Chapter 5
Coulter
What was it about that woman that got under my skin? I don’t mean that she irritated me, I mean that I wanted her under my skin, with me on top and only blankets over the both of us.
I’d seen beautiful women before, but they knew it. This one, well, she was different. Didn’t she see the image she drove into a man’s mind? The stunning turquoise eyes? The endless legs and that sweet, yet intelligent innocence that begged me to teach her everything I knew—and I’m not talking about business.
Peter had done his job well. He’d brought me her name, where she lived, details on her roommate and where she worked. She looked the part for a high-class dress shop. With a shape like hers, she’d bring life to a bedsheet. I couldn’t let myself picture her face without getting hard. It was becoming an issue. I could hardly get through a business meeting without an erection, and that made me lose my concentration and become vulnerable. I had to do something about it.
I knew she wouldn’t call or text me. She might not have even taken the card with her. I knew Buddy would put in a good word for me—in fact, I counted on it. Buddy had been on me to find a woman and settle down—if for no better reason than he wouldn’t have to be my “date” all of the time and could start a life of his own. I was amazed how friendly he was that night. Normally, he was a bulldog. I knew he wasn’t drunk; he never let himself lose control. Surely, it couldn’t have been the girl—Bitsy? Was that her name? She seemed scatter-brained, but then it could have been the booze.
I had my hands full with the business, but I was so pre-occupied with Gwen Patterson that I knew I’d have to resolve my infatuation with her before I could return to my normal productivity. I knew the only solution was to let it run its course. I’d been there several times before. I looked at women like business acquisitions. They seemed tantalizing and perfect until I had them; that’s when I lost interest and moved on. I knew it was a crappy way to treat women and that’s why I seldom got involved and never with someone as clean-thinking and decent as Gwen. She was too easily manipulated and would be a mental crime scene when I moved on. I almost felt like a vampire—wanting someone’s lifeblood and yet knowing they would be dead after our encounter. It was unconscionable. But, it was true.
I couldn’t do that to her; I couldn’t take away that fresh innocence and leave behind cynicism and regrets. I’d sold my soul to the devil to get where I was and now the devil was demanding his due. I had to pay it—not Gwen.
So, I forced myself to put her out of my mind. It was like trying to kick an addiction. What the hell is the matter with me? I don’t even know her; not what she likes or hates, not where she’s been before, how she was brought up, what turned her on. I knew nothing.
That, in effect, was what made her enticing. I’d had enough therapists who found it their solemn duty to explain that to me. I wanted a family, wanted a son or daughter to teach what I’d learned and mastered. There had been women; beautiful, smart creatures who would have made excellent mothers. The cycle repeated itself. They were perfect, they were a commitment, they became flawed in my mind and I’d justified leaving.
I’d sworn off women, but for some niggling reason, Gwen was different. She emitted an organic genuineness that separated her. I couldn’t analyze her because I didn’t understand her. I was cynical—that much I knew about myself.
I had to spend some time with her but not get involved. I had to learn to break the cycle, to accept her without expectations. Maybe that’s why she’d been put in my path.
I was justifying again. Damn!
* * *
It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon. First of the week business had been resolved and the books hadn’t filled for mid-week yet, so I was in the rare position of having little to do. Or had I set it up that way subconsciously?
How was it then that with all my new-found good intentions, I wound up parking across the street from Blaze, like some kind of cop in a stake-out? How did I not look conspicuous? Sunglasses and lowered windshield visors and all? I was looking to get caught. It was the only believable rationale. I told myself I was using behavioral therapy. Be close enough to see her, watch her, but only from a distance. I could go through my cycle as normal, except I’d keep her out of reach. She wouldn’t get hurt. It was an excellent plan. Then why was I climbing out of my car and crossing the street to follow her into that restaurant?
“Hello there.”
She looked up from her salad, a fashion magazine spread open on the table in front of her. “You.”
“Oh, so you remember me?”
She closed the magazine and motioned to the chair opposite her with a fork. “You may as well sit down since you’re going to such trouble to follow me.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.
“I… well, okay. Let me grab a sandwich and I’ll join you.” I signaled a waiter and ordered a Reuben and a cup of coffee.
“That’s an odd combination,” she observed.
“Really? Why?”
“Well, I guess most people would order something cold and cleansing, like tea, to counter the spiciness of the corned beef and sauerkraut.”
“Would they, now? You study people, do you? Or are you just trying to impress me?”
She looked down to her salad sheepishly and a thick lock of her hair dropped forward. She pushed it behind her ear in a habitual gesture I guessed she did a hundred times each day. I felt bad for snapping at her—she was probably caught off guard and said the first thing that came to mind. After all, I had ambushed her. I wondered why people chose hairstyles that needed tucking, straightening, pushing out of the eyes and so forth. Why not cut it or secure it with pins? It just seemed so… inefficient. Oh, that’s good. You’re already getting to the critical part of the cycle. Heck, I might have her out of my system by bedtime. Yeah, right.
“Yes, always have.”
