by Susan Arden
Silently, Laura and Luke exchanged a smattering of looks paired with nuances of incredibly subtle gestures. A whole language they seamlessly exchanged. I’d been privy to this before. The outsider.
My sister turned to me, her arms folded. “Well, what about living arrangements? What did he offer you?”
Ah, the interrogation began. Laura’s laundry list of questions was familiar. She employed them when she was upset and making a case against something I wanted to do.
In turn, I mirrored her body language. A little trick I’d picked up, having been in enough therapy sessions and overheard a ton of what Luke discussed with grad interns who came over and psych-babbled, sipping coffee and discussing cases. This is how the experts built rapport and trust. Not that I usually had enough sense to use this stuff, but I was desperate. I folded my ice-cold hands and pasted on a placid expression. Synchronous game on.
“I’d live with him,” I countered in a fake-calm tone.
Both Laura and Luke exchanged sharp glances. I already knew the next question and was prepared. “As in, the same house?” she asked.
“I think he has an apartment near Central Park. I wouldn’t be the only person there besides Mr. Gordon.” Yes, if it would please the court…
“Mr. Gordon. He has you calling him that? This all sounds unusual, if not downright bizarre.” Luke snorted. “Time pegged him as a micromanager who blatantly disregards rules as he decimates his competition. He’s brutal to those who get in his way. To put it mildly, Gordon is a cutthroat opportunist.”
I needed a rebuttal to that factoid and scrambled with something to offer that would counterbalance the equation of Graham as a modern day bloodthirsty anarchist hiding behind technology. “Well, a bill-paying micromanager can’t be all bad. Hold on.” I grabbed my bag, took out the forms, and was about to hand them over to Laura along with the check he’d stapled and folded. Jesus, he’d made it out wrong. There was an extra zero…or two.
“You remembered the paperwork,” Laura said.
“Paperwork,” I echoed without handing it over. I could always say he was sending payment and rip up his check. Shit! I reeled in all my chaos. “Can we put this discussion on the shelf? I hear what you’re saying, and I’m sorry having him as a student is such a horrible idea. He wasn’t at all bad, really a bit…hyperfocused.”
Graham a student—big lie. I didn’t know what to say or how to classify him, but something about Graham had struck me. For such a commanding and controlling persona, it felt like he was hiding something. Something painful which pulled at me. I stared back at my sister, unblinking.
She nodded and her features softened. “Understandable why he’d need yoga then. Was he able to keep up?”
A burst of prickly heat flared from between my shoulders, up to my neck, and all the way to the top of my hairline where dots of sweat exploded. “Err…he has a unique practice.”
“Just so long as you didn’t push him beyond his endurance,” she said and held out her hand. I quickly began to speak, hoping she’d focus on me, not the paperwork I tightly pinched between my fingers.
“You were right about his physician. He’s been ordered to do yoga, and I don’t see what’s hard to understand, given the boatload of pressure he’s under. His schedule must be sheer torture, and he explained that he didn’t have the time or the ability to go to a studio regularly. He said something about the press, and he didn’t enjoy the hassle of being photographed.”
It worked. Laura frowned and rubbed a hand over her belly. “He lives part time here doesn’t he?”
“At the penthouse. It was unbelievable,” I offered.
She nodded solemnly. “You’re right, no need to go ballistic on someone who’s looking for relief. But this isn’t really about him. It’s about you.”
“Me. Then stop worrying. I didn’t give him an answer. He said to think about it. I have until Sunday afternoon when he’s leaving for New York.”
“Better give me that, before it gets lost,” Laura sighed.
“Don’t make any rash decisions,” Luke said. “We need to talk about this, Eliza. This isn’t just a yoga client. It’s a world you’re not accustomed to. None of us are.”
I stood there, facing them, and lied through my teeth to the two people I loved most. They took a collective, deep breath. I could tell this would be a long conversation behind closed doors. My ability to agree with Graham’s proposal had gotten another shade harder. I handed over the papers, and the whole room shrank. Laura didn’t even glance at the check as she placed the forms on top of a pile of baby clothes in a laundry basket on the kitchen table.
