Strip Me Bare

by M. Never

  “Yes, a little, she’s very nice.”

  “She is,” he agrees as he walks back behind his desk, and I can’t help but follow him. I want to get closer to the window and take in the magnificent view. I lean against the edge of his desk, cross my arms and get lost in the landscape.

  “Phenomenal, isn’t it?” My uncle swivels in his chair next to me, mirroring my arms.

  “Totally.” I’m transfixed.

  We’re quiet for a moment before he goes on, “So, Ryan. He’s an interesting boy.”

  I immediately snap to attention. “Yes, he is.” I search my uncle’s face for any kind of hint of what he’s thinking. I’ll give it to the Remington men, they can conceal their thoughts and emotions like none other.

  “I don’t think he’s slept since you asked him to present the logo ideas.”

  “Driven, that’s good.”

  “He wants to impress you.” I smirk. “Hell, I want to impress you.”

  My uncle regards me surprised. “Alana, you do impress me. You’re a strong, intelligent, young woman who is at the top of her class at a prestigious law school.”

  “There are plenty of young, intelligent women who are at the top of their class at prestigious law schools,” I counter diffidently.

  “So, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, except competition.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “Okay then, you know what really impresses me?”

  “What?” I draw my brown eyes down to his.

  “You stand by a man whose occupation has women throwing themselves at him on a nightly basis. I don’t know many young girls who would be able to do that. I don’t know many grown women who would be able to do that,” he grunts.

  “Trust me, it’s not easy,” I scoff.

  “I’m sure it’s not. And that’s exactly my point. You endure. You do it with your father and with your boyfriend. And that ability will give you the edge you need in the competition department.” He nods self-assured. “It’s not going to hurt that you have my law firm on your resume either.” My uncle winks.

  Oh, my uncle John, the voice of encouragement.

  “Now, if you’re ready,” he joshes, turning back to his desk, “there’s work to be done.”

  My smile broadens. I’m totally ready.

  “Did you buy a whole new wardrobe?” The bed is covered with men’s clothes all with the tags still on them.

  Ryan comes out of the bathroom towel-drying his hair. “I couldn’t decide what to wear so I bought a selection.”

  “You bought Michael Kors’ spring line.”

  He laughs flippantly before going back into the bathroom. “Pick something out for me,” he yells, the scent of his body spray drifting into the bedroom. It’s yummy.

  I sift through the clothes, searching for the perfect match. Ryan is meeting with my uncle and the other partners today to review his mock-ups. If they like anything they see, Ryan will have the task of creating the law firm’s official logo. It’s not only a huge undertaking, it’s a big break in his potential career.

  I pick out a navy suit and match it with a light blue, pin-striped tie that will bring out his eyes, along with a white dress shirt. Crisp, youthful, and professional.

  Ryan smiles when he discovers my selection. “I was leaning toward that suit.”

  “Great minds,” I hum.

  As we finish getting dressed, anxiety emits off Ryan like radiation. I can’t say I blame him for being nervous, he’s about to meet four gods on Mount Olympus.

  Together, we hop a cab to the Chrysler Building, grab some coffee from a vendor truck parked on the street, then ride the elevator up to the twenty-second floor. As we step out into the reception area we run into my uncle. He’s walking purposefully with papers in his hand. His white shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows and a gold chain hangs from the pocket of his black vest. He smiles when he sees us.

  “Well, don’t you two look like a power couple?” He shakes hands with Ryan. “All ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Have a seat and one of the receptionists will see you inside.” My uncle disappears through the double doors of the firm. Ryan exhales an uneasy breath and takes a seat on one of the leather chairs in the waiting room.

  “Do you want me to stay with you until you’re called in?” I want to be supportive.

  Ryan smiles, a huge dazzling smile. “No, that’s okay. I need to do this on my own.”

  I nod, leaning down to kiss him. “Good luck,” I whisper against his mouth.

  As I pass by the reception desk, Reyna pssts me.

  “Hey.” She follows me through the glass doors. “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks conspiratorially.

