Sudden Desires

by Shanora Williams

  Not only that, but I also realize that if I say something like that to him, confess that truth, then it only means that I’m doing it out of spite, because deep down he’s hurt my feelings… but I don’t want him to think he can still hurt or get to me.

  I don’t want him to because he’s hurt me enough.

  I won’t let him pull any more emotion out of me.

  I won’t let him back in, not after what so devastatingly happened because of him.

  So, instead, I flip over too, my back to his back, and I shut my eyes and imagine a life without him. I imagine how free I could be, sleeping with men that I randomly meet in a quiet and quaint bar, or at a nightclub.

  A one night stand if I please. I could have so much fun.

  It would be like the old days again, before I ever met Griffin Boyd.

  I can forget all the damage.

  I can move the hell on.

  Too bad it will never happen that way.

  Shit, a girl can dream, right?

  FOURTEEN

  Griffin

  * * *

  Guilt is the last thing I felt for Colette last night.

  I don’t know why. I thought once I walked through the front door of the home we so miserably shared, it would hit me that I did something terrible behind her back, but it didn’t.

  During my flight here I’d never felt so content.

  Relaxed.

  Maybe it is because I’d finally unleashed my pent up frustrations on a beautiful body I’d been dying to get inside of. Or maybe it’s because I simply don’t care anymore. Really, I don’t care.

  I may be stuck in this for the long haul with Colette, but I’m tired of limiting myself. I’m tired of being treated like shit. I deserve better.

  Yes, I’ve made my mistakes but a real wife would have forgiven me by now. I have forgiven her countless times before. If she truly cared, she wouldn’t keep holding so much against me.

  I don’t expect her to move on from the past, but I do expect her to be more acceptant about it—treat me like how she did before all of it went down… or at least close to it.

  I’m standing on the balcony outside my bedroom, watching the nightlife. It’s somewhat serene, and while I’m not as calm as I was in San Diego, with all the tension swirling in my house, I’m close.

  My phone rings in my back pocket and I pull it out, sighing when I see the name on the screen. Jesus. Why can’t this fucker just leave me alone?

  Around one in the afternoon the next day, after being bombarded with back-to-back phone calls last night, I’m sitting at a table in DiLido Beach Club on Collins Avenue.

  I would be enjoying the scenery, the blue ocean water and people riding jet skis or parasailing, but there is someone in the way of my perfect view.

  My fucking father-in-law.

  His toupee flaps with the wind, and I have the hardest time trying to conceal my amusement, but I make do. It becomes sort of unnoticeable after a while.

  The waitress sets our scotches on the table and Mr. Jenkins immediately reaches for his, shooing the waitress away after she sits the appetizer on the table.

  “So why didn’t Coley come with you today?”

  I sit back in my chair, picking up my drink. He calls her that like he’s so close to her, but if he was he’d know she hates that name now. She left it in the past, along with her sweet, kind heart.

  “She said she had some work to finish.”

  “Work?” He scoffs and then lets out a belly-deep chuckle. “She calls sitting in a room painting fucking cats, cities, and, people work?” His upstate accent is thick and gravelly.

  I press my lips, looking away.

  I hate when he talks about her that way. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t stand Colette sometimes, but I don’t think I could ever discredit her for something she truly enjoys.

  Art, I can say, she is very passionate about. She always has been and I’m glad she didn’t let that go after what happened.

  Watching her draw, paint, and sculpt with her hands was part of the reason I fell so in love with her ten years ago.

  Her gifts, paintings of us, were things I cherished. Now, unfortunately, I don’t get that anymore. His ignorance towards her was the very reason I found her alone on the ferry in New York that day.

  “Anyway, tell her to call me when you see her, will you? Tired of playing cats and dogs, chasing after my own daughter just so her mother will be happy to finally hear from her.” He adjusts in his seat, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and upper lip from the Miami heat.

  “I will.”

  “Oh.” He sits forward, placing his glass down on the table. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of gray paper. When he sets it on the table, smoothing it out, I realize it’s a ripped out newspaper article.

  Pointing a chubby finger at it, he says, “I heard Boyd Enterprises settled a great deal with Quarter Banking.” He grins, that same shit-eating grin he revealed years ago when he realized how great I was with numbers.

  “Yes, sir,” I murmur, quite proud of my accomplishment.

  “And everything is all settled. No holes in the contracts? No need to worry about them trying to bring a lawyer into this?”

  “No, sir. An associate of mine is actually good at the contracts and negotiation part, probably a little better than I am. Remember Stratford and Clark?”

  “No. But what about them?”

  “Well, they assisted me in winning Quarter over.”

  He rolls his eyes, slumping back in his chair, his greasy forehead shining. “Ah, what the hell do you need associates for, Griff? You’re good at this stuff, right? It’s what I put you on for!”

  “Yes, sir, you are right, but these associates are smart. They are careful and they always think twice.” I’m only speaking of Angelina and I heat up inside when I realize how much credit I’m giving her. “I checked them out. I wouldn’t work with people I don’t trust. Besides,” I shrug, “they came to me. They’re the reason I found out about Quarter. We agreed on a percentage and a few terms—me being in charge and handling the negotiations—and since then I’ve had no problems.”

