And here I find myself fully awake.
Chapter 6: Pending Proposal
“Did you guys clear things up?” Tasha asks, stirring her miso soup, fishing two tofu chunks out with her spoon, examining the results, and then bringing it to her mouth. I watch her closely before answering and smile; she even makes eating soup a graceful act.
“What?” She looks at me with probing green, her black hair in a tight bun, with her straight, mid-forehead bangs hanging perfectly just above impeccably trimmed eyebrows.
“Nothing, just your Tasha way.” I grin around my loaded chopsticks.
She smiles back and rolls her eyes dismissively. “So, did you? Or were you too occupied having sex?”
“Actually, we did,” I say and turn pensive. Her eyes challenge me as I do. “To my surprise, he actually admitted that he was wrong to jump to conclusions and that he should have trusted me from the beginning.”
“Is that so? That’s great.” She smiles at me. “And unusual…”
“And then he told me we should move in together.”
Tasha raises an eyebrow, smoothing her suede camel skirt onto her lean thigh.
“He also mentioned something about how he wants to take it to the next level.”
Tasha flashes wide eyes at me. She puts her spoon down in the white ceramic bowl, almost staining her short sleeved, white turtleneck with the little splash she makes.
“I knew it,” she murmurs to herself. “I told you he wasn’t playing.” That she had…
“So, you're getting a wedding ring pretty soon?”
“Huh? Oh, no, don’t even go there.” I glare at her.
Now here is a thought I’ve been fighting not to think, even accidentally.
“Well, what does it sound like to you, brainy?” She sneers to herself before tasting the next spoon full of her steaming soup.
I think for a moment about her suggestion and shake my head. NO WAY. I've got to change the subject; this is way too unnerving to even be thinking about.
“No way. I don’t think he will; it’s even too irrational and way too fast for him. Maybe it’s just his way of messing with me. He loves making me squirm.” I twist my mouth in a half smile. “But, if by crazy accident he might mean that, I’d be running faster than—” Tasha sighs dramatically and opens her mouth to speak. I wave her off, raising my hand and shaking my head.
I look her square in the eyes. “Do you really believe starting a lifetime commitment based on only a few months of acquaintance… a few months of…” Now it’s my turn to sigh.
“Love and great sex,” she finishes, with a thin, teasing smile.
“No, Tash, love and issues. Major ones.” Collectively our smiles fade. Her answer is a pensive nod. “Anyway…”
“Oh, Hales, spare me if you're about to start with your ‘I’ll never get married’ speech. I could recite that nonsense in my sleep.” We trade amused stares.
“Okay now, Missy, enough about me. So who is this mystery guy?” I look at her while chewing my mouthwatering tamago and salmon maki. Her demeanor mellows; even her shoulders fall with an infatuated kind of deflation. From the emotions running over her beautiful face it seems serious this time. “Let me help you.” I smirk at her un-Tasha-like uncertainty. “Age, job, looks, how and where did you meet him. Intro first, Missy.”
She smiles, her eyes comically dreamy.
That was fast. How long has she known him, three and a half minutes? And you should talk, Hales…
“Here we go.” She straightens up, all confident, back to her signature Tasha pose. “He's in his mid-thirties. Blue eyes, black hair, tall and fit. Too hot for his own good.” Her smile is so salacious I can almost imagine her licking her lips like a satiated feline. A small meow now would seal the deal. I watch her, animated.
“He's into PR. He runs his own agency.” She thinks and adds, “We met at that new little vegetarian place near our house, which, by the way, is really good.”
“Really? It didn’t look too inviting,” I say, idly.
She 'hm's confirmation. “We could go there when you finally decide to come home.”
We exchange swift, elated gazes before she continues. “After staring at me for the longest time he finally walked over and told me he couldn’t take his eyes off me.”
“Awww. No! Really?” Blargh…
“Hales, as cheesy as it seems, he somehow managed to make it sound honest and charming. Then he was asking me to please take it easy on him when answering if I was seeing someone.”
She has the goofiest grin on her face when she giggles. I smile, waiting for her to go on, very much enjoying her silly, girlie mood.
