by Lara Hunter
For just a moment our public surroundings dissolved all around us; suddenly it was just Oliver and me, lost in a pleasant otherworld that threatened to consume us.
Almost, anyway.
“Somebody call 911! There’s a fire here at the Remington.”
The sound of an all too familiar voice disrupted our paradise; bringing our heads up as we jumped apart from one another on the court.
“Harry!” I cried.
“Dad!” Oliver echoed.
“The one and only!” Harry affirmed, dressed this day in his own fetching tennis outfit as he made his way across the clay court.
Pitching his head back with a robust chortle, the generally reserved, distinguished Harry Clark stunned us with a playful wink.
“Caught you!” he chuckled, pointing an accusing finger in our direction.
Oliver froze.
“Caught us doing what?” He bit his lip.
Harry laughed.
“Now, Son, you and I had ‘the talk’ quite a long time ago,” he reminded him with a smirk. “You know darned well what you were doing and for once you were doing it with a wonderful lady worthy of your time and attention.”
Stepping forward on the court, Harry surprised me with a warm, sweet kiss; one delivered straight to the surface of my cheek.
“I had heard the rumors around the office that you two had become a couple,” he beamed. “But I thought it was too good to be true. And may I say, young lady, that you have given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for; you’ve finally given me some peace of mind about my son and his future.”
I took in my breath as a beaming Oliver wrapped his arms around my body; pulling me up against him as he said, “You were right about her all along, Dad. This one is a winner and a keeper.”
“Indeed,” Harry agreed immediately, adding as he turned away, “Gotta go now. I’m meeting one of our biggest clients here for lunch and a game. I insist, though, on taking you kids out to dinner sometime next week.”
Oliver nodded.
“We’d love to,” he agreed immediately, taking his father’s hand in a warm but firm handshake. “Just name the time and day, Dad.”
We smiled and waved as Harry took leave of the court; I waited until he was well out of ear shot before I turned to a silent Oliver and said, “That’s why you kissed me, wasn’t it Oliver? You saw him coming and wanted to put on a show.”
He looked at me for a long moment before releasing my body; continuing to hold my gaze as he said, “No, Lily. That’s not why I kissed you.”
I said nothing, only watched as he once again jumped our net and turned to face me across the court.
“Game on,” he teased, with a sly smile.
***
Lily
In the wake of an afternoon that passed all too quickly, I soon found myself back at work; yet even as I answered phones and typed up reports, I couldn’t help but think about the man for whom I was doing all this work—a man that, or so I just realized, I never really knew.
Previous to our tennis date, I had no idea that Oliver was a sensitive artist type disguised as a businessman; or, for that matter, that he had such a close and loving relationship with his mother; the revered woman people spoke about in hushed tones in the hallways and offices of Clark Industries.
I had no idea of the warmth and good humor that lie beneath that cool, smooth playboy exterior. And although I’d always liked and felt an undeniable attraction to Oliver Clark, I now experienced a startling, even disturbing realization.
I actually liked the guy.
Oh no, I thought, shaking my head back and forth as I considered this downright absurd, even frightening notion. Please say it ain’t so.
Really, though, what wasn’t there to like? I’d always been reluctantly but undeniably drawn to his good looks, smooth charm, and wicked sense of humor; one so very similar to my own (well, the sense of humor, that is). In a way, though, my quiet crush on Oliver always had taken the form of a forbidden guilty pleasure. I knew all too well that his carefree, lightning-paced playboy lifestyle was no match for my quieter, more introspective existence; one that centered on my work and was enlivened only by my interest in books, film and the arts.
I previously figured that good ol’ Oliver would identify Georgia O’Keeffe and Frida Kahlo as cool chicks that he may or may not have dated at one point or another. Now, however, I recognized him as an inspired artist who was probably familiar with their works. And while he seemed to be a bit more lacking in knowledge in regards to great works of literature and their authors, plays and ballets, etc., he seemed very willing to learn. I could see his intense hunger for knowledge reflected in those gorgeous eyes and I wondered if at least a small part of that hunger could be aimed in my direction.
A scary but strangely wonderful thought. I grinned in spite of myself, finally managing to hear the phone that had rung at least 20 odd times.
Yikes! Wake up, Ashton. My eyes flew wide as I grabbed the receiver. “Hello, Clark Industries. This is Oliver Clark’s office.”
“Hi there,” cooed the lass on the other end of the line, stopping just short of charming me with a fake Southern accent. “Is Ollie around?”
