"You must be the elusive Aurora Penelope Tate!"
“It's nice to meet you,” I say, "Franklin Parks, I presume?”
“Your presumption is 100% correct.”
He enunciates each word in that way that drunk people do when they are trying to appear sober. A waiter in a white tuxedo comes around and asks if he can get us another round of drinks.
“No, thank you,” I say quickly. “I'm still working on mine.”
Franklin motions for the waiter to pour him another glass.
“Well, well, well,” he says, sitting back in his chair and propping his hands around his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has told me a lot about you.”
"I wish I could say the same thing about you,” I say and he bursts out laughing.
“Now, I have heard a lot about your sense of humor, and the fact that it does not take any prisoners.”
“Well, I say you have to consider the source. The men who have told you that are probably not used to dealing with strong women.”
I take a sip of my drink, and look around the room, for someone else to talk to. Anyone else.
It's not that Franklin isn't easy on the eyes, it's just that he rubs me the wrong way. He's arrogant and self-absorbed, very self-absorbed.
A few people come up to me to talk about this and that but as soon as Franklin interjects, they leave as quickly as they came.
After dinner is served and I am a little bit drunk and completely bored by the conversation about golf and media station acquisitions, I turn to Franklin and ask him, “So, why exactly am I here? You don't seem like the type who can’t get his own date.”
“You're right, I guess my reputation precedes me.”
I toss my head back and laugh.
“What's so funny? Let's just say, I haven't heard a thing about you until a few days ago when my mom asked me to come here but I got the sense of exactly who you are when you showed up.”
He leans a little bit closer to me and then raises his finger, points in my face, and starts to laugh.
“Ha, ha,” he says, “you think you know everything about me, don't you?”
I shrug and adjust my strapless dress.
“Well, you don't know the first thing."
“So, you haven't dated every eligible bachelorette in the city?” I challenge him.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that…”
"Have you ever even been in a serious relationship?” I ask.
“Now, why do women go around asking that? It's like some sort of litmus test with you all. Do you want to be the first woman to plant your flag in me, so to speak?”
"No, absolutely not.” I smile.
He sighs demonstratively and slides down into his chair.
“That's what I'm starting to understand,” he says, shaking his head. “And why is that exactly?"
“Well, you’re what thirty-seven?” I ask, being extremely generous.
“I’m forty,” he says.
I doubt that, but I don't challenge him.
“Here's the thing, we expect that a man who has reached the ripe age of forty, is it? We expect, for you to have experience in at least one serious, monogamous, and preferably quite extensive relationship. Otherwise, we get a little bit suspicious.”
“Why? Why do you get suspicious?”
“Well, to tell you the truth,” I say, putting my elbow on the tip of my knee and getting as close to him as possible, without actually touching him. “It's like a warranty. It means that you are reliable. You can be trusted. If another woman has trusted you and things just didn't work out, well, that happens. But, if you have never been in a marriage before, or, God forbid, a serious relationship, well, red flags are going off all over the place.”
“But what if there isn't anything menacing about it?” he asks. “What if it just means that I didn’t find the right woman?”
A smile starts to form at the corner of my lips and quickly grows into a grin and then a full out laugh.
“What?” he asks innocently. “What's so funny?”
“There is something missing. You have been dating since you were what, fifteen? And you weren't able to find a single woman who could put up with you? Or even worse, you couldn’t find a single woman who you could put up with? No, no, no… Danger ahead,“ I say, shaking my head.
“So, tell me about you, then.”
“There's nothing to tell,” I say with a shrug. “I have dated a few guys, and finally found someone that I really care about.”
“Oh, really? What's he like?”
Suddenly, my throat closes up. Do I tell him the truth? Do I tell him that he's the guy that he will be interviewing tomorrow morning? Or do I just let that little piece of information slide?
“What's the matter?” Franklin asks. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I met him in the Hamptons,” I say. “We spent a glorious summer together and now we're living together.”
“And what is it that he does?”
“He's sort of between things right now,” I say as casually as possible. “He’s a very talented writer, but he has been working as a teacher for a few years.”
He doesn't ask me anything more, and I don't volunteer. Tomorrow morning, he will probably make the connection between teacher and writer, but I don't want to sway him one way or another about Henry's position.
The truth is that I'm not really sure if I have any influence.
Yes, I am his employer's daughter, but my father would never make it clear to Franklin that he absolutely has to hire Henry. We would have to be married for at least a decade for that to happen.
I excuse myself and head to the bathroom, angry that the heels that I have chosen for the occasion have given me blisters on the back of my heels.
I don't know how some women can stand to wear heels every single day, but I really hate them. I think that they were invented by some terrible man who hates women and wants to make them suffer. But in truth, it's the women who subject themselves to this punishment just to look tall and hot.
