By Appointment Only

by Lisa Eugene

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s what she doesn’t say that bothers me.”

  “Done. You don’t have to worry about her.”

  For some absurd reason I thought of Mr. Clancy. “Ah—you don’t have to fire her or anything. I just don’t wanna have her all up in my grill.”

  I thought I saw another almost smile. Something inside me warmed and I scolded myself at the flutters in my belly. His gaze met mine, then brushed tenderly across my face. I stared back, and despite my confusion, felt an odd spurt of joy before I looked away.

  He wanted to see me again.

  Why didn’t he have sex with me?

  I mentally whined my disappointment. Somehow I knew it would be good. Really, really good.

  He took a step back.

  “Until next week, then.”

  Determined to salvage my pride, I straightened my spine, trying to appear unaffected by his rejection—again. I retrieved my small purse and stuffed my panties inside, growing mortified when my granny panties wouldn’t fit.

  I blushed floridly and kept my hand on the bulging flap of my purse. Without looking up, I gave a brisk nod and left the office.

  I was seriously still questioning my sanity.

  ***

  “So nothing happened?” Wanda asked for the third time.

  I shook my head. “Nada.”

  She thought for a moment, flipping absently through the TV channels.

  “Maybe he didn’t think you were interested.”

  I placed the shirts I’d just folded into the laundry basket. Last night another area of my living room ceiling had formed an ominous dark stain and was now starting to buckle. It hadn’t rained, and I was afraid there might be a leak from the pipes upstairs. I was waiting for Stanley to come by. He was more agreeable now that he’d gotten a month’s rent. He’d even apologized for the eviction notice. I turned back to Wanda, thinking about my strange encounter.

  “It couldn’t have been more obvious if I’d been grilled and served on a platter with a sign that said Eat Me,” I answered absently.

  “That’s what you need!” Wanda smacked her head as though she was loosening an idea. “A sign that says Eat Me.”

  I snorted and tossed a wrinkled shirt at her grinning face. She caught it and pelted it back.

  “It’s just all very strange, Wanda.” I frowned. “I just don’t get him. I don’t understand why he wants me back. It was all so strange.”

  Wanda stared at the TV screen. “Maybe he’s eccentric.”

  “That’s just a polite way of saying he’s a weirdo.”

  “Yup.” She grinned widely just as her dark eyes grew round. “And speaking of the weirdo, check this out.”

  I scooted next to her so I could face the TV, my eyes growing wide when I saw the man in question on the six o’clock news. He was accompanied by current New York Senator, Joseph Kensington. The reporter was questioning Chase about his candidacy for New York City Mayor and his current position on the City Council. Running for mayor was a huge undertaking. The NYC mayoral race was bigger than a race for Governor in some states.

  The senator sang his praises, publicly throwing in his full support. From the reporter’s excitement and the surrounding buzz, it seemed to be a major endorsement.

  Chase wore another tailored suit, very dark with a muted tie that made him look like he was all business. His handsome face graced the screen, attentive, but entirely too serious.

  The sight of him had heat simmering in every neglected nook of my body. It was hard to believe I’d been standing in front of him completely naked only a few days prior. He responded to a question about how he’d spend the budget, and described allocating portions for education and housing. He also described programs that would support local initiatives by community-based, non-profit organizations.

  He talked at length about funding various social programs, job training workshops, and aiding single moms through scholastic capital dispensation.

  His responses were eloquent and authoritative, but I had a hard time wrapping my brain around half the things he talked about. I didn’t have a college degree, but a few of his sentences left me scratching my head.

  The reporter switched to political pundits who commented on his reforms and mentioned some preliminary polls. New York City was the most eclectic and ethnically diverse city in the world. Although considered a front-runner, Chase was trailing with minority groups who made up both a majority of the population, as well as a majority of those eligible to vote.

  The segment switched to Garry Gonzalez, the incumbent in the mayoral race who seemed eager to share his opinion about his opponent.

