by Tara Brent
“No no, it’s nice to see more of that mortality shine through that shell,” she said. “That said, I think that I may be done for the evening. I’m quite tired, and I have a meeting in the morning.”
“Oh? Who with?”
“With you, Mr. Cooper.”
He blinked, surprised. “Really? Ah… I really need to pay more attention to my calendar.”
“You really do. Have a lovely evening.”
“Sleep well, Ms. MacTaggart.”
“And you.” She stood up, purse in hand, and turned for the door. Suddenly, she made an about-face. “You still owe me for the dress,” she said.
“I’ll sign a check when I meet you tomorrow,” he said.
“Of course you will. And one last thing,” she added, her voice suddenly sharpening along with her facial expression.
Easton was nervous. “And what’s that?”
She smiled warmly. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.” And with that, she was gone.
Chapter 6
Easton and Alex sat across from one another in his office.
“Well,” she said.
“Here we are,” he said.
“I’m not sure if you’ve successfully proven to me that you’re not an asshole yet,” she remarked.
“That may be true,” he conceded.
“So then where do we go from here?” she asked.
Easton shrugged. “Last time, I slid a piece of paper across the table for you to write your price on. I think I may do that again, with your permission.”
She cocked her head to one side. “That wasn’t a great look for you last time you did that. Sure you want to repeat it?”
“Context is everything. Last time I did that, I was deliberately being a prick. For which I sincerely apologize. Now, I’m doing it as an olive branch.”
She grimaced, then sighed. “Okay, Easton. Slide that paper on down.” He did. “May I borrow a pen?” He lent her one. She paused a moment tapping her lips with the pen to make a show of thinking it over (of course, she had long since already decided on the price with which she was going to negotiate), scribbled down her number, and slid it back his way.
He looked down at it. Whether he was amused or bemused was beyond her, but she waited patiently. He took out a red pen.
“Really?” she said. “You’re going to correct my answer like I’m in grammar school?”
He ignored her, crossing out her offer, scribbling down his, and sliding it back.
She scoffed. “You know I really thought my first instincts were off and that you weren’t such an—”
“Just read it,” he replied calmly, smiling softly.
Confused, she did so. She stared at the paper for another few seconds before saying “Did… they not teach you how to negotiate?”
“‘They’ barely taught me anything. I’m surprisingly resourceful all on my own,” he said.
“Well then maybe they should have. Because the number you just wrote down is higher than the one I wrote down.”
He grinned. “What can I say? Your store deserves it. You deserve it.”
“I mean sure yeah but even so,” her voice trailed off. Finally, she smiled. “You’re really something else, Easton Cooper. Offer accepted.
They both stood and shook hands. “Look at us,” she said, beaming. “I mean, look at you. You managed to convince me that not only are you worth my time, but that you think I am worth yours. Color me shocked, Easton Cooper, I thought this deal was going to go up in flames.”
“I’ve been known to pleasantly surprise. And speaking of you being worth my time, I was about to invite you to take the rest of the day off to spend with me, but that intrinsically implies that I think you hangin’ around a bum like me is more important than you finishing out your workday. I’m sure you have a lot on your plate. But would you perhaps like to join me this evening?”
Her already solar grin split wider still, revealing her porcelain teeth. “Actually, I think I can afford to take off the rest of the afternoon.” She leaned in close. “And potentially part of the morning as well, depending on exactly how worth my time you actually are.”
Easton was pretty sure he experienced his first ever heart palpitations upon hearing this, but his only outward reaction was a cocky smirk. “Who says I want to spend the night with you?”
Alex’s eyes dropped down. “Well, either you want to spend the night with me or you tried to sneak an especially robust cucumber into work. Why you’d have to hide it down the front of your pants is beyond me.”
Easton quickly sat down. “Right then, so, lunch?”
“Make it elegant,” she instructed. “And oh, I don’t think that scribbling on a piece of paper constitutes a sale. Shall we make it official?”
“Yes, let’s,” replied Easton.
Later on, when they took their leave, giddy like teens on a first date, Nancy glared daggers after them.
***
Lunch was, as requested, quite elegant; their afternoon walk was long and lovely, full of laughter and hand-holding; dinner was exquisite, and the subsequent dessert and accompanying cocktails were divine. But the whole while, their eyes were telling a very different story, distracted entirely from their wonderful day and hungrily looking forward to their night together.
As Easton paid their final bill, she leaned in, taking his hand, and asked: “Your place or mine?”
“Definitely mine,” he replied evenly, his gaze sharp yet warm.
“Definitely huh? Why, are you planning on taking me to your sex dungeon?”
“Why does everyone think I have a sex dungeon??”
“Are you saying you don’t have a sex dungeon?”
“Correct! Jesus.”
“That’s almost disappointing,” she said.
“Hey it’s not like you have a sex dungeon,” he pointed out.
“And how would you know that?” she demanded
He rolled his eyes. “Well fine, if you really want a sex dungeon I could have plans drawn up tomorrow.”
“So compliant,” she teased. “And I thought you were supposed to be this domineering badass when it came to women. Are you going to leave me disappointed?”
