by Whitney G.
When we finally pulled away to catch a breath, we simply stared at one another in silence, smiling. Then I pulled her on top of me.
“What are you thinking about?” I looked into her eyes.
“You...How do you think Claire ‘Gracen-Statham’ sounds?”
“Like it’ll never happen.” I narrowed my eyes. “It’s an all or nothing deal.”
“Is your jealousy included in the package?”
“It’s the best part.”
“Hmmm...” She smiled. “How many days do I need to set aside for negotiations and paperwork?”
“Paperwork?”
“Yeah...” She lowered her voice. “I’m not silly enough to believe that you won’t draft a pre-nup for this. I mean, I’m sure you wouldn’t rake me over the coals if you and I didn’t work out, but—”
“Stop.” I pressed my finger against her mouth. “There is no pre-nup. And there won’t be one. Ever.”
She gasped.
“This is forever, Claire. Do you understand? It’s you and me, together forever, until the very end.” I kissed her lips. “Would you like a wedding?”
She nodded.
“A big one?”
She nodded again.
“Okay.” I smiled. “We can plan that the second we get back. In the meantime...” I slipped my hands underneath her dress and untied the strings of her bikini top. “I’d like to explore the future Mrs. Statham right now.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you over and over that sand and sex don’t go together.”
“I remember you saying that...” I ripped off the bottom of her swimsuit. “But I’d like to find out for myself.”
LOVING THE BOSS
Whitney G.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Jonathan
Claire drives me insane...
I’m sitting next to her at Timeless Weddings, Inc.—an event planning firm, listening to her ask the director a list of never-ending questions: “How many people do you have on your staff?” “How confident are you about finding us the perfect venue?” “What’s the highest budget you’ve ever worked with?”
Even though it looks like I’m paying attention to everything the director says—casually glancing up and making eye contact every now and then, my attention is definitely elsewhere. The only thing I can think about is the woman at my side and how, although she is undoubtedly the love of my life and the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, she never ceases to find new ways to frustrate the shit out of me.
I’ve given her three months to marry me and in the past five days she’s managed to schedule us for twenty three catering interviews, forty wedding venue showings, and sixteen cake testing appointments. She’s turned my parlor room into a hoarding cell for hundreds of bridal magazines and fabric swatches, and every day when she gets home she insists on showing me the newest wedding ideas she’s found on Pinterest and YouTube.
“What do you think about that, Jonathan?” Claire interrupts my thoughts.
“What do I think about what?”
“Having a celebrity singer at the wedding and the reception. Two different ones...Would that cost too much? ”
“We can have whatever you want, Claire.” I hold back a sigh, and she smiles.
I’ve told her over and over how I don’t need—much less want a damn wedding, but I know it’ll make her happy so I’m willing to spend however much it costs.
“It was a pleasure having you two here today, Mr. Statham and Miss Gracen.” The director stands up and shakes our hands. “I hope to be chosen as the director of your wedding.”
Claire says a few more words to the woman and then the two of us leave the room hand in hand.
“Is this the last meeting for today, or do we need to meet with every wedding firm in the city before you make up your mind?”
She smiles. “There’s two more and then we’re done. Oh, and don’t forget about our pre-marital counseling session. I scheduled it for tomorrow morning at nine.”
Marriage counseling. That’s another thing she’s doing, another thing that’s completely unnecessary. Outside of her testing my nerves every so often, we don’t have any serious problems and we don’t need any counseling.
As a matter of fact, I’m going to make her cancel those appointments. Marriage counseling is for couples with trust issues, couples who lack intimacy and have problems connecting. As soon as we get back into my car, I’m going to show her just how well we connect. Literally.
Chapter 1
Claire
“We don’t need pre-marital counseling, Claire.” Jonathan looked over at me as the elevator doors closed. “This is a waste of time.”
“I didn’t say we needed it. I said we should try it—to make sure we both have honest expectations about being married.”
“And what expectations are those?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.” I’d told him I wanted to attend a few sessions before we got married—something Ryan and I didn’t do, just to make sure we were on the same page about a few things. Of course, he was one hundred percent against the idea, but after I told him it would make me happy, he slowly gave in.
We were scheduled for a two hour session with the top counseling firm in San Francisco—Waldo and Emerson Associates. The doctors assured me that it would be a light and easy process and that Jonathan and I would come out of it feeling closer than before.
As our elevator came to a stop and the doors glided open, I realized that there was nothing ahead of us. There was no secretary’s desk, no sign that read “Waldo & Emerson,” nor was there anything that resembled any sort of professional counseling business. Instead, the entire floor was covered in white sand, the few clear columns that stood ten feet apart were filled with colorful fish, and there were three beige beanbags that surrounded a small makeshift fire-pit.
Before I could accuse Jonathan of tampering with our session, a man dressed in an all-white tunic stepped in front of us.
