“How long have you been married?” He looked genuinely curious. The way he focused his attention on me when he spoke was unnerving.
“Ah,” I took a moment to calculate. “It’ll be three years this summer,” I said decidedly.
“How did you meet your husband?”
“I worked in his building as a personal assistant until I was hired at my current job.”
“And he asked you out?”
“Not right away . . . After a while we became friends.” I fingered a button on my blouse, feeling suddenly warm. He sure asks a lot of questions. I was beginning to feel like I was in trouble.
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“Before he asked you out.”
“Um.” Weird question. “Not right away. Maybe six months?” He looked at me funny, and I looked back for what felt like minutes. “And you, are you, ah, single?”
His expression remained peculiar but he cocked his head. The waitress, it seemed on purpose, chose that moment to arrive with fresh drinks. She made a note on her pad while glancing up at him repeatedly, waiting, it seemed, for his answer.
“I am available, yes.” Of course – he was a bachelor in the utmost sense. Stupid question. What am I even doing here? Bolstered by a newfound strength, I decided to cut to the chase.
“Mr. ah, David.” It occurred to me then that I hadn’t gotten his last name. “Why did you want to see me tonight? What can I do for you?” I reached for my wine and took a sip, waiting for him to continue. Placing down the glass, my fingers fidgeted with the base of the stem as I tried to focus on anything but his unsettling gaze. He reached over and steadied my hand with his, so gently that I gasped. It was as if my nerves were exposed, his touch was that powerful.
“I think you know why I wanted to see you,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. I licked wine from the inside of my lips and had the sudden urge to see what he would taste like, to put my mouth on his. Removing my hand from underneath his, I dashed the thought away.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?” I looked at him questioningly. He motioned toward my earlobe.
“Oh,” I acknowledged. “I don’t know, just a habit,” I said, placing my hands back in my lap. I didn’t want him to know that tugging on my earlobe was in fact a nervous habit. How many times had I done it in his presence? I never recalled Bill mentioning it.
He shifted forward in his chair and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and pinched his bottom lip. Finally, he spoke. “I am very,” he paused to clear his throat, “attracted to you.”
I stammered for a response to his bluntness. It made me wildly uneasy, but it also intensified my growing desire to taste him. “Listen,” I started. “I’m married. I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“I understand.”
I waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, I said, “And I love Bill.” He sat back at the mention of Bill’s name.
“Of course you do. You’ve never had an extramarital affair?” he asked.
My jaw dropped. “No,” I said incredulously. “Not extramarital or otherwise,” I added with a slight hiss. “I’ve never so much as fantasized about another man since we met or even thought - I mean, I love my husband, and of course I never considered . . . Until,” I paused, realizing that I was rambling. “Until nothing,” I concluded, looking away. “And certainly not for a roll in the hay at some bachelor pad.”
“Where do you get that? Never in my life have I referred to my place as a ‘bachelor pad.’” He looked disgusted as he shifted into the back of his chair. An obvious change befell his demeanor. His eyes darkened as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, flashing a glint of his silver watch. From the look on his face, I wondered if anyone had ever turned him down at all.
“I feel this . . . I don’t know how to describe it. Don’t you . . . I think this is worth exploring. No,” he shook his head. “That came out wrong.”
But I’d already latched onto the word. “Exploring? And what exactly does ‘exploring’ entail? Don’t answer that - I can only imagine. And after you’ve finished your ‘exploration,’ I’m supposed to go home to my husband and pretend nothing happened?”
“What I meant - ”
“I’m not some notch in the bedpost, David. Marriage does not mean a challenge; it means I’m completely and totally unavailable.” I waited. “Sorry if that spoils your plans for the evening,” I continued when he didn’t respond. He glared at me from across the table, shook his head and looked away. My hands balled into fists in my lap and my temper began to flare, strengthened by the fact that he appeared to be losing interest in our conversation. He recognizes that this is a losing battle, I thought smugly. Time to move on – maybe to the waitress? He simply sat there unresponsive and his indifference provoked me.
“Also, I don’t appreciate what you’re suggesting. And if Bill knew, well,” I snorted softly. He’d do nothing, I thought before I could stop myself. A look of anger flickered across his face, and I wondered again if he’d ever been rejected. The thought propelled me and I continued, waving my hand emphatically. “This city is littered with available women – single and married – who’d happily go home with you tonight. You shouldn’t have any problem finding someone - ”
He slammed is fist on the table, causing me to jump. “I don’t want someone!” he bellowed, causing the other patrons in the bar to look over at us. Lowering his voice, he hissed, “I’m not what you think!”
My heart raced from his unexpected reaction, and I was overcome with alien emotions. What is he saying? Is this part of the act? I grasped for my purse, clumsily unlatching it with unsteady hands.
“Olivia, wait,” he pleaded, but I threw down a bill and was on my feet in an instant. I headed for the door, picking up my pace when his chair screeched against the floor. In my heels, or otherwise, I suspected, I was no match for his long gait, and he was upon me in seconds. As I reached the base of the stairs, he, not gently, grasped my upper arm and whirled me toward him. “Please,” he said under his breath. “Don’t go.”
