Trailing my finger from his collar to his tie, I pull it from the confines of his double-breasted suit jacket, and seductively slide the blue patterned silk delicately through my thin French manicured fingers.
He’s panting already and his dark brown soulful eyes are sparking fireworks of animalistic lust right at me.
“Now, Donnie… You wouldn’t want to ruin this deal because you want to own part of my company. Would you? How about…” I pause for effect and sigh, long and sensuously, devilishly smiling on the inside for playing such a convincing seductress.
“Oh…never mind…” I breathily come back with a deeply saddened tone and pout my glossy bottom lip.
Quickly removing my hands from his tie, he folds my hands into his. He-man here to fix his damsel in distress, works every time.
“Tell me Lex… May I call you, Lex?” He sounds desperate and that’s good, that’s very good.
I weakly nod with a frown.
“Tell me what you were going to say.”
Lightly gnawing on my bottom lip, I look down and away from his handsome aged face. Trying desperately to keep up my play and not laugh.
Cupping my chin, he sweetly tilts my head so our gazes meet and his nostrils flair. He’s hard right now. I’d lay fifty million on it.
“Please.” Okay, now he’s resorted to begging. Alright, that’s a good boy.
“I want to have your stores sell my products, Donnie, but I’ve worked so very hard for my company. I can’t let it go. I’m sorry.”
Firmly biting my bottom lip and hooding my eyes, faking shy nervousness. I know this Alpha has a deep seeded need to fix my sadness and surly that would include banging me on this table, but he’s a professional and I know he’d never actually come out and court me that way. It’s not in a business man’s repertoire to be so garishly forthcoming, especially those of them who are married and probably bored to death with their personal lives. I know what will come after this. I’d lay money on it.
Ten minutes later, my hand still resting in his, he’s signing the contract with the other. We already had this specific contract prepared and now my products will not only be sold at Macy’s, Nordstrom’s and online, they will be at Saks, and I have an exclusive Saks only collection I’m already conjuring up. What a sweet life.
Chapter Three
“I swear to God himself, Lex, I don’t understand how men are seriously that dimwitted.”
I hear this from Roni every time I’m forced to break out the charm to secure a client, vendor or whatever else. Even the women I’ve dealt with, eat me up. Roni doesn’t do charm, her idea of charm is a baseball bat to the knee until you cry uncle, not exactly subtle. I feel very sorry for Bob if and when, he does cross her moodiness at the wrong time. Hell hath no fury…
Leaving her to run the production part of our plant, I head back to my office, where I’m greeted warmly with iced tea in my pink tumbler, a turkey club, and a smile from Daniel. He’s an amazing secretary.
“Thanks.” I accept his thoughtfulness and retire to do some much needed work and eat. My job is never done.
A soft knock sounds at my door and Daniel enters without needed permission. “I wanted to drop these off before I leave for the day.” He smiles, coming to my oversized leather topped ornately carved black executive desk that I found at a rummage sale and had it refinished, it’s surely one of a kind.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, once he sets the stunning white urn, spilling with bountiful amounts of beautiful green orchids with pink centers, on the corner of my desk. Offering me a mischievous, sagacious grin, he hands me the tiny card.
Without even looking at the card, I know who this is from and I know what he wants.
“You read it already, didn’t you?” I take the card, dropping it with a thump on my desk.
Nodding, with a dirty grin he confirms my assumption.
“It’s from Donald, isn’t it? I’ve been working in here since my meeting, haven’t I? Which means it’s five thirty, and you’re ready to go home.”
Nodding again, he takes a seat on the left chair astride the front of my desk and folds his hands in his lap. Still grinning like a wily child.
“Yes, Ms. Keagan, it’s from Donald.”
“And…”
“He would like you to accompany him to dinner tonight at Vino’s.”
I’m sure he would, however, I must decline. I have a lot of work still to power through, and I’m going to be busy all week. This new account atop of the rest of my company, I can’t seem to get a moments rest.
