by Whitney G.
I unlocked the door and hit the lights, exhaling. Then I turned around and saw him sitting at my desk, grinning.
I don’t have to explain myself to you...
I set the box of posters on my cabinet and started organizing my files, acting like he wasn’t in the room. As I was alphabetizing my associates’ letters, I felt him wrapping his arms around me.
“You lied to me.” He sounded amused.
“So?”
He loosened his grip and spun me around. “So?”
“Yes...So?”
He looked at me for a long time, letting his eyes roam over my body. He took several steps towards me, backing me against the wall.
“I’m going to make you regret that when you least expect it.” He kissed my lips. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Don’t call him....Don’t call him...
It was midnight. I was lying in bed, counting the number of cracks in my ceiling, trying to keep my mind off Jonathan.
I’d tried my best to resist liking him, but I couldn’t help it. We’d been having sex for almost two months, talking on the phone every now and then, and texting each other at work. Yet, it wasn’t those things that made my heart flutter; it was the small intimate things he did.
Since I refused to eat lunch with him, he had whatever I wanted delivered to my office and called me during my break so that we could “technically” eat lunch together.
He insisted on kissing me before and after sex—not the hungry, savage, ‘devouring-you-right-now’ kisses; the sensual, open-mouthed, ‘I-can’t-get-enough-of-you’ kisses. He called me “beautiful” every chance he could, and he always asked me out on a date, even though I turned him down every time.
I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that our affair would last, it was only temporary—a meaningless fling. It was only a matter of time before a younger woman, a woman who would immediately say yes to going out with him, would catch his eye.
I couldn’t deny that I was enjoying the newfound attention and the undeniable ego boost, but I was hoping he would find someone else soon. I needed to come back to my senses and stop behaving like some sex-crazed teenager.
Stop thinking about him, Claire. Stop thinking about—
My phone rang. Him.
I didn’t let it ring more than once before answering it. “Hello?”
“Hello, Claire. You’re up late tonight.”
“I have to be. I’m in the middle of doing some very important—”
“You’re in bed aren’t you?”
Ugh. “Yes...”
He laughed. “And the lies just keep coming, don’t they? Don’t even think I’ve forgotten about your first lie. I’m still going to get you back for that.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m still at the office. I think I’m going to have to spend the night here. It’s been a busy week and I can’t keep up with all the paperwork.”
“More contracts?”
“Exactly. When a company’s about to go public, everyone wants to jump on the bandwagon. It’s a good thing for us economically, but it’s extremely stressful.”
“I can’t imagine...I’m sure you’ll—”
“You should come over.”
“What? I don’t think so. This afternoon was more than enough. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“We don’t have to have sex, Claire. We can just talk.”
“Talk?”
“Yes. What we’re doing right now, except in person.”
“Um...No thanks. That’s a forty minute drive for me so—”
“My driver is outside your house with a town car.”
What!
I jumped out of bed and peered through my blinds. Sure enough, there was a driver standing in front of a black luxury car.
“What’s your next excuse? And don’t say your daughters because you told me last week that they drive themselves to work on the weekends.”
“I...”
“You know you want to come—no pun intended.”
Damnit...“I’ll have to think about it for a while and get back to you.”
“See you soon.” He laughed and hung up.
I rushed into my bathroom and brushed a light layer of foundation on my face. I threw on a pair of black slacks and a purple blouse and headed outside.
“Good evening, Miss Gracen.” The driver greeted me as I approached the car.
His driver knows my name?
“Good evening. Thank you for the ride...”
“Anything for Mr. Statham,” he said as he shut my door.
As the car sped through the city, I realized how beautiful San Francisco was at night—all the lights from the downtown skyline were shining brightly and most of the streets were clear.
The car came to a stop forty minutes later and I heard the driver say, “We’ve arrived Mr. Statham...Yes, of course.”
He stepped out of the car and walked around to my door. “This way, Miss Gracen.” Holding out his arm, he walked me into the basement of Statham Industries. He led me over to the private elevator and hit “JS.”
As we rode to the top floor, he kept his eyes forward and I could see him slightly smiling.
When the doors slid open, Jonathan was standing in front of me wearing a muscle shirt and work-out pants. It looked like he’d just taken a shower; his hair was still wet and I could see small damp traces on his shirt.
Why does he always look so good?
“Thank you, Greg.” Jonathan reached for my hand and walked me into his office. “Would you like something to drink, Claire?”
“No thank you...Is your driver always at your beck and call?”
“Several people are always at my beck and call.” He smiled. “I would’ve come with him to pick you up, but I promised we wouldn’t have sex, so I thought staying here was the better decision.”
“You honestly think I would’ve had sex with you while your driver was in the car with us?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me and smirked.
“Come with me. I’m doing my work in here.” He motioned for me to follow him through three different doors, into an elegant living room that looked like it belonged in a mansion—not a corporate office.
“This is a well-designed room...”