I glance at myself in the tall leaning mirror in the center of the enormous bathroom. It's no longer the holiday season, but the mirror is still decorated in winter-style garland celebrating the season.
I don't want to admit it, but the heels do make me look magnificent. I'm not very tall, only five foot four, but with these heels, my legs look long and flamingo like. They accentuate my hips and minimize my waist and even, somehow, prop up my breasts. If only Henry could see me like this, I say to myself, immediately regretting that it is not him who is my date for tonight.
I hate lying to him. I don't want to, and it always makes me feel like a total shit, and yet I find myself doing it more and more. I lied to him about working at the library. I lied to him about taking money from my mom. And now I'm lying to him about attending this gala.
The truth is that these are all things that I could explain to him, but they aren’t things he would understand.
A part of him knows that the only reason why he has an interview with Franklin Parks tomorrow about the research writing position at Tate Media is that my father owns the company.
He knows that, but if he knew that in return for that favor, I am on a date with Franklin himself, as a favor to my mother, steam would come out of his ears.
And I don't want him to feel like he isn't good enough.
He is.
The problem is that the game is fixed. My father and mother took a lot of shortcuts as opportunities presented themselves to them, and that's why they are where they are.
That's just how the world works. You have to take whatever advantage is presented to you, because it's an uphill battle no matter what.
But for some reason, Henry doesn't understand that. He thinks that there is a noble way to get what he wants. I'm not saying that you have to lie and cheat and be a terrible person and that the only way you can become successful is to be a vile human being, because that's not true. But you do have to grab every
opportunity.
This meeting with Franklin Parks is not a date, even though it seems like it is. It's a meet and greet.
It's an opportunity for me to talk to a few people that my parents are friends with and to show up here as the face of Tate Media. Given that Franklin will be heading a large new division within the company, my mother wants me here to get to know him better, in a more casual environment.
What will I report back? Nothing particularly encouraging. I don't know how he is as an employee and a boss, but so far, he has not made the best first impression.
But that's good to know. It's good to be informed.
I'm saying all these things because I'm trying to think of a possible explanation of what I'm doing here, something that I will have to explain to Henry later on tonight.
I'm tired of lying to him, but that doesn't mean that I'm willing to allow him to get less than what he deserves just because of his pride. Henry is a very good writer and since that is what he wants to do for a living, I will do everything in my power to help him reach his goals.
“Well, hello there.” Franklin comes up to me at the dessert table.
We are at the back of a banquet hall, and this isn't the usual gathering place. It’s dark and quiet here and there are a lot of beautiful pastries and cakes to look at, so that's where I had escaped after using the bathroom.
“I thought that maybe I would find you here,” he says, winking at me. He leans against the wall but only slightly and looks me up and down in that way that men do when they are assessing you.
It was sexy when Henry did it, but with Franklin, it’s creepy. I take a step away from him.
“No, honey, don't be scared, I didn't mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t," I lie, trying to appear to be strong.
"So, what are you doing all the way over here, hiding in the shadows?”
“I guess you answered your own question,” I say, crossing my arms.
“You know, you're not very nice, has anyone ever told you that?”
I stare at him but say nothing.
I hate how he expects me to be nice just because he is paying attention to me.
I was polite enough, but when he is pressing me and pressuring me, I don't have to be polite.
Still, I say nothing.
“So, how's your evening going so far?” Franklin asks, taking a step closer to me.
I take a step back, and then hit the wall with my back.
“Fine, I guess.” “You know, you never answered my question.”
“Which was?”
“How come you are here with me instead of a real date?” I ask.
“Well, your parents have asked me to do them a favor.”
What is he talking about?
He takes another step closer to me. I can feel his breath on me and it makes me wanna squirm.
"Do you mind?” I ask, sliding along the wall to try to get away from him.
He grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him. Then he presses his lips onto mine, hard.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pushing him away from me. “I told you that I wasn't interested.”
“Oh, you were serious?"
“Yes, of course I was serious.”
“Ha,” he says in disbelief. “I thought that you were just joking.”
I shake my head, not believing what is actually happening.
“I told you about my boyfriend,” I say.
“Oh, boyfriends come and go, you know how it is.”
“No, I don't. I have a serious boyfriend and I have no interest in anything happening with you.”
“You know, you would be a lot more fun if you weren't such a bitch,” he says, pointing his finger in my face.
He takes a step to the side and trips.
“And you would be a lot more fun if you weren't such a drunk,” I say, walking away from him.
I'm relieved by the fact that I never told him who my boyfriend really is, and I hope that he doesn't remember any of the details when he interviews Henry tomorrow morning.
I walk out of the gala completely disgusted.
I'm angry with my mother for asking me to go there. I'm even more angry with her for setting this whole thing up.
Why did she think that he would be such a great date? Why does a man like that even have a job at Tate Media?
