by Liv Bennett
“I want you, Taylor. I’ve never wanted another woman like I want you, and I’m ready to take it as slowly as you want to. But you don’t even let me be a friend; you shut me out completely. What will you lose if you have dinner with me? What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy.”
Healthy? “What do you know about healthy?” I’m so annoyed I’m ready to leave the celebration and head directly home.
“A great deal. A lot of people lose their loved ones, but life goes on. Do you think Jack would want you to stay single and lonely for the rest of your life? Look, I don’t want to fight. I just want to take you out tomorrow night. Please, give me that much. I know you don’t feel the same way for me as I feel for you, but let me at least try and show you what may become of us.”
Us? This is too much. My stomach is so tight with knots, and I’ll have to rush to the bathroom to puke if he goes on. Sucking in a desperate breath of air, I take a step back and pull my eyes away from him toward the stage and see Valerie’s brown eyes, wide with shock, staring at me. As soon as our eyes meet, she scoots out of the suite and shuts the door behind her. Oh, shit. The last thing I wanted was her knowing about Adam’s interest for me.
“Excuse me,” I say and pace toward the table Bree’s sitting. “Bree, can you go and check up on Valerie, please?”
She pulls her eyebrows together in confusion, but without asking a question, stands up and heads to the door.
I throw myself at the chair and start massaging my forehead to rub away the looming headache. The party was supposed to honor Jack and celebrate the growth of the company, not to host a cheap soap opera. I vaguely notice the chair beside me is pulled out and look up to see Adam holding it.
Why am I even surprised? He must have forced Bree into arranging the tables so that he sits with me. Poor Bree. How much more of Adam’s games to get me will she endure? She’s already acting as his personal mailman, bringing me his weekly dinner-date cards with some bullshit romantic words on them.
As if we didn’t just discuss his plans about my bedroom life, he takes his place nonchalantly next to me, not neglecting to brush his leg against mine as he sits, and nods to the girl sitting across from me. Although plus-ones weren’t invited to the party, Bree brought her friend—with my permission, of course—to fill in the place of another employee who canceled at the last minute. I don’t miss the ecstatic look on the girl’s face as Adam reaches for the menu.
Yet another evening of being surrounded by women who can’t stop giggling, flaunting, or generally making fools of themselves for Adam.
“I’m Nichole,” the girl says with a large smile and extends her hand to Adam, and Adam shakes it briefly and introduces himself.
“I’m Taylor,” I say when her eyes find mine, but I don’t bother with shaking hands. The three-tiered silver tray of pastries between us is too big an obstacle.
Grabbing a mushroom-cheese mini-quiche, I inhale its aroma and swallow it with one easy move. Bree’s friend causally slides onto Bree’s seat, which is right next to Adam’s, and begins chatting with him.
Bree comes back, shooting an angry look at her friend, and leans down to whisper in my ear, “I think Valerie is crying. I heard sobs in the restroom, but I’m not sure if it’s her.”
I nod and tell her to sit and enjoy the dinner. I don’t want to deal with someone else’s heartache. Valerie is a beautiful, young woman. And smart too. Why the hell is she crying over a man with whom she hasn’t shared anything beyond work duties? Or did she, and I don’t know about it?
Feeling angry and curious in equal parts, I wipe my lips with the napkin and leave the table, under Adam’s questioning eyes.
The restroom is well-lit and smells of fresh flowers. I start to check the stalls to locate Valerie, but she materializes from the last one, with her eyes red and wet, and strides to the sinks.
“What is the matter?” I know what it is, but I want to hear it from her lips.
She blows into a tissue and walk passes me to the mirrored room. “Like you don’t know what the matter is.”
“I want to hear it from you. What upset you so badly that you hid in the restroom to cry?” Looking at her reflection in the mirror, I cross my arms over my chest and stand close to her.
“Is he into you?” She pulls the faucet on and begins washing her hands.
“Who?”
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Is Adam into you?”
“Yes, he wants to screw me, if that is what ‘into you’ means for you.”