“A rare compliment. I’ll have to type that up and get it framed.” He looked over my clothes. “Is that what you normally wear to sleep?”
“Why does it matter? I’m not here to spend the night. I’m just here to—”
“Wait here.” He disappeared into a side room and came back minutes later. “You can wear these.” He handed me a pair of red flannel pants and a black muscle shirt.
“You keep a stash of clothes for all your sleepovers with female employees?”
“Claire, Claire, Claire...” He sighed. “Number one, they’re my pajamas and I’ve never shared them with anyone before. Number two, you are my first sleepover guest at corporate. Period. And number three, I told you that we weren’t going to have sex tonight, but if you keep up your sarcasm, you’ll be bent over my desk in a matter of seconds.”
I bit my lip to prevent myself from smiling. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall and to the right.”
I walked away and locked myself into the most opulent bathroom I’d ever seen. It was huge: There was a marbled Jacuzzi in the corner, a glass shower that took up half the room, and double sinks with shiny golden fixtures that reflected against the wall length mirrors.
When I stepped back into the living room, the couch had been transformed into a bed and Jonathan was tossing pillows onto it.
“Do you stay late often?” I asked.
“I try not to. I prefer to be at home, but days like this force me to every now and then.”
“Interesting...Can your driver take me back home in an hour?”
He rolled his eyes. “Get in the bed, Claire.”
“Not until you answer me.” I mocked his v
oice. “Or are you the only one who doesn’t have to answer questions?”
He walked over and scooped me into his arms. “Exactly,” he said as he tossed me onto the bed. “The remote is on the coffee table to your left. I’m going to read the rest of this document and then I’ll join you.”
I wasn’t sure why my heart started dancing at his last words—‘I’ll join you’—but I didn’t try to stop it this time. I watched him walk over to his desk and pick up a folder; he was soon lost in whatever he was reading.
I flipped through the channels and settled on a home renovation show. The hosts were gutting a fifties’ style galley kitchen and transforming it into a more modern one—complete with an island, a breakfast bar, and granite countertops.
While I admired their effort, I hated that they were taking so much of the home’s original character away; they could’ve at least saved the cabinets and refurbished them.
“This is the best show you could find?” Jonathan slid into bed facing me.
“I love these shows. Those designers are living my dream.”
“So why are you working here? Why not quit and pursue what you really want to do?”
“Do you know what the word ‘debt’ means?”
He pulled me close. “I wasn’t always rich...I’m just wondering why you’ve been in marketing so long if it isn’t what you really want to do.”
“My dreams had to be put on hold once I had kids...It wasn’t about me anymore. I had to do what was best for them. And I—”
Do not do this...Do not open up...This is not what you want...
“I just had to do what was best for them.” I sighed. “Do you have any children? Siblings?”
“I think you would know if I had kids by now...” He sounded confused. “I do have a little sister though.”
“Oh...I had a sister once. Does your sister work here with you?”
“No, she’s in grad school in Memphis.” He pulled me even closer so that I was nuzzled against his chest. “Were you sleeping when I called you earlier?”
“What do you mean, ‘was I sleeping’?”
“Were you sleeping or were you thinking about something?”
“Yes. I was thinking about sleeping.”
He laughed. “What time do you have to get up in the morning?”
“Eight...Are we really about to go to sleep together? You’re not going to try to do anything?”
He stared at me for several seconds, looking like he wanted to say something, something witty. Instead he planted a soft kiss on my lips and turned off the lights.
He rolled me over so my back was against his chest, and then he held me in his arms.
I woke up entwined in Jonathan’s arms and noticed that he was watching me.
“Morning.” He smiled.
“Morning. What time is it?”
“Seven. Would you like to get breakfast together or have some delivered before you leave?”
“No thank you.” I slid out of his arms and sat up. “I have a bunch of errands to run so I’ll get a head start on those.”
“Of course. Are you going to Mr. Barnes’ Zen session tonight?”
“On a Saturday? Never. My mom claims that she has a surprise for me so we’re probably going to the opera together. That’s what all her surprises are, and I’m sure she’ll want to get there two hours early.”
“Why would she want to do that? They don’t open the theatre until an hour before the show.”
“Don’t ask. She’s the eccentric type.”
He smiled and tilted his head to the side. “Should I give up on getting you to willingly go out with me?”
“Probably.” I tried not to smile and headed for the bathroom.
I managed to get out of the salon early, finish grocery shopping, balance my checkbook, sift through a few campaign documents, and stop by my daughters’ cheerleading car wash—all before six in the afternoon.
As soon as I was home, I searched through my closet for an outfit to wear tonight. My mom always suggested that I dress “for the Oscars” when we went to the opera, just in case the city newspaper decided to run our photo the next day.
I decided to wear my favorite black and silver evening dress. It was long, strapless and perfectly hugged my hips. There was also a fairly deep slit on the left side, a perfect complement to the open-toed shoes I planned to wear.