  “Um, yes. That’s Ryan.” I glance back at my hottie sitting in reception.

  “His name’s not Jack?”

  All the air leaves my body as soon as the name Jack leaves her lips. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Sheila is swearing up and down he’s the guy who strips at Culture. She was just there last weekend.”

  I chew on my bottom lip. Jesus, does every woman under the age of twenty-five know who Ryan is?

  “No, maybe he just looks like him?” I hide Superman’s secret identity. “He’s definitely hot enough to be a male stripper, though.” I play it off as I hurry to my desk.

  “Hell, yeah, he is.” Reyna mutters under her breath, and I smile a little.

  Forty-five minutes later I steal a peek of Ryan and the founding partners in a conference room. He has his laptop open with one of his mock-ups projecting on a big screen. It’s the one I noticed the other day, the circle of names. My uncle looks pleased, as do the others in the room. Ryan is conducting himself calm and collectively, the passion for his work speaking volumes through his facial features.

  I hurry into my uncle’s office, not wanting anyone to catch me spying, and place a stack of papers on his desk. I photocopied at least a hundred briefs this morning, and have just finished delivering them to all the designated lawyers. I glance up when Ryan and my uncle walk through the door. They’re both smiling as they converse. And, for one split second, I wish it was my father instead of my uncle looking at Ryan that way.

  “So, who’s ready for a celebratory lunch?” My uncle clasps his hands.

  “You got the job?” I direct the question at Ryan.

  Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “It appears so.”

  Overcome with elation, I pounce on Ryan, hugging him as tightly as I can muster, because I know this job could potentially change his life.

  And potentially get rid of Jack the Stripper.

  “Mr. Remington.” A woman’s voice comes through the speaker on his desk. “There’s been a development in the Richmond case, they’re requesting you in conference room three.”

  My uncle sighs. “No rest for the weary. Looks like you two are celebrating on your own. Have a good time.” He slaps Ryan on the shoulder before rushing out the door.

  “So, what do you want to do to celebrate?” I take Ryan’s hand.

  With a wicked expression on his face, Ryan glances at my uncle’s huge cherrywood desk. “I can think of one thing.”

  I walked right into that one.

  “Not going to happen.” The walls are see through.

  “How ‘bout a quickie at my place, then?” He pulls me into his arms, and I brace my hands on his chest.

  “You’re not hungry?”

  “Oh, I’m hungry, baby,” he kisses my neck, “but you’re the only thing on the menu I want.”

  Naughty.

  “So, let’s go, then.” I pull him toward the door by his tie. “And I’ll let you taste the rainbow.”

  “Jesus Christ, I love you, woman.” Ryan wraps his arms around me from behind and pokes me in the back with his growing erection. “It’s a good thing I’m wearing a suit jacket, huh?”

  I laugh aloud. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I know, baby,” he groa
ns. “Don’t ever ask me to change.”

  “I wouldn’t, and I don’t think you could even if you tried.”

  We walk hand in hand into the vestibule, where several receptionists are behind the desk, including Reyna and Sheila. Sheila is petite, with short black hair, a pear-shaped body, and a devious demeanor. They both watch us like a hawk as we walk by, and just as we make our way into the elevator someone yells, “Jack!” and Ryan instinctively turns his head.

  Shit.

  I circle around to see both Reyna and Sheila’s eyes sparkling. Those two connivers just unmasked Jack the Stripper.

  EASTER IS LATE this year.

  The daffodils have made an appearance, the azaleas are in bloom, and there is just the tiniest hint of warmth in the air. I’m sitting at the table in my aunt and uncle’s art deco dining room feasting on rack of lamb with pureed sweet potatoes and beet salad. It’s my aunt’s signature meal for the holiday. The conversation is light, and everyone seems to be enjoying their food.

  “Alana, did I tell you Alex and I will be in the city next month? He’s taking me to see Thirty Seconds to Mars.” Emily wipes her mouth with an excited glint in her eye. She’s in love with Jared Leto, so this news is no surprise. She’s a self-proclaimed Echelon.

