Romance: My First Time With The Tycoon

by Ally Nelson

  “That,” he said, still slightly out of breath, “was incredible.”

  “Yeah,” Ashley had to agree. Suddenly, reality came crashing down around her. She looked at her watch. To her surprise, only ten minutes had passed from the moment Tom had lured her into the room. It seemed to last a lot longer, she thought. “I have to go,” she muttered. “I’m surprised no one came knocking on the door while we’ve been in here.”

  She reached for one of the towel warmers and extracted one of the tightly-rolled damp cloths, using it to wipe the sweat from her neck. In a sudden moment of modesty, she turned away from Tom to clean between her legs. Tom began to work on his own grooming, stripping off the condom and balling it in some tissue before disposing of it in the trash. He tucked himself away and zipped up. Ashley finished wiping down and dropped the used cloth into little chute that lead to the laundry. She did her best to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt and buttoned up her blouse.

  “I believe these are yours.”

  Ashley looked up to see Tom smiling and holding out her hair sticks, which he had retrieved from the floor. “Thanks,” she said, and turned to the mirror as she did a quick reconstruction of the bun. Behind her, she could see him pulling on his tuxedo jacket. This is that post-coital awkwardness you always hear about, she thought, but Tom didn’t seem to be showing any signs of discomfort. In fact, he looked pretty content, like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Well, it’s not like his job is in jeopardy if he gets caught having sex in the men’s room.

  Satisfied with her appearance, Ashley turned and headed for the door. Tom unlocked it and checked outside before nodding. They left the bathroom and started back up the hall toward the dining area.

  Tom caught her arm. “Ashley,” he said, and she stopped, looking up at him. He smiled. “Can I see you tonight, when you’ve finished your shift?”

  She felt another flutter in her belly. He wanted to get together tonight? For a moment, she wondered why this couldn’t have waited until later, why he felt the sudden urge to have her there at the restaurant. Don’t put this all on him, she told herself. You wanted it just as much. You could have said no and walked out, but you didn’t. You enjoyed every hot, sexy, dangerous second of it. She returned his smile and nodded. “I’d like that,” she said.

  “Wonderful.” Grinning, Tom made the silent ladies first gesture and Ashley led the way back to the banquet room. As he passed her podium, Tom caught her hand and gave it a quick but discrete squeeze.

  As she watched him make his way back to his table, Ashley saw a tall, gorgeous woman in a red dress intercept Tom. She couldn’t hear the exchange but she saw him react with surprise before they embraced like old friends. Ashley checked the seating chart and found the woman’s name. Melinda Seine-Harris. She hooked Tom’s elbow and pulled him over to her table, where she began to introduce him. Her actions and facial expressions seemed almost exaggerated, and she kept hugging Tom’s arm and kissing his cheek. Ashley frowned. Okay, calm down. It’s clear she’s another writer, that’s why she’s here, and she’s probably a friend. That’s it, nothing more.

  Later in the evening, Ashley watched as Melinda dragged Tom out of the restaurant. They climbed into the back of a limo and were gone. Maybe she’s giving him a ride home, Ashley thought.

  Her shift ended at midnight. Exhausted, Ashley made her way home. When she climbed the steps to her apartment, she looked over at Tom’s windows. She saw no lights. She decided to knock on his door. After several minutes and no answer, she realized he must still be out somewhere with Melinda.

  Ashley retreated to her apartment. She stripped off her work clothes and climbed into the shower. Standing under the spray, she thought about what happened back at the restaurant. Her pulse began to quicken again at the memory of Tom’s touches, his kisses, the way he had whispered in her ear, calling her “darling” and “amazing.” Then she thought about him doing those things with the woman in the red dress. Ashley banked down against those images. Of course, Tom could be with anyone he wanted. She didn’t own him. What they did earlier tonight didn’t give her any claim over him.