She turned around and moved to pick up dinner plates from the counter. “Fine. Let’s shelve it then. Dinner is ready. We can talk as we eat.”
“I’ll get that,” I said, lifting the laundry basket and preparing to take it down the hall to the nursery, hoping she’d deal with the paperwork later. Much later. “I’m going out with Carmen and company. Just in case I take Mr. Gordon’s offer.” Still with the Mr. Gordon.
Luke shook his head. “Eliza, think long and hard on this one. It’s corporate America, not a local studio with people you’ve known for years. I’m not saying it would be a bad thing, just a perspective I don’t think will meld with your way of thinking.”
I looked up at him, then back at my sister. “Maybe that’s the problem. I rely too much on you guys. Maybe I need to see what else is out there. It’s only six months, and as you just said, it’s corporate America, something I know little about. Mr. Gordon said he’d give me a reference that I could take anywhere. And one for the studio. All those other studios around town always boast about their famous clients. Well, now Grove Yoga has one that tops them all.” I was about to find out exactly how well Graham topped while I was the bottom. I was learning about edge play fast. Did I have no shame?
Laura and Luke shrugged and looked at each other. Something passed between them…resignation or an agreement to come at this from another angle. Whatever it was, they both seemed willing to agree on it and stopped the nag session.
“A reference from Mr. Gordon wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.” Laura set down one of the plates on the table.
I now understood that Graham and I couldn’t be photographed as a couple and silently conceded to his point of maintaining distance while in public, at least in the beginning. I needed time to supplement this story where I was strictly a yoga instructor to Graham while exploring avenues within his company. I’d naively argued with him. The confusion and damage a photograph could cause if Laura and Luke were confronted with me in an embrace with Graham would be devastating.
Considering how far we were going to travel from a vanilla kiss, we’d probably never be open and vulnerable out in public. Luke was right. This was a world I knew so little about.
Even though Luke alluded to the secretive constraints of corporate America, which I actually didn’t see touching me, I was in a situation that demanded no one else be let into mine and Graham’s secret world. We would need to keep it hidden by erecting walls around our potential relationship. For the sake of Laura and Luke, I could never let leak the truth of Graham dominating me in his bedroom—or anywhere else—for fear it might end up splashed all over the world.
CHAPTER THREE
The moment the car’s brake lights disappeared, I swore under my breath. Dammit. Could I have been any more of an idiot by letting Eliza go? I crossed the atrium, lost in thought.
Back inside the apartment, it was too quiet. I walked out to the terrace to clear my head before I dove back into reviewing product design specifications for a factory opening in Hong Kong. That was, if I could get the right palms greased.
In court this week, I had an injunction set aside and now owned one more upside-down corporation that required immediate attention to stay afloat. A shuttered factory was useless. I had to deal with reopening the plant. And that wouldn’t happen unless I had the design specs ready for the manufacturing of hardware componen
ts for a new line of tablets I’d showcase next year. Hong Kong wasn’t an option anymore—it had to happen. The H.K. factory would supply the parts for this recently purchased company that would install the screens. I owned the companies which wrote the software programs as well as built products, packaged, and marketed the output as merchandise. If one went down—like a line of dominoes—all the others would fall.
I had to deal with Hong Kong like it was yesterday. It was the only option, or thousands of people would be without a job. My life was a bloody pressure cooker. Shards of pain knifed my head from my neck muscles knotting. And yet, all I wanted to do was climb back into bed with Eliza. Her voice echoed in my head, and her scent surrounded me. Her presence engulfed me, an island in which to escape.
Holy hell, I should’ve asked her to stay.
I leaned over the terrace railing, scanning the marina until I came to the spot where I’d had Eliza up against a post and my hands down her pants. Great, the memory forged my shaft into a rod of steel, and I swore under my breath for the fiftieth time.
