by Ward, Deena
It was strange, being so pleased with someone I didn’t like.
I wondered. I knew the inspection was scheduled to continue the next day. Would Gibson come again?
Would I?
I laughed.
Chapter 7
The inspection team from Roundtree Holdings arrived at 10 a.m. Tuesday morning. Gibson wasn’t with them. I was more disappointed than I expected to be.
At least my co-workers weren’t as jumpy as they were on Monday. Most everyone who had the opportunity to meet with Gibson and his team spread the word that Roundtree seemed like a good organization.
Once I had some down time to think it through, I was more certain than ever that the sale could be a good thing for the company. All of us in management positions knew that the Lintons were nothing more than pains in our asses and drains on our profits.
During the worst of the recession, when we were forced to take pay and benefit cuts and to lay off employees, the three executive Lintons on the payroll never offered to take any kind of cut. I was actually surprised when they bailed the company out with a short term loan, at an exorbitant interest rate, of course. They wound up making a killing off of that loan. Rumor had it that they tried to get Isabel to keep the debt on the books, but she refused and repaid the loan in short order. I didn’t know if that was true or not, though.
All things considered, Roundtree and Gibson Reeves had to be a step up from what we were used to. As for the heads of management rolling, I could only hope that mine wouldn’t be among them. And Isabel. I hoped she would be kept on as well.
Ultimately, all we could do was wait and see, and do our jobs really, really well in the meantime.
On Wednesday morning, I was surprised when Stephanie called me, gushing, “They’re back!”
I said, “I didn’t think they were coming today.”
“I know. But they’re here. And that hot big shot is with them this time.”
Well, yay, I thought, then realized I should clarify. “Do you mean Mr. Reeves?”
“Yeah, the older one, with the smokin’ bod.”
I snorted. Stephanie was barely twenty years old, and about as silly as young women come. I said, “He’s old enough to be your father.”
She said, “I know. He’s like a best friend’s hot dad I never had. All of my friends’ dads had potbellies and beer breath.”
This conversation was rapidly going nowhere savory. I told her to get back to work, then tried to return to my study of the monthly sales estimates. No good. How was I supposed to impress the new boss with my job skills if he were going to keep coming around with that “smokin’ bod” of his?
I thought about what Gibson’s reaction might be if I told him what Stephanie thought of him. Gibson, the hot dad. I got this mental image of him standing there stoically, going all Spock-like with one cocked eyebrow, saying, “That’s illogical, Miss Crawford.”
I was in such a good mood.
Lunch time passed, and Gibson didn’t come to call. Then it was one o’clock, then two o’clock. Damn. I found excuses to leave my office, made too many trips to the break room for coffee I didn’t drink and snacks I didn’t eat.
Around three o’clock, I stood in my doorway, just leaning there, taking it easy, not doing anything special. Not waiting around for Gibson to finish his latest meeting or anything like that.
Then finally, he came out of the conference room. He didn’t look my way at first, but when he did, I caught his eye, smiled and nodded hello.
He gave me a polite nod in return. Then walked off in the opposite direction.
Well. What was I to make of that?
I didn’t notice Isabel walking up until she stopped beside me. She followed my gaze and watched the departing Gibson.
She said, “My mother would call him one tall drink of water. She has an eye for handsome men.”
I said, “Tall drink of water. Makes no sense to me.”
“It means he’s as cool and delicious as a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day. And that he’s tall.”
I laughed. “The cool part’s right, that’s for sure. I’ve never met anymore more chilly than him.”
Isabel looked at me. “I don’t see him as cold. I think he’s dignified. I actually like him ... so far.”
I said, “Oh, I didn’t mean I don’t like him.” Total lie. The first time I’d ever lied to Isabel.
She lowered her voice, “Just between you and me, I’ve asked around about Reeves and Roundtree. I’m hoping the sale goes through.”
I blinked. “Yes? Good. I’m glad.”
She gave me a firm and jaunty smack on my shoulder then headed off in her usual brisk, head-down way.
I returned to my office and sat down. I wondered what Isabel had heard about Gibson and his company. Whatever it was, if it was enough to convince Isabel, then it would likely be good enough for me.
At three-thirty, my phone rang. I snatched it up.
Before I could say anything, Stephanie said in a pretend-official voice, “All clear. All clear. The big shots have left the building. You may return to texting and playing Angry Birds.”
I sighed. “It’s me ... Nonnie.”
She eeked. “Sorry, wrong number.”
Click.
Silliest girl ever. And I made a mental note to keep my eye out for which co-workers might be spending their days texting and playing video games.
Of greater import, though, was the fact that Gibson was gone. He hadn’t visited me. Okay then.
Obviously, our fling on Monday had been a one-off. While I didn’t want a relationship with the man, I had thought that we could have some more fun together for a little while anyway. Maybe do something like what Elaine suggested. A sex buddy kind of thing. Non-friends with benefits.
I didn’t get home until after six that night since I stayed late at work to try to make up some of what I didn’t get finished thanks to my fruitless waiting around for Gibson.