“He was so appealing and sincere and mature.” She takes a sip of her drink and continues. “We’ve been out every night since.”
“Wow, that’s sounds really promising and so...hmm, not you.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says. “I don’t feel like I have to play games with him. Like I said, he is so together, so mature. I’ll take the risk of sounding naïve, but he is totally what you see is what you get, no BS. None whatsoever.”
“Now that’s refreshing.”
We nod knowingly at each other, thinking about the horrors we’ve seen when it comes to douchebaggery.
“Will you consider Daniel’s offer to move in with him?”
I am momentarily both confused and distracted by the sudden change of topic. My eyes shift from my plate to Tasha’s face.
“Do you think I should? I’m pretty positive I shouldn’t,” I say, my determination coloring each and every syllable.
“Why not? Don’t get me wrong, the last thing I want is for you to move out, Hales.”
“I know,” I assure her. “It just feels too quick,” I add, introspectively. “Perhaps because I still don’t trust us. Yes: I am totally, hopelessly, crazy in love with him. But I’m still not sure. I still don’t feel secure about any future plans with him. I wish I could just let it all go and go with what I feel, but I'll be damned if I let myself get hurt again the way I just did.”
She studies me closely with a spoon at her lips, her eyes running across my face.
“As much as I love him, my insecurity is at an all-time high right now.”
“So you're also going to reject the upcoming marriage proposal?” she teases, smirking at me.
“Oh, come on. Don’t even joke about this. Even in the form of a joke it scares me shitless,” I say. “Stop with your idiotic fantasies. Believe me, no one is getting on one knee.”
“Maybe you, on two.” She winks playfully.
“Tash!”
“Okay, okay.” She cracks up into staccatos of giggles and I join her.
“So, when do you think I’ll see your ugly face at home?” she asks, just before we embrace goodbye.
“I guess tomorrow, after work.”
Maybe.
In the evening, after I leave work but before going to Daniel’s, I decide to buy him a small surprise gift and stop by my favorite lingerie shop for a red lacy satin set and matching garter belt.
The perfect ensemble to wear at the premiere I was promised tonight.
Chapter 7: Confessions of a Call Girl
I set the pink bag with the black ribbon containing my new purchase at the vanity and start the shower, allowing the hot water to steam the spotless glass door before I step in. As I am about to finish my thorough application of Cinnamon Spice body lotion I hear my phone screaming from the next room. Before I manage to remove the excess lotion from my hands with the help of a towel, it stops. Since I already missed the call, I just let it go and plug in my iPod to the dock in Daniel’s bedroom. Leonard’s throaty voice hovers around the room. Mr. Cohen always puts me in the mood. Not that I really need to be put in the mood when D is concerned.
I continue by suiting up in my new delicate undergarments and smile, thinking just how appreciative Daniel will be of the gift. And just how great it will be to indulge in his “appreciation.”
To complete the look I climb into my black stilettos and apply some smoky, sexy evening eye makeup, I add the last necessary touch with bloodred lipstick. The result is pretty steamy, definitely not my usual natural-ish self. Though grotesquely vain, I feel sexy and beautiful, in a mildly slutty way.
All caught up in my plan, I realize that I haven’t even checked who called earlier and grab my phone to find out. The screen reads: missed call – Daniel
“Hales,” he answers, stressed. His mood seems to contrast with mine as it possible could.
“You called,” I reply sweetly, with a thin stretch of my lips, pleased by my plans.
“Baby, I'm stuck at work. I won't be back anytime soon.” I hear him type and sigh in frustration. My heart immediately drops a fraction.
“Any ETA?” I try.
“At least another three to four hours. I’m not sure.” His voice is laced with a blend of weariness and exasperation. I check my watch; it’s already eight. To avoid adding to his frustration I just say quietly, “I’ll wait for you here.”
“Fuck,” he gushes. “I had such different plans for this evening,” he says, voice low, clear and full of missed potential.
“Hey, don’t worry, D. I’ll be here warming your bed for you,” I say in a somewhat cheerful, suggestive tone, trying to soothe him.
