Entry-Level Mistress

by Sabrina Darby

  I smiled and started for him. He didn’t move. Waited there. Watching me. As I came closer, passed through the shadows of the hallway, his features were clearer and I saw that look in his eyes. My whole body responded to it.

  “Come here,” he said, reaching for me, dragging me into his arms. The male scent of him washed over me. The touch of his lips on mine was spicy and sharp and the noise he made deep in his throat drove me wild.

  “Is it always like this? Fly in from Paris, have a soiree for a friend?”

  “Hardly, but then there are those days when it is.” His lips traced a hot path across my skin. “You’re staying the night you know,” he murmured between kisses.

  “I was hoping,” I returned.

  “I’d undress you right now but—”

  “You have guests coming and I took time to look nice.”

  “But I like seeing you with your hair messy and knowing I’ve just been inside you.”

  It was good he was holding me. Between his words, and then his mouth on mine again, I was drunk and dizzy with passion.

  I broke away. “Why don’t you show me around?”

  He didn’t let me go, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. I sucked my breath in sharply at the exquisite sensation. Too much.

  He pressed me closer to him and I could feel him hard and hot against me. Then abruptly, he stepped back, his lips quirked up at the corner.

  He gestured to an open doorway, which led to a bedroom. A suggestion or continuing the tour?

  He reached for me again, his hand just brushing my hip, but the touch was electric.

  “I can’t think when you do that,” I protested.

  He stopped laughing, but his eyes were dark and amused. “I don’t want you to think.”

  “Your friends will find me unintelligent and insipid.”

  “Or they’ll wisely leave and let us have the place to ourselves.” I melted under the heat of his gaze. I needed a shower. Or sex and a shower.

  I looked around the room. “So, it’s sort of a loft in name only,” I observed, struggling for clarity. “This is more like a humongous one-bedroom.”

  “I do hope you’ll let Julian know that,” Daniel said. He laughed as if there were a larger story behind his words. “This was his one residential project and he was disgustingly proud of himself for it.”

  “Julian?”

  “He’s coming tonight. But yes, I think loft was used rather creatively,” Daniel agreed. “However, it makes a good entertaining space. Great views.”

  “I can see that.” The bedroom was on a corner where two floor-to-ceiling windows joined. When I stepped to the edge, to that space where I had a one hundred and eighty degree view, I wondered why he chose the Charles Street place over this one.

  “Don’t you find this inspiring? Limitless almost?”

  He came up behind me, pulled me against him. It didn’t matter that we were fully dressed, that other than the press of his body against mine, he made no overtures; heat pooled between my thighs and I nestled against him.

  “It’s just another box,” he said, and with those simple words I began to understand. The idea of that, of a house constricting, blossomed in my head. “And a box for others at that. The townhouse, it’s … ”

  “Homey?” I suggested, turning in his arms and lifting my gaze to meet his. “Womblike?”

  He laughed and I admired the way his face looked alight with humor. I studied the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

  “I suppose, but that’s rather too Freudian for my tastes,” he said, tightening his arms around me. I melted into his embrace. Giving into the desire, all the questions I wanted to ask fell away at the touch of his lips on mine.

  • • •

  The first guest arrived at eight-thirty. The architect, Julian Vane, whom Daniel called one of his oldest friends, was in every way Daniel’s opposite, bright to Daniel’s dark, blonde to his brown. He made me uncomfortable at first with his all-too-careful perusal, as if he were making certain with those piercing blue eyes that I was someone with whom Daniel should be seen.

  “Emily takes offense at you calling these condominiums lofts,” Daniel said as he handed his friend a drink.

  Julian made a face. “Please don’t tell me you’re a purist,” he demanded with a disgusted drawl. “Daniel did say you were newly escaped from the murky depths of self-importance school. However, I was prepared to cut you some slack.” I wasn’t sure how to take his words, until he grinned, relieving all the uncertainty I felt.

  “It’s a stunning building,” I returned, flashing my actress smile, with a slightly ironic twist. “I’m sure it will soon be added to Boston’s list of architectural wonders.”

  Julian laughed. “I’ll admit that here the term loft is more to describe the seventeen-foot ceilings.”

  “And now you’re friends,” Daniel interrupted, stepping away from them to greet an elderly couple who had just walked in.

  Julian gave me one of those “well, here we are” smiles, which I returned.

  “So whom are we celebrating?” I asked.

  “Ah, he didn’t say?” I shook my head and Julian continued. “We are celebrating Charles Eden’s eighty-fifth birthday. He was our freshman English professor.”

  My eyes widened. Daniel was hosting a birthday party for his old teacher. Eden must have been some sort of amazing mentor for him or why on earth would they still be in touch after this long? Aside from a few exceptions, the majority of my own professors were people my friends had ridiculed as ones who couldn’t do and therefore taught. That sort of condescension was exactly what Julian had been criticizing when he asked if I was a purist. It was a stunning moment of realization for me, the lesson so simple but so profound.

  “Daniel’s one of the good ones,” Julian said, and I looked at him quickly, startled by the out-of-the-blue comment.

  “Why are you telling me that?”

  “Because you’re Emily Anderson.”

