His to Tease

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I want you, Ellie,” he whispers, nearly on the verge of tears.

  “You’re engaged. And I’m…”

  “What?”

  “I’m with someone. Sort of.” It’s hard to quite explain what Mr. Black and I are except that I would give anything for him to be here instead of Tom right now.

  “That’s not good enough, Ellie. We belong together. Don’t you see that?”

  “Tom, we’re friends. You’re engaged. I’m here for you, but I can’t be with you. I don’t want to be. You need to figure out what you’re doing with Carrie first.”

  “And if I break up with her?”

  “What?! How can you even say that?”

  “Do we have a chance if I break up with her?”

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” I say. “No, of course not. I don’t feel this way toward you anymore, Tom.”

  “That’s a lie,” he mumbles, but I can tell he isn’t completely convinced.

  “I’m over you, Tom. You need to figure out what you want to do with Carrie on your own. But don't take me into consideration in that decision at all.”

  Though I don't feel the same way about Tom anymore, I’m not entirely sure that what I’m saying is completely true. What I am sure about is that I don’t need to be involved with his whole Carrie mess right now. And I’m also positive that I want to see Mr. Black - also known as Aiden - again, despite what happened between us.

  Tom pulls away from me and pours himself another cup of coffee.

  “So, tell me about your writing.”

  I want him to leave, but I also want to turn the page. And if I ask him to leave now, the failed kiss will always be there, a big elephant in the room. Maybe changing the topic now isn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “I don’t really know what to say.” I shrug. “I really want to take this time off work and try to figure things out for myself. Mainly, what sort of things I want to write.”

  “So what did you come up with?”

  “It’s actually kind of different. It’s about sex.”

  “Really?” Tom chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re just not the type, I guess,” he says, smiling.

  “Like you would know.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s just a departure from your normal writing, that’s all.”

  Tom is the only person who has ever read all of my writing. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, even as a little kid. I wrote a number of fan fiction stories when I was a teenager and was in love with Twilight and Harry Potter. But it wasn’t until Yale that I started to write more serious things. I devoured literary magazines with the zest of a starving woman and wrote stories that I thought would be a good fit there. Mostly, they were about mundane things – you know, the type in which not much happened – but it had all of this significance below the surface. Tom offered me a lot of good criticism and suggestions, but still none of them resulted in any publication, let alone any money.

  “It’s not just about sex. It’s a romance about a girl who falls for a hot, wealthy man,” I say.

  “A romance novel?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been reading a lot on my Kindle recently and I think that would be the best way to describe it.”

  “Seriously?” He laughs.

  “Listen, I know it’s not the highbrow that I worked on before. But those stories didn’t see the light of day. They took like a month of work for a two-thousand word story and for what? No one ever saw them, let alone read them, or paid any money for them. All I have to show for them is a pile of rejection slips.”

  “And you think this story has more potential?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s really in line with what I’ve read on Amazon. Besides, it’s kind of fun to write about sex. All those juicy details. It’s really indulgent.”

  “Okay,” Tom says, shaking his head and raising his eyebrows. “Hey, you don't need my permission, of course.”

  “No, I don’t,” I confirm. “What? What is it with that face?”

  “Nothing. I guess it’s my own bias, but I never thought that you would be the one reading, let alone, writing trashy romance novels.”

  “That’s kind of elitist, don’t you think? Even a bit prejudiced?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve never read a romance novel in your life. And you’re here making all kinds of statements about it and the people who read them. They’re just for fun. They’re an escape. A fantasy. They’re no different than fantasy novels or page-turning thrillers. And what’s it to you anyway, if I’m having a good time writing it?”

  Tom considers this for a moment and finally caves.

  “I guess you’re right. It’s your writing. You can write whatever you want.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “So, not to bring up money again, but are you going to live off Mitch again?” Tom asks after a moment. Oh, shit. Here’s the topic of money again. For someone who pretends not to care about money, it sure does creep into every conversation.

  “No, but why do you care?”

  “You won’t? Did you find some holy grail where you can write whatever you want and still pay your own bills?”

  “Listen, I’m going to tell you something, but promise that you won’t get mad, okay?” I say. He nods.

  “Well, last weekend, at the yacht party, I met someone,” I say. I choose my words carefully as I’m not entirely sure if I want to reveal everything that happened there. Not yet, anyway. Tom doesn’t say anything and just waits for me to continue.

  “They had this game there. Kind of like a sex game.”

  “What?!” he gasps.

  “Listen, everything is okay. It was fun actually. It was an auction. The girls were basically auctioned off for a night of…whatever. But you didn’t have to participate unless you wanted to. It was all in good fun.”

  As soon as the words escape my mouth, I immediately regret bringing any of it up at all. The look on Tom’s face says everything.

  “Wait, so let me get this straight. You auctioned yourself off to the highest bidder. Had sex with this creep all night and now you have enough money to not work and do whatever the hell you want?”

  “It was just a game, Tom. All in good fun. And he wasn’t a creep. Not at all.”