  She finished her shower, dried off, and pulled on her pajamas. Curling up in the armchair next to front window, she peered out into the darkness, watching for any sign of Tom. She felt like that faithful dog, sitting by the door, anxiously awaiting the return of her master.

  “God, you’re so needy,” Ashley told herself aloud, and heard the disgust in her own voice. What had she expected, after all? Tom was an older man, old enough to be her father. He had traveled the world before she ever got out of diapers. He was a successful author whose books were about to be optioned by a major Hollywood studio and adapted for the silver screen. He had a life and friends before he moved to Los Angeles, and while he may have just come to town, once he got settled he would not want to bother with some little girl from Ann Arbor. Face it, you were just a convenient piece of tail. You were star struck, and he used that to his advantage. Look at what he writes – older men, younger women. You think you have a fetish for mature guys? What if all his stories are based on all the girls he’s boned over the years? She shook her head and snorted. You’ve been had. In more ways than one.

  Feeling more anger at herself than at Tom – something she could not understand – Ashley gave up on her vigil. She closed the blinds, switched off the light, and headed back to her bedroom. For the first time since she first came to the area, she found herself wishing she could be back home in Michigan.

  Chapter Six

  Hurrying up the steps to her apartment door, Ashley fumbled with her keys, trying to hold on to her full backpack, purse, and dry cleaning with one hand while attempting to open the lock. Thanks to a backup in traffic on the highway from the college, and another delay when the cleaners couldn’t find her clothes, she found herself running an hour behind her usual schedule. She now calculated she had enough time to get inside, shower, and change clothes before rushing right back out to work. I’ll just have to eat something there. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  In her haste, she succeeded in dropping her keys. With a muttered curse, Ashley stooped to pick them up only to lose her grip on the slippery plastic bag covering her clean work clothes. She swore louder as she tried to keep them from becoming wrinkled. She did not have time for ironing!

  “You look like you could use a hand.”

  Ashley glanced up from her crouching position to see Tom standing over her with that charming smile and bemused up-tilt to his light blue eyes. Before she could reply, he bent down and looped a finger through the hook on the clothes hanger. Snagging her keys with his other hand, he righted himself again. Ashley stood up, as well. She could feel her face heat with a blush as her memory whisked her back three days to the other night, and their intimate encounter in the men’s restroom. She also remembered how she had sat up most of the night waiting for him to come home as he had promised. Bitterness began to form a small, hard knot in her belly. Still, she flashed a smile and pushed a lock of her blonde hair back behind her ear. “Um. Thanks.”

  Tom held out her keys and she took them, turning away to unlock her apartment door. She could feel him move in closer to her. The light breeze caught his cologne and carried it past her nose like a delicious aroma, and just like Pavlov’s dog she reacted to the familiar scent, recalling how she had buried her face in his neck and breathed him in as he took her up against cool black and white tiles. A tingle began to spiral down through her body and settle between her legs in an excited throb of need as she shoved the key into the lock much like Tom had driven himself into her body.

  Ashley managed to compose herself and opened the door. She turned back to Tom with another bright smile. “Thanks,” she said, keeping it light. “Sorry I can’t really stand around and talk right now.” She tossed her backpack into the apartment and then reached for her dry cleaning. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Of course. I won’t keep you.” Tom passed her the hanger. Before s
he could step inside and shut the door, he stepped forward, putting his hand against the jamb. “Ashley –“

  She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and looked at him. She could see him struggling, like he had something to say.

  “I wanted to apologize,” Tom said at last, his voice softer. “For not being here the other night when you came home. It’s just…at the party, I met up with an old friend, and she insisted we go out to a club for a drink.”

  “It’s okay,” Ashley said, cutting him off before he could go into any further details. She could recall the woman in the red dress with as much vivid detail as she could the events in the bathroom, and the feelings of suspicion, jealousy, and rejection now flared within her again. “You don’t owe me any apologies. You have a life, you have other friends – I get that.”