  Anger surged up inside me. Yet at the same time I realized how odd this was, how twisted. Here in Daniel’s home, with Daniel’s friend—who clearly knew the story—I was the enemy. Which was utterly ridiculous, at least thus far, because what had I ever done except be the victim of Daniel’s actions? “Maybe I’m one of the good ones, too.”

  Julian’s smile thinned. Perhaps on the surface he’d accept me, but he had some other test, some other criteria and I hadn’t yet passed. “Maybe you are.”

  I looked away, found Daniel leading the others toward us. A collection of academic types—this I could handle. Flashing that smile, I pushed everything else aside. Unless I planned to run, unless I planned to end it all here and now, I had no other choice.

  Chapter 9

  It was easy to forget Julian but not so easy to deny to reality of his words. In almost every way, Daniel clearly was “one of the good ones.” Intelligent, charming, generous. I would have added honest to the list if the niggling knowledge about the past weren’t there. As the days passed, and another weekend was spent like the one before, it almost felt like we had a real relationship and I recognized the pressing need to bind things. He’d introduced me to his friends. He’d met Leanna. There was the urge to bring him deeper into my world as well, although I wasn’t entirely certain that would work or if I even wanted to share him, share the time I had with him.

  I liked that we hid away together in his apartment on Charles Street. For three weeks I’d blown off the invitations from friends to movies, barbecues, and camping trips. I liked as well that the office had become our private playground.

  But then Tatiana’s goading words would come back to me.

  It was Wednesday, lunchtime. He’d ordered in Chinese and after our usual passionately intense encounter, I had spent the last fifteen minutes snacking on wontons and flipping through a magazine while he finished up some work. And deciding if I would test our relationship the way I’d tested it the first day I’d texted him to meet on the thirtieth floor.

>   The comfortable quiet of the office was yet another way it felt as if we were in a real relationship.

  “I have a party to go to tonight,” I said, waiting for his slight vocalization and the connection of his eyes as confirmation that I should continue. “I designed the cover for this band’s new album. They’re having their CD release party at Electrified.” I shrugged, glancing at him out of the corners of my eyes. I was unaccountably nervous as I tried to imagine Daniel in his sartorial elegance hanging out with that crowd. Maybe if they were famous performers, or classical musicians or something, but the young up-and-comers? The ones who were trying hard and had something to prove? The ones who still smoked weed and experimented and … well, maybe that was part of the model, international socialite scene too, although I had the sense their drugs of choice were a little more powdery.

  But he’d turned back to his desk, was flipping through papers. I wiped my hands and stood. Walked over to his desk.

  “Would you like to come?”

  “What?” He looked up as if he hadn’t heard any of what I’d said. As if after he’d slipped from my body he’d turned completely back to work, forgotten I was even there. Before I said another word, his attention was back on the folder.

  Despite speaking evenly and clearly, I wasn’t entirely able to keep the irritation out of my voice. The petulant part of me wanted attention. Was frustrated at coming in second to a stack of papers. And yet, it was daytime and we were at work and as much as it felt like a real relationship, it likely wasn’t. “I said, I wouldn’t be coming over tonight because I have a party but that you are welcome to join me.”

  “Why don’t you come by after your party?” he suggested. “I’ll need to work late anyway. I want to give this kid a decision tomorrow.”

  Despite my disappointment, despite my frustration, I was curious. “What kid?”

  He looked up again, studied me as if he were weighing something carefully in his mind. In the growing silence I realized that he was wondering how much he could trust me. Realized that whatever he was working on could be so secret that no one, not even Lance or any of Daniel’s other top-level staff, knew anything about it. Why share that information with the daughter of the man he hated most in the world? Especially when Daniel had to know I resented him for hurting my father.

  I did still resent him, didn’t I?

  I perched on the edge of his table, waiting for him to make up his mind. Stared at my hands in my lap, studiously avoiding any look at the file still open in front of him. When he did finally speak, his words came abruptly, low and measured. I focused on his face, on his eyes.

  “My assistant, Janine. Her nephew is a student at MIT. Has a revolutionary idea for making space travel more affordable and manageable. It’s the sort of thing NASA and the space industry should be jumping on but thanks to Janine I have a chance to beat everyone out. With the right offer. The kid’s not naive. He knows what he has.”

  I felt petty for being irritated about the release party. It was a big thing for that band but what Daniel was talking about—

  “If it’s this amazing, why haven’t you made an offer yet?”

  He leaned back in his chair, templed his hands against his mouth. He was staring at me, or rather through me but in my general direction. I’d seen him like that before, deep in thought. Then his gaze snapped to me.

  “The reason Marketing is floundering right now?” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. I could only nod in agreement. “The reason you have your numerous meetings and nothing ever seems to get done is that your department is the communication wing of the company. We can’t go through a redesign when there is no new vision, no new direction.”

  “And you’re not sure what direction you want to go.”

  He nodded.

  “I get involved in the space industry, it’s a whole different beast. New suppliers, new factories, new competitors. And what about the old operations? If I keep them, Hartmann Enterprises will expand. Can Hartmann Enterprises expand? Do I want to devote myself to doing that? Or do I want to sell?”