I froze, biting my lip as my eyes narrowed in a fit of sudden anger.
“Why no, he’s not,” I managed through gritted teeth. “May I take a message?”
“Yes, you may,” the gal giggled, no doubt thinking me the luckiest person in the nation, if not the free world, for taking her phone message. “My name is Kelli. That’s spelled K-e-l-l-i.”
“May I have your last name?”
I tensed as a smooth, sexy chuckle met my innocent question.
“Oh, I have no doubt that he’ll remember my name,” she assured me. “Given the downright fantastic evening we enjoyed together last week.”
I nodded.
“OK,” I said, scrawling down a phone message even I couldn’t decipher as I added, “I’ll make sure he gets this message the moment he walks in this morning. Have a nice day.”
Without awaiting an answer I clicked off the call; raising my head to come face to face with the intended recipient of the message.
“Morning, babe!” Oliver beamed, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “Hey, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed our picnic and tennis game on Saturday. I so enjoyed getting to know you. I never knew how sweet and funny you could be; you’re so much fun to hang out with, and I’m amazed at how much we actually have in common. I felt like I was talking to an old friend I’d known for years. An old friend that, as an added bonus, looks friggin’ fantastic in a designer tennis dress. Who’d a thought it?”
I stared at him for a long, silent moment; folding my hands before me as I ventured to gauge his level of sincerity.
“Not I, that’s for sure. Just remember though that the word ‘babe’ appears nowhere on my driver’s license or social security card. My name is Lily,” I deadpanned, finally handing him his phone message across the desk in a short, brisk gesture that betrayed my irritation. “Please call Kelli with an I at your earliest convenience.”
Taking the message paper firmly in hand, Oliver pinned me with a sheepish look as color flooded his bronzed cheeks.
“Ah, Kelli, yes. Kelli is a model I met last month when she appeared in one of our corporate films,” he explained, voice wavering a bit as he continued. “We met last week to discuss further opportunities.”
I shrugged.
“Well according to her, your little business meeting went exceptionally well,” I pursed my lips, planting my hands on my hips. “From all accounts, it bordered on earth shattering.”
Oliver shrugged.
“OK, so we had a date,” he admitted on a long, hard sigh. “When we made this arrangement, Lily, I promised to spoil you and show you a good time. I didn’t promise to become a monk.”
I guffawed outright.
“Sorry,” I managed between peals of laughter, “I just pictured you in a long brown robe with on
e of those little beanie hats and sandals, chanting the lyrics of ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It.’”
Oliver chuckled.
“Well I’m glad you can laugh about this. For a moment there, Lil, I thought you were really angry with me,” he heaved a relieved sigh. “Listen, please be rest assured that I am thoroughly enjoying my time with you; every moment I learn something new about you, I see you in a whole new light. I’m not just seeing you for show, Ms. Ashton… I look forward to our dates, and I enjoy every one of them.” He paused here, adding with a sigh, “At the same time, Lil, even you can’t change a tiger’s stripes, especially not when I’m the tiger. You’re cool with me keeping up a healthy social life, right?”
I thought a moment, then nodded.
“You and I are two single people that are enjoying a mutually beneficial arrangement, for the greater good of our company. And, like you Oliver, I do have to admit that I am really enjoying our time together,” I assured him, adding with arched eyebrows, “I’m just glad that I answered the phone this morning, instead of, say, your father. The same man that is under the distinct impression that you and I are enjoying a mutually exclusive relationship. The same man that has been pressuring you for months to commit to one woman and, more specifically, a lady whose name does not happen to be Kelli with an i.”
Oliver gaped.
“You’re absolutely right. I never thought of that.” I rather enjoyed the look of sheer terror that crossed Oliver’s features. “Sheesh, Dad would have skinned me alive if he had answered Kelli’s call. Even worse, he would have cut off my inheritance, my credit line, my employment at his company and in all likelihood, my neck for good measure. I’ll be sure to tell Kelli—along with my other, um, friends—to call me on my cell phone from this point forward; never at the office.”
I nodded.
“Capital idea,” I affirmed, adding as I graced him with a full-toothed smile, “And, to match your very polite gesture, I promise to have all of my other dates contact me at home as well—lest anyone here at the office get the wrong idea. Or the right idea. You know, whatever works.”
Oliver looked at me for a long moment, then met my words with a short, sharp nod.
“Whatever works,” he agreed, adding as he turned away, “Just know this, Lily Ashton. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy spending time with you… and I mean that. And if you are dating anyone else, I am thoroughly and unabashedly jealous. Almost bitterly so.”