  “Any guy who would pay for a woman like that is a John, Ellie.”

  “You think that? And what does that make me then?” I ask.

  “Hey, I’m not afraid to say it.”

  “Are you calling me a whore? Are you seriously doing that right now?”

  “If the definition fits.”

  “Fuck you, Tom. Get the fuck out of my house! Now.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry.” Tom starts to walk back some of what he said. But I’m in no mood to listen to any of it.

  “I need you to leave,” I say, opening the front door and waiting for him to leave.

  Chapter 9 - Ellie

  When he calls again...

  I slam the door shut as soon as Tom leaves. I hate him for what he has said. Why does he have to be such an asshole? I know that he’s going through his own shit, but that doesn’t mean that he has to make me feel so bad. Suddenly, all the things that I should’ve said and could’ve said come to me. This is one of my main issues. When I get insulted, I often find myself at a loss for words. I’m so shocked by what the other person just said that I don’t respond at all. I did kick him out, but there is so much more that I should’ve said back to him. Like, ‘what about you? You act like you don't care about money but you’re marrying one of the richest women in New York?’ And, at least I like Aiden. What about you? You’re engaged and you’re out there trying to pick up your friend because deep down you can’t stand the sight of her.

  The ring of my phone breaks up my train of thought. I look at the screen. It’s Mr. Black. Again. This must be his seventh call since last night. I consider not taking it, but my finger presses the accept call button before I’m abl
e to stop myself.

  “Hello?”

  “Ellie? Is that you?” His voice is rushed, frantic even. Worried. This isn’t Mr. Black calling. This is the man behind the mystery. It’s Aiden.

  “What do you want, Aiden?” I ask.

  “I don’t know if you got all of my other messages, but I just wanted to apologize again. I’m sorry that I took you there. I honestly didn’t know it was going to be a problem. But I should’ve known.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly.

  “Can I make it up to you?”

  “Listen, Aiden, I can give you back your money.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about money.”

  “I just don’t think this whole lifestyle is for me. The yacht was fun, but I think it’s too much.”

  “I totally understand. We’re moving too fast.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever want to do that. I think we just want different things.”

  There’s a long pause on the other end.

  “Ellie, I just want to get to know you better. That’s all. That club was too much. I know that now. But can I just take you out on a normal date? Dinner? Nothing else? Just so we can get to know each other better.”

  “Just dinner?” I ask. “No strings attached. No Mr. Black?”

  “No, no Mr. Black. Just a dinner date with me, Aiden Black.”

  I think about this for a second. I definitely like the sound of that. Aiden and I have amazing sexual chemistry, but that night on the yacht just made me want to get to know him a bit better. Who is the real Aiden Black?

  “Okay,” I say after a moment. “Okay.”

  “Okay? Great. How about tomorrow night at seven? I’ll pick you up at your place.”

  “Wow, this is going to be a traditional date, huh?”

  “That’s exactly what I promised. And I keep my promises.”

  * * *

  The day passes in a blur as I try to figure out what I should wear. My wardrobe isn’t as big or diverse as Caroline’s, so I raid her closet. Like many friends and roommates, our closets tend to combine and become one except that my clothes tend to be a lot cheaper than hers. I try on three different little black dresses and four different heels. I’ve never been a fan of heels, but I can’t lie, I do love how they make my legs look. I try on a couple of pairs of skinny jeans and fancy blouses. I’m always much more comfortable in pants than I am in dresses, and with a nice flowing top, the jeans don’t look so pedestrian. Plus, they do make my butt look quite good.

  Finally, I settle on a pair of tight skinny jeans, four-inch pumps, and a bright red blouse that makes my breasts pop. Now, what the hell do I do with my hair? I look at my shoulder length straight straw-like tresses that tend to fall flat around my face. I washed it earlier today, and air dried it, which made some strands separate and curl in odd ways. I run a brush through it and get my straightener out. After applying some heat and curling the ends a bit to soften my look, I decide that I’m pretty much done with fussing about my hair. That’s the thing about straight blonde hair; if you don't do much with it, people think you’re going for the tossed beach look, which works for me.

  After applying some concealer and foundation, eyeliner and accentuating my brows with some eyebrow liner, I put on a coat of mascara. I look in the mirror. Yeah, this looks about right. Pretty, but not too dressed up. Just in case this whole thing blows up in my face, I didn’t put that much effort into looking like a million bucks. That has always been my motto about getting dressed up. I never want to be the most dressy person in the room. Unlike Caroline, who likes to take any opportunity to wear the fanciest of dresses, I’d rather look a little underdressed. I hate looking like I’m trying too hard. It’s my armor against the world - to always be a little bit of an underachiever.

  My doorbell rings precisely at seven. I press the buzzer and wait for him to come upstairs. Standing by the door, I start to shake. I’m petrified. We’re no longer playing games. This isn’t some mysterious stranger coming to see me. It’s Aiden, not Mr. Black. For some reason, the character of Mr. Black made me feel safe. With him, I felt like I was playing a role and he was playing a role and, as long as we played those roles, we couldn’t hurt each other. Not in any real way. Because the world was our stage and our relationship was just pretend. An elaborate play in which we had starring roles.

