by Susan Arden
“We’re walking today,” she said, giving me a once over and pointing to my shoes. “Those won’t cut it.”
I glanced down at my electric blue sandals with four-inch heels and asked, “Walking between places or the whole day?”
“Whole freaking day.” She removed a wad of gum from her mouth. According to her, she was on a health kick and attempting to quit smoking. Now, she chewed gum by the pack.
“I’ll be right back,” I huffed good-naturedly.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m coming with you. Let’s rethink the outfit. Here.” She lifted the shopping bag she’d dropped on the sofa a second before.
Filbert entered the living room with Marie’s morning smoothie he’d taken to preparing. “Drink,” he said with a raised brow.
“I hope you’re happy. I’ve gained two pounds.” She smirked at him, lifting the glass containing a greenish-pink liquid.
“Smashing,” he said with a bored tone. “By the end of the summer, you won’t resemble a starved beggar.”
She took a sip. “You’re in league with my mother.” She glowered affectionately at him. “How much does she pay you? I’ll double it.”
“Not. Enough. And no you won’t.”
“High five, Filbert,” I said, adoring his jaunty step as we slapped palms when we walked by each other in the hall.
Our days had gained a rhythm in which Marie and I explored a different borough each day. She had an app on her iPhone where she defined our schedule. For someone so off the wall, her ability to remain organized bordered on almost anal. Her time management worked, and I didn’t complain. I soon realized her style of dress reflected where we’d visit, like a theme song in fashion form. Some days she drove or we took the subway. We walked, shopped, and ducked into neighborhood bars or restaurants. She dropped me back at the brownstone and was gone by the afternoon.
Afterward, for a few precious hours each day, my time was filled with Graham. A midday break in his work schedule where he’d arrive in his privately driven car without warning.
He’d appear, dressed impeccably in one of his three-piece bespoke suits. The scorching glint emanating from the depths of dark eyes was all it took for me to stop whatever I was doing as he pulled me upstairs. Once, he simply ripped my clothing off. The next day, he leisurely seduced me, taking his time and leaving me breathless with teasing, tender kisses before he’d disrobed me and demonstrated his expertise in fucking me until my eyes rolled back.
In the same surprising fashion in which he appeared, he’d disappear back to the world of work. Those moments sustained me. I drank him in and resolved to be patient as he slipped back into the realm at Segall Technology, leaving me alone until we shared a quick dinner. Afterward, he worked in his office for hours and I’d spun through each evening where I kept busy memorizing the information in the media file. I’d spread it out over the top of our wide, comfy, and lonely bed. He promised his schedule would relent and I understood; his reappearance at his company after being gone equated to serious hammer time. No wonder he’d gone quasi ballistic in urging me to find something to do with my days.
Upstairs, I removed a pair of Stella jeans from the bag Marie had with her. I kicked off my sandals and removed my dress. “Pretty nice,” I said, pulling on the pair of light denim, super skinny jeans.
“They fit.” Marie nodded as I ran my hands over the soft material and admired the large white stitching, until I saw the price tag and gasped.
“For a pair of jeans,” I muttered.
“Do you like them or not?” She looked mildly alarmed.
“Yeah. They’re great, just a little out there.”
“Not too much. I ordered every color along with a few casual shirts. Stuff to get you through the week.”
“I think I’m good,” I turned to her as I slipped on the pair of sneakers Marie had produced from one of the shopping bags she’d deposited next to me.
* * *
“What are we doing here?” I asked, standing in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. “I thought we were going shopping.”
“You asked,” Marie retorted, peeling a wrapper away from a stick of gum. “Here it is.”
I glanced at the revolving door where streams of people entered. “Speak English.”
“You said you wanted to know where Graham disappeared to. Take a look.” She gestured to the steel signage on the face of the building for Segall. “His empire. Are you in awe or appalled?”
We stood at the edge of the sidewalk, and I had to crane my neck to see the top floor of his empire, and another huge sign that probably glowed at night, a beacon for the Segall Building. “Umm, it’s massive.”
“Don’t be impressed,” she muttered, tugging my arm. “It’s nothing but a glorified sweatshop in the heart of Manhattan.”
That I doubted. Well-dressed people entered and exited the 5th Avenue building. I’d read up on his corporation. Segall Technology occupied a gazillion pages online alone. Graham’s executive board were collectively and individually a piece of work. Sharks. And each member earned seven- or eight-figure salaries in callous moves. They were deemed masters of the slice-n-dice. Decisions they put into play were harsh when it came to finding what to dispense with in order to shave spending. A model for other corporations seeking to stay afloat. The reason Forbes was so interested in Segall Tech was the corporation didn’t just stay afloat, it churned the profit waters, purchasing up sinking companies. Graham specialized in stabilizing, if not expanding, his corporation’s profit margin during a spiraling-down global recession. His executives were all Ivy League graduates and earned mega bucks as well.
But that didn’t mean Segall was lily white. They were linked to so-called sweatshops if not outright, then by degrees. Not that I understood the specifics of what was going down, since those factories were overseas in Asia. A world away and hard to decipher the truth of sketchy and often contradicting “reports” posted online. I shook my head at what I’d found. Information or gossip, and it was troubling.