“No, thank you, please send him my sincerest apologizes before you leave. I will be pulling an all-nighter. And with Roni on my case, it couldn’t have come at a better time.”
Dropping his sweet smile, he shakes his head with a furrowed brow. “Lex, I know about the online dating. She filled me in. You do need to get out there and find a partner, it might help.”
Uh…huh…sure it’ll help. It’ll help put me into an early grave. Should start digging the hole myself, to get a head start. I learned my lesson the last time I attempted to seek understanding of my past, with a boyfriend, and I have the emotional and physical scars to prove it. I’m not walking that path again. When I was younger, I was rather enthusiastic about love and life. I wanted to get out there and experience things, to open myself up and let people in. My first serious boyfriend blew that to smithereens when I was twenty-one, and I’ve refused to get physically close to anyone again. Except Daniel, he accepts me the way I am. All five foot eight of me, with silky jet-black hair hitting the middle of my back, pale skin, blue eyes, and an entire abdomen and back littered with ugly visible scars. Belt scars, knife scars, burn scars, switch scars, even high heel scars. Without divulging too much, let’s just say between my father and my ex, Brian, I’ve had enough physical pain to last me six lifetimes, and if you add the emotional abuse, double that number.
“I’ll think about it.” I give him my best diplomatic answer. I don’t need to think on it. I don’t want to. I’m happy with the way things are. I live two houses down from my mom; I have my best friend living above my garage in her own two-bedroom luxury apartment. I own a huge five bedroom, three bath, white colonial, with a huge front porch. My entire house has been refurbished back to part of its original state. It has eleven foot ceilings in both the upstairs and down and killer moldings. There isn’t just a living room, I have a sitting room right off the entry by the stained glass all original double front doors. Off the kitchen, I have a small office with library. It’s a superb home, and I take a lot of pride in it and keeping with its originality along with adding a few modern touches.
Knowing full and well I will not negotiate, Daniel has already left. We are friends, but he understands fully that I am his boss first, his friend second. He’s worked here with me the past year as he completed college. I paid for most of it. He’s a nice fella, and his loyalty to me is unbreakable. You can’t buy the kind of love and friendship we share.
Gazing at the clock on the wall, its minute hand claims quarter past six, and my stomach audibly growls. I need dinner. Pulling up my contacts on my computer, I find Dolly’s and click send. My work phone clicks on its speaker as it rings to my second favorite restaurant in town, and this one delivers.
“Ms. Keagan, working late again?” she greets, I’d know her voice anywhere. It’s Dolly, the owner of Dolly’s Dairy Dream. It’s a cute, mom and pop owned dairy bar about three streets over from my house, and she delivers for her favorite customers. Thankfully, I happen to be one of them.
“You know me so well.” I chuckle, running my hands through my hair as I relax in my chair. My shoes, I took off long ago and are sitting under my desk.
“Yes, honey, I’ve know you for years. Now let me guess, you want a chicken Caesar wrap, seasoned curly fries and a fat free chocolate and peanut butter shake, extra thick.”
Suppressing my need to laugh at the extra thick comment, I agree to the order and hang up with a sweet go
odbye before she starts in on trying to pair me up with her nephew Randall. Nice guy, doormat material, not my type, even if I was thinking of venturing out. I’m guessing if he knew the real me, he’d probably agree I’m not his type either.
Working some more on my computer, my email pings four more times, which means I am now up to thirty-three messages on my online dating account with Matchmakerhaven.com. Roni selected the site, said a girl in our lotions department met her fiancé there three years ago. It’s a small town, where everybody knows everybody. This means, they are fully acquainted with most people’s business. If you let them know anything valuable, gossip spreads like wildfire. My lack of love life is the only thing the town has been able to pin on me, which is how I like it.
The call bell to the outside door rings, which means my food has arrived. Good, I’m starving.