  “Yeah, yeah. As long as I don’t see a change in the income. I don’t want any bullshit with my money, Griffin. You understand?”

  I stare him right in the eyes, the same green irises that remind me of Colette’s, only his are a bit livelier than hers. It’s strange that they would be considering he’s a money-hungry bastard that only cares about himself, but for some reason they are. “I understand.”

  “Good, now,” he rasps, pulling out a black case from the jacket of his suit and whipping out a cigar, “You need to start planning the fall banquet. Invite the big people, the sharks, you know. The ones that are on top, just like us. The people that won’t mind tossing a couple thousand here and there after having one too many drinks. Lots of champagne, lots of scotch and whiskey, unlimited drinks. That’s how you do it. That’s how you win over the big investors.”

  “I have Kelly getting that list together now.” It’s dirty what he does. Getting people drunk just to swallow their money. It’s disgusting.

  “Kelly,” he laughs. “Kelly the man. And not only that, the faggot! Christ, Colette is ridiculous. How she even came from the pit of my sack still confuses the fuck out of me. She could at least give the man of the house what he wants. Nothing wrong with a little eye candy, am I right?” He cocks a bushy eyebrow, chuckling, with smoke potent in his voice. I’m not going to respond to that question. He’s the type of asshole to use it against me one day. “I’m telling you, I don’t know how the hell I could make it through a day’s work without Big Tit Tatiana as my assistant. That woman’s body is gold.” He grunts, placing his cigar between his fingers. “Wish my wife could have kept up like she does. Whatever you do,” he says, head shaking, “don’t let Colette start losing track of herself. Cause then you will regret it—not having a wife that you can actually enjoy looking at naked, I mean.”

>   I hold back on rolling my eyes, averting them to my left. “Colette works out so much that I worry she’ll get too skinny.”

  I glance at him and his face turns board straight as he lowers his cigar. “She’s back at that again?”

  “She’s fine for now.” I sit my glass down. “She keeps blaming it on getting ready for her competition, but to me she’s pushing herself too hard.”

  “Well, stay on her. I don’t need to be flying to Miami just because she passes out from starving her damn self. There’s too much to be done and, besides, that’s your job, right?” His eyes focus on mine, a rare draft of seriousness washing over him. “She is your responsibility and you do whatever it takes to keep her happy. Whatever. It. Takes.”

  I match his stare. “With all due respect, sir, I have always done whatever it takes.”

  He looks me over briefly before pointing his gaze to the bar. “Colette has her issues, yes. You both do. But if you want to keep what you have and make it stick, you don’t fuck up.”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” I mumble.

  “Don’t forget why you are where you are, Griffin. Don’t forget that if you fuck up—if Colette fucks up or spirals—you will lose it all. I can’t afford losing anything when it comes to my business. In this business, we all look perfect or greater, especially if you are a part of the Jenkins’ world. You want to keep paying those bills for your family? You want to keep being on top? Then you do right by Colette and especially me. Don’t let her get crazy. We both know there won’t be a bright side if either of you do something you know you shouldn’t have.”

  Funny how he says this just as my phone buzzes and an email from Angelina Clark pops right up on the screen.

  Picking up my cellphone, I slide it into my pocket, take out my wallet, and drop some money on the table for my bill.

  He looks at me as I adjust my tie, grabbing a chicken wrap off the tray. “It won’t happen, sir.”

  “Damn right it won’t,” he mutters just as I turn and bite into the wrap.

  “I will have the rest of the sheets sent to you tonight.”

  I walk away before he can speak again, and I’m lucky that his cellphone rings. Mine buzzes in my pocket as I reach my car and I take it out. Another email from Angelina.

  * * *

  Angelina Clark: Hey, Mr. Boyd

  Angelina Clark: What would you say if I just so happened

  to fly out to Miami tomorrow?

  * * *

  Griffin Boyd: I would call you crazy, but I damn sure won’t stop you.

  * * *

  Angelina Clark: Crazy, why?

  * * *

  Griffin Boyd: You really want to know?

  * * *

  Angelina Clark: Yes. I would love to know.

  You have me pretty curious now.

  * * *

  Griffin Boyd: Because I’ve been thinking nonstop

  about your wet pussy since San Diego.

  Coming here is asking for me to bend you over backwards

  and fuck the shit out of you again.

  * * *

  Angelina Clark: Oh, really?

  * * *

  Griffin Boyd: Really. And this time I won’t hesitate.

  * * *

  Angelina Clark: Well, then, Mr. Boyd.

  I guess I’m on my way.

  Don’t make plans. Okay?

  * * *

  Griffin Boyd: Besides work and you, there are no others, Angel.

  * * *

  Angelina Clark: Good. I’ll tell you what hotel and room when I arrive. Promise to come by?

  * * *

  Griffin Boyd: You have my word, Angel.

  * * *

  I get into my car, a smile twitching at my lips as I shut the door behind me. Mr. Steven Jenkins is still in there, eating and most likely smoking his life away. He thinks he’s running this show, but let’s be honest.