  “But I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you,” Tom said. He let out a heavy sigh and dragged his long fingers back through his dark curls. “And really, as much as I did enjoy catching up with Melinda, I would have much preferred it hadn’t been at some noisy club in West Hollywood during Wet G-String Night. I like to consider myself open-minded, but I would have found the whole event much more interesting if the participants had been women.”

  Ashley frowned. And then it dawned on her. An involuntary laugh burst past her lips and she clapped her fingers over her mouth belatedly to silence it. “Oh my god,” she said. “She dragged you off to a gay bar in WeHo?”

  “To be fair, it was a mixed LGBT establishment,” Tom admitted.

  “Why would she take you to a gay bar, though?” Ashley asked, now chuckling openly. “Wait – are you saying she’s…?”

  “Yes,” Tom replied. “Melinda is a Lesbian. Oddly enough, she writes a lot of gay male erotica.” He scratched the inside of one ear with a fingertip, a look of confusion fleeting across his face, and then shook his head. “At any rate, I didn’t want you to think I had purposefully stood you up. I kept trying to get away but Melinda continued to order drinks and introduce me to her friends, including some of the models who pose for her book covers. Before I knew it, it was almost four in the morning and by the time I caught a cab home, it was after five. I didn’t see any lights on in your windows.” He looked at Ashley, making direct eye contact. “I’ve been trying to catch you at home for three days but you’ve either been at school or work or I’ve been out. It was by pure chance that I heard you out here, just now, and thought I would seize the opportunity while I could.”

  Kind of like the other night, in the men’s room? Ashley wondered. She cleared her throat and smiled with a little more effort. “It’s okay. I hope you had fun…even if you did have to look at a bunch of wet men.”

  To her surprise, Tom turned a bright shade of pink as he let out a breathy laugh. “Yes, well,” he said, his embarrassment obvious; Ashley could swear she could see him turning into one of those stereotypical proper Englishmen, right before her very eyes. It just made him even more charming. One minute, a dashing, James Bond-like sex beast; the next, a shy and stammering Hugh Grant. “As I said, I did want to apologize. The last thing I want between us is any sort of misunderstanding.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ashley said, the words coming out a little clipped. “Apology accepted.”

  He raised his eyebrows, hopeful. “And everything is all right? We’re cool, now?” He caught his lower lip between his teeth, uncertain. “I do hope that’s the correct vernacular…”

  Despite her frustration, Ashley felt herself break into a genuine grin. Tom might be a successful novelist from Great Britain, but he still managed to be awkward when it came to the use of American slang. Damn him, she thought. I want to be angry, but he makes it so difficult! She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “We’re cool, now.”

  He nodded, visibly relieved. “Good.” Rubbing his palms together, he looked around, still appearing somewhat tentative and hopeful. “So…would it be all right if I called on you tomorrow evening?”

  “I’m working the next two nights,” she said, and tried to conceal her sudden excitement. A side of her still longed for him, still wanted to believe she could be special to him. Did he really want to spend time with her, or did he just want a convenient roll in the sack? She had to stay firm on her decision to shift gears and proceed with caution. She had to show him she was not, despite what happened the other night, easy. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a huge term paper I have to write that’s due Friday, so I’ll be using the rest of the week to work on that.”

  “I see.” Tom huffed out a wistful sigh. “Well. I suppose I shall see you when you’ve finished…if that’s all right?”

  Ashley nodded. “Yeah. That would be great.”

  “Right. All right, then – I won’t keep you any longer than I already have.” Tom smiled and inclined his head. “Good evening.”

  Ashley retreated into her apartment and closed the door. Falling back against it, she closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop trying to beat its way out of her chest. She felt a mix of elation to find out Tom had not ditched her to be with some old girlfriend. He could have been lying about trying to get home, she told herself. What guy is going to admit he forgot about you because he was having too much fun?