Around eight o’clock, I turned off my television and thumbed through the text messages on my phone. I had received a text from Michael the night before, but didn’t return it. His message said, simply, “Call me.” Nope. Wasn’t going to do that.
I read back over the two messages I had received from one of the men I met the previous Friday night. He wanted to know if I would go out with him some time, discuss the possibility of us “scene-ing” together. A funny way to put it, I thought. But then, there had been a number of times I thought the BDSM stuff had some funny ways about it.
Did I want to scene with this new man? I wasn’t sure. He was fairly good-looking, seemed nice enough, and naughty enough. I didn’t know.
I was still debating the issue when I was startled by my phone ringing. I looked at the caller ID. Unknown. Hmm.
I answered a tentative, “Hello?”
A deep voice said, “Nonnie, it’s Gibson Reeves.”
Well, now. Hello!
I said, “Hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. I was wondering if you’re busy right now. I’d like to stop by for a visit, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. Come on over.”
“I’m not far away. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
“See you soon.”
“See you.”
I pushed “End.” I didn’t bother telling him my address. He already knew all that sort of stuff, right down to my phone number and salary.
Had I just gotten a booty call? I’d never had one before. Couldn’t imagine any other reason for him to visit me.
A zing bounced around in my belly.
I hopped up and straightened the living room in a frenzy. Ten minutes. Not much time. I dashed into the kitchen. Wondered if I had enough time to take a quick shower. Decided I did. Took the fastest shower of my life, careful not to get my hair wet.
I quickly touched up my make-up and hair, then ran to my closet. What to wear? What to wear?
I tho
ught of Michael, his rule of nothing coming between him and his holes. Whoa. That seemed like a long time ago.
Gibson was not Michael, and I wasn’t Gibson’s sub, so I pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a short-sleeved knit shirt. I grabbed a pair of panties, but just for grins, I opted out of a bra.
I was putting on my shoes when I heard the buzzer sound. I rushed to the door and buzzed him in, then waited. I was a little out of breath from all the dashing about.
One breath. Two breaths. Breathe, girl. Calm down. I soon felt like I was on an even keel again. And just in time.
He knocked. I opened the door.
Gibson gave me a little nod and I stepped back to let him in. As he walked by me, I caught the scent of his cologne and a hint of something else. Bourbon, I thought. Probably so. I recalled tasting it on him at the Frederick Hotel.
I offered him a seat and he chose my easy chair. I sat on the sofa and looked at him.
He wore the same suit he had been wearing at the office that day, except now his tie was gone and his shirt was open at the collar. He reminded me of how he looked the first time I saw him, except his hair was slightly mussed, unusual for him. It still looked good, though. Made him seem kind of rakish.
I said, “Would you like something to drink? I have some wine, or I could make us some coffee.”
He said, “No ... yes, actually. A glass of water. Tap is fine.”
I smiled and said okay. When I returned and handed him his drink, he took one small sip then set the glass on the side table.
I went back to the sofa.
Gibson glanced around the room. I winced inwardly, knowing how unimpressive my apartment was. It was clean, had fresh paint, but I’d never decorated the place in any way. Except for the furniture, it was pretty bare.
I said, “As you can see, I’m not a big decorator.”
He asked, “How long have you lived here?”
“Not quite a year.”
“Since you haven’t done much to it, I assume you’re not attached to the place.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It suits me pretty well. And it’s close to work, about a fifteen or twenty minute drive, depending on traffic.”
He propped his ankle on his other knee, and said, “A short commute is important to you?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
He said, “I’ve found a longer commute can be relaxing, give you a chance to think about your day before it starts.”
I smiled. “Sure, if you’re a rich guy who has a driver and doesn’t have to personally duke it out with the other ninety-nine percenters on the roads.”
He gave a little nod. Plucked at his pant leg a few times. “Yes, having a driver is an advantage. I think you’d enjoy it.”
“I can only guess that I would.”
Silence.
I sat in wonder. What was up with Gibson? I’d never known him to go in for all this small talk. I considered taking off my shirt and jump-starting the thing, but thought that might be a bit much.
Gibson looked up at the ceiling. Then back to me. He asked, “Do you like your job?”
“Well, since you might be my boss pretty soon, I’d be an idiot if I answered anything other than I love my job and wouldn’t ever want to lose it.”
He said, “But say that I’m not going to be your boss. How would you answer then?”
What was he up to? If it was something wily, I wasn’t falling for it. I said, “I’d answer the same.”
“I see.”
He suddenly stood up, paced around the room. He was acting agitated, nervous perhaps. About a booty call? Didn’t seem likely.
He noticed one of the few framed photographs I had arranged on a bookcase and picked it up for a closer look. “Is this you as a child?”
“Yep. Me and my grandparents. That was taken at their farm when I was visiting there.”
“Do you still visit them?”
“No. They died not too long after that picture was taken.”
“I’m sorry.” He set the frame down and scanned the other photos.