Leaving my shoes, I pad barefoot out of my door and down the small hallway to the front where the reception desk sits. I unlock the glass door, allowing Randall in. You know…the doormat, nephew. See, case and point. He doesn’t even work for Dolly; he’s a carpenter. Tall, tan and lean, and still not my type.
“You look lovely.” He states, handing me the white paper bag containing my dinner. He stands at least six one. However, he’s as soft and gentle as a pussy cat.
“Thanks, Randall.” I wink at him, making him blush. Such a shy guy.
Exchanging a few more pleasantries out of courteousness, I clasp him over the shoulder and see him to the door. I give him a two finger wave as he takes his Jeep back home. If I know Dolly, like I think I do, I’m pretty sure she called him as soon as I spoke with her and made him come deliver my order. The forever matchmaker, that sweet ol’ woman.
With a wry smile planted on my face, I go back into my office, steal my phone from my desk and plug it into the iPod speaker dock on the wet bar. Time to work some more, maybe delete all those…what I’m pretty sure are stupid and immature emails, and listen to some music. I enjoy only two kinds of music. Country, especially the older stuff like Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn and I also—please don’t have a heart attack, like heavy metal. Ironic combination, but my mom made me listen to the likes of Willy Nelson and Patsy, growing up, and as an adult, I’ve taken to heavy metal as well. I’m not talking death metal. Just stuff like Drowning Pool, Mushroom Head, Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, music like that.
Scrolling rapidly through my music selection, I come upon what I was looking for and it’s perfect for the kind of day I’ve had. The Queen of the Damned soundtrack, pretty decent movie, even better soundtrack; if you’ve never listened, you really should. It’s rather intense but euphorically seamless.
Immediately my senses are sexually jolted with “Not Meant for Me.” I love this music; the sensual rhythm gets me all hot and bothered, turning me on. Ignoring my bodies’ deception, I take my food and sit back behind my desk. With my body flooding with too much rampant desire, I’m already angry with myself for picking this soundtrack without having Daniel here. Not my brightest move.
I’m not fixing this torturous throbbing. It will have to go away on its own or I’ll have Daniel fix me in the morning. My email pings again and I’m not sure if it’s my hormones or this orgasmic French fry I’m nibbling, but I get the urge to at least peruse through those emails. I’m not oblivious to men being attracted to me. It’s common knowledge. I’m not smug about it. If anything, I find it unnerving. I’m a slightly curvaceous woman, with, like I said before, fake boobs. I wear a size six in jeans—if that tells you much of anything. My stomach is completely flat, with scars, and I have a medium sized butt. Looking at me, no one would say I have childbearing hips. They’re not childbearing in any sense of the word. Also, my entire body is hairless except my head, eyebrows and lashes. No arm hair, leg hair, underarm hair, or other places hair. I had it all removed by electrolysis four years ago, when I got tired of shaving on a daily basis. It was painful, but nothing I haven’t been through before. You might find that superficial, but I promise you it’s not. I needed it.
Decidedly, I ignore the emails piling in my inbox and go straight to the source. Typing the website in my browser and checking my message box from there. Good grief men, this is a bit overwhelming. Their profile pictures and ages posted below them tell me enough to know that I have the whole gambit of ages to pick from, if I decided to.
Okay, John11433 what do you have to say?
Clicking open, his email.
Oh boy! This isn’t what I was expecting. A file has been attached and yes, you’ve probably guess by now what I am getting a rather large eyeful of. Do these men have no shame? Seriously, yuck!
Deleting and blocking the sick pervert, I roll my eyes, exasperated. I can’t believe men think any type of woman, minus hookers, would want an introduction with a dick pic. Puh-lease…. That is what porn is for, I should know. I’ve watched my fair share of it over the years. I don’t want to see Joe Schmooze’s or in this case, John’s dick. I’m sorry. It’s not on my bucket list of things to see. It’s not the eighth wonder of the world. It’s gross, end of story.
