by Dinah McLeod
I am going to have to have another serious talk with her about her driving, was the first thought that crossed my mind. Realizing that that talk would probably never happen was like a punch right in the gut.
Every time I thought about her angry tirade I became more confused. I understood that her attempt to acquire SunFilm—what she’d referred to as “the merger”—had fallen through. Anyone with a television or a computer knew that, because it was everywhere. There had even been an article about it in the paper. I knew she was taking in every comment, reading every word and berating herself for what she perceived as a failure on her part. She was hard on people, everyone knew that. I wondered how many knew that she was much harder on herself. I doubted she’d gotten much sleep since the whole thing had begun.
It had been forty-eight hours since I’d seen her last and if her assistant was to be believed, she hadn’t been coming in to work. He’d given me her home address, even as he acknowledged that he shouldn’t, and assured me that he would call me the moment she came in. After only one conversation with the man, I was convinced that he wasn’t at all inept, as she’d led me to believe. I added it to the list of things to tell her when—if I saw her again. The list was growing longer by the hour.
As soon as he’d given me the address, I drove over to her apartment complex. Once I’d gotten there, though, I couldn't make myself get out of the car. I sat there for the longest time looking at the faded yellow paint, wondering idly why the woman who made more than most lawyers hadn’t found a nicer place to live. It was one of the many puzzle pieces that didn’t seem to fit with what I knew about Karen. I would love the chance to ask her, which was what finally convinced me move.
I spotted her Porsche on my way in, parked haphazardly between two parking spaces. The sight of the silver paint gleaming in the sun gave me the beginnings of hope. If I could just talk to her, if I could understand where she was coming from, I knew we could work this out. What I wasn’t sure of was that she would give me another chance—maybe those few seconds that she’d turned and looked at me before she left was all I would ever have. If that turned out to be the case, I knew I would be kicking myself for the rest of my life.
Jack had not only given me the name of her apartment complex, but also her room number—in for a penny, in for a pound. I took the stairs and climbed the three flights effortlessly, moving faster the closer I got. Until I got to her door. Then I stood there, looking at the faded gold 9A wishing that X-ray vision was my superpower.
What if I knocked and she wouldn’t answer? What if she really meant it—that she didn’t want to be with me anymore? Did she really believe I didn’t love her? Question after question attacked my fragile heart until I was about to turn and run with my cowardly tail between my legs. I don’t know where I found the strength to knock on her door, but once I’d done it the doubts mercifully grew silent.
My worried nerves grew quiet, I was enveloped by silence. There wasn’t a single sound from the other side of the door or down the hallway. I was halfway convinced I could hear the paint peeling, so I raised my hand and knocked again.
“Karen! I know you’re in there!” I could practically see her, hovering on the other side of the door, struggling with whether or not to let me in. I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Please, sweetheart, I know we can talk about this. We can work it out.”
I don’t know how long I stood there before I realized she wasn’t coming. I leaned against the doorframe, musing that it might be as close to her as I would ever come again. I closed my eyes for a moment and pictured her in my mind’s eye. I imagined her in a stained, raggedy bathrobe, her hair stringy around her shoulders from neglect, her eyes red from crying. The image made my heart constrict to the point where I had to walk away.
If I’d thought there was even the slightest chance she would let me in, I would have stayed. Hell, I would have broken down the damn door if I’d thought she’d be happy to see me.
***
“Brandon, honey, didn’t you tell me you were bringing a date?”
“Huh?” I peered at Ms. Simpton, the sweet woman who’d been teaching English here for over thirty years. She was a little bit of a thing, with silvery-white hair and glasses making her look a little bug-eyed. I’d always thought of her as a grandma and treated her accordingly until I’d overheard her telling a sex joke in a faculty meeting. I hadn’t been the only one whose jaw had dropped open and it was still, three years later, the raunchiest joke I’d ever heard. “Oh, yes, but she, uh...she wasn’t able to make it.”
“Poor dear,” she said, cackling. “She doesn’t know what she’s done, because now that I have you all to myself—”
“You know, Ms. Simpton, I really should get to the buffet. I’m supposed to be manning the station.”
“All right, but you be sure to save me a dance! And keep the kids away from the punch bowl.”
“Did someone sneak something in it again?” I groaned.
“Not someone, dear. I did. It’s my own recipe for Vodka punch.”
“You are the one who keeps doing that at every dance?”
“Of course, dear. Otherwise, what’s the point in coming?”
“Ms. Simpton,” I gave her a stern look, “that’s very irresponsible. Especially considering that these kids are high schoolers, most of whom drive home. You know the principal always picks a kid or two to blame for it, too. Shame on you!”
“Oh, stop being such a fuddy-duddy! It’s not like they don’t all think about doing it, I just beat them to the punch.” She paused for a moment and seeing that I wasn’t going to laugh at her little joke, she “hmmped” very loudly and left, muttering something about “party poopers.”