“It didn’t look to me like he wants just that.”
“Seriously? I’m one fucked-up woman who sleeps in her dead husband’s pajamas. Every second sentence I speak is about Jack. And, I’m still wearing my wedding band, in case you haven’t noticed already—” I raise my left hand to show her the ring “What else can he want from me?”
She shakes her head, barely hiding a smile. “Since when did you know about it?”
“Well,” I say, trying to remember the first time Adam asked me out on a date. “I think it was six months after Jack’s death.”
Her eyes grow large with surprise and she gasps. “That’s more than two fucking years ago.” Abruptly, she turns to face me. I’m forced to take a step back by her closeness. Actually, I’m a little worried she’ll slap me in the face.
I shrug, although I, too, am more than a little taken by the lengthy amount of time Adam has been pursuing me. Since then, he hasn’t missed a Friday to ask me out for a dinner for Saturday night. But, of course, I won’t tell her that.
“And, you were gonna tell this to me… when?” she asks, her chin up, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know. The thing is I don’t give a shit about his advances. He loves attention. He loves women. Lots of women. He uses one and moves on to the next. Haven’t you ever heard of his relationship with the famous country singer, Pat Carter? He dumped her after four years of relationship, and she couldn’t keep it together for a long time after him. He’s a playboy. I thought you’d figure it out on your own, without me having to tell you about his interest in me.” I pause and hesitantly put my hand on her shoulder. “You deserve someone better than him.”
She dries her eyes with tissue; even so, she doesn’t take those damn glasses off. Her eyelids are coated with dark grey eye-shadow. I consider telling her she’d have a better chance with him if she ditched those glasses and considered a new makeup style but I don’t want to be slapped. So, I just squeeze my hand tighter on her shoulder before we leave the restroom.
“Maybe I just want some senseless fuck,” Valerie says.
My stomach turns at the thought, and I taste in my mouth the quiche I’ve just eaten. “I don’t want to hear a word about it, then.”
“A playboy, huh? I’ve never imagined that.”
“Not a word,” I warn, raising my forefinger to stress my point.
When we come back to our table, I find Bree and her friend giggling at Adam’s jokes. I turn and give Valerie a ‘what have I just told you?’ look.
The servers come to take our drink orders and, when I ask for soda, Adam glances at me with an approving look in his eyes for the choice of my non-alcoholic drink, then goes back to entertaining the girls. Oh, Bree. I’m going to raise your salary for freeing me from Adam’s clutches even for a few hours. And I’ll promote you if your little friend gets in the sack with him.
In a couple of minutes, the servers place our drinks and entrees efficiently and disappear as soon as they come. I dig into the glazed duck leg with figs while enjoying the exchange between Nichole and Adam. Valerie not so much, I notice. Nichole manages to have her hand very close to Adam’s arm. Unable to mask my curiosity about her next move, I swallow a piece of fig and touch Valerie’s shoe with the tip of my boot to raise her attention to the happening.
Nichole moves her hand very casually toward Adam, while laughing with body-racking laughter at Adam’s yet another joke. I’m about to burst with excitement and thrill, as though I’m
watching a blockbuster in 3D. As soon as Nichole’s hand lands on Adam’s arm, though, he jerks away as if stung by a bee and pushes his chair back to stand up. His face purple, like the fig on my plate, he excuses himself to go talk to one of the employees. Employee, my ass. He dashes off directly toward the door.
There goes the promotion for Bree. I exchange curious looks with Valerie and remember to swallow the piece of tender duck in my mouth. He’s playing the devoted and loyal around me. I bet money it’s all part of his scheme to get me.
Nichole gapes after him with her mouth wide open and cannot bring herself to shut it even long after Adam’s gone. I’m surprised to find a tickling of compassion for her inside me. She has no way to know of Adam’s pursuit of me.