Haven't they been paying attention? The world is changing.
Men like that are going down for doing exactly what he has done to me; made me feel uncomfortable and humiliated at the same time.
And I'm not even someone who works for him. Hiring him, and giving him a position of power, is asking for a lawsuit. Don't they know that?
Sitting in the back of the cab on the way to my apartment, I wonder if my parents just don't see the tide rising. They are so ingrained into the minutiae and the rhythm of everyday life at the company, they are not seeing the big picture. Men like him should not only not be put in charge of new departments, they should be fired from their jobs.
I grab my phone and dial my mom’s number. She picks up on the second ring.
“How is everything going?” she asks in an upbeat tone.
“Not very good,” I say. I tell her what happened and how rude Franklin was to me. She listens intently and I feel like I'm getting through to her, but then at the end she throws a curve ball.
"That's just how men like him are, Aurora. Don't you know that by now?"
“Of course, I do. But that doesn't mean that they have to work at Tate Media.”
“Well, that's a much more complicated situation than you know it to be.”
“What are you talking about?" I ask. “What's so complicated about that? He threw himself at me and even kissed me without my consent and that's not good enough for you to get rid of him? Do you want him to be another Harvey Weinstein or Matt Lauer? How much more do you want him to do before you think it's reasonable to get rid of him?”
"Aurora, please don't blow all of this out of proportion. He asked you out, you were probably flirting with him, I'm sure that you looked beautiful. Just take it as a compliment.”
I shake my head, at the same time shocked and completely surprised by the words that are coming out of her mouth. It's not that she doesn't believe what I just said, it's more that she thinks that it's okay.
“The thing that you just have to understand, Aurora, is that boys will be boys. It has been this way for centuries if not since the beginning of time, and it's not gonna change anytime soon.”
“It will if women in positions of power and women everywhere say that it's unacceptable.”
“Well," she says, “that's not gonna happen anytime soon, is it?”
I shake my head and stare at the phone.
“You know that you have the opportunity to change this. He came on to me and when I pushed him away, he came on to me again. I'm your daughter. He works for you, my parents. What could be more simple than that?”
“Aurora, what you don't know about our business could fill volumes,” Mom says. “It's very complicated and, no, we cannot just fire him over something like this. And if you are smart, you won't tell Henry about this either.”
I bite my tongue. I want to tell him, of course I do, but if Franklin will still be his boss tomorrow morning, I don't think I can.
“I have to go,” I say and hang up.
Taking a deep breath, I look out of the window trying to decide what to do.
22
Henry
She comes home late at night in a strange mood. I can tell that there's something on her mind, but instead of talking about it, she just wraps her arms around me and kisses me as hard as she can.
Once my lips drift down her neck and further down her body, we no longer talk. Instead, I take her to the bedroom and show her how I feel about her. It has taken a long time, but she finally relaxes enough to actually reach that point where she lets go.
When we first met, I didn't think that I would be able to get her there,
but as long as she was okay with me trying, I kept at it. It doesn't sound very romantic, because in romantic stories, things like this are supposed to happen spontaneously. But that's not real life.
Our attraction for each other is innate and comes from some deeper place. But something like this, taking her out of her head, required some work, work that I am completely willing to do.
Tonight, our bodies move as one. She lets me into the most private part of her being and I appreciate the invitation. Again, I tie up her hands and again she lets me blindfold her.
This time, however, I make sure that the front door is dead bolted so that we do not have any interruptions. I spread her legs to each side carefully, taking my time as I kiss the inside of her thighs. She tastes like heaven.
If it were up to me, I would live in this place between her legs. But as my fingers speed up, her body tenses and I feel her getting close. This time, however, despite how much I want to thrust myself inside of her, I do not.
Patience is a virtue for a reason.
Anticipation takes time to build up, but it is worth it in the end. It's Christmas morning again and I have been watching the presents piling up under the tree for two weeks straight. I have touched them and rattled them, trying to figure out what is inside and finally it is time for me to rip into that beautiful wrapping paper and tear it apart as quickly as possible.
As soon as she reaches climax and yells my name at the top of her lungs I push myself inside of her. She moans again and again but I keep my movements slow and deliberate to take her there again. I'm not sure if it will work, but I give it my best shot. I feel her body relaxing again. I know that this is the first step.
I have learned to appreciate and love her body, not just for how beautiful it is but for everything that it can do. I press my hands over her breasts and pinch her nipples in between my fingers.She arches her back and raises her chin into the air.
Another breath and she presses her back into the sheets.
“Come for me,” I whisper through my moans. “Come with me.”
With the blindfold still on her face, she moves her head up off the pillow as if she were opening her eyes and giving me a wink. I can feel what she is feeling. Her body is tensing up again, building up steam.
Dangerous Engagement (Wedlocked Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