  “I find it hypocritical how Mr. Rutherford speaks of assisting this city as mayor when his private company is actively destroying a community overseas. Flex-Steel continues to ignore protocols and recklessly endangers the environment with pollutants from its manufacturing plant. Mr. Rutherford should first clean up his own house before making promises to this city. It’s obvious he has a complete disregard for the safety of the environment, or its inhabitants. As long as his company keeps making money, that’s all he cares about.”

  “That Gonzalez guy’s really got a hard on for Rutherford.” Wanda frowned.

  I nodded. If I’d heard his analysis a few weeks before, especially given my first impression of Chase, I might’ve been inclined to agree with him, but I was starting to feel differently.

  He didn’t have to do what he’d done for Emmy, and from what I’d read, he was a private supporter of many charities. I didn’t believe his generosity was entirely a mechanism to garner public support.

  A knock on the door drew my attention from the TV. Stanley strolled in when I pulled the door open, a cap turned backwards on his bald head. His sleazy gaze stroked over my face and body and I stifled the urge to wretch.

  “Is there a damsel in distress?” he asked with a lurid grin.

  Ignoring him, I pointed toward the peeling plaster and brown amorphous spot above the living room. “What’s in distress is my damn ceiling. It’s about to fall on my head.”

  He sauntered farther into the room, nodding to Wanda who didn’t acknowledged him.

  “No worries, darlin’. We—”

  “I’m not your darlin’. This needs to be looked at,” I corrected firmly. “And there’s still the leak you haven’t fixed.”

  He grinned again, displaying crooked, brown teeth. “We’re doing some repairs upstairs and a pipe blew. It’s all fixed now.”

  I shifted onto one leg. “Well, what about my ceiling? It looks like shit.” The entire apartment looked like shit, but the ceiling was the worst.

  “I can give you an estimate of how much it’ll cost to fix it.”

  “You expect me to pay to fix this?” I gasped.

  “Someone has to.” He shrugged, unmoved by my outrage.

  “This is the building’s responsibility. No way in hell I’m paying for this, and I’m telling you if that ceiling falls on me, or my daughter gets hurt, I’m suing this damn building!”

  Stanley looked unconcerned. The threat of a law suit from tenants probably wasn’t new to him.

  “What happened last week? Steven told me you called the cops on him.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, not about to discuss my ex with him. I despised the fact that he and Steven were still friends. He would always defend my crackhead ex-husband. What happened was none of his business.

  “How’s Emmy?” he asked, and just hearing her name on his lips made me nauseous.

  “Just fix this mess!” I pointed toward the ceiling, ignoring his question.

  “Let me know if you want that estimate,” he tossed over his shoulder before heading through the door. “I’ll give you a good price.”

  “Can you believe that?” I asked Wanda incredulously after I’d slammed the door and triple locked it. “He expects me to pay for this crap.”

  “He extorts money from the tenants. He’s always trying to make a buck.” Wanda sighed. “I c
an see if my brother can patch it up for you. You might just have to cover the supplies.”

  I chewed my lip, pretty sure I couldn’t spare the money right now to pay for supplies. Sighing deeply, I went back to the laundry. After I found a job, I’d get out of this place. Moving needed to jump to the top of my long list.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As promised, Miss Prissy was not at her desk. At 6:00 p.m. on Tuesday, I let myself in through the thick wooden doors and walked into Chase’s office. I was still second guessing myself, still wondering why I was there. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered he’d asked me to come back. As strange as the previous encounter had been, excitement and desire were still percolating in my veins.

  Chase Rutherford was a man who could have any woman he wanted, and he might have hordes of them, I didn’t know. He’d said he wanted to see me again. And that thought buzzed ecstatic joy along my nerve endings. I’d stripped off his suit many times in my head and entertained fantasies that kept me up most nights.

  He was sitting behind his desk, head down as he poured over stacks of papers. I stopped in front of him and it seemed to take a moment before he realized I was there. Feet shifting, I felt like a kid standing before a schoolmaster. He looked up, and again, I was arrested by the beauty of his face. His eyes though, seemed stained with fatigue and dark with worry.

