by Vi Keeland
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Dex: Would you like to see me?
My heart started to pound at the prospect of getting to see what he looked like. What was wrong with me? But there was only one answer to his question.
Bianca: Yes.
A few seconds later, he attached an image. After I clicked on it, I nearly lost my breath.
Oh.
It was a photo of a man lying back on his bed. His torso was ripped…tanned…almost bronze. It almost looked fake, because it was just too damn perfect. This was probably the most amazing chest and abs I’d ever seen. The photo cut off at the bottom, only showing the top of his black boxers that had Emporio Armani written on the band in white. A thin trail of hair ran down the center of his defined V muscle. Holy shit.
I couldn’t stop staring at it.
This was not what I was expecting. At all. In fact, I couldn’t believe it. It had to be a fake.
When I was finally able to pry my eyes away from the chiseled bronze statuette of a man, I typed.
Bianca: That is NOT you.
I wished I could have seen her face.
Fuck. I wished I could have done a lot more than that. This chat with Bianca was killing me. I was suddenly hard as a rock, knowing that she was looking at my photo.
Dex: It is me.
Bianca: I don’t believe that. Admit it. You stole the picture from Pinterest. LOL.
My jaw hurt from smiling. After grabbing a pen and paper out of my night table, I wrote HI, BIANCA GEORGE then snapped a photo with it covering my face, making sure that my body was once again on full display. I chose to cut it off at the waist since any lower, she would have seen the rock-hard erection I was sporting as a result of this little exchange.
Dex: Believe it’s me now?
Bianca: Okay, so you’re attractive.
Dex: Why, thank you. But you still haven’t seen my face. I’m afraid you won’t tonight.
An odd sensation suddenly came over me. One I could honestly say I had never felt before. It was jealousy. But not just any jealousy. Jealousy of my own fucking self. Suddenly, Jay wanted to fuck up Dex in the worst way.
Bianca: Are we still doing the interview?
Dex: You tell me.
Bianca: I think maybe we should continue this tomorrow.
I laughed. I guess she was suddenly at a loss for words. This whole thing wasn’t very professional of me, but because I had spent the entire day with this woman, I felt comfortable around her. I couldn’t help it. She also made it very clear earlier that she was attracted to me, so I couldn’t help capitalizing on that tonight.
Dex: Tomorrow night, then? Same time? Eleven?
Bianca: Okay. That sounds good.
Fuck yeah.
Dex: Alright. Sweet dreams.
“Sweet dreams.” I sounded more like a teenage boy than a mogul. Unprofessional, but I really didn’t give a shit. I’d almost called her Georgy Girl, too. That’s Jay’s nickname for her, you dumbass. That cocksucker, Jay. Laughing to myself, I thought about how insane this was. Dex hated Jay because he would be spending time with her in person soon. And Jay fucking detested that rich prick, Dex, for abusing his power to get to know her better.
I hadn’t expected another message from her.
Bianca: Goodnight, Dex.
When had she stopped calling me Mr. Truitt? I didn’t fucking care; I was just glad that she did.
Dex: Goodnight, Bianca.
Georgy Girl.
Sleep wasn’t going to be happening. I was wired. Bianca’s text to that douche nozzle Jay rang out in my mind: Whittle me something small, and you’ll get that kiss you were screwed out of next time.
What better time than to stay up watching wood whittling demonstrations on YouTube.
“I need to make a stop before heading to my lunch meeting,” I grumbled at Sam, my driver, as I climbed into the backseat of the dark Town Car. I’d watched damn YouTube videos for an hour last night and made a list of the supplies I’d need. I still couldn’t believe the shit I was going through for a kiss from this girl. Caroline would kiss me and my cock if Sam stopped and picked up flowers before driving me to her place. Bianca had gotten under my skin.
“Where to, sir?”
“Union Square. 14th Street side.”
The art supply store was enormous. Looking down at my watch, I noted I only had ten minutes before my lunch appointment, and we still had to travel across town. I must have looked as out of place wandering around looking for supplies as I felt, because a woman wearing a blue smock approached as I stood in place staring.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for whittling supplies. Some carving tools, balsam wood blocks, perhaps a beginner’s guide.”
She waved her hand over her shoulder. “Right this way.”
I followed her up to the second floor and all the way to the very back corner of the store. “We have a selection of carving knives.” She picked up a package containing six tools with wooden handles. “This here is a good set. It’s a little pricey at just over a hundred bucks, but they’re high-grade steel, and it has your chisel, a couple of gouges, and a v-parting tool.”
A v-parting tool? You don’t say? I have one of those myself. I took the package from the woman’s hand and also grabbed two bags of wood blocks. “This will do. Thank you for your time. You’re very knowledgeable.”