I carefully brushed on my makeup and ran my fingers through my curls. I secured the glittery diamond bracelet Jonathan had given to me for my birthday onto my wrist, and rushed out of my house.
“Mom! Mom! I’m here!” I stepped inside her house and shouted up the steps. “We have to leave in the next twenty minutes if you want to—” I noticed a blond-haired man standing in the middle of the room. “Who are you?”
“Wow...” He looked me over. “I’m Michael Clarkson. I’m—”
“He’s your date for tonight!” My mom turned the corner. “Remember? Michael, you can wait in the living room. I need to talk to Claire for a second.”
I didn’t bother waiting for him to step away. I grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into the kitchen. “Mom, what’s going on? I thought we were going to the opera. I never agreed to—”
“Surprise! See? I am capable of being spontaneous,” she said. “The girls told me how you’ve been working so many late hours over the past couple months, so I thought this would be a good way to get you out.”
Jesus...
“Mother, last time I checked, I was an adult. I don’t need you intervening in my life and I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do. You deserve to find someone else, someone who will treat you right. I liked Ryan a lot, but you can do much better. It’s never too late to find love again, and I don’t want you to end up alone...like me...”
I rolled my eyes at her not-so-subtle sympathy plea. “Who is he?”
“He’s my doctor—my gynecologist actually.”
“What!”
“Don’t worry. It’s not what you think. He’s not my direct doctor. He actually owns the practice, so for the most part he just analyzes the bacterial slides and—”
“Thank you. I’ve heard enough. You were at your doctor’s office and you told him you had a sad and depressed daughter who needed a new man in her life?”
“No, I didn’t tell him any of that. I just said you should get to know my daughter. She’s beautiful and charming. That’s all it took...He’s forty five, doesn’t have any kids, has a few investment properties on the East Coast, and he’s a doctor. Enough said. You should get to know him.”
“I can’t believe this...”
“Believe it!” She pulled me back into the living room. “Michael, Claire, you two go and have a great night together,” she said, smiling at the two of us. “I’m sure you have a lot to talk about so...” She darted her eyes towards the front door.
“Have a good evening, Miss Gracen.” Michael gave her a hug and reached for my hand. “Are you ready?”
I buckled myself into Michael’s Mercedes and noticed that his name was engraved on the dashboard’s wood paneling.
He revved up the car and smiled. “I think your mom calling you ‘beautiful’ may be the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard.”
I smiled and leaned back in the seat, stealing a glance of him whenever I had the chance. He was strikingly handsome—sexy actually. His honey colored hair was gleaming in the sunlight and his big brown eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he turned to look at me.
From the way his black suit fit his body, I could tell that he worked out, that he kept himself in excellent shape.
Yet, despite his good looks and radiating charm, I didn’t feel any sparks between us. Then again, I’d just met him.
We didn’t talk much on the ride over, except for commenting on whatever song was playing on the radio. The long stretches of silence were quite awkward—even more awkward whenever our eyes met and we both clumsily smiled and turned away.
The waiter set two gl
asses of white wine on the table and walked away.
“So...” Michael looked at me. “What do you do for a living, Claire?”
“I work at Statham Industries as a marketing director.”
“Do you like it?”
“No, but it pays the bills. I’m stuck there until I find something else. You’re a doctor, right?”
“I am.” He smiled. “I used to work at the children’s hospital downtown, but I decided to return to my original specialty and work for myself.”
“You don’t miss the kids?”
“Sometimes. I don’t miss the crying though.” He laughed and took a sip of his wine.
I picked up a knife and started to slice a piece of bread, but I underestimated its hardness and cut the top of my hand.
Ugh...“This is going to sound so cliché...” I sighed. “But do you happen to carry Band-Aids with you?”
Laughing, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and thumbed through it. “You don’t mind Batman do you? I still carry the kid ones around; it’s an old habit.”
“No, that’s perfectly fine.”
“Here,” he said as he reached for my hand. “Let me see.”
As he was holding my hand and putting on the Band-Aid, I felt my skin tingling and my heart somersaulting in my chest. But it wasn’t because of Michael’s touch, or the soft kiss he was now placing on my wrist; I only felt those type of feelings when Jonathan was around, when I could sense him watching me.
I looked up and saw him standing at a table five spaces over. He was dressed in a black tuxedo and all the other people at his table were dressed in light blue suits with “sPhone launch” etched across the back.
Our eyes met and I felt that electrical spark I’d never felt with anyone else, that passionate jolt that took a hold of me and wouldn’t let go.
He raised his eyebrow as he sat down at his table, looking back and forth between me and Michael.
“Claire?” Michael rubbed my hand and forced me to turn away. “Claire?”
“I’m so sorry. What were you saying?”
“I’m all done with your Band-Aid.” He released my hand. “What do you like to do when you’re not working?”
Have sex with Jonathan Statham... “I like to watch movies, run, and—”
“You run? How often?”
“A least five times a week in the morning. Four, if it’s a really hectic week.”