  He isn’t.

  I run this. I now own my life. All he gets is a percentage of the large amounts of money I make daily. It’s nothing. Just money. An object.

  I’m taking my life back.

  I’m making myself happy again, even if my wife wants to remain miserable. I have tried with her. I have been the bigger person. All I want is to see her smile, but if she can’t even do that, well, then I guess it’s time for me to worry about myself and my satisfaction in life from now on.

  I can’t rely on her to make me happy. It’s time to create my own kind of happiness. After years of desolation and slight depression, it’s time to move forward.

  I have done counseling, and eased out of it with flying colors. I have forgiven myself repeatedly. I have accepted my faults and realized that mistakes do happen, even to the most successful of men, even if she hasn’t.

  I am ready to live my life again, and if that means I have to live it without her then so be it. I will do just that.

  FIFTEEN

  Colette

  * * *

  Griffin went to lunch with my father. Explains why he’s come back in such a dull mood, looking at me from the door.

  Yeah, I notice. He’s even more slumped than he was when he left. I refuse to see my Dad. He’s an asshole, always comparing me to my oh-so-perfect older sister Beth.

  Beth Jenkins, the business bitch. The one who knows her politics, how to cut a deal, and let’s not forget the way she wraps herself around Dad’s finger. I don’t care for any of it. But because my mind is a touch more creative than theirs, I’m the weird one.

  Whatever.

  Mom is the only one who has never minded it, though she does worry a lot about me in general. Speaking of, I should really give her a call. Pry for some dirt on Beth. Mom never holds back, and I love hearing that Beth struggles, probably even more than I do.

  Griffin’s arms fold across his chest, and before he can speak, I say, “The Potters are coming over for dinner tonight. Arianna and her sister will be cooking for us.”

  His eyebrows pull together. “Tonight?”

  “Yes.” I glance over my canvas. “Is that a problem?”

  “Yes, it is. I have some things to take care of at work. I’ll probably be there all night.”

  I frown. “Things like what?”

  “Work stuff. Mr. Jenkins wants the rest of my reports tonight. I have to finalize the rest before having Kelly send them all off.”

  I narrow my eyes, halting on my next brushstroke and squeezing the wooden handle. “And you can’t do that down the hallway in your home office?”

  “My files are at my real office. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you. It’s work. I have to get it done.” He turns and walks away and I drop my brush, rushing for him as he gets to the bedroom.

  “Griffin, are you fucking serious? You cannot leave me to have dinner alone with the Potters! God, I hate them so much! All they do is brag about what they have, like we can’t acquire the same exact shit!”

  He pulls down his overnight bag. “Well, cancel the dinner then. Reschedule. Something.”

  I release an exasperated breath, stepping around him. “I can’t just cancel now, Griffin. This was planned since last month. I told you about this.”

  “Well, my job is much more important than dinner with the Potter’s, Colette.” He sighs, turning around to face me. He looks me over, my body smothered in different colored paint.

  I know I should be getting ready, showering away this mess, but I’m just like him. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do dinner. I don’t want to force smiles or indulge in their bullshit lives.

  I just want to be left alone.

  Why does this have to be my life now? Pretending to be someone I’m not. I refuse to stay alone here with them. If I cancel, they will wonder what’s going on. They will pry and snoop and I can’t have that.

  I can’t have anyone thinking we don’t keep our word or we are having issues. Not after all they know. I need Griffin here, and if manipulating him into it will do the trick, then so be it.

 
; My breathing thickens as I unbutton my blouse and then my jeans.

  He watches me with hard, confused eyes. “Colette, what are you doing?” One of his brows is quirked, and he steps back as I walk forward.

  When my paint-stained shirt is tossed aside and Griffin’s back is against the wall, I press my chest against his, point my face up, and kiss his lips. He doesn’t kiss me back.

  It’s been a while since we’ve done this whole mouth-to-mouth thing. I don’t expect him to. It’s been so long since I’ve done something like this with him, all so that I can get things to go my way.

  So I make up a quick lie, some bullshit pill I know he will swallow. “I feel like you’re still mad at me about that whole San Diego flight thing.” I reach behind me and unlatch the hook of my bra. It falls, hitting the carpet. “I just wanted you home, Griffin. Is that so bad?”

  His face is still solid, eyes dropping to the breasts that are now on full display. “I’m not. It’s fine.” His voice is tight, like he wants to say more but needs to control himself.

  “No,” I breathe, running my hand down his toned arm. “You aren’t fine. Let me make it up to you.”

  “You’ve never made shit up for me, Colette. Why do you want to now?”

  “Because I need you to stay… at least for dinner. For me. Please,” I beg. God, I’m so good at this. I should win a fucking Emmy award.

  Griffin looks me over, falling for my pleading doe eyes. He’s too weak. Too kind. He can never say no to me, not during times like this, when his cock is hardening and my naked body is so close to his.

  Finally exhaling through parted lips, he rakes his fingers through his hair and shrugs. “Fine. Whatever.”