher incident.

Tucking one leg underneath her butt, Trish takes a seat in the chair in front of me, making sure her skirt doesn’t ride up.

“You spoil me,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. If Trish wants to deliver coffee to me every day, I won’t discourage it. The brew is delicious. When you drink it black like I do, the quality of the bean really counts. Gabriel could drink gas station coffee, while I’m a Starbucks girl. I like my coffee strong, not any of that watered-down nonsense. Trish has gotten the blend just right.

“Anytime!” Trish has an energy about her you can’t help but want to match. “There’s a commercial-grade coffee machine down the hall. It takes seconds. Anytime you want a jolt, just holler.” She’s swinging her free leg back and forth, her back straight at attention. Her free hand plays with the tail of her braid.

“How much coffee have you had this morning?” I ask, questioning her boisterous mood.

She relaxes her shoulders, trying to appear more composed. “Sorry, I’m a naturally fidgety person.” She raises her cup toward me. “This is my first one.”

My shoulders rise as I let out a chuckle. The kid is funny. I guess I could call her a kid. She’s only a few years younger than me, but I feel as if I’m much older. The adult in the room.

“Feel free to enter with cups of Joe anytime,” I say.

Looking over the files on my desk, I know I have a lot to get started on. Where last week I was at a standstill waiting for Heather’s cooperation, this week I can get started on my event. I need Erik’s permission, of course, but now I can actually get to production. No more sitting around and waiting. Once the musical guests are booked and the network requirements come in, I’ll be slammed. There are so many aspects of the event I can work on now.

And luckily, I feel more in control of the situation. I have my head wrapped around the task at hand. I can do this.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“So,” I ask Trish, “how’s day one working with Heather?” I wanted to refer to Heather as “the ice queen,” but I think better of it.

Trish nods her head enthusiastically. “It’s great.” Her voice squeaks a little. “It’s actually day four. Friday, after you left, Heather called me in.” She looks down and puckers her brow as if recalling the memory. “Just as I was about to leave, in fact. My boyfriend and I were going to a concert, but I had to cancel on him last minute.” Her mouth turns into the slightest of frowns before she lifts her head quickly and waves off the notion. “But that was fine. I mean this is my big break, you know.” Her eyes are opened so wide I can see the whites.

“Sounds like you have a great work ethic.” I raise my coffee in the air in a cheers motion. There’s no way I would have stayed on Friday night. There couldn’t have been enough for Heather to do to have to keep Trish.

Placing her braid in her mouth, Trish nibbles on it for a second and drops it down on her shoulder. “I hope she recognizes that. I was here all weekend, working, compiling lists of music schools around the country and calling up the families of musical savants. I also went through hundreds of YouTube videos of kids playing instruments and made a file for Heather to review. That’s what she’s doing right now. Watching my videos.”

I respect Trish’s go-getter attitude. It’s inspirational.

I cross my legs and swivel my chair to open my desk drawer to grab my notepad. She just reminded me about my idea from last week. I should present it to Erik this afternoon. Or am I supposed to bring it to Asher?

Shaking my head, I shake the idea away. I’ll go to Erik. Asher doesn’t want to be bombarded with every silly idea I have. More importantly, I have no desire to work with the man directly.

Work first, worry later.

“I’m so happy you said that, because you just reminded me of something.” I flip the notepad over to a clean page and grab a pen to jot down some ideas.

Trish continues. “Awesome. Glad I’m here to help!” She’s holding on to her coffee mug with both hands, as if trying to keep warm. While I write, Trish continues with her story, rambling a little. “It’s a pretty awesome project Heather has me working on. She is going to have children, like really young kids who are these incredible piano players and guitar players and drummers, play onstage with each musical guest.”

I must have pushed down hard on the pen because it runs away from me on the page, making a deep blue gash across the paper.

That bitch.

Not Trish. She’s lovely. She’s just doing what she was told to do.

Heather.

She stole my idea and she is going to take all the credit! Last week she pretty much told me my idea was crap. No sooner does she separate from me as co-producer and goes ahead and decides the idea is awesome… which it is… and moves ahead on it. She didn’t even wait a minute before setting the wheels in motion. I have to talk to Erik about this. I have to tell him.

Listen to me. I sound like a child. What am I going to do, stomp into his office and temper tantrum? Erik is the last person who would want to hear that kind of nonsense. He’s a “we’re all a team” kinda guy.

Taking a moment, I think for a second.

It was a good idea. A freaking awesome idea, and I’m happy it’s getting done. And let’s face it; it’s more appropriate for the Central Park event anyway. The talent will be bigger and there will be more opportunities to showcase the kids. The exposure at that event will be greater as well. We can’t do the same thing at both events, so as much as I’d love to do it at the gala, the park is going to be a concert of epic proportions. I’ll just have to come up with something new.

And who knows? Maybe Heather was going to give me credit for the idea.

Yeah, right, I know.

I discuss the idea with Trish, not acting bitter in any way, and even give her some pointers. If someone is going to get credit, then I’d prefer it’s Trish. Like she said, this is her big break. Malory would have done the same thing for me a few years ago if the opportunity arose.

At the end of our coffee break, I bid Trish good-bye without giving her the slightest inclination I’m upset. She seems to enjoy working for Heather, and I don’t want to make any enemies.

I already made one of those with Asher.