I’d been so deep in my introspection that I lost the thread of our conversation. I covered quickly.
“Why is that?”
She took another bite and tucked that strand behind her ear. “Not sure, really. I think maybe because I’ve always liked people, so I pay attention to what they say and do—you know a sort of respect thing.”
She knew I’d been daydreaming. She could see right through me!
“May I ask you something?” She was looking at me directly and I could see she was focused on my eyes. I knew they were unusual and wasn’t surprised. I was often complimented on them. I nodded to her to ask.
“Are you really so cocky and self-important that you think you can invade my life when I’ve clearly asked you to leave me alone?”
It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice in my face. I wasn’t used to being treated that way. When you grow up with money, people tend to try flattery and other means of getting in your good graces. Insults had never sat well with me. Why was I tolerating those from her? “Well, I might ask you something.” Her eyebrows rose waiting for me to continue. “Are you always this rude to people who would like to get to know you?”
She stopped chewing and stared at me. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. That wasn’t the way I was raised. I apologize. How were you raised?”
I knew what she was getting at, and she knew that I knew. It was a rhetorical question and it put both of us in our proper places. Maybe there was some hope yet. I’ve never had to work this hard to get a girl before. I realized then, I was enjoying the process. It fell under that adage that said anything worth having was worth fighting for.
“So, can we start fresh? Can you forget that I was the evil, privileged one and simply see that someone was trying to take advantage of me?”
“Two more points. Looking back, I spent more time looking at you than I did at him. I didn’t take the time to read him.”
I liked what she said, even if it put me in a bad light. “You know, there just might be more to me than you think you see.”
“But what if it’s not all good?”
&nb
sp; “But what if it’s not all bad?”
She grinned, and I could tell she was intrigued by the thought of peeking inside the treasure chest. Except, that treasure chest was me. I wanted to be what would make her dreams come true. Did I just say that? Well, at least not aloud.
“I tell you what. Give it some time. I might grow on you.”
“Should I get my shots first?”
This one was going to be a challenge. I took one last bite of my sandwich and threw a fifty on the table, wiping my mouth and signaling the waiter by putting my napkin over my plate. He’d spotted the fifty and couldn’t get there fast enough. I pointed to her salad as well as my plate and waved my hand. “Keep the change,” I told him. “And as for you, my young rebel, I only ask that you put away your hasty opinion of me. Who knows, you might start to like me.” With that, I gave her a short salute and left the restaurant, my heart hammering in my chest. I didn’t want to admit it, but she’d gotten to me. I needed some time to think it all over.
Chapter 6
Gwen
I couldn’t even focus on my customers that afternoon. He’d gotten under my skin in a way that I had not let anyone do, at least not since Paul. I’d sworn to myself that I would always be my own woman; that I would never allow one shred of myself to be used by a man again. I was used to men coming on to me, I guess it was that tall blonde look that they love so well. Their eyes never went any deeper than my skin, though. That’s the part I resented.
They didn’t see the ambition and the love I was willing to give. They didn’t see that I was a good mother to Carrie or the heartbreak imprinted by Paul. I didn’t want to believe that all men could be that shallow. I’d always known men to be solution oriented. Couldn’t they see that it was a better investment to get to know a girl first? Wasn’t it worth their time to find a partner in life rather than a one-night stand in their bed? It was starting to look that way, but I hoped I was wrong.
When I thought about it, I could see I was being a little hypocritical. My job depended on women trying to please men, looking their best and making the men desire them. Were women nothing more than spiders, laying the web and waiting? There had to be more to it than that. Or maybe not? I knew I’d grown cynical since Paul. The little idealistic virgin had grown a thick skin and a bitter taste. It was possible that would mean I would be alone for the rest of my life, except for Carrie and whatever extraneous family members survived. Was that enough for me? I knew it wasn’t. I wanted more than one child, I wanted a husband who loved and valued me. Most of all, I wanted redemption from the feeling that I’d been used and discarded. I knew that was what was bugging me. It wasn’t fair for me to take out my resentment on every male who crossed my path.
I got home that evening to find Bitsy not even dressed for work. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I took the night off.”
“Are you feeling okay?” She looked away and didn’t answer immediately. I could tell something was up. The question was, what was it?
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said slowly, filing her nails. The polish and topcoat waited patiently on the table next to her. I could see she’d chosen bright red and I knew something was up. That was the color she saved for special occasions.
I pulled Carrie out of the carrier, kissed her sweet face and took her to sit on my lap at the end of the sofa. I tickled her and loved the sound of her giggles. “So? Do I have to wait or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“How do you do that?”
“What do you mean? How do I do what?”
“You know… You always know something is going on before anyone has to tell you. How do you read people like that?”
I shrugged. “I guess I just like people.” I snapped my mouth shut, remembering my earlier introspection. How could I say I like people when I spent a good deal of time avoiding one entire half of them? “So? Spill it,” I nudged her.
With an exasperated sigh she let her hands drop into her lap. “Okay, so, there’s this party.”
“Go on…”
“Well, I was sort of hoping you’d go with me.”