Chapter Six
~
Oliver
“So Oliver, I have to tell you something. I see a real change in you.”
Lounging in a black leather chair that fronted her polished cherry wood desk, Dr. Ann Goldman regarded me, Oliver Clark, the patient currently stretched out on her silk-upholstered scarlet couch, with a bare, penetrating gaze.
How I had come to thoroughly and officially hate that bare, penetrating gaze.
“You say you see a change in me,” I repeated, regarding her with a curious gaze. “Is that a good thing?”
Dr. Goldman, a bespectacled woman in her mid-40s, thought for a moment, then nodded.
“For the most part, yes,” she conceded thoughtfully. “You show a renewed dedication to your work. Indeed, you seem to be quite enjoying your new clients and projects. Your eyes light up and your voice raises when you’re filling me in about all of your latest accomplishments. And your job performance, according to your father, has improved exponentially.”
I pursed my lips.
“Well I’m not altogether sure what exponentially means,” I admitted, adding with a shrug, “But it sounds good enough to me.”
Dr. Goldman laughed.
“It’s great, actually. Your dad feels as though he has hired a brand new employee. Someone who actually had to work his way up and apply himself to earn his rather sizable paycheck,” she praised me, adding as she ran an absent hand through her short stock of reddish brown hair, “Your father is also thrilled at the idea of you dating your personal assistant, Lily Ashton. He adores Lily, saying that, in terms of intelligence, strength and determination, she’s above and beyond any other woman you’ve ever seen.” She paused here, inclining her head in my direction as she added, “Now I have to admit it, Oliver. When you first started dating Lily, I was almost certain that it was all a ruse—that, in a half baked effort to save your job and your inheritance, that you were ‘fake dating’ a mature, responsible woman just to please your father.”
“WHAT?!” With a loud, sharp snort of indignity I lurched upward on the couch; fixing Dr. Goldman with the puppy dog eyes that worked on every woman but her—and Lily, of course. “How dare you accuse me of such a foul deed?”
“She’s not your type, Oliver,” Dr. Goldman interrupted, just barely suppressing a sardonic smirk. “She enunciates. Moreover she can spell the word enunciates. She’s a personal assistant, not a personal trainer… or a stripper… or a spokesmodel, whatever the blazes that is. She actually knows the difference between Monet and Manet. She puts just as much thought into her life goals and future plans as she does her daily wardrobe choices, perhaps even more so, shock of all shocks. And she is fully aware of the fact that Helen of Troy is not a mini skirted techno singer from Michigan.”
I had heard enough.
“OK, your point is totally and officially made, so Lily wasn’t my type,” I rolled my eyes. “I guess I just never realized how good it felt to have a meaningful conversation with a woman; to share common interests, and laugh about things together. In the short time that we’ve dated, she has taught me so much about the arts, politics, everything. She’s just as much my friend as she is my girlfriend. I just adore her.”
I paused here, wondering if I was saying my lines convincingly enough… because by God they were convincing me.
“I can tell you really like her,” Dr. Goldman affirmed, adding in a lowered voice, “I also can tell, though, that you’re afraid to commit to her or, for that matter, to anyone.”
I shrugged.
“Look, Doc, I’m still young. And, for that matter, I’m still a man,” I reasoned, adding with a sly wink, “I still have some wild oats to sow, some personal fantasies to fulfill.”
Dr, Goldman stared firmly.
“From what you’ve told me, Oliver, it sounds like you’ve sewn enough wild oats for an entire rock band, not to mention roughly half the past presidents of the United States.” She pursed her coral pink lips to sardonic effect. “You’re not 18 anymore. I know a lot of men your age who are already married with a couple of kids. And for all of your bravado and multiple excuses, Oliver, I really can’t figure out why you can’t seem to commit to a woman. Yes, you’re a handsome young billionaire and something of a playboy, but underneath it all,
I strongly suspect that you also happen to be a really nice man who likes and respects women.”
I grinned in spite of myself.
“Yeah, well don’t let it get around,” I joked, adding more seriously, “Listen, Doc, my mom, who I worship and idolize more than anyone in the world, even my father, always encouraged me to be a gentleman. She never allowed any disrespect of women on her watch, and I always found it very easy to agree with her viewpoints. I’m very proud to say that I have never raised my hand to a lady, or coerced her into doing anything she didn’t want to do.”
Dr. Goldman nodded, meeting these words with a rare and welcome smile of encouragement.