I could have melted then and there at the intensity of his glare. I could see the emotions battling on his face; anger, lust, fear, longing. I recognized them as my own. I knew if I didn’t escape immediately, I never would, and so, with everything I had, I yanked my arm from his grasp and ran up the stairs, leaving him there to watch me flee.
CHAPTER 7
AS I EXITED THE STAIRWELL, it was everything I could do not to burst into tears. Over the years I had studied composure as though I were being graded on it, and I reproached myself for losing control. His reaction was unexpected, and it had rattled me. I held my purse to my side and hurried along, desperate to climb into my bed, thankful that it would be alone.
I walked as I attempted to hail a cab, but it was quiet in the way that Sunday nights can be. The night replayed in my mind as I tried to figure David out. Questions filled my mind; questions for him, questions for myself. Questions, I realized, that might never get answered.
He compelled me with his every word and movement, otherwise why would I have agreed to see him? Since our moment in the theater, whatever it was that drew me to him grew more tangible. And nothing positive could come from that.
I was surprised to look up and see my apartment building ahead. I’d walked all the way back without even realizing. Just then, the sound of glass breaking against the concrete made me jump. I kept my eyes forward and focused on the final destination. I had enjoyed the dusky walk to the bar, but now I realized how dark it was and how late it had become. My ears pricked when I thought I heard footsteps behind me.
“Hey.”
Bill had always told me, nonchalantly, not to pay the bums any mind, and they’d leave me alone. I’d never seen any on our block, but then again I was rarely out this late by myself. I hastened my pace, feeling less brave than usual in my vulnerable state.
“Hey!” a male voice called aggressively.
“Does the name Lou Alvarez mean anything to you?” he slurred, tightening his grip over my twitching muscles. Misty and distant eyes betrayed his state of mind.
“Let go,” I commanded with feigned confidence and pulled my arm.
“Mmm,” he moaned and, against my neck, said, “you smell like flowers.” He leaned in and closed his eyes, taking a deep whiff.
Seeing nowhere to turn, I lifted the purse I’d been clutching with my free hand and smacked him in the temple with all my strength.
He cursed loudly, and I wrenched my arm away. I took a step before he caught me again and squeezed my arm so powerfully that I fell to my knees.
“Olivia,” he snarled and my breath caught in my throat. Fear surged through me hearing my name from his mouth. His distant eyes became clear and menacing as he bared his teeth at me. “It is Olivia, right?”
“Who are you?”
He leaned in close to my ear and said, “I’m here about my brother Lou.”
“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“Bill will know,” he said, releasing me with an emphatic push.
I took no time to ruminate on his comments or catch my breath. I ran to my complex without stopping or checking to make sure he didn’t follow. Once inside, I bolted the lock and leaned against the door, exhaling my relief. Bill had never mentioned the name Lou Alvarez, or if he had, it wasn’t enough that I remembered. I dug my cell phone out of my purse, located his name and stared at the screen until it went black. How would I explain being out so late? I’d never had a reason to lie to Bill before, aside from the occasional fib, but the thought of telling him the truth gave me pause.
I headed straight for the bedroom, stopping only long enough to kick my shoes onto the carpet before climbing into bed. I lifted the comforter over my shivering body and thought about what the man had said. What would he have done if he’d found Bill instead?
~
I awoke with a start when I reached across the bed for a body that wasn’t there. I sighed when I remembered Bill was away and then again when the night’s events flooded over me. I sat up and looked around the room, softly lit with the rising sun, and found I was still in my blouse but had removed my pants sometime in the night.
Scrambling out of bed, I fumbled to the couch where I’d flung my stuff the night before. I retrieved my phone and prepared to place the call to Bill but froze as my thumb hovered over his name. Sleep had brought no answers and in fact, I felt more confused than before. I threw the phone back in my bag and decided it could wait until after my shower.
As hot water poured over my face, soaking my hair, I let the questions filter in. Who is Lou Alvarez, and what is his connection to Bill? Did it involve one of his cases at Specter & Specter? I wondered if I should just not say anything to Bill, so I wouldn’t have to lie about where I was. Or rather, whom I was with. David. Would I ever see him again? Was he upset with me? My mind flashed to the eager waitress. How easy was it with him? Would she need to make the first move? I stopped myself. Someone tried to attack me last night and might be back. He obviously knows where we live. And I’m here alone for the next week. I shook my head and decided that worrying wouldn’t help.
I was feeling gloomy and, without Bill, alone, so I picked out a cap-sleeve, fitted charcoal dress and a cropped black cardigan to mirror my mood. Concealer helped me to cover the dark circles from the night’s halting sleep. I brushed on mascara in an attempt to open my sleepy eyes, but the effort of trying to make myself presentable was too great, and I gave up, tossing the make-up back in the drawer.
~
Serena followed me to my new office with two cups of steaming coffee.
“Thank you. How was your weekend?” I asked, sitting down to face her.
“Awesome!” she replied with big eyes. “Brock and I saw Enter the Dragon downtown with his brothers.”
“Enter the Dragon?” I wrinkled my nose. “What’s that?”