She wasn’t looking at me directly. Something was up. “Our usual crowd? Who’s hosting it or are we going to another club?”
“Does that mean you’ll go?”
Bitsy wasn’t bright enough to realize I could see her traps coming. She thought she already had me committed but I was still picking her brain. “I didn’t say that. In fact,” I kicked off my shoes before continuing, “I’ve had a really lousy day and it would feel good just veg out and play with Carrie.”
Her bottom lip twisted, making her resemble a child who wasn’t getting their way. “Why do you have to be so, so boring sometimes?”
I raised my eyebrows and looked at her. “Excuse me? Boring?”
She sighed, thinking for a moment to try a new track. “Okay, so as a 911 operator, my nights are never boring. Wouldn’t you like, just occasionally, to live a little?”
“Why do I have the feeling you’re trying to talk me into something I ordinarily wouldn’t touch?”
Her eyes flared, and I could tell she knew she’d caught herself. She resumed filing her nails, holding her hand out to compare the arch on each finger. “I’m not. I just know that you work hard, and you never get out and I feel bad for you. I got invited to this party tonight and no, it’s not our usual crowd. In fact, there might not be very many people we know it all. I thought maybe it would be a new experience and you’d like to go with me. Is there something wrong with that?”
She was trying to lead me down the trail of breadcrumbs. I wasn’t going to give in that easily. I ignored her last question and went for the heart of the matter. “Whose party is it?”
“Does that matter?”
“To me it does.”
“It’s just sort of an open house. Well, an open condo.”
“What is an open condo?”
“Funny you should ask. Why don’t you go along with me tonight you’ll find out?”
“Since when do we know someone who lives in a condo?”
“Look Gwen,” Bitsy said with frustration. “Could you for just once go with me without asking a lot of questions? I already asked Mrs. Heathrow to watch Carrie and she has no problem. Just run in and grab a shower, I already took mine. Put on something pretty and let’s just go. No questions asked. Can you do that for me?”
“Is this really important to you?”
“It really is.”
“Then make up the diaper bag and I’m headed for the shower.”
“I’m calling an Uber in case we want to have a little to drink tonight,” Bitsy said as we handed Carrie over to Mrs. Heathrow. “It should be here any second.” Her timing was perfect as we heard the horn honk out front.
“You be a good girl, Carrie,” I told my daughter, kissing her on the head. “Now don’t spoil her, Mrs. Heathrow. You make it hard for me to top you.” Mrs. Hawthorne laughed and waved us goodbye as she closed the door behind me.
The Uber dropped us off on a corner and Bitsy was pulling my hand across the street toward an ultramodern building with balconies lighted like so many small stages. “Who lives here?”
“A friend of mine, never mind. You won’t know anyone there so they’ll all be new to you.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Bitsy,” I told her. “What floor is it on? Why don’t you go on up ahead and give me a few minutes for some fresh air? My nerves are in a bundle and it’s making me feel a little icky.” She looked over her shoulder, but I couldn’t read her expression.
“Okay,” she agreed. “But you promise that you’ll come up? You won’t just call another car and go home?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
Bitsy nodded, adjusted the waist on her mini pencil skirt and hurried toward the building. There were others coming and going, none of whom I recognized. There was a raised flower bed with a wide stone wall and I found a flat place where I could sit down and relax for a minute.
I watched the people coming and going — all of them dressed in clothing I could’ve sold them from Blaze. Very upper class, very expensive, very beautiful people. It struck me that I didn’t belong there and certainly Bitsy was out of place. These weren’t her people, as much as they weren’t mine. Nevertheless, a promise was a promise, so I took a deep breath and followed the current of bodies going inside.
Once inside the glass revolving doors, I was faced with a bank of elevators. Three doors opened at once and the others in the lobby crowded into two of them. The third one was still empty, so I took my cue and climbed aboard. The door shut, and I tapped the number 22 as Bitsy said that was our floor. I leaned against the back wall, crossing my legs at my ankles and held my clutch in front of me. I’d only gone three floors when the elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. I was focused on my ankles and didn’t look up and it wasn’t until the door closed and I heard his voice that I knew who it was.
“Well, hello there,” Colt greeted me.
“What are you doing here?”
He laughed aloud. “I might ask you the same thing. I happen to live here.”
I knew my face flushed and I looked back to the floor in embarrassment. “Bitsy is upstairs at a party, waiting for me.” I hoped that was enough explanation.
“Which floor are you headed to?”
“22.”
“Well, what you know? It would seem that you and I are going to the same party.”
I looked up in shock. “Whose party is it?”
“Do you remember meeting Buddy at the club that night?” His blue eyes stared through mine as though I could hold no secrets from them.
I nodded.
“Well, he lives on the 22nd floor, and as you know I live on the fourth. I never was one for heights,” he confided in me.
I didn’t know what to say and wondered how it was that Bitsy came to be invited to Buddy’s condo. I didn’t have long to wonder as there was a jerk as the elevator came to a sudden stop.
Mine to Protect Page 5