Shaking my head, I made my way through the throng of sweaty teenage bodies, heading straight for the punch bowl. Every year, Ms. Simpton petitioned for the faculty to have their own punch bowl in the staff break area—now I knew why.
“I’ll take that, thank you.” I began plucking half-full cups of punch from the kids standing nearby. “The punch is about to disappear, and if I so much as think one of you is drinking alcohol, I’ll haul your butt straight home and have a talk with your parents.” I leveled the group with the a stern glare—it was the same one that Ms. Simpton had so easily shrugged off, so I felt gratified to see the nervousness on their faces. “Well, don’t just stand here, spread the word. You guys are good at that, right?” They didn’t have to be told twice, and in fact seemed rather eager to get away from me. As soon as they’d slipped away into the throng of dancers I turned my attention to cleaning up the considerable mess.
“Brandon?”
I froze; only one voice could be so soft and warm all at once—it was the same tone she used every time she called me “Sir.” I braced myself on the table, spreading my fingers wide and breathing deeply. I was reluctant to look up, afraid that when I did, I would only discover that I’d heard nothing more than a figment of my imagination brought to life by sheer desperation. Chances were that when I looked up, all I would see were teenagers trying to gyrate to country music.
“I know you’re busy. Maybe I should—”
“Don’t go.” It came out louder than I’d intended. I forced myself to raise my head and when I saw her standing there, her arms folded over her chest as she bit down on her lower lip, I felt weak with relief. If nothing else came from tonight, at least I knew I wasn’t going crazy.
I was hit with so many emotions at once that I didn’t know which to act on first. Part of me wanted to find an empty classroom and scold her for not returning my phone calls and making me worry. If it was Ms. Simpton’s class, I knew where to find an old wooden pointer that I could put to good use. Another part of me wanted to use the same abandoned classroom to throw her down on the floor and fuck her. She’d left me in such a state of confusion, soon followed by anxiety for her that the idea of taking out my aggression in the form of hard kisses and intense, powerful thrusts was very tempting.
There w
as a moment, however brief, when I considered playing aloof, but the urge to forget the past three days using her body as my roadmap to amnesia far outweighed any other option. Especially considering the ruby red cocktail dress that fit her body like a glove, displaying her bare, feminine shoulders and showing off her perfectly sculpted, athletic legs. Just one glance was all it took to make my cock stir to life, proving that even if the woman took my breath away, everything was in working order downstairs.
“You came,” I managed at last.
“You invited me.” She gave me a little smile. “I mean, if you still want me to be your date.”
For all my waffling and indecision, the doubt in her voice spurred me to action. I walked around the table and took her hand in mine, giving it a light squeeze. “Yes, I still want you to be my Valentine.”
I heard her exhale heavily and she looked so relieved that I thought she might swoon. “Thank you. I mean, I’m glad. Brandon, I—”
“Don’t. I just want to have a good time tonight.” She studied me for a moment before nodding her agreement. “Dance with me?”
“Lead the way.”
Giving her hand another squeeze, I began to maneuver through the clusters of wildly dancing partygoers, careful to keep her close. She was my Cinderella and there was no way I was letting her out of my sight. A glass slipper was a poor consolation prize.
I’d just dodged a group of giggling girls when I came face-to-face with Ms. Simpton, who was coming from the opposite direction. She put a hand on my arm, exclaiming, “Hello again! And who is this pretty young thing? And where have you been hiding her?”
“Ms. Simpton, meet my date, Karen. Karen, Ms. Simpton. She’s the best English teacher this school has ever had.”
“I’m practically the only one they’ve ever had,” she scoffed, but I could tell she was pleased with the compliment. “They want to get rid of me, you know. But I think they keep hoping I’ll up and die so that they don’t have to go through the trouble of firing me. It would save them the paperwork.”
“Sounds messy either way,” Karen quipped, and Ms. Simpton eyed her with new appreciation.
“Isn’t that the truth? Well, I don’t want to keep you. You two have a good time, and if you forget about our dance, I won’t hold it against you, Brandon.”
“Oh, no, don’t think you’re going to get off that easily! We had a deal!”
When she waved us on, laughing, I decided we were in as good a place as any and took Karen in my arms. I pulled her close, inhaling the sweet, flowery scent of her shampoo, relishing the feel of her feather light hair on my cheek. I was full to bursting with questions; I wanted to ask what had made her decide to come, ask where she’d holed herself up to mope for the last few days, what she thought the future held for us. Was there a future for us? I knew that any of those questions could end with her sprinting away the moment my back was turned, so I began to sway to the music, intending to keep her in my arms for as long as possible.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked, her voice so soft that I almost didn’t make it out over the dull pulsing of the music and the constant hum of loud conversation.
If I wasn’t sure I heard right, one look at her face, the apprehension in her wide, brown eyes confirmed it. I should be mad—I had every right to be, and God knew I wouldn’t hesitate to paddle her pretty ass if I got the chance. Even so, she never failed to stir my sympathy when she talked in that repentant, little-girl voice. “I’m more hurt than mad, Karen.”