  “Oh, yeah? Where are they playing?”

  “Roseland Ballroom, nice and intimate.” She smiles wickedly. “It should be a good concert.”

  “Sounds like it. I’m jealous.” I take a sip of red wine. I’m a Jared Leto fan myself.

  “I can get you and Ryan tickets if you want to come,” Alex chimes in innocently, and I immediately cease breathing.

  “Ryan?” My father’s low timber vibrates across the table like an earthquake.

  It’s official, the universe hates me. First, Emily outs me and now Alex. I swear these two are a match made in big mouth heaven.

  I stare at my father stock-still trying to figure out a way to answer his one word, probing question. I deliberate carefully. One wrong slip of the tongue and life as I know it could be over.

  “Yes. Ryan.” I look around the table, and everyone is frozen. My uncle with a forkful of beets to his mouth, my aunt with her wineglass touching her lips, Emily glaring at Alex like she wants to stab her steak knife into his neck. “He’s someone I’m seeing.”

  My father drops his fork. “Why do Emily and Alex know you’re seeing someone, and I don’t?”

  The question actually throws me for a loop. He sounds almost hurt. Which is not in my father’s character description at all.

  “Because I wasn’t ready to tell you.” And that’s the honest truth.

  “Well, who is he? Where is he from? What does he do?” My father pops off every question I don’t want to answer.

  “Merrick, don’t interrogate the girl. She’s twenty-three years old, she’s entitled to her privacy.” My Uncle John goes to bat for me.

  “I don’t recall directing a question at you, John,” my father snaps at his brother. Ouch.

  Oh, fuck, I glance quickly between my uncle and my father. This could get ugly really fast if I’m not systematic with my answers. Just breathe.

  “Daddy,” I coon sweetly, calmly, trying to placate him even though I’m a jumble of overheating organs on the verge of stalling out. “Ryan and I are only casually dating. Law school is my first priority. Getting families involved is just too big of a step for me right now. I don’t want to get distracted.”

  My father grimaces. “Telling me about your boyfriend and introducing him to me are two entirely different things,” he crosses, always the lawyer.

  “Maybe so, but I wasn’t ready for either.” I stand firm.

  His distant, brown gaze bores into me. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but reading him is like trying to interpret hieroglyphics. I just sit there as the moments tick by, my heartbeat slow and labored. Like I’m steadily dying.

  “Fine, then,” he relents, and I nearly pass out. “I can respect the fact you want to put school first and not get distracted. That’s a very mature attitude.” He looks down and I don’t understand his reaction. It’s impassive, like usual, but it’s almost like there’s something more. Something that he’s trying to mask. It’s unnerving. It’s not like him at all, and it frightens me a little. I glance at my uncle but he just shrugs.

  Lesson learned from today’s meal? A secret isn’t a secret unless you keep it to yourself.

  “You deserve a freakin’ Academy Award.” Emily leans on the counter next to where I’m drying the fine china and swigging merlot right out of the bottle.

  “That was too close.” I place a dried dish unsteadily on the stack. The bone china has been in my family for three generations. It’s creamy white with a textured surface and a platinum ring running along the rim.

  “I know, but you didn’t bat an eyelash or even break a sweat when he started asking about Ryan.”

  I laugh maniacally. “When you’re the daughter of a judge and the niece of an esteemed lawyer you learn a few things about composure.”

  “Yeah, well, if you handle yourself in a courtroom the way you handled yourself in the dining room I see a bright future ahead of you.”

  “Let’s hope so.” I take another gulp of wine.

  “Alana?” Emily looks down with something important on her mind. “Let’s just say for shits and giggles, you did introduce Ryan to your father, it’s not like you have to tell him what he does. You can say he’s a graphic artist. You wouldn’t be lying.”

  I stop drying the dishes and blow out some hot air. “Emily, Ryan’s occupation is the least of my problems with my father. He convicted him. He’ll never see past that.”

  “It’s been almost six years, do you think he’ll even remember?”