  I open the door when I hear his knock. My hands are ice-cold, and I’m shivering even though it’s pretty warm in the apartment.

  “Hey,” Aiden says softly, lowering his chin a little and letting the loose strands of his dark hair fall into his gorgeous almond-shaped eyes.

  “Hey,” I whisper back. I’m so nervous that my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

  “Are you ready?”

  I nod, grab my purse, and lock the door. While we wait for the elevator, Aiden reaches for my hand and squeezes it lightly. When I look up at him, he flashes a big beautiful smile. His skin is tan and his face is angular with a strong jaw and luscious pink lips. When he licks them, I get chills.

  “Not to bring up what happened again, but I just wanted to apologize again. In person,” he says. “I was out of line for taking you there.”

  “It’s okay,” I mumble and follow him into the elevator. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

  “You had every right to.”

  When we get downstairs, he leads me to his brand-new Tesla and opens the door for me. The interior is the most luxurious car I’ve ever been inside of. It smells like a new car and feels like one, too. As we pull away from the curb, I see people staring at us. You’d think that people in this part of Manhattan, and in Manhattan in general, would be used to seeing $125,000 cars driving around, but it still draws looks. The windows are tinted so I stare back at them without worrying about meeting their eyes.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” Aiden says, winking at me. He looks amazing behind the wheel. His perfectly tailored suit hugs every curve and muscle without riding up or making him a bit frumpy. For a moment, as we whiz down the somewhat empty streets completely impervious to the world that’s going on around us, I feel like we’re in a car commercial. Everything about him is perfect and I don't want to make a sound to break the magic of this moment.

  We turn onto Fifth Avenue and pull over to the steps of a building that I know very well. It’s the New York Public Library.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  This is a no-parking zone, but Aiden turns off the engine and gets out of the car. I look out of my window and see a bright red carpet going down the majestic steps, leading all the way to the car. Aiden gives me his hand to help me out of the car.

  “No, seriously,” I say. “What are we doing here? Do you have an overdue library book?”

  He smiles coyly. “We’re having dinner here.”

  “Here?” I ask as he leads me up the red carpet and to the top of the marble stairs. He leads me past the two massive stone lions, dubbed Patience and Fortitude by the former mayor of New York, Fiorello La Guardia. They guard the main portal as if they are doing it with their lives.

  “This is my favorite place in New York,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I’ve always loved libraries and this one…it just takes the cake. I’ve been here a million times before. Spent countless hours in the stacks and the reading room, especially when I was going through something hard.”

  “Well, it’s one of my favorite places, too,” he says, much to my own surprise. I didn’t think that a CEO of a tech company would have much time to read for pleasure. “It’s beautiful and majestic, isn’t it? That’s why I wanted to take you here.”

  “I had no idea,” I whisper.

  “The Rose Main Reading Room is one of my favorite places to go to get away from it all,” Aiden says, squeezing my hand.

  “Is that where we’re headed now?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “No, I have a little surprise for
you.”

  I walk beside him as he leads me to the Celeste Bartos Forum, which is covered entirely by elegant flower displays. I don't know anything about flowers or the different types of flowers, but the room looks like it has been set up for a wedding. It has beautiful light pink and purple lighting around the accents of the room, drawing attention to the thirty-foot-high glass saucer domestic ceiling.

  “This is beautiful,” I whisper. In the middle of the sixty four hundred square foot space sits a large table with a setting for two.

  “I feel like we’re crashing someone’s party,” I say.

  “We’re not. This is all for us,” Aiden says.

  I shake my head. I feel a pang in my chest and I know that a stream of tears is not far behind. I take a deep breath and try to keep them at bay.

  “Are you okay?” Aiden looks me straight in my eyes.

  “No. I mean yes. I’ve just never had anyone do anything like this for me before.”

  “I wanted our date to be special,” he says.

  “I thought we were going to go to some fancy restaurant, I didn’t think you were going to book the New York Public Library for Christ’s sake.”

  “If you don't like this, we can go somewhere else,” he says quickly.

  “No, you don't understand. This is…this is more than anyone else has ever done for me. It’s beautiful. It’s just…so much. I feel like I’m underdressed.”

  Aiden looks me up and down and shakes his head.

  “No, you’re perfect. You are the most beautiful woman in the world right now.”

  My cheeks get hot from embarrassment and I have to look away. He takes my hand and leads me to the table. He pulls the chair away for me and then slides it under. When he positions himself across from me, I watch as the candles dance in his deep eyes and I lose myself in the moment.

  The waiter, dressed in an impeccable white tux, comes over with a towel across his arm. I never knew what they were for, except to make them look very official. He asks us what we would like to drink and Aiden orders a bottle of wine for us. I don't know much about wine, but the waiter seems impressed by his choice.