“Ahhhh,” he said, smiling. “The future Mr. and Mrs. Statham. Welcome to Waldo pre-marital counseling. I’m Dr. Choate and I’ll be assisting you through the first stage of unity today.”
“Wait a minute. I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “We’re supposed to be meeting a Dr. Clinton. Is this the wrong floor?”
“No. You’re in the right place. This is it.”
“Then where is Dr. Clinton?”
“He retired last week. He didn’t send you an email?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, well sorry about that. The company decided to hire me in his place the same day that he left. After all my success with the Zen rituals at Statham Industries, they thought I was the best choice.” He extended his hand to Jonathan. “That’s why it’s an absolute honor to share my new and exclusive Zen practices with the man who made me a household name.”
Oh god...
He instructed us to take off our shoes and led us over to the bean bags.
“So...” He put on a pair of glasses and looked at a sheet of paper. “Miss Gracen, I see that you’ve signed up for the two hour session. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And when asked what you wanted the main focus to be on...” He flipped the paper over. “You said that you two are having problems in the intimacy department?”
Jonathan quickly turned his head to face me, raising his eyebrow.
“NO. I never said that. I said that—”
“Ah, ah, ah. It’s right here. My secretary never makes a mistake.”
“You don’t even have a—”
“Shhhh.” He leaned forward and pressed a black pen against my lips. “Don’t be ashamed of your bedroom problems, Miss Gracen. Every couple has them in some form or another. That’s what today is all about.”
I could feel Jonathan glaring at me, begging me to look his way so he could say something, but I kept my eyes straight ahead.
“If you’re hurting about something—anything at all, no matter h
ow small it is, these next two hours are the perfect time to let it out.” He took a deep breath. Then he shut his eyes and slowly exhaled. “Let it all out.”
He sat like that for at least two minutes—shut eyes, Indian style, head tilted up to the ceiling, and I signaled to Jonathan so we could leave and end this joke of a session, but Dr. Choate’s eyes suddenly flew open.
“Now that that’s done,” he said. “Let’s get down to business. Why are you here today, Mr. Statham?”
“To help fix my fiancée’s intimacy problems.”
“See that, Miss Gracen?” Dr. Choate nodded. “He wants to fix things, too! So, on a scale of one to ten, how satisfied are you with your current sex life, Mr. Statham?”
“Twenty.”
“Okay, that’s great. Miss Gracen, how about you?”
“Twenty,” I whispered.
“Hmmm. I see...” He wrote something down and held out two notecards. “I want you to write down your honest expectations for sex after marriage. Is it going to be the same as it is now? More? Less? Well, definitely not less because Miss Gracen clearly isn’t satisfied but—”
“Thank you, Dr. Choate.” I snatched the notecard from him, still avoiding the intense glare that was coming from Jonathan.
I wrote down “same” on my notecard and waited for him to speak again.
“Okay, now toss your cards into the fire pit.”
What?
Confused, we threw them into the small fire.
“Now,” he said as he handed us two more. “This time I want you to answer the question that is printed on the notecard and be as honest as possible. And actually, could you address them as ‘Dear Future Husband’ and ‘Dear Future Wife’? We’re going to toss them into the fire as soon as we’re done, but make sure you take this seriously.”
He turned on a small radio—a radio that played the sound of ocean waves, and shut his eyes again.
There was only one question on the card: What’s one thing you wish you could change about your current intimacy exchanges?
I looked over and noticed Jonathan scribbling away, but I couldn’t think of anything. I now felt guilty for suggesting this session in the first place. Whether I wanted to believe in my current fairy tale or not, there was nothing I would change. Not a damn thing.
Sure, he and I argued about things from time to time—me working late so often, him being so damn controlling, me redecorating every room in his house, but for the most part we were great. More than great.
As a matter of fact, last night he’d held me in his arms and told me everything he loved about me, assuring me that our marriage would be the greatest accomplishment of his life.
“Miss Gracen?” Dr. Choate snapped me out of my thoughts. “You’re not writing anything down. Don’t be afraid to unleash your honesty. You have to let him know exactly how you feel. How else can you expect your bad intimacy to change to good intimacy? Unless you want to experience bad sex for the rest of your life that is. I know you only said ‘twenty’ because he said it first.” He winked at me and whispered, “It’s okay. We’re going to fix this.”
Jesus...
I wrote down a few words so it would seem like I was trying. Then I looked over at Jonathan and frowned; he was still writing.
He has that much to say?!
“Time’s up!” Dr. Choate beamed. “Now, before we feed the fire, we’re going to exchange the cards and read them out loud.”
What?! “No...I can’t.” I crumpled mine in my hand. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. I would’ve written something else...”
“What’s wrong, dear?” Jonathan smirked and held his card out to me. “I thought we were working on having honest expectations for our marriage.”
I sighed and handed him my crumpled card, taking his into my hands, not bothering to look at it.
“Mr. Statham, you first.” Doctor Choate smiled. “What’s the one thing your future wife would change about your current intimacy?”