  “Maybe not at first, but eventually, yes. And then the shit will hit the fan.”

  Emily extends a sympathetic look. She doesn’t like it any more than I do that I have to hide Ryan like he’s someone to be ashamed of. But it isn’t that at all. “Em, look. Putting all my wants and needs aside, I can’t subject Ryan to my father’s ridicule. You have no idea what the last few years have been like for him. He has so much more healing to do, and we’ve only been back together for less than a year. We need to work on us first before we go adding our families into the sticky mix.”

  It makes me want to rip my heart out every time I think of my loving, affectionate, free-spirited Ryan and all the deep, dark, demons he still has inside. There’s no way I’m going to let my father’s elitist attitude provoke that already-fragile side of him.

  “Hey,” Alex interrupts us.

  “Hey.” Emily and I turn around.

  “I’m so sorry about before. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “It’s okay, Alex.” I cross my arms and lean on the counter. I think the wine is going to my head. FINALLY! “Maybe it’s for the best. Now Ryan doesn’t have to be some monumental secret, only a really huge one.” I gesture with my hands.

  I glance at my watch, 7:02 p.m. My train leaves in forty-five minutes. “Can you give me a ride to the train station?” I ask. “It’s getting late, and I really want to get home.” I throw the dish towel onto the counter, feeling more than a little bit tipsy.

  “Absolutely,” Alex answers without hesitation. Despite his bonehead moments and completely inappropriate comments, he really is a good guy.

  Grabbing my coat from the foyer closet, the smell of brandy and cigar smoke seeps out from my uncle’s study. I peer inside to find my father and uncle each sitting in an oversized, maroon leather chair situated in front of the fireplace.

  “Merrick, that’s your third Courvoisier. Is there something on your mind?” my uncle inquires in his typical jovial tone. Even though they fight like cats and dogs, and rarely see eye to eye, they have a special relationship. One I will never understand. Probably because I have no siblings of my own.

  My father exhales a puff of sweet smelling smoke before saying, “She just grew up too damn fast.”

>   What? I blanch. I don’t know what to make of that statement, and before I can analyze it any further I hear Emily calling my name. I appear in the door of the study to say goodbye with Alex and Emily hot on my heels. I give my uncle a huge hug and kiss goodbye first before turning to my father. He’s just standing there regarding me with no outward sign of emotion.

  “Goodbye, Daddy.” I attempt to sound lively instead of drunk.

  “Alana.” He responds with a nod of his head, his brown eyes heedful. I don’t know what to make of his energy tonight. It’s different somehow. But I don’t have time to dwell because Emily is pushing me out the door before I know it. Glancing at my father one last time, I idly wonder why I have to have such complicated relationships with all the men in my life.

  I climb into Alex’s Bentley and slide across leather that’s as soft as whipped cream. Did I say he was filthy stinkin’ rich? I meant disgustingly rich. He makes my family’s fortune look like beggars on the street.

  “Alana, I really am sorry,” Alex reiterates, searching me out in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s okay, Alex, really. You didn’t mean to do it.” I drop my head back onto the seat.

  “Maybe not,” Emily interjects. “But you are going to let Alana and Ryan borrow the jet so they can fly to France or Italy or wherever the hell they want to go to make up for almost ruining Alana’s life.”

  “Yes, dear,” Alex responds drolly as he pulls out of the driveway. “You know what I don’t get, though?” Alex continues. “Ryan is crazy in love with you. So what he’s a stripper? You don’t have to tell your father that.”

  Man, he and Emily really are made for each other.

  “Alex,” I sigh. “It’s so much more complicated than that. Ryan and I have a past. Emily can explain. It should make for interesting conversation on your drive home.”

  I pull out my phone and text Ryan as Alex and Emily exchange glances in the front seat.

  Me: We’ve been outed. But don’t worry. Alex is letting us borrow the G6 so we can go to France or Italy.

  Ryan: We have to flee the country?

  Me: Possibly. LOL. I’ll explain everything when I get home. Hopping the train now. Meet me at Penn St?