  “Danielle,” he said simply, shoulders leaning back in his leather chair. His gaze drifted over my face and the caress scrawled a tingle on my skin.

  I glanced at the mountain of papers on his desk. “If this is not a good time . . .”

  “It’s six o’clock, isn’t it? We have an appointment,” he responded smoothly, looking at his watch.

  I nodded silently, watching as he pushed his chair back and stood. For a tall man, he moved gracefully, his actions agile and fluid. He crossed the room to the bar and turned over a glass. I wondered vaguely if he was purposefully putting distance between us.

  Tossing my coat in his chair, I turned back to him.

  “Drink, Danielle?”

  I refused, leaning my hip on the front of his desk, still watching him.

  “I saw you on the news this week.”

  “Did you?” He didn’t look up from pouring.

  “Yup,” I intoned, tilting my head to regard him. “Black is not your color. It’s too morbid. You looked like you’d just come from a funeral.”

  His hand stilled with the glass on its way to his lips. He looked at me, brows raised.

  I shrugged. “Just sayin’. I mean . . . you’re running for office, right?”

  He nodded silently. “It was actually a dark navy.”

  “Well, it looked black on television. And with the dark tie and shirt, it seemed rather . . . somber.”

  “I have a PR manager who works on my image.”

  “Well, maybe your PR manager needs to work with a color wheel and some spectacles, because that navy suit looked black on TV.”

  He was quiet for a moment and I feared I’d offended him. I was never one to beat around the bush. “You want people to trust you and what you’re saying, not thinking you’re about to show up to repossess their car. Warmer colors that are still professional would work . . . maybe a gray . . . or tan, or medium blue suit. An accent of light blue to match your eyes would be appealing.”

  Now he was smiling. It was small, but definitely there. “And you should smile more. You’re very handsome and you could quite possibly charm a lot of female voters.”

  “What about you, Danielle?”

  I paused, not sure what he was asking.

  “Would you vote for me?”

  I felt my forehead crinkle thoughtfully. “No.”

  His smile widened and it was stunning. Like the sun emerging from behind a bank of clouds. It totally transformed his usually stern features. I was sure he could win any election with that smile alone.

  “Only because half the stuff you said sounded like political mumbo-jumbo and bullshit campaign rhetoric,” I continued. “I mean what the hell is scholastic capital dispensation?”

  “It’s a program that helps low income families with school tuition.”

  “Then just say that,” I advised earnestly. “People don’t want fancy words, or double-talk. They just want to hear it straight, to know you care and aren’t shoveling them a bunch of horse manure.”

  He’d walked toward me as I spoke and now stood a few feet away. He seemed less tense than when I’d first entered the room.

  “I do care. That’s why I’m running. There’s a lot that needs to be done—a lot of good I can do for the boroughs.”

  Searching his face, I found only sincerity.

  “I know you do.”

  Channel seven news had done a story on the countless volunteers working diligently on his campaign. He had a lot of people who believed in him, who were reaching out to voters to further his campaign efforts. His news interview came to mind. “Senator Kensington seems very enthusiastic about you.”

  He took a sip from his drink and regarded me for a long contemplative moment. “Yes, having his support has made a big difference in the political arena. He’s probably the only reason the party still wants me, despite the opposition.”

  “Like Gonzalez.”

  Nodding, he said, “Yes, and others. But Kensington has a lot of pull, especially with the media.”

  “I imagine being elected into an office like this is about your policies, but maybe more so about your connections.”

  He smiled, his eyes doing a slow perusal of my face. He stared, as though really seeing me for the first time. Gone was the mocking amusement I’d expected from him. There was raw hunger simmering in his eyes that had nothing to do with politics.

  Usually I’d feel unsettled from such deep probing, but this time I absorbed it, let it spin tendrils of heat inside me. He still made me very nervous and I worked to beat away the flutters.