“I certainly hope not,” he chuckled. “Though you don’t seem to be much of a submissive.”
“Oh, I’m not—not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she said. “I’m definitely dominant. The thing is, though, I want to be out-dominated. I will not make it easy for you. Think you’re up to the challenge?”
Easton stood and straightened his tie. “Only one way to know for sure.” He extended his hand for her to take. Smiling, she took it and stood.
***
“So this is Chateau de Cooper,” she mused, as they arrived at his home in mild awe. “How very Frank Lloyd Wright of you.”
“You have quite the eye,” he said. “my direction to the architect was to blend the styles of Frank Lloyd Wright and Ludwig Mies Van Der Rohe while also keeping it very, well, me,” he explained.
“Well the architect must have been good at listening because he really nailed it,” she said.
“‘She,’” corrected Easton. “She really nailed it.”
Alex blushed. “I feel so foolish,” she said, “making a mistake like that after all the crap I gave you for seemingly jumping to conclusions about me based on my gender.”
“No one’s perfect,” said Easton.
Alex snorted. “Oh? I’ll bet there’s at least one person a pompous narcissist like you thinks is perfect,” she teased.
He considered her comment for a moment. Finally, he said, “Yes, there is somebody I find perfect.” With that, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was simple but long, and then they broke off. Her eyes opened first, closely followed by his, and so then she grabbed his head and pulled him in toward her, kissing him hard, their tongues dancing in each other’s mouths.
Somehow throughout their kissing, they made it inside the house. Easton barely mana
ged to slam the door and they found themselves on the couch, hands exploring one another’s bodies.
“Easy cowboy,” she said, grasping his wrist and moving his hand up her back in opposition to the direction he was guiding it. “One thing at a time.”
Though mildly disappointed, he smirked and said, “I actually agree. I have a surprise for you. Come with me.”
Rising from the couch, he took her hand and led her into the guest bedroom. Hanging before her, all in a row, her half a dozen dresses, one each of every color. “Following the color wheel,” he said, “This red one is designed by Zac Posen; the orange by Versace; the yellow—to replace the yellow one I ruined, apologies again—by Giambattista Valli; the green by Mary Katrantzou, the blue by Roland Mouret, and finally the violet by Zuhair Murad.” He smiled, giving a half-bow. “Do you like?”
“What, no black? No white?” she teased, but her voice quavered, betraying how impressed she was by the gesture.
“Black dresses are for funerals, and white dresses are for weddings. As both involve going to church and I have rather unholy plans in store for you this evening, I felt better to stick to the rainbow.”
“Well don’t forget that God created the rainbow as a sign of friendship toward humankind and as a promise that he would never flood the earth again. So you got stuck with a religious metaphor nonetheless.”
“Perhaps, but then people like my brother hijacked the symbol, and now the overly-righteous see it as a sign of heresy,” sighed Easton.
“Your brother?” Inquired Alex.
“Oh he’s queer,” said Easton. “Forgot you only met him the one time.”
“Ah, so that’s why I have to settle for the jerky brother instead,” she taunted.
“I said queer, not gay,” pointed out Easton. “Trust me, back in the day, he brought home more girls than I did by a long shot. “He loves everybody.” Easton’s voice cracked slightly at this, but his face remained happy, so Alex took note.
“So, is he bisexual?”
“Huh? I thought bisexuality was just a lie I made up to convince straight girls to have threesomes with me.”
“Oh god you’re terrible!” cracked Alex. “Why am I even here?”
“Hey I’m not going to pretend to be someone other than who you know I am,” Easton said evenly. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve met someone who I wanted to spend more than an evening with.” He placed his hand on the small of her back. “Until you stormed out of my office, that is.”
“Typical spoiled white boy, so desperate for that which he cannot have.”
“Maybe,” he replied, nodding, “but you know you enchanted me.”
“I do know that,” she said idly. A silence permeated between them for a moment. They settled into the quiet, not uncomfortably, and when Alex broke the silence, it was not to dissolve any awkwardness, but rather to clarify: “So wait, are all of these dresses mine? Or am I supposed to pick one out?”
Easton laughed. “They’re yours to do with as you please.”
“In that case,” she said, “allow me to try one on. Perhaps the Giambattista Valli on account of your having spilled red wine on my other yellow one.”
Easton sat in a leather chair in the corner of the room. “I would love that.”
Alex smiled seductively and approached Easton. “Howzabout you unzip me, rich boy?” she said, turning her back to him, her magnificent backside level with his eyes.
Feeling himself growing stiff inside his pants, Easton faked casual. “Of course, my dear,” he said, unzipping her dress with his middle finger and thumb, allowing him to use his index finger to trace down the length of her spine. She wore Agent Provocateur black lingerie. As she slid the rest of the way out of her dress, Easton saw that what he initially mistook to be lacy panties was, in reality, an exceptionally flimsy thong; the pressure in his pants intensified.
“Look, don’t touch,” cooed Alex before he could react. She smirked at the disappointment he tried and failed to hide. “At least for now,” she whispered in his ear, pleased by how leaning forward and revealing more of her cleavage to his eyes, both of which seemed to want to pop out of his skull. She sashayed over to the dresses, every step screaming You’d best be hungry for this fine ass! to him.