“It’s a martial arts classic,” she said excitedly. “There was a special showing at the Music Box Theatre.”
“Oh,” I grinned. “Is martial arts an interest of yours?”
“Chinese cinema is, absolutely! Brock too.”
“Huh,” I replied. “When did you get into that?”
“Hmm,” she closed one eye as she counted silently. “Eight – no, seven – no, eight months ago.”
“And you have been dating Brock for . . . ?”
“It will be a year in a few months,” she offered a wide grin, seeming proud.
“Cool. Well, thanks for the coffee.”
“Oh a couple things. Mr. Beman wants you to refer to yourself as associate editor for now. He said nobody will take you seriously otherwise.”
“Sounds like something he’d say,” I mumbled.
“Also.” She pulled a folder out from under her arm and handed it to me. “One of the guys for Most Eligible is available to meet today, but it’s his only time. He sounds very busy.”
“Busy is good,” I said, opening the file. I scanned the profile sheet and nodded approvingly. “He sounds great. Is he good-looking? Can you get me a photo?”
“Oh, trust me, he is,” she said. “All the girls gave him a ten. And Lisa already approved. I’ll send one over but like, can you do the interview? Or should I ask Lisa?”
I scowled. Lisa would just love to edge me out. “I’ll do it. Just e-mail me the address, and I’ll prep the rest.” I straightened when I saw Beman’s head bobbing through the office.
“Actually, he’s coming here. He insisted.”
“Oh. That’s fine I guess. Can you see that the kitchen is stocked so we can offer him something?”
“Good morning, ladies,” Beman said all of a sudden, causing Serena to jump. “I see you have Starbucks there. Anything for me?” He directed his eyes at Serena and she opened her mouth slowly.
“I’m sorry. I can go back. What would you like?” Serena asked.
“Nothing,” he snapped. “Please get to work. Olivia, a word?”
Despite his small frame, I noticed how the office felt smaller when he was in it. “How are you this morning, Mr. Beman?”
“I’d like an update on the Most Eligible article.”
“It’s coming along nicely. In fact, I have an interview today with a mister - ” I opened the file and squinted, “a mister Lucas Dylan.”
Beman raised his eyebrows. “The architect?”
I nodded, glancing down quickly to make sure that was right.
“Excellent. But don’t call him Lucas, he doesn’t like it,” he said, waving a finger. I nodded knowingly, making a mental note. Luke it is. “We’ve tried the past few years to get him involved but he’s very private, only does work-related interviews. Actually, Architectural Digest profiled him in last month’s issue, look it up.” Thank you, Serena, I thought. “This would be a huge coup, Liv,” he continued. “If you manage to get him in the issue, well,” he paused, “it would be very impressive.” His lips tightened at the last word, and I bit the inside of my lip to prevent a grimace.
“Mr. Beman, I’d like to run an idea by you.” He glanced at his watch and nodded curtly. “In addition to the issue’s launch party, I think it would benefit us to have an exclusive meet and greet for the top can
didates. Since many of them are local celebrities, it would drum up some publicity. We can get web to post some pics afterward to get people wondering who will make the magazine.”
His jaw swung from side to side as he considered it. “Publicity would be good, I’d like the issue to be a high point of the year,” he reasoned. “Get me some numbers by Wednesday, and I’ll see if I can get you a budget. It wouldn’t be much, so work with the publicity department on getting some sponsors to foot the bill.”
“Great, I’ll look into it.”
“Oh, and might I suggest a little lipstick before you meet with Mr. Dylan? No harm in trying to look nice for him.”
He sashayed away, and I touched my fingers to my hair. What does it matter how I look for him? I thought angrily. I’m asking him questions, not testing his make-out skills. The thought of Beman pimping me out to guarantee Lucas’s involvement made me laugh and cringe simultaneously, because I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do it.
The phone had become more conspicuous with every passing minute and now it demanded my attention. I knew I had to call Bill and that it would be the first time I would really lie to him. But there was no way around it.
“Hi, babe,” I said, when he picked up.
“Hey, Livs. Can I call you back? Just got out of a meeting and have another in ten minutes.”
“Actually, this is important,” I started.
~
The phone buzzed, and I grabbed it automatically, my eyes fixed on the computer screen.
“Liv, Mr. Dylan’s here.” Jenny’s voice was even more high-pitched than usual.
“Right. Can you have Serena or one of the interns bring him back?” She hadn’t sent the photo, but it didn’t much matter now. According to everyone else, he was a shoe-in. Quickly, I peeled my sweater off and grabbed my make-up bag, heading for the tiny mirror Diane had installed behind the door. My hair was actually behaving, and I patted it appreciatively. Balancing the bag on the couch, I smoothed on raspberry lip gloss, Beman’s comment lingering in my head.
“Right back here,” I heard. Just then the bag teetered over, spilling products all over the floor. Shit. I squatted and threw everything back in record time. A sea foam green Clinique lipstick tube caught my eye from behind the couch. Leave it. But I couldn’t, so I steadied myself against the edge and reached an arm into the sliver of space.
Come Undone Page 6