  “Take off your clothes, Danielle.” He’d said it so softly it took a moment for understanding to sink in.

  Swallowing at my suddenly dry throat, I turned my head toward the windows. He must’ve read my thoughts, and slowly shook his head. There were no adjacent buildings, or a chance of being seen, but I’d hoped for the cover of shadows.

  “Let me see you. I need to see you,” he whispered a moment later when I made no attempt to do his bidding.

  Oh God . . . His voice. All the power was in his compelling voice, a guttural rasp that sounded more like an ache that needed soothing. Slowly, I lifted my sweater and pulled it over my head. I took my time removing my clothes, remembering the way he liked it. One piece fell at a time, forming a pile on the floor. I focused on my task, knowing his gaze catalogued every movement, recorded each detail.

  My belly was full of uncertainty when I’d finished. I felt suddenly vulnerable in the honesty of the stark light. My heart drummed my ribcage like it was going to burst through. Cool air kissed my skin and blew goose bumps over my flesh. Extremely conscious of my naked breasts and the thatch of brown hair at the juncture of my thighs, I focused on him instead.

  Again, he stood a few feet away, fully clothed, drinking me in like a man with a desperate thirst. What would happen tonight? He must know that I wanted him, that I’d let him have me. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t interested, wouldn’t bare myself to him if I wasn’t willing to follow through.

  “Sit on the desk,” he said as if I’d spoken my concerns.

  I blinked hard, but complied.

  “Touch yourself. Cup your beautiful breasts,” he ordered after I’d settled on top.

  I palmed my breasts, lifting the heavy mounds and squeezing gently. Slowly, I twirled the hard nipples between my thumb and forefinger, dropping my head back with a groan when pleasure streaked a bolt of lightning through my body.

  I wasn’t surprised when he asked me to lie back, but the fervor of his voice startled me. My gaze hit the white tiles on the ceiling as I relaxed against the top of the desk. I took a
deep breath in and out, trying not to question exactly why I was doing this. I’d never put myself in a situation like this with a stranger, never done anything so scandalous.

  Flattered or no, it wasn’t like me to simply take orders. I was usually quite willful, but right now I didn’t want to be. This was strangely a welcomed reprieve—to simply act on someone else’s will. To give up my usual resistance was like letting go of an anchor and simply allowing myself to float, weightless and carefree. The position required a great deal of trust. And I didn’t know why, but I trusted Chase Rutherford.

  Desire simmered low in my belly, licking a fire through every cell. Even the press of the cold, hard desk was augmented against my overheated body, every sensation recklessly vivid.

  “Open your legs, put your heels on the desk. Let me see all of you.”Oh fuck.

  My breath stilled, but the thought of him looking at me there, seeing the evidence of my desire for him, had me literally shaking. My legs trembled as I raised them, feeling strange, like they weren’t my own. Anxiety crackled in my chest, but more overwhelming than that was the undeniable excitement pounding an urgent rhythm through my flesh.

  “Open wider. Show me how beautiful you are.” His deep voice was noticeably strained.

  I pulled my knees farther apart, squeezing my eyes shut as my face flamed. His breathing deepened to match my own, a tempo gently stroking the air. I could also sense that he’d moved closer, his presence pressing in on me heavily.

  “You’re so wet, so exquisite,” he rasped. “Touch yourself.”

  Eyes still closed, I ran my hand down my abdomen and feathered a finger along my hot, wet folds. I wasn’t exactly sure what he expected. Answering the needs of my body, I circled a finger pad around my beckoning clit, and cried out when a delicious tremor shivered through my limbs.

  “Yes . . .” he moaned deeply, and the sensual sound had my hips churning. “Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

  I didn’t think I’d ever been so turned on in my life. My flesh burned and throbbed with a wicked fire. My breath jumped from my lungs. Gathering moisture from my folds, I painted the slickness over my nub in brisk, rapid strokes. My hips jerked off the desk when my channel greedily clamped down on emptiness.