She gingerly fitted the dress onto herself, but then paused. “Based on how its cut, I’m actually better off without a bra,” she murmured aloud. This time Easton was sure; his heart definitely did skip a beat. She reached behind her back, unclasped her bra, and let it fall to the floor, letting her bare back face Easton. She did not turn, teasing him by only allowing him glimpses of the curved edges of her breasts as she finished putting on the dress. She spun around, finally facing him. “So? What do you think?”
“Breathtaking,” he whispered.
“Why thank you,” she said confidently. And with that, she scooted her thong down and placing them inside her purse, which she slung over her shoulder. “Much more comfortable,” she declared. “Now: lead me to the bedroom.”
“Yes ma’am,” Easton responded, his eyes sparkling with eager confidence. He extended his arm for her to take. She acquiesced, and he led her down the hall.
“The master bedroom,” he said, bowing for her to enter.
“Smaller than I would have imagined,” she observed.
“I have the rest of the house for space,” he said.
“Fair enough. My goodness, this television takes up nearly the entire wall!”
“That’s the small one,” he said. “Perhaps I can show you the big one later.”
She glanced down at his pants, smirking. “I don’t think seeing ‘the big one’ is going to be a problem tonight,” she said. She gasped, noticing a painting on his wall. “Is that…?”
“Yup,” he said. “Genuine Pollock. ‘Number 16.’ Bought it for over 32.6 million last year.”
She whistled. “Even for you, that feels like a lot to spend on something that, let’s face it, looks like it could have been made by mistake by my niece.”
“I understand that sentiment,” Easton said solemnly. “But while that may be true, the reality is that neither your niece nor your nor I nor Rembrandt nor Van Gogh nor anybody else did create it. And it is perfectly unique. An expert contemporary painter can replicate a Vermeer with such precision that only the most deft eyes could tell the difference, and then, even with a bit of luck. Not only that, but it isn’t a painting of anything. If you paint a flower, or a fruit basket, or a landscape, or a person, it is true that you may capture something not as evident in its lifelike counterpart, but likewise, you can never capture what makes it alive and real, either. But this? Virtually impossible to replicate and perfectly unique, with no ‘real-world’ counterpart to haunt its very existence.”
“That was surprisingly beautiful,” said Alex.
“It’s easy to speak beautifully when the truth is what’s spoken,” he said.
She sat on his bed. “Take your clothes off,” she said.
Smiling, he began to undo his tie.
“Stop!” she commanded, standing again. “Let me.”
On her feet, she pulled his blazer off, tossing it to the side and beginning to kiss his neck from behind while reaching around his chest to loosen his tie. “Is this shirt expensive?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“Good,” she said, pulling it open and sending buttons flying everywhere.
“You know, I happened to like that shirt,” he laughed.
She ignored him, turning him around to face her. She dragged her nails down his moderately hairy chest and traced one finger over his well-defined abs. “I suppose you could afford a personal trainer?” she asked.
“And a personal nutritionist,” he said.
“Your money is well-spent,” she said, dropping to her knees and undoing his belt. “My oh my, you really are happy to see me,” she said, caressing his bulge with a mix of care and aggression. Easton closed his eyes and exhaled, warmth rushing through
his body.
She abruptly stopped. “Um, Easton?” she said.
“Yeah?” he said, slightly bummed that she stopped.
“We have a visitor.”
“What…?—oh.” he shook his head, grimacing. His cat was curled up and purring on his discarded blazer.
“Dawwww he’s a cutie! Or she, whichever,” said Alex.
“She,” said Easton. “You can tell from her calico coat.”
“Oh right! I knew that actually… forgot that male cats can’t be multicolored,” she said.
“They actually can have calico coats, it’s just exceptionally rare,” said Easton. “Like, less than half of a percent.”
“Well she’s gorgeous,” she said, abandoning Easton and Easton’s throbbing erection to go pet the cat. Easton blinked in disbelief.
“Right… well, she’s persnickety, maybe leave her alone and come back here…?”
“Look at you!” Alex squealed to the cat, who purred louder than ever at the attention she received. “Let’s not listen to him,” she whispered to the feline. “He’s just afraid that his pussy is cockblocking him from my pussy.”
Easton was becoming annoyed. “Alex…?”
“Yeah get the rest of your clothes off, but leave the boxer briefs,” she said, not looking up. “What’s her name?”
“Catarina,” said Easton, feeling emasculated as he removed his pants.
“Wait, did you name her Catarina because she’s a cat? Like, CAT-arina?” Alex asked.
“No, that was just a happy coincidence,” he said. “Catarina was my late nanny, and she did more to raise me than either of my biological parents ever did.”
“That’s sweet,” said Alex. “I’ll talk to you again soon, Catarina!” She turned back to Easton. “Don’t suppose you mind if she hangs around?”
“Don’t worry, she’s seen weirder and still doesn’t judge me any more than she would anyway,” assured Easton.
Alex laughed. “Lay on the bed starfish-style,” she commanded.
“I thought you wanted me to dominate you,” pointed out Easton.