“Our bed,” he says, correcting me in an idle drawl.
Whatever you say. This time I’ll leave arguing out of the equation.
“I’ll see you later, baby. You don’t need to wait up.”
And he is gone. As I put the phone down a spontaneous plan develops in my mind.
Fused with adrenaline from my brazen idea I look for a jacket to cover my too erotic to be worn in public attire. I'm at Daniel’s so I have limited access to my clothes. My trench coat would do a perfect job, I think, disappointed. I end up settling for a grey wool sweater wrap, tied at the waist and almost knee-length. Kind of a brow raising choice given the not-so-chilly weather outside, but hey, I don’t plan on wearing it for too long anyhow.
Driving to “Bitch” on full blast, I sing joyfully at the top of my lungs while steering the car over the calm evening roads. At a stoplight I send a radiant grin to the old couple who are watching me sing and sway like some lunatic from behind their Chevy’s window. Grandpa at the wheel winks at me and I giggle wholeheartily, blowing him an airy kiss in return, and then push the pedal down at the light change.
The buff evening security guy currently occupying the Stark Software reception temporarily takes the wind out of my sails when he assertively insists in a very resolute way that he won't let me go up to the management floor. Not without confirming it first with Mr. Stark. He runs his eyes over me, head to bottom of stiletto. I fidget, thinking he might jump to the right conclusion, as my appearance is oceans away from being modest.
“Listen.” I gift him with my most sugar-glazed smile, still utterly determined. “I’m Daniel’s, hmm, Mr. Stark’s girlfriend and I would like to surprise him. Can’t you cut me some slack here?”
“Ma’am,” he says, and his grating, choked-back snicker pokes at my nerves,
“I can’t let anyone go in without a badge or formal permission. Girlfriend, sister, or whomever you might be this evening.” This last part is said with vibrant scorn. Ass. Impertinent chunk of muscle. The way he says 'girlfriend' makes me think that he might as well add air quotes as he says it. I sense my face heating up.
“Well, then call him and tell him Hayley is here to see him.” I have an urge to wipe his patronizing gaze and mocking smirk off his face with a slap. As expected, Daniel immediately gives his permission. I tip my chin up slanting my stare at the guy as I strut toward the bank of elevators.
“Second floor, room…” And before he manages to conclude, not even looking back, I bellow, “I know,” seriously fighting the urge to flip him off.
Since I was already announced I don’t bother knocking, and just push open the slightly ajar door to Daniel’s office. Immediately not only do I regret the no knocking part, but the entire idea. All of a sudden my master plan doesn’t seem so clever anymore. There’s a room full of people staring my way when Daniel asks, somewhat confused, “Hales?”
I push out the trapped air in my lungs and smile timidly, slightly adjusting my sweater, as if possible, to better cover myself. Well aware of the fact that my face is probably flaming red, and not necessarily due to my winter attire, I run my stare around the room and catch Tasha scrutinizing me, devilishly biting her lips, clearly subduing a smile. I send a prayer to any higher power on call tonight, and mentally pledge to do whatever it takes, including never set a foot in Starbucks ever again, if she turns out to be the only one who actually figures out my intentions.
Daniel pushes himself up from leaning on his desk and steps my way. All sets of eyes in the room follow him, to my mortification. Reaching me, he raises his eyebrows. “Everything okay?” His eyes are filled with suspicion studying my not-me outfit and slightly over made-up face.
“Yes.” My voice comes out a weak squeak that ends with a noticeable swallow, given about twenty eyes are still on us. “I just passed by to say hi before going out.” I lie shamelessly, uttering the last part in a louder tone, trying to give the audience around some sort of explanation for my highly-paid-call-girl look.
Classy Hales, classy… truly deserving a standing ovation.
Daniel’s stare turns even more puzzled. Actually, more akin to exasperated would be a better way to describe the expression that has taken over his face. I bite my lip and inaudibly curse.
Not exactly the scenario I envisioned. Thumbs up for the disasterpiece you’ve just crafted, Hayley.