She dropped her eyes as if she was too ashamed to look at me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Love hurts sometimes.” I spun her around, delighting in her giggle, and pulled her against me, her curvaceous bottom pressing against my thighs. I let a hand caress her firm bottom and gave her cheek a squeeze. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”
Her voice was breathy when she replied, “I wouldn’t be here if I could forget, Brandon. Believe me, I tried.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” I said as I turned her around to face me.
She grew quiet and I tried to focus on the rhythm of the music, the feel of her body pressed against mine. When my cock grew large and hard, straining at my pants, I knew I’d done perhaps too good a job.
“What happens now? Are we, I mean, are you—”
“Not now.” I put a finger to her lips, putting an end to questions I didn’t have the answers to. We would have a heart-to-heart sooner or later and it might end with us deciding we didn’t work together. If that was the case, I wanted to put it off for as long as possible. “We will have to talk about this sometime, but this isn’t the place. Just dance with me.”
“Kiss me,” she begged, and I didn’t hesitate to lower my mouth to hers.
***
While we were at the dance, we fell back into such a relaxed rhythm that it was easy to forget that we had a reckoning coming. I was tempted to forget about it all together, just this once to put it behind us and move on. Like most things, it was easier said than done. When I walked into the living room and saw her sitting on the couch, practically in the same spot she’d been in the last time I’d seen her, I knew we had to talk it out. It was a shame, though—she looked so damn hot with her legs pulled together bewitchingly, her face all aglow despite the apprehension in her eyes.
Business before pleasure, I reminded myself. At least, I hoped we’d be ending the evening on a good note. “Are you ready to talk?”
She licked her lips nervously. “Do you have any more of that wine?”
I decided not to point out that she had changed the subject; I’d let that one slide, but I was going to have to set the tone soon. “That depends. Are you planning on driving home tonight?”
She glanced down for a moment before raising her eyes to mine. “I was hoping you might let me stay the night.”
I groaned inwardly, painfully aware of how tight the crotch of my pants had become. “Of course you may stay. If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to take you home.”
Was I crazy to be doing this? I wondered as I made my way into the kitchen. The last three days had made me crazy with worry and helplessness—I didn’t know if I could go through that again. Maybe she had been right, maybe I had asked for too much, expected more than she could give. If that were the case, how could I knowingly put my heart on the line again?
As soon as I put the wine glass in front of her, she plucked it off the coffee table and took a long swallow. “What is that they say about wine? Liquid courage?”
“In vino, veritas.”
“Right,” she giggled. “And I suppose it’s true with me—lightweight!”
I stood in the doorway, watching her, afraid to get too close. I knew all too well how her nearness made me want to ignore anything else. “Then drink up so we can talk.” I watched as she put the glass down and began toying with the fringe on one of my throw pillows.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“I’ll make it easy for you. How are you doing?”
“Loaded question, but I’ll stick with ‘fine’.”
“Nice try, but I don’t think so. Answer the question.”
She looked surprised at the sternness in my tone, but hurried to do as I’d instructed. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, I suppose. I jump every time the phone rings, I haven’t been on my computer since it happened. I don’t want to...”
I nodded in understanding. “You haven’t been back to work.”
“No. I doubt they want me there.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Karen. I’m sure no one blames you.”
She gave me a small, sad smile. “I’m sure everyone blames me. That’s the point of having a CEO—having a fall guy.”
“What are you going to do? You can’t hide and hope it goes away.”
“I know. And I will deal with it, I promise, but first... I wanted to make sure that you and I... that we’re all right.”
I arched a brow. “All right? Y
ou told me you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
“I know!” She sounded so agonized my heart went out to her. “I am so sorry, I was upset and I said things I didn’t mean. I was completely out of line and I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s just, even though I don’t deserve it, I was hoping you’d forgive me anyway.” Her voice quavered on the last word and I couldn’t hold out any longer. I walked over to the couch and sat down beside her, looking in to her troubled eyes.
“I can’t be your fall guy. You blamed me for—”
“I know, and if you knew how sorry I am—”
“Karen.” I held up a hand, frowning. “Do not interrupt.”
She flushed at the sharp reprimand. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”
I didn’t think things were back one hundred percent yet, but that was a start. “You blamed me for something I had no control over. It was completely unfair, and in more ways than one. Care to tell me why that is?”
“Because you didn’t have anything to do with it, Sir.”
“That’s true. And?”
“Um, because I shouldn’t have yelled at you?”
“Is that a question?”
“No, Sir, there is no question about it. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but that doesn’t answer my question. Do you need some help?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It was unfair because not only did I not have any say in what happened to your company, but that you thought I would ever tell you something that would hurt you is ridiculous. You need to understand that following my orders and running your business are two different things. Yes, I expected you to obey me and yes, I told you to be nicer to your employees. Did I tell you to start being a push-over?”
“No, Sir.”
“Did I tell you how to run your business?”
“No, you did not, Sir.”
“Did I make decisions for you?”