“Anytime. We had a demonstration here a few weeks ago. The instructor gave out some good tips. If you’re having difficulty, try wetting the wood.”
Yes. I’ll keep wetting my wood in mind.
Like clockwork, Josephine came into my office at 4:45 with a steaming cup of half decaf, half caffeinated Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. Today though, I was too busy to look up.
“Mr. Truitt?”
“Hmmm?” Using the 7mm gouge, I notched into the wood and shaved a long line off the side I’d been working on for more than a half hour.
“Would you…like a Band-Aid?”
I’d completely forgotten that I’d Scotch taped a strip of napkin to my thumb to stop the bleeding. The blood had soaked through and turned most of the white material a lovely shade of red. It looked worse than it actually was.
“No, it’s fine.”
“Might I ask what you’re doing?”
My shirtsleeves were rolled up to my elbows, tie was loosened, and I was leaning over my garbage pail shaving a four by six block of wood. I stopped and looked up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Carving wood?”
“Very good, Josephine. I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
I thought it was the end of our conversation, so I went about my carving. But Josephine just kept standing there watching me. I sighed and looked up again. “Did you need something else?”
“But why? Why are you carving?”
I responded with the God’s honest truth. “I have no damn idea.”
By six o’clock, I had two more makeshift napkin and Scotch tape Band-Aids and a garbage full of wasted wood. Perhaps those split leather thumb guards I saw on YouTube weren’t just for pussies after all.
It was rare that I had a drink when I was alone. But I poured two fingers of Macallan twelve-year-old scotch when I got home, and found myself staring out the window at the park. The summer days were long, and the sun was just beginning to set even though it was after eight, but people were still out enjoying the weather. I watched a couple riding bicycles together and wondered when it was that I stopped appreciating things like the park. Looking down from my penthouse window, it felt a lot like I was watching from the ivory tower that Bianca had assumed I was perched in.
Bianca. The woman had taken over my thoughts for the last day and a half—consumed might have been the more appropriate term. With more than two hours until part two of our online interview, I decided to pass the excruciating wait by having Jay touch base with her. Even though I detested texting and preferred to pick up the phone or write an appropr
iately composed email, texting felt more like something Jay would do.
Jay: How was your stress level today? Did it require fondling your balls in the company of strange men in dark places?
I tossed back the rest of my scotch and slouched into my couch, stretching my long legs out in front of me—not entirely different than the two douche suits in the park yesterday. Only, I wasn’t about to trip an old lady. Bianca took more than a half hour to answer, and I’d started to wonder if she was going to blow off Jay. But then the dots started jumping around.
Bianca: Sorry. Was in the shower. And today was peaceful, actually. I worked on a story, then went to go visit my mother. No ball fondling necessary.
For you, maybe. But now that I was thinking of Bianca in the shower, there might be some ball fondling on my end. I probably should have eased into being a perv, but I couldn’t help myself.
Jay: Shower, huh?
Bianca: Get your mind out of the gutter. You’re a long way from washing my back. You haven’t even scored your first kiss yet.
Yet. Sometimes it was one word that exposed my competitor’s hand. I smiled to myself. That kiss was a foregone conclusion in her mind—maybe I could quit slicing my fingers to shit then.
Although, I spoke too soon. She texted back before I had a chance to respond again.
Bianca: Speaking of kisses, what are you whittling me?
Jay: What would you like?
Bianca: Hmm…what is your signature piece?
I’m pretty damn good at making wood blocks into uneven sticks.
Jay: How about an animal of some type?
I’d seen some animal patterns on line with step-by-step instructions. Once I’d mastered control of the gouges, how hard could it be? There was one video where a ten-year-old boy carved a fish in less than five minutes.
Bianca: An animal sounds great.
Jay: So when is this little exchange happening? My wood for a kiss.
Bianca: LOL. I know you smirked when you wrote that last line—My wood for a kiss.
I smirked. Again.
Jay: Are you suggesting I’m a pervert?
Bianca: I am.
Jay: And how do you feel about perverts?
The little dots jumped and then stopped a few times. I was extremely curious at what her response would be this time.
Bianca: I actually like a little deviant in my men, I’m finding.
Although the thought of her liking a little deviant made my cock twitch with delight, something didn’t sit right with me about her last two words. I’m finding. It made me wonder if she was referring to Dex’s actions last night—sending her half-naked selfies certainly fell into the realm of deviant behavior. I wondered if she would tell me about him—about me.
Jay: Any plans for this evening.
She took a moment to respond.
Bianca: Just going to do some work later.
Hmm…technically, she was telling the truth. Dex was work.
Jay: How about dinner Thursday night?
Bianca: Can’t. I have plans already. Friday?