“Can you wait for a few minutes?” He cocks his head, still observing me suspiciously, only now his jaw is tensed. “You can take my seat.” He gestures with his chin toward his desk. “Let me take your sweater.” He says.
“No.” I grip his stretched hand in midair. In response his eyes taper under furrowed brows. I stretch up to reach his ear and whisper, “I'm not wearing much underneath.”
Daniel seems as though he’s shut down for a few strained seconds til what I said sinks in. He shakes his head quickly, pulling out of his momentary lapse. Not releasing his stare from mine he takes my hand and walks me to his chair, his touch somewhat stiff and his face blank. I couldn’t be more grateful to be hidden behind the large screen. I shift in his chair to better adjust my sweater. My phone, tucked in my pocket, vibrates. I fetch it to find a message from Tasha.
Tasha: Try again, idiot, your garter belt is still showing!
Instinctively I do as told while my face blazes guiltily. Tasha grins at me, way too amused. I shake my head at her, my eyes a touch hostile, still somewhat self-conscious. Her grin morphs into a smirk.
Daniel leans his backside against the opposite side of his desk, facing the room, his right hand flexed on the desk’s surface. I look mesmerized at his long fingers and that wide, masculine wrist. There is this something about D’s hands that just make me think of sin. Or the sin he could craft with them. I take a deep breath, trying to push sparks of desire away.
“You look exhausted. You want to take a break, Rob? 'Cause I can help make that happen.” Daniel’s chilly tone brings my attention back to the group in front of me. Rob blanches, coughs nervously, and makes an attempt to straighten his posture.
“Now people, to wrap up...” Daniel says, wearing his authoritative persona. For a moment, as though considering something, he turns his head my way. Our eyes immediately lock and I can’t overlook the hint of concern in his. He shifts back and resumes, “...let's follow Chris’s plan, and meet here in an hour. Rob, you guys try to rerun a full cycle and let’s hope there isn’t a crash down. We’ll touch base later.” He shoves his hand into his jeans' back pocket. “Chris,” Daniel says, pulling out his wallet and handing said person one of his black credit cards, “here, order food for everyone.” I smile at this thoughtful gesture. Everyone around seems pleased wi
th the notion.
“So before we get back to work, bear in mind to be creative. You know what they say, ‘Think left and think right and think low and think high’.”
He is quoting Dr. Seuss to his employees; a warmhearted smile spreads over my lips and I need to combat the urge to grab him and kiss the life out of him.
“Break it down into numbers,” he says next. “It always makes it easier seeing the whole. Now let’s move, people.” He thumps the desk and turns to face me as the rest of the room starts to leave in small groups. Tasha sends me a full grin: white teeth, upper and lower rows on display, before following her ex-lover and boss.
Daniel circles his desk and stops next to where I'm seated, leaning his hip against the desk. He folds his hands over his chest, and his hardened eyes fix on me. “So you're going out?” he asks in a stiff, troubled voice. “Like that?” Although I know full well to what he refers I instinctively lower my eyes to run over my outfit. The hem of my sweater barely covers my upper thighs, ending mere inches below the hidden garter belt. Returning to look at him I find his eyes burning over every part of me.
“With whom?” he asks, clipped. I take a deep breath.
I guess white hot possessiveness tends to cloud one’s mind. His basic ability to see what’s wrapped up with a bow right in front of him, ready to jump his sexy bones, is totally gone.
“I’m not really going out.” My voice comes out quiet and croaky. His brows disappear under his golden locks.
“You’re not? What’s going on, Hayley?” The waves of impatience and irritation under the surface are blatant from his tone.
So I’m Hayley now?
“No.” A thin side-smile forms on my lips as I take his hand in mine and press it against my leg, guiding his fingers so they push up the hem of my sweater and reveal the red lacy fabric ring embracing my thigh. I trail my eyes up to stare into his. “I came here to surprise you.”
He shifts his eyes from mine to the delicate red material, still leaning on his desk. His stare turns slightly darker and the crease between his brows deepens. His Adam's apple lowers and raises slowly.
Inner Core: (Stark, #2) Page 5