Moving along, I delete the emails of men that I know would never hold any interest. For example, a man who’s screen name is bigdaddyballs who’s in his fifties, even if he was my age he wouldn’t just be a no he’d be a raving hell no. I’m really tired of this already and I want to kill Roni for putting me up to this. Arg! I could really use something other than my delicious chocolate peanut butter milkshake. Maybe a glass of wine or a shot of Patrón would hit the spot, anything to make me not want to shoot myself, because this online dating thing is torture.
Ending my frustration by diminishing my email list down to three suitable specimens with no photo attachments, I disregard the angry knot of anxiety wrenching in my stomach and I power on. I’ve started it and now it’s time to finish it. Then I will be shutting down this stupid account and ream Roni for pressing me to do something I only did for her, to get her bitchiness off my back. Women with PMS are seriously not to be trifled with, especially her. She’s a witch when Aunt Flo arrives.
Time to have at it.
Email numero uno – this should be interesting.
From: BrandonHurt69
To: Lotionlady316 Monday 9:19 a.m
Well, hello Gorgeous,
DELETE! Next…..
From: SuitMaster6979
To: Lotionlady316 Monday 1:12 p.m.
Hello, Lotionlady316,
To be honest I’m not sure what I’m supposed to write in these types of emails. It’s always awkward and followed by even more awkwarder (is that even a word? Lol) correspondents.
So, I’m going to accept my fate in knowing this is probably uncomfortable for both of us and I will tell you what I came to say.
Honesty is the best policy. Therefore, I’m not going to lie and say your profile picture of a beautiful woman didn’t catch my attention. It did. However, that is not why I am writing you now. It seems that by reading your profile you are a rarity among online dating. You have brains, beauty, and you are an Edgar Allen Poe fan. Yes, I got the subtlety in your statement ‘Sometimes I wonder if all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.’ That’s a great quote.
I realize my profile on here is rather vague and lacking the profound picture. However, after I spent the past six months searching for a woman and only getting emails from women, commenting on certain aspects of my looks and not of what I had created in terms of a profile. I decided that I would only seek and refuse to be sought. Hence, my profile is now private to others to view unless I email them first. I’m a man who follows the old ways, and feel that a man should court a woman. Chivalry is not dead in my eyes. In addition, as much as I know my words may express, by this time you are probably ready to delete this message in fear I am full of it. I’m not, I promise you this. And if you give me the time to show you, I would be most grateful to receive an awkwarder email in response. If not, I bid you adieu and wish you best of luck with your online dating endea
vors.
Sincerely, the Suit Master
P.S. The 6979 at the end of my user name is not a sexual innuendo. It’s my birthday, just in case you were wondering.
Ok, wow, how do you respond to something frank, intriguing, yet so vague? He’s right; he doesn’t have an attached photo. His profile picture is of a dog. When signing up it was mandatory to provide a photo. So, if I had to guess, that cute lab in the picture is probably his dog. I’ve always loved dogs, just never been a dog owner myself. And I must say I am glad that he clarified that 6979 isn’t some sex freakiness. It’s his birthday. Which will make him thirty-five this year. My birthday was last month and I just turned twenty-eight. That’s not that much of a difference in age. Brian my ex was twelve years older than I am. Maybe I should stick to men my age? Or, how about none at all? Yes, that sounds more promising.
Closing down The Suit Masters email, I only have one left.
From: LarryCFish
To: Lotionlady316
Monday 3:13 p.m.
Lex, I didn’t know you would be online dating. I haven’t seen you in ages. I know you probably don’t remember me. But, we went to the same high school together. Names Larry Fisher, but most people called me Corey.
I moved back to the area a few months ago after a painful divorce. Thought since you are on here you might be interested in going to dinner with me sometime? Just as friends and to catch up. I don’t expect anything. It’s just nice to know I’m not the only one from our graduating class to be actively seeking partnership. Hope all is well and I look forward to hearing from you.
Lex (Unconventional Hearts) Page 2