When Adam comes back, approximately ten minutes later, he avoids our table like the plague and socializes with the accounting team. Nichole eyes me briefly with shame written all over her face, before cocking her head down to her plate. I observe with amazement that she has yet to touch her dish. What an effect Adam has over women that they even neglect eating! Forget about Weightwatchers or Jenny Craig. There’s no better way than Adam to get those lumps in shape.
“So, Bree. The evening has been great so far,” Valerie says between the sips of her champagne. “I think you should go into event planning rather than waste your talent with organizing Taylor’s agenda.”
“I’m happy with my job, and Taylor is the best boss ever,” Bree says with a cheery tone and grabs a scone off of the pastry tray.
“Don’t feed her mind with nonsense.” I nudge Valerie’s ribcage, while stealing a glance at Adam. No matter how I detest his flirtations, I still find him the most interesting person in the room. Even though I can’t make out what he is speaking about with the people at his table; his demeanor, energy, and the power he radiates as he speaks make me want to switch tables to his. If only his intentions for me were of a more friendly nature. He’d make a great friend, I’m sure.
I’m not the only one peeking at Adam. I catch Nichole staring at him through her mascara-coated eyelashes while playing with her fork aimlessly on the plate. Her face shows every bit of the disappointment she must be feeling.
I gesture to Andy, the intern in accounting, to sit with us for the desert. His shyness and major at college, Math, tell me he is a much better fit for Nichole than Adam will ever be. It turns out I wasn’t completely wrong with my assumption, and as soon as the two discover they’re both UCLA alumnae, they hit it off pretty well. I won’t be surprised if I walk in on them kissing in front of the restrooms by the end of the party.
While I’m vaguely listening to Valerie’s strong opinions about how Republicans are on the verge on ruining the country, a group of four young men with musical instruments enter the suite. I turn to Bree with a questioning look. Her face beams once she notices the group of men, and she stands up abruptly. I guess this is her only chance to break free from Valerie’s infamous political discussion.
“Our musical guests have just arrived. I’d better attend to them,” she explains to Valerie.
“I didn’t know we’d have live music,” I say, showing my discontent for not having been informed about it. After all, I’m paying for this evening, and I have every right to know what and who is on the menu.
“Oh, but I mentioned them to you early this morning. Besides, the entire evening plan was sent to you together with the bill. Both in paper and electronically.”
“Oh, my mistake, then. Sorry.” I gesture at her to go and see to the musicians. From their Michael-Bublé looks, I assume we’ll be listening to some jazz-pop classical tunes.
Tapping my fingers on the table, I study the band members as they prepare their instruments and settle on the stage. When I see the guy whom I assume to be the singer nod his head to Bree, I start to stand up to introduce the band. However, Adam appears by the stage and grabs the microphone from the singer’s hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins.
CHAPTER 2 - ADAM
From the corner of my eye, I see Taylor shifting in her chair. If she’s thinking she’ll just come up to the stage and make a dry announcement of the band, she’s completely wrong. I smile at her briefly, and wait for her to sit back in her chair, and then introduce the band. I recite what Bree told me about the band earlier in the evening and introduce the band members by their names.
“What would a celebration be without hitting the dance floor? Unfortunately we’re thirty-two men against fifteen women. That says a lot about HR, doesn’t it?” People begin laughing; I wait for a few seconds before I go on. “As a solution, you ladies have to dance with at least two gentlemen, so we all can get a chance to shake it. I know you’re all shy and not intoxicated enough. So, I’m going to go ahead and do the first dance to open up the dance floor.”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know Taylor won’t say ‘yes’ to my dance invitation if I ask her nicely, so I have to impose it on her. Holding the microphone still close to my mouth, I raise my free hand toward her. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as a reply. Only, she won’t be able to escape. I won’t let her.
“You’re part of the statistics.” I can barely contain a laugh coming.
“Pick someone else. I don’t want to be your first victim.” Her gaze is glued on the glass of soda in her hand, her fingers drumming around it. A nervous tick that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. She doesn’t stand a chance, and she knows it. But she won’t go down without a fight. That’s the Taylor I know and love.