Jonathan looked down at the card, then he looked back up at me—smiling with his eyebrow raised.
Please don’t read it out loud...Please don’t read it out loud...
“She says better communication.” He smiled even wider and I exhaled, relieved.
“And what about you, Future Wife? What did your future husband have to say about you?
I flipped the card over and forced myself to look at it: Dear Future Wife, the only thing I wish I could change was letting you wake up late this morning because I should’ve woken you up early, taken you in the shower, and made you forget about this dumb ass meeting. However, now that we’re here, I want you to be fully aware that right after this is over, I’m going to make sure the words “marriage counseling” and “intimacy problems” never come out of your mouth again. :-)
I blushed. “He says the same thing.”
“Okay, well great. Now we’re getting somewhere. Communication is very key in having a successful intimate relationship. Moving on... In an average week, how many times do you currently have sex now, Future Wife? And in all honesty, is it fulfilling?”
Is he fucking serious? “A few times,” I said, hoping he would move on to something else.
“A few times?” Jonathan looked into my eyes. “That’s what you honestly think?”
Stop it...I knew he was reading my mind right now and could sense that I wanted him to stop, but he was clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
“Doctor, what classifies as a few times?” Jonathan kept his eyes locked on mine.
“Two or three times a week, Mr. Statham.”
“Hmmm...And a lot?”
“Well, I guess I would say eight to ten times a week.”
“Interesting.” He leaned forward and ran his fingers across my golden anchor necklace. “So Claire, having heard that, you think a few times is accurate for what we do?”
“Yes. I do.” I didn’t want the doctor in our sex life. At all. When I’d made this appointment, I’d been assured that the focus would be on us discussing our expectations for the long term—our goals and our dreams. There was no mention of dissecting what we did in the bedroom and I was damn sure I never said anything about intimacy problems.
“I am so hurt by these claims, Doctor.” Jonathan put his hand over his chest. “I mean, to have the love of my life tell me that she feels like we only have sex a few times a week is just...Is this the part where I’m allowed to cry?”
“Yes, Mr. Statham. Let out all of your pain.”
He smirked. “Is our sex not memorable to you, Claire? It must not be if you think we only have sex two to three times a week. I want an honest marriage as well, so if you think we have intimacy problems and that our sex is that terrible—”
“We have sex every day.” I nearly lost it. “Every. Day. Sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than twice. And every time is fucking memorable. Happy?” I narrowed my eyes at him and he kissed my cheek.
“Um...” The doctor adjusted the sleeves of his tunic. “Well...I....Very good for both of you. Let’s move away from intimacy then, shall we?”
“Thank you.” We said in unison.
**
Once the counseling session finally came to an end, we both shook Dr. Choate’s hand and said we’d be “in touch” about scheduling part two. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I rushed inside and pressed the “door close” button over and over—anxious to get far away from white sand and invasive notecards.
“What’s the rush, Future Wife?” Jonathan stepped directly in front of me and pressed my back against the wall. “Do you have another meeting to go to right now? Somewhere else where you plan on discussing our intimacy problems?”
“I never said we had intimacy problems...That was a mistake and you know it.”
“Hmmm.” He brushed his fingers against my necklace.
“I can’t believe you pushed me into telling him about our sex life.”
“He asked.”
“You didn’t have to te
ll him the truth.”
“I thought you wanted me to be honest.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I’ve told you a million times that I don’t lie.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell him what I wrote on that card?”
He slipped his hand underneath my skirt. “If you would like, we can go back up and I’ll happily tell him that my future wife wishes that my head was between her legs right now.”
I blushed and shook my head.
“Are you sure?” He tugged at my panties. “I’m not opposed to telling him that.”
“That’s okay...”
He lowered his mouth to my neck, taking his time to press gentle kisses onto my skin as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
I looked up at the floor numbers that were flashing above the doors as we passed them by—Eight, Seven, Six, and pushed him away from me.
“We’re almost back to the lobby,” I murmured as I stepped to the other side.
“No. We’re not.” He hit the stop button and walked over to me, pressing me against the wall again. “I actually think we do have one huge intimacy problem, Claire.”
“What?”
“Why is it that you can only be open with me about sex in text messages and notecards?”
“What are you talking about? That’s not—”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He cut me off with a kiss and slowly hiked my dress up to my stomach. “I always have to try and read your mind, or read between your little smart-ass comments when it comes to what you want...Why is that, Claire?”
“I...” I couldn’t focus when he looked at me like this, when he locked his eyes on mine and demanded answers that I didn’t have.
“If you like when I fuck you with my mouth, why don’t you ever say that when we’re at home?”
I bit my lip as he slipped a finger inside of me, as he held me steady with his other arm.
“Hmmm, Claire? I’m standing right here...Tell me what you want...”
“Jonathan...” I moaned.
He was pressing his thumb against my clit, punishing it with slow, sensuous circles.