The water in the bay barely moved, and the breeze slowed to a slight ripple according to the flags along the pier as I stood outside. It was almost nine, and I had hours of work to complete, but I couldn’t push aside the ticking inside my head until Eliza called and let me know she’d made it back home. That would take twenty minutes at most. Afterward, I’d fucking get serious and work through the night if I had to in order to stay a step ahead of the sharks situated on my corporate board. In two weeks, we’d all sit down for our semi-annual board meeting where a group of sharp-tongued men and two women would seek to enforce a spending cut intervention.
Inter-fucking-vention! I grasped the railing with enough force to leave fingerprints. It was either increase productivity to generate more receivables, or the board would microscopically seek ways to effect change. Polite bullshit for corporate talk that entailed cutting every nickel, dime, and quarter going out the door. Profit and loss statements were black-and-white, but tactics to save money were savage in corporate headquarters. My board was no exception. The first to go were ground-level staff, well before new office furniture for the vice presidents. I shook my head, thinking about how a bunch of attorneys housed on Second Avenue downtown had drawn up airtight corporate employment contracts that left me scrambling to find loopholes to reduce the board’s power. So far, I had to hand it to myself, I’d hired the best lawyers, and, for fuck’s sake, they were good.
I returned inside and slammed the terrace door. I went to the kitchen and filled the French press for caffeine ammunition. My phone vibrated on the counter, and I glared at it. Picking it up, I stared at Mark’s number. Not Eliza’s.
“What do you want?” I answered, putting him on speaker, already prepared for his physician-first persona.
“Well fuck you, too,” he retorted. “How’s yoga?”
I spread my hands over the counter, unwilling to discuss how much I enjoyed my private session today. “Haven’t been back, but I did communicate with the studio. Thinking about hiring a teacher for private sessions in New York.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Sunday afternoon. Doesn’t mean I won’t trounce your ass in our upcoming rugby match.”
“Just checking in. What are you up to tonight?”
I exhaled. “Work. I have a meltdown waiting to happen.”
“Meltdowns equate to fucking stress. Need I remind you of being in the news this entire week? You can’t undo what the economy has done. No one can in a few months.”
“Really? Is that what I’m supposed to say when pinks slips are tossed around like nobody’s business? I don’t take it lightly when one of my own gets kicked to the curb. With this new company, it’s a chess match gone exponential.”
“Graham, no one disputes that you have a tough job. That’s why you have a board to do the dirty work.”
“I can’t hide behind them. Besides, they’re only too happy to cut staff. Can’t save a dime on business trips to Vegas and cruises in the Mediterranean, but they’ll agree to fire the receptionist or one of the factory line workers without a second thought. No. Fucking. Problem.” I raked my hand through my hair, tugging at the ends and clenching my jaw.
“I didn’t call to throw you over the edge. Why don’t you step away from it for a while? Gain some perspective. It might help.”
The clock on the microwave read nine fifteen. “Not tonight. Look, the product specs aren’t going to review themselves. I’d better run; Hong Kong never shuts down.”
“Jesus. You’re still thinking of starting a factory over there? After—”
I interrupted Mark, not wanting to open a chapter in my life that had the makings of a poorly written story featuring an overindulged heiress with far too many political connections to play with.
“It’s not a choice. The concessions offered were impossible to turn down. Unfortunately, the government decided to require site inspections, and we’re delayed in production output.”
“Sounds bureaucratically boring, and regardless, you deserve time off.” Mark laughed. “If you reconsider, call. There’s a party on the beach. A club is opening.”
“Another?” I muttered. “You can’t throw a rock without hitting one. Soon, there won’t be any sand left on the beach.”
“Later,” he said. “Call if you find yourself free.”
“Just don’t drink yourself silly and then ask me to cover your ass on the field when you’re still pissed to the gills.”