  She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, in the direction where she last saw Tom. “That guy,” she muttered. Sighing, Ashley propelled herself away from the door. She was going to be late, no doubt about it – but at least she no longer felt angry and hurt for being stood up the other night.

  Chapter Seven

  Sometime in the evening, Ashley heard a knock at her door. She looked up from her laptop, first looking across the room at the clock on her cable box. 6:42? Standing up, she took a moment to stretch. She had been sitting on the couch for three hours straight, hunched over the keyboard. Making her way to the door, she looked through the peep-hole and saw Tom. She opened the door to find him standing there, wearing a big grin while balancing a covered casserole dish on one mitt-covered hand and holding a bottle of wine in the other. Ashley blinked. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Supper,” he replied. “I know how I get when I’m writing, sometimes so engrossed I forget to stop and eat.” He shrugged. “I thought you might be working so hard on that paper that you probably didn’t bother to stop for supper. So…” He lifted the casserole for emphasis. “Supper.”

  Ashley shook her head in amusement. “Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted. “I did get caught up in what I was doing and didn’t even realize what time it was until just now. But you really didn’t have to go to the trouble of cooking for me.”

  “It’s really no trouble at all,” he said. His eyebrows tilted upward. “Although it is very hot, and it’s beginning to burn through the oven mitt.”

  “Oh, God!” Ashley yelped, and stepped aside quickly. Tom hurried past her, thrusting the wine bottle into her hands as he rushed to the kitchen and set the casserole dish on the stovetop. Ashley closed the door. She found him removing the glove, blowing on his hand and shaking it to cool it off. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding, “I’ll be fine. Just got a bit red, see?” He showed her his palm, which did indeed look a bit overheated judging by the dark pink color. “I was more afraid of dropping it.” He snagged the dishtowel off the oven door handle and used it to protect his hand as he removed the lid. “I hope you like it. It’s a chicken with spinach and penne pasta, baked in an Alfredo sauce and topped with grated parmesan.”

  Ashley leaned in and inhaled. “Smells wonderful,” she said. She blinked at him in awe. “You’re telling me you can cook, too?”

  “A bit,” he said, ever modest. “Remember, I grew up in a house full of women.” He ducked his head sheepishly. “And I…may have attended Culinary School for a couple of years, before I realized it was far too stressful and eventually suffered a sort of nervous breakdown.”

  “Oh, wow,” Ashley said, eyes going wide at this admission. She knew from working in a restaurant how stress
ful the kitchen could be, and had heard stories from Chef DuBois himself about European culinary schools being particularly tough on students. “What happened?”

  “Well, the long and short of it, I had no recourse but to drop out. I began seeing a doctor who said I should try writing as a form of therapy.”

  A smile stretched across her face. “And that’s what led you to become the famous author you are, today,” she concluded.

  “Precisely,” he said. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. “Now.” He turned and looked at the cupboards. “Ah – plates? Glassware?”

  “Plates in front of you, glasses behind the door on the left.”

  “Right.”

  “No, left.” Ashley had to grin when he favored her with a playfully reprimanding look. She put the wine, a chardonnay, on the counter before pulling open the silverware drawer for forks and the corkscrew. “You really didn’t have to do this, but I want you to know I do appreciate it. I think all I’ve had to eat today was half a bagel and some orange juice.”

  “Well, if it will make you feel any better, I haven’t had any supper, either.” Tom retrieved two plates and two wine glasses, along with the forks which he appropriated from Ashley’s hand, and took them out to the dining table.

  She watched over the breakfast bar as he arranged the place settings before returning for the casserole. Ashley opened the wine and grabbed a couple of paper towels from the roll. “Sorry, my linen napkins are in the wash,” she said, tearing off a sheet and handing it to him.

  Tom looked at the paper towel and laughed. “This is fine,” he said. They sat down and he served Ashley first while she poured the wine. Tom held up his glass. “A toast,” he said. “To the written word: may your finished paper earn a stellar grade.”