Now as I stood with Marie out on the sidewalk, this was hardly the most opportune place to ponder how Graham ran his corporation.
Instead, I asked Marie something more relevant to my world, “Does he ever take a timeout when he’s here?”
She eyed me, arching a brow. “What do you think?”
“Scary. He can’t continue at this break-neck pace. I wish he’d slow down.” I glanced back at the high-rise, the glaring sunshine reflecting off the mirrored glass and chrome. Yep, I could testify to it being something of factory in how Graham was chained to this place. The Midtown version of Graham differed from the man I’d met in Miami. The night we’d skinny-dipped in the Atlantic appeared incomprehensible compared to the way he operated in New York. I tried to count the number of floors in the building but lost track. I cringed, remembering how he’d sought me out on South Beach when he’d said he had a ton of work to do.
Marie wrinkled her nose. “I imagine at this moment, Ham’s involved in some radical board meeting. It’s all very political when his board wants him to increase revenue. They’re a pack of greedy wankers. But in all fairness, Graham lives for these moments. It’s his adrenaline rush.”
I swallowed at hearing her confirm his obvious hunger for the edge. “So he seeks this type of life. The thrill of the chase. Some men have their toys. He has all of this.”
Marie swung her gaze to me. “In a way…that’s brilliant. Not to worry. I take it you give him an adrenaline rush as well.”
“Huh?” I shrugged, meeting her gaze and feeling my face heat.
“Don’t blush.”
All I could come back with was a lame, “Not lately.”
During our first week in the city, in the evenings, Graham and I ate in with Filbert cooking and serving dinner. Right after, he’d get back to work, staying up until one or two in the morning in a never-ending pattern of all work and little sleep. Was this how his life ran?
Each night, he’d come to bed late. He’d
kiss me…deeply, passionately, but, instead of consuming my body, he’d fall down next to me and was sound asleep in seconds. His frantic work schedule left me confused. What was the point to me being in this harried existence? I had no idea what to do except keep my big mouth shut and see how the next day panned out, all the while praying for a reprieve for him. Selfishly, I craved him and would’ve given him my body, hoping he’d find some comfort, but he didn’t seem to need me. He needed a clone of himself to deal with this. I looked back at my formidable competition and shuddered.
“What can I do?” I asked, my brows drawn and not even trying to hide my concern that maybe I wasn’t doing something obvious.
“Fuck if I know.”
“If not you, then who, Marie? You’re the only one who knows him, and he trusts you. I need to find out how to comfort him. So far I totally, unequivocally suck at assisting him to relax. I’m lost in how to help him tone his life down into a manageable madhouse.” I’d reacted. First flinching from her words and then snapping, but by the end of my mini-rant, she’d taken hold of my arm, jiggling it while she shook her pointy little chin.
“Disregard. I’m in bitch mode.” For the first time, Marie put aside her sarcastic veneer. She slowly blew out a breath while meeting my eyes. She gave me the impression she was searching for a sign inside me. Or maybe it was me, watching the way her pinpoint pupils held me in check. Softly, she said, “Give him time. He takes on way too much. Always has, but you already know that. And Miami was killer. The dust will settle after the board meeting. You’re helping Ham by being here for him. I’m not making it up.”
Marie’s assurance comforted me a little. “Thanks,” I said as I wiped away a few specks of sweat dripping down my neck.
Well, if this was how his world operated at its worst, then my only choice was to learn to cope without being another source of stress for Graham. I was here temporarily. In six months, I’d be gone. It wasn’t my job to worry about a man who enjoyed living on the edge. Except worry wormed into my thoughts as it normally did, and Marie was dead right. I was another diversion; that wasn’t news. I tried to relax by repeating another new mantra: it won’t always be like this. My stomach cramped when I saw the folly of the idea. Yeah. Temporary and I’d be gone.
Marie squeezed my arm before she let go. “Would you like to go up and say hello? Or look around. Aren’t you curious about where he spends his day?”
“Yes. But not today.” I snagged her arm, unwilling to let go of our connection. I didn’t care if her eyes widened, I tightened my grip. “Another time. I’ll let him know first, instead of barging in. I don’t want to be an interruption. Especially during a board meeting. Let’s go. It’d be just my luck to bump into him.”
No sooner had the words slipped from my mouth, than I felt a slicing chill slither across my awareness. A weird kind of premonition. I scrambled to define what just happened but I didn’t have a clue. All around us, people were walking, the cars on the street zoomed by, the sun beat down—a sensory overload basically blinding me.
I squinted to see what my mind demanded was right in front of me. Holding my breath, I scanned the people. Moving targets but nothing. Frustrated and unable to find my source of discomfort—Bam! Then I did and flinched. I recognized Graham’s familiar profile down the block. There were throngs of people, but a slice of space opened and I saw him talking to a woman. Talking at very close range, about a few inches from her. And not just any woman. Tall, stately, and with the right amount of panache to make people stop and stare. I recognized her from the magazine despite her large dark sunglasses, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, and her smiling, laughing mouth.