I start to walk toward her, taking each step in stride. She shakes her head several times and raises her hands, palms facing me. Wrong move. I reach for her hand and clutch it firmly. Nothing in the world can stop me from having this dance with her. Not even her. I pull her hand gently, but with resolute will, toward me and bow my head like the gentleman that I am.
“Will you do me the honor?”
Standing up ever so slowly, she casts those wicked, blue eyes of hers toward me, arresting me with their beauty. “Under one condition,” she whispers to my ear.
She’d run miles away had she known the effect of her warm breath anywhere near my skin. The touch of her hair on my face fires a jolt of arousal in my groin, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait to have my way with her.
“What is it?” Now it’s my turn to avoid her gaze, the heat of it so seductive that I’m afraid I’ll just force my lips onto hers. Instead, I breathe in her perfume, J'adore by Dior. I bought a bottle of the cologne, as soon as I figured out the brand, just so I can have her smell anytime I want. Only, the scent in the bottle isn’t as intoxicating as it is on her skin.
“You’ll dance with Valerie afterwards.” She glances down at Valerie, who is eating her desert, looking oblivious to our conversation.
I nod briefly and lead her slowly to the dance floor, where everyone can see us. I’d rather have her only for me for our first dance ever, but for now it’ll have to do.
“Let the dance begin.” I hand the microphone back to the singer. The first song is hand-picked by me; Sinatra’s I’ve got you under my skin and I’m dying to see Taylor’s response.
Sliding my hand around her waist, I pull her closer to me. My hand spans across a little above the small of her back. My heart is racing with desire and the thrill of being so close to her, and I work on breathing slowly to keep the storm brewing inside me to myself. My fingers draw circles across the thin fabric of her dress that leaves nothing to imagination about the smoothness of her skin underneath. Will I ever get to run my hands across her beautiful body without the interference of a dress?
She takes extra care not to let her chest touch mine. What wouldn’t I give for that touch? I let my eyes trail down her body. Her breasts look larger under the dress, likely because she’s wearing a padded bra. I prefer the lacy ones that do nothing to hide her nipples when they harden. I bet they’re stiff now beneath the bra, just as the rest of her body is. Her soft hand in mine, I inhale her
sweet smell again and watch her expression as the tune begins.
A smile flickers across her plump lips, making me suck in a sharp breath. Her smiles are so few and far between, I can’t help but feel triumphant for lightening her mood, even for a little bit.
Bending her head down, she looks up at me through her long lashes. “Did you pick this song?”
I don’t answer her. What’s the point of saying ‘yes’ when the answer is crystal clear? I gently draw her closer and begin to sway with her to the music. She tenses more, even tries to pull back, but my grip is tight.
When she finally relaxes, I start whispering the lyrics to her ear. I’ll be damned. She picks up the song where I stop and continues singing the lines softly, almost inaudibly. Why the sudden change of heart? I try to look into her eyes but she’s hanging her head, maybe to hide her emotions from me. Her voice is soft like velvet, soothing and angelic. Like Christmas to my ears.
At one point in the middle of the song, her voice cracks, her body begins shaking, and all I can hear are her silent sobs. I lead her in a circle, until I face the stage so her face is blocked by my torso from the audience, and slide a finger under her chin to tilt her face up. Her eyes are clouded with tears and unfocused with deep thoughts, as though a private piece of memory is playing in her head.
Suddenly, it all comes crashing down to me. Who am I kidding? I am the one who doesn’t stand a chance. I can’t even beat a dead man in his grave. It’s true what everyone has been saying all these years. What she has been saying. Her coldness, the way she always tries to keep her distance, her constant refusals of my dinner invitations aren’t because she’s close-minded or afraid to give love another try. It’s because she can’t. I can continue this foolish game and run after her for years to come, yet it won’t change the fact. The simple, plain, but hurtful fact that her heart belongs with Jack, my best friend for life. She can never love me the way she loves him. She’ll never be mine like she’s given herself to him.