  I understood suddenly just what crossroads he was at. At thirty-one and successful, with his partners retiring around him, Daniel knew he could do the same. Would I ever be so successful that I’d have to make a choice like this? A decision where other people’s jobs were at stake?

  “Are there any other choices?”

  “Like what?” He seemed interested, curious, and the attention encouraged me.

  “Like selling and not starting a new company?”

  He laughed, and the mirth reached his eyes. I couldn’t help admiring him physically, and wishing, despite the seriousness of our conversation, that I could curl up in his lap. Or maybe it was that the intensity of it was turning me on again. His brain was as hot as his body.

  “You think I’d be happy living an idle life, visiting friends on their yachts?”

  I laughed. No way. Daniel Hartmann worked hard and played hard.

  But I was devil’s advocate here.

  “Are there any other investment possibilities? Why take such a huge leap into another industry?”

  He nodded again, but as he looked away the excitement seemed to dim from his face and I knew then the decision had been made, even if he hadn’t realized it yet.

  “He’s a lucky kid,” I said, feeling a little bit of the surge of energy that Daniel must get planning his new direction.

  Daniel’s eyes flickered up to mine. “He’s only a year younger than you.”

  For a moment, I didn’t know what to do with that, how to reassure us that what we were doing together was OK. But as much as he kept reminding us of the disparity, age wasn’t the problem at all. Maybe nothing was.

  There was so much that was right between us—at this moment, in this summer—as if fate had concocted the past just to make us happen. I slanted my smile at him, sliding off from my perch on his table. He watched me approach, a different sort of interest awakening in his gaze.

  “Yes, Daniel, you are definitely a cradle robber.”

  • • •

  Electrified was a dark pit of a club in the basement of an Irish bar. As I made my way down the winding staircase, splattered glow-in-the-dark paint decorated the walls and gave some sense of what the club would be like on any other night.

  However, someone had decided to lay some art direction on the place as well as a video installation. Organic, mushroom-like shapes pulsed on the walls, and colorful, furry, eight-by-ten cloth backdrops broke up the space as if they were trying to bring a raver vibe to the live music scene. To make instant multi-platform art. But to me, the room felt like a gallery rather than a music venue, and it squashed the energy I’d always liked about the band’s music. Additionally, it had nothing to do with the album cover, so there was no brand continuity.

  There was also a graffiti wall, outfitted with cans of spray paint, which took away from the focus that should be on the stage. It made sense for maybe an outdoor summer music festival or something like that, but not this small venue.

  The design had all the hallmarks of something Craig, my ex-boyfriend, would concoct. Our relationship had fizzled for more than one reason, not least because he had jumped off the LSD deep end. I hoped the mushroom visuals were just for the opening band and that he had something with more visual interest for the main act.

  I scanned the room for him but he wasn’t by the laptop at the rear of the room where a girl I vaguely recognized was sitting. He would be somewhere about, and when he knew I was here, there would be the usual taunting. I was suddenly very glad that Daniel couldn’t make it.

  “Did you know Craig was part of this?”

  “Is he going by Lucid Visuals now?” Leanna asked pointing to the name in small print on the flyer under the band’s name.

  I laughed. “Um … I guess we’ll find out.”

  I slipped earplugs in because the opening act wasn’t worth killing my hearing over and the main band wouldn’t be on for another half h
our. In the meantime, Leanna and I mingled, talking loudly over the music. It was strange to see people I knew from school, from that social scene. Everyone wanted to know why I’d been M.I.A.

  “Emily sold out,” Leanna said mischievously. “She’s working for the man now.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but when Sasha exclaimed, “But what about Barrows!” and Dorit stared at me in horror, I assumed a resigned expression and nodded.

  “I did. And really, I don’t know what I was doing all these years. Designing posters and murals is no way to finance a wardrobe.”

  “This? From the girl who had purple streaks at graduation?”

  “It’s so sad, Emmy,” Dorit said. “You and Craig were like, the art school power couple. Him, flashy and cool, and you, the studious art nerd.”

  “Art nerd!” I laughed incredulously at this description. I shot a glance at Leanna, who merely shrugged.

  “Look at Craig, pursuing his dream while you’re being a corporate hack.”

  I followed Sasha’s pointed finger and did look at Craig, who was adjusting a screen on the far side of the room. I’d never thought of our relationship the way Dorit did. When it had ended just before spring break, I hadn’t looked back.

  “I’m working a summer job,” I admitted with a resigned sigh. “I’m still going to Barrows in August.” Just like that everyone was impressed and happy again.

  “I love what you did with their CD cover, Emmy. So brilliant.”

  I tuned them out. They might be happy but I thought about how Julian had denigrated the closed-mindedness of pretentious college kids. The closed-mindedness of everyone, really. I’d been enjoying my work at Hartmann Enterprises. I’d been enjoying the entire experience.

  Suddenly I wished Daniel were there because my worlds felt too diverged. I felt too diverged.

  “I’m going to go scrawl something on the wall.” I gestured to the graffiti area and walked off. A moment later Leanna was next to me, shaking her head even as she laughed.