I dug my nails into Marie’s arm. “Please. Let’s go.”
“What the bloody hell?” She peered up at me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Worse, one of the saleswomen from that shop we ran out of yesterday.”
“I feel dizzy,” I lied, moving to walk—gallop—in the opposite direction. She lagged behind and fought to keep up with me. She didn’t act like she’d caught sight of Graham, and I didn’t want her to…not when I was like this. Not when he had “company.”
“Slow down! This isn’t a race. Is it?” She started to slow jog next to me, pinching the back of my shirt to keep up.
“Take larger steps!” I bellowed, power walking and increasing my speed, “I need something to drink.”
“As in juice or cocktail?” She panted, her speed waning as her breath became more labored.
Fuck. I wanted to say cocktail but knew better. “Juice or tea. Something with sugar.” At the corner, I tried to decide if we should cross and risk him spotting us or hunker down in the crowd gathering at the red light and wait.
“You’re in great shape. I hate you.” Marie gasped, fanning her face as she came up in front of me.
“I don’t feel in great shape,” I replied with my arms around my middle. Trust me. I heard Graham’s voice as he said those words and felt so, so naïve.
“Damn, you do look pale. Come on. There’s a teashop on the next block. Best loose teas in the city. I meant to take you round anyway.” She rambled on about her favorite Versailles Lavender tea and said she’d pick up some Earl Grey for Filbert.
My neck knotted while my fingers felt frozen in the warm summer weather. We walked down the block. I couldn’t concentrate on doing anything but putting one foot in front of the other. I kept seeing Graham standing and talking with that woman. Why didn’t I read the article? Find out who she was. My fingers itched to take out my cell phone and do more research…trolling on him. His past or perhaps his present affairs.
“Let’s cross. See it’s over there.” She pointed the way, and I followed.
“Tell me more about his company,” I demanded, searching for a way to open the door to asking about the woman from the magazine cover.
“Segall? Christ, what do you want to know? Computers, computers, computers. And software. Cell phones. Security systems. Umm, did I mention they manufacture computers or anything computer related?”
I clenched my jaw and shook my head. “Not catalogue stuff. What’s important to know? The sort of things that make the news. Magazines. What’s the news, you know, that regular people talk about?”
“Not the tech geeks. Gotcha. The board goes to Bimini each summer. Huge blowout event. Happens in a month. You’ll probably go. Segall is big into NASCAR…sponsors a race car, and last week, their driver, Andy Masconni, came in first. Then there’s the gossip—who’s shagging who. Interested?”
“I want to know everything. I’ll be surrounded by these people come Friday. Knowledge is power.”
“More like swimming with the sharks. All right. Yes, knowledge is power. I like it.” She laughed, relishing her intention of keeping me informed. I doubted she was doing it to spread idle gossip, more like she saw her purpose of educating me. She chatted non-stop about what she’d heard and read regarding Graham’s company.
I tried to listen when she described how he’d recently opened several factories simultaneously, and she was surprised he was in town at all. She mentioned a board meeting next week as well, only she named several of the key players this time. Some were women. I should’ve written it all down, but I was shaking as we ordered our tea. Instead of running away, I should’ve stayed and confronted Graham. He could have simply run into her. But then why was he standing way too close to someone who was laughing way too hard? My overzealous imagination ate it all up and had the whole scene on a mental loop. What was he doing talking with the woman who meant nothing to him? I could only imagine.
The morning dragged on as we boarded the subway and headed to Brooklyn. Lucky me, I’d brought that blasted media folder he’d given me. I removed it, scanning the pages for a crumb of information.
“What are you doing?” Marie asked, glancing over at me while she texted.
“Homework,” I muttered, rereading the guest list and the notes I’d made. “For Friday.”
S
he rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her phone. I continued reading, searching for some clue as to if the woman might be mentioned. She was Japanese or maybe Chinese or Korean—Christ I didn’t know other than she looked exotically glamorous. Graham had several factories in Asia and probably lots of business contacts from abroad. Several Chinese diplomats were invited. There were photographs of key people and none of them her. Not news. I’d already skimmed the sheets, and I think I would have locked onto the woman from the cover immediately. Huffing, I snapped the folder shut and frowned as I fought to stop ruminating over what I’d witnessed. I rubbed my temples at one point and noticed Marie staring.
“You’re on edge. What happened?” she asked. “Don’t try and bloody shite me. Jesus, if that’s your best game face, you’d better practice in front of a mirror. Especially a fake smile. I’m freaking serious!”
Her suggestion sounded ridiculous. I arched a brow, shaking my head. “That day will never come.”
“You’ll see.” She frowned and sent me a selfie of her with some version of a fake smile versus an overly dramatic selfie of being caught off-guard.
Even with her deranged, overzealous attitude, I was coming to rely on the time we spent together. She provided structure for my existence here, even if the things planned were less than meaningful. Beyond shopping, she went with me to the doctor, to have my hair done, facials, nails, massages, waxing, and was ready to do anything at the drop of a hat. Should I come clean and ask her?
Rubbing my fingers over my temples, I sighed, “Nothing. Probably just a headache.”