Plans? Did she have a date? I had no right to grow annoyed, but that didn’t stop me from feeling that way. In fact, I had a date myself on Friday night—some mundane banquet that I was scheduled to take Caroline to.
Jay: Busy Friday. Saturday?
Bianca: I’m actually going out of town Saturday afternoon for an assignment. Maybe the next weekend will work out.
There was no damn way I was waiting a full week to see her again. I didn’t hesitate when I made my decision.
Jay: I’ll cancel my plans for Friday. Pick you up at seven?
Bianca: OK. Sure.
Jay had a date with Bianca for two nights from now, and Dex was gearing up for his 11PM chat. What had this woman done to me?
Promptly at eleven the online chat box popped up on my laptop.
Bianca: Good evening, Mr. Truitt.
Dex: Yes, it is, Ms. George. Are you ready for round two?
Bianca: I am. I gave a lot of thought to our discussion last night, and you were right.
Dex: I usually am. You’ll need to be more specific.
Bianca: I meant, that I think the article should focus more on you personally and less on the business angle of things.
I liked the sound of that. Focus more on me, Georgy Girl.
Dex: Are you telling me that your questions are going to be more intimate this evening? Because our deal still stands—question for a question, Ms. George.
Bianca: I can take whatever I dish out. You ready?
My dick twitched. Down boy. She was talking to Mr. Truitt.
Dex: I’m always ready, Ms. George.
Bianca: First question—Are you in a committed relationship?
Dex: I date. But, no, I’m not in a committed relationship.
It was the truth. I should probably be committed after the last two days, but my relationship with Caroline was open. We served a purpose for one another—attending required business functions and providing sexual gratification. Don’t get me wrong—I liked Caroline, and I was pretty sure she liked me. But neither of us wanted more from what we had.
Bianca: Would you like to have children someday?
Dex: Not so fast, Ms. George. I believe you’ve skipped my turn. Are you in a committed relationship?
Bianca: No. I was, but it ended.
Dex: What happened?
Bianca: Long story. I’ll give you the abbreviated version. Stockbroker. Engaged. Liar. End of Engagement.
Fuck. I needed to know more. This didn’t sound like it would bode well for me.
Dex: What did he lie about?
Bianca: I’ve already answered two questions. I believe you’re now the one who is skipping turns.
Dex: Fine.
What was the last question she asked me? Oh, yes. Children. It dawned on me that I’d been seeing Caroline for the better part of a year and she’d never inquired about whether I saw my future including a bunch of rugrats.
Dex: Yes. I do want children. But I don’t want them raised by a nanny. I loved Sugie, don’t get me wrong, but I think children should be raised by their parents, if it is feasible. My turn. What did your fiancé lie about?
Bianca: Everything. Anything. You name it. He lied.
Dex: He was cheating on you, then?
Bianca: No. I don’t think so. He just lied. To clients, to our boss, what his bank balance was, it didn’t really matter. In hindsight, I think he got off on it in some ways.
Dex: So this factors into your dislike for rich and powerful men?
Bianca: Maybe. I’ve never thought about that. But I don’t think my dislike of liars is related to only rich men. My father wasn’t particularly rich and he lied. I just prefer the simple things in life—like the truth.
My hole I had dug for myself had just bottomed out, and I had no idea how I was going to get out of it unscathed. The smart thing would have been to stop playing this game right now, but of course I didn’t. I continued for more than an hour answering and asking personal questions. The more I asked, the more addicted I became. I wanted to know everything there was to know about Bianca George. When we were wrapping things up for the evening, her last question brought me to a moment of truth.
Bianca: My deadline is at the end of the month. I’d like to finish this interview in person. We’ll continue our 11PM chats in the meantime, but I’d really like to meet face to face at least once. No pictures, of course.
I hesitated before responding.
Dex: Okay. Yes. We can meet at the end.
Shit.
Not even wetting my wood helped.
Tonight was my date with Bianca, and I hadn’t been able to whittle a fucking pencil, much less an animal. Clement, my little blond nemesis as I’d come to think of him—the ten-year-old from the YouTube video—had to be a ringer. Because this shit was not easy. Frustrated and calling it quits, I put down the carving tool and decided Bianca wouldn’t be getting a small wooden animal. I, how
ever, was getting that kiss one way or the other.
Later in the afternoon, my phone chimed, announcing a new text had arrived. Bianca’s name illuminated on the screen. I immediately swiped to open.
Bianca: Where are we going?
Jay: I made reservations at an Ethiopian place.
Bianca: Mmm. Which place? I’ll look it up. I want to know how to dress.
It didn’t matter how fancy the place was—it could have been a roadside trailer, and my answer would have been the same.
Jay: Wear something sexy.
Bianca: I can do that. ;-)
Jay: Good. I look forward to it. See you in a few hours.