He asked, “What about your parents? Are they still ...”
“Yes. They’re alive. But I don’t see them. We only speak on holidays, sometimes.”
“Problems?”
“You could say that.”
He nodded. “Family can be difficult.”
I immediately thought of Michael and his mother, and chose to keep my mouth shut about Gibson’s comment regarding family.
He asked, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. Only child.”
He walked around the room some more, then said, “I suppose you have friends that live nearby, that you go out with regularly.”
I’d had enough. I asked, “Gibson, what’s with the twenty questions routine?”
He didn’t answer. I wasn’t even sure he heard me. He walked over to the sofa and sat down on the other end. He looked at the floor. Then he looked at me.
He said, in something of a rush, “It’s no good. I can’t fight it anymore.”
I thought, is he drunk? No, he wasn’t drunk. His eyes were too clear, he walked too steadily. He likely wasn’t even tipsy, regardless of the bourbon I smelled on him.
He said, “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve been crazy about you since the first moment I saw you. I know you felt it, too. I’ve been around and around on this thing, and I’ve tried to do the smart thing, but I can’t keep it up.”
He took a big breath, then said, “I want you, Nonnie Crawford, more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.”
I was stunned. Floored. Speechless. Dumbfounded. There weren’t enough words in the dictionary to appropriately describe what I felt at that moment. This had to be some kind of prank. Was Gibson Reeves punking me?
I realized that he was still talking. I said, “Wait. What?”
He said, “I think about you all the time. Want you, always. I hated that you were with Michael Weston, afraid of the damage he might cause. I can’t risk losing you again to someone else, so I have to speak out now, even if it’s too soon, and against my better judgment.”
Say what? I didn’t get a chance to verbalize my thought, though.
He continued, “I want you to move in with me, on my estate. You can have your own space, of course, there’s plenty of empty rooms. Take your pick. But at night, you’ll sleep with me, naturally. You’ll be my submissive. I’ll train you.”
My mind was whirling. He wasn’t punking me. He meant everything he was saying, I could tell. He wasn’t speaking all that emotionally, really, but his expression was definitely less controlled than normal. I knew. He meant every word he said.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.
“I’m breaking my own rules here,” he said, “making an exception with you. I’ve always preferred experienced subs, closer to my own age, and I never train my own. I think you, in particular, will be challenging because of your youth and your association with Weston. I know I should send you for training at Private Residence, but ... I can’t wait for you that long.”
I sat straighter in my seat. Hold up now. I thought my blood pressure might be starting to rise.
He wasn’t finished yet. Oh joy. He said, “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for going with Weston. I know how he is, how he lures women into his bed. I can’t ever blame you for that, no matter how much I wish it never happened. We all make mistakes. Mine was in not snapping you up right away, thinking I needed to test you for something I knew was inside you from the first.”
Oh yeah, my blood pressure was definitely rising. And a powerful heat was creeping up my neck, under my chin.
“Also,” he added, “I want you to know that you should feel free to quit your job. It can’t be that challenging to you, a largely clerical position like that. I’ll provide you with everything you need or want. You can take your time, figure out what you really want to do. Choose any open position you want in all of Roundtree Holdings.”
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I didn’t focus on anything he said past “a largely clerical position.”
And he still wasn’t finished. “About your friends. You won’t be able to see them often at first, of course, because of your training, but eventually you’ll have more free time to spend with them. You can invite them out to the estate. We’ll work out a schedule that will be good for both of us. I would never want to deprive you of your friendships.”
Golly, I thought, that sure was nice of him.
He leaned forward, took my hands in his own, breathed deeply and said, “So, beautiful Nonnie. Move in with me. Tonight. We’ll pack up whatever you want and get you out of this place that you are too good for. My car’s outside. Come away with me.”
He looked at me.
I thought, was he finished finally?
The heat that had been simmering on my neck had now risen up to cover my entire face. I did my best to maintain a placid expression, but inside I was raging.
So many things I wanted to say to the man expectantly waiting for my answer. So many things. Too many things. I kept it simple.
I said, “No, thank you.”
He stared at me. Blinked. Blinked again.
He said, “That’s ... all you’ve got to say. No thank you.”
I shrugged.
He released my hands and pulled away from me. “I don’t understand. I think I deserve an explanation. If there’s some misunderstanding, something that’s holding you back, tell me and I’ll clear it up.”
I said, “There’s no misunderstanding. I understood you perfectly. You want me to move in with you. I’ve declined your offer. Simple.”
That stumped him. Served him right.
I said, “So if we’re finished here ...”
I made to stand up, but Gibson clapped a hand on my knee. I sat back down and couldn’t hold back a glower.
He said, “I’m not leaving yet. You say it’s simple, but that’s outrageous. I just told you how much I care about you, how much I want to do for you, with you. I can’t be satisfied with a ‘no-thank-you’ answer.”
I didn’t reply.
He said, “You can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for me. I know you want me. You can’t fake what happened in your office the other day. It was spectacular. You can’t fake that.”