I poured a cup of black coffee and trekked down the hall to my office, cell phone in one hand, cup in the other. Clicking the computer mouse, I gazed at the image of Eliza from the scanned copy of her driver license. On the two different computer screens I’d booted up on my desk, the image of her stared back. Impatiently, I swiped my hand across the main computer screen, scrolling between documents, and read over her file, memorizing each piece of information I’d acquired. I sent a memo to the head of my security team, requiring a full workup on her and marked this matter as confidential, ensuring the entire file would be encrypted for my eyes only.
It was now forty minutes after nine, and I sure as shit knew it didn’t take this long to get from here to the address on her license. One simple direction: go home and call. My palm itched to show Eliza that I wasn’t playing games.
The car she drove off in was more than safe. Jesus. I didn’t even have to wonder where she—it—was located. If I really wanted to know her whereabouts, it was a click away thanks to the OnStar navigation system in the Porsche. Oh, what the hell. I could stew over the question, wasting valuable time—I rationalized—or log into the program. The GPS location of the SUV on the online map was right where it was supposed to be: on Mangrove Avenue where she lived. I switched to a street view, and there was the silver SUV behind a white Prius. Satisfied, but I still stared at the red blinking icon on one of the grids. It was just the girl who forgot to call that had my palm and cock twitching, but I could deal with her forgetful ways later.
I had Eliza’s phone number in the security file if I really wanted to be a cocksucker and check up on her. It’d be lame to call on top of spying on her. Fuck me backward, I hadn’t gotten this irrational since boarding school when I chased my first lay. Pushing back from the computer, I spun around and booted up the other row of monitors I used for business. The screens lit up. Smooth. Blank. Empty.
Downing the cup of coffee, I tore into the computer directory, opening one specific file marked “critical.” Inside were the time studies I’d requested from the West coast where a majority of my U.S. factories were located. I focused, hunkering down without moving, getting into my zone. I studied a slew of efficiency ratings for workers versus those of robotic staffers. At least the board wouldn’t find any savings there to ax the factory lines in Santa Cruz; but, if I wanted this newly acquired company to be profitable, I needed to find a spot to plug it in before it was too late. Idle bodies didn’t save money.
I he
ld the mouse in my hand, double clicked, and opened several studies, displaying rows of statistics across the computer screens in front of me. Lost for an hour or two, I glanced at the clock on the monitor and stretched. It’d actually been three hours of intense focusing. Turning to pick up a file, I noticed the SUV wasn’t in front of Eliza’s home anymore. A Jeep was now parked next to the Prius. Tight bands of muscles knotted in my shoulders.
I swung around and keyed in commands that took me out of street view and back to the city map. The OnStar blinking cursor had moved miles away. I clicked on the zoom icon to enlarge the map on my laptop and scanned the area. Fucking A. Eliza was on South Beach, and the Porsche was parked in a garage. For how long? I didn’t know.
I slammed down my hand. Closing my eyes, I briefly thought of my stepbrother, Christian, and Erin. The woman who’d come between us. The memory of their death twisted inside me, eliciting a stabbing pain. Time was no friend; if anything, it was sharper and wholly more pungent this time around when thinking of Eliza out clubbing. Drinking. She’d left here upset, and I could only suspect her motives for a foray on a Friday night.
“Eliza,” I whispered, opening my eyes and standing up. I brought up the OnStar program on my cell, walking back to my bedroom. I sucked in a breath at the sight of the unmade bed. The image of Eliza naked under me flared vividly. I clamped my jaw and tossed the cell onto the bureau as I went to shower.
Dammit. I had one wayward young woman who clearly needed help following directions, and I was more than happy to deliver as promised.
CHAPTER FOUR
Standing in heels too high to do more than lean against the wall, I knocked on Val’s apartment door. The hallway pulsed from the beat of the music on the other side. The door blasted open, and Carmen screamed when she saw me. “We’re about to do a round of shots.”
“Then I’d better hold off. I guess I’ll be the designated driver.”
