by Cee Smith
“Mr. Belford!” Ed’s voice startled my thoughts. My head sprung upright more in response to the name he called than the frazzled sound of his voice.
With the same stiff formality he seemed to use with everyone, Mr. Belford greeted Jasmine and Ed. From across the room his eyes roamed down the exposed skin of my legs—from ankle to thigh, where my shorts had risen up. Those green irises glowed like neon lights, and I was the moth confused by the flicker of heat that turned on and off so easily. His attire was beautiful yet cold—everything I’d come to expect from him. The charcoal-colored three-piece suit made the warmth of his skin seem paler and his hair more golden.
More than what he wore or how he looked, I found myself absorbed in his eyes. His eyes contained a hidden truth, like a locket waiting to be opened. I wanted to dive in and discover the depths of this man who seemed to purposely remove himself from everyone around him. Perhaps, that was why I’d felt he’d been especially cold to me. Had I seen the man beneath the mask on the train? Did he now feel the need to convince me that I was no one to him, just another person who worked in the same building, on the same floor, in the same department? Had he removed me so much that I was just an object to him? If that look was anything to go by, I’d say he was struggling with seeing me as anything less than the thirsty, red-blooded woman he made me.
A whole conversation passed between our bodies as we eye-fucked each other from across the room. His eyes stretched up my legs, over my breasts until they landed on my lips. The tip of my tongue darted out, wetting my lips like fresh spread lip gloss. His left hand shifted his belt, drawing my eyes to the shadow blooming across his pants.
His attention was startling—a drastic contrast to the man who hadn’t so much as made eye contact with me when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Even more shocking was the physical affect I had on his body. He may have acted like he didn’t know me, didn’t want me, but his body sang another song.
“Ms. Ericson. We have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Oh, right,” I looked to Jasmine and Ed who’d stopped working, enamored by our conversation. No attention was given to the pairs of eyes focused on us, but I could tell by the way his body shifted, he could sense that we’d become the star attraction.
“Meet me in my office in five.”
“Yes, of course.”
Notebook and pen forgotten, I hopped up. They spilled across the floor, and Mr. Belford slipped outside while I was left scrounging around.
“Sucks to be you,” Jasmine said as she returned to her computer screen. Ed offered a conciliatory smile while I continued picking my shit up off the floor. I hoped the quick shift of my lips passed for a smile as I pushed my items in my bag and made my way to Mr. Belford’s office.
Without looking up, Mr. Belford said, “You did remember our meeting with Oaken today, didn’t you?”
“Mm-hmm,” I squeaked out, feeling the intensity of his focus, though his eyes remained trained on his computer.
“And you thought that was appropriate attire to wear to our meeting?”
His head rose but not his eyes, which still lingered on my legs. Clearly he didn’t have a problem with my choice in wardrobe.
“I didn’t know when our meeting was so I wore these since it’s hot out. I did actually bring something else to wear.”
He didn’t respond, and I was struck with whether or not to fill the silence. Doesn’t he know it’s not polite to stare?
“If we have a few minutes, I’ll go change now.”
I didn’t wait for a response, and he didn’t offer one—prompting me to leave his office without another word. It felt like his eyes were transfixed to me, watching every sway of my hips and bounce of my butt as I walked away. He cleared his throat when I was nearly to the door, but I didn’t pause or stop to see if he wanted to add anything to the conversation.
Mr. Belford looked unusually stiff as we sat shoulder to shoulder in the cab. Oaken’s headquarters were located a few miles from the financial district, so it didn’t surprise me when Mr. Belford bustled us into the nearest cab. His hand brushed against my lower back as he guided me in before settling in next to me. That hand on my lower back was like a key to a portal, transporting me to another point in time when he didn’t stop there.
I imagined his hand sliding beneath my blazer and blouse to caress the skin beneath all of that fabric. He’d release me from the confines of my clothes as if I’d been imprisoned and he was my white knight come to set me free. Vett’s (he’s always Vett in my fantasies) hands would incinerate my clothes until I was completely bare for him—just the way he’d want me. My body would tremble with the desire that’d been building since the moment I first laid eyes on him. He’d take pleasure in my quivering flesh—prickled in desperation of a slight brush of his skin. Even in my dreams I knew Vett could never be easy. In my dreams he circled me, taunting me with his nearness, with the smell of that musky scent of wilderness that seemed like a breath of fresh air in the city. I wanted to absorb that scent, bathe in it, let it seep into my pores so it was the only thing I smelled when I was home alone with only the memory of him.
“Ms. Ericson…Indigo.” Mr. Belford’s hand squeezed me just above my knee, and my body jolted at the real feel of his hand on me. He had my attention, but his grip didn’t let up.
He called me Indigo.
Mr. Impersonal called me by my first name.
His hand slinked away from my leg as if he could read my thoughts and realized he’d overstepped some imaginary line he himself had drawn. If I was bolder, if I was someone like Teagan, that line would have been a starting point meant for me to cross; I would have touched him back, would have held the firmness of his thighs within my grasp so he could remember what it felt like to be touched by me.
“Yes?”
“I want you to feel comfortable going into this meeting. This meeting is mostly for us to meet face to face, and for Mr. Oaken to run through ideas so we have a starting point. We will have follow-up meetings, so if you have any questions, write them down and if I can’t answer them then we’ll bring it up at a later date.”
A dusky eyebrow jutted up in question as if he expected a response. I replied with “I understand” and watched as my words seemed to smooth out the tenseness lining his shoulders.
Mr. Belford took out his phone, his fingers tapping the screen with assured pressure, and I watched the city pass by like a child just along for the ride. From the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me with the same focus he had with his phone. I was watched like a buffet full of delectable desserts and he didn’t know where to start first. I re-crossed my legs, more for attention than from discomfort. My reward was a drag of breath that would make even a seasoned smoker impressed. The sound could barely be heard above the spastic city outside, but to me it was a symphony. Something was happening between us. I could feel it. I wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard to push me away; the mixed signals were a bit disorienting. I’d never felt so confused by someone I thought was attracted to me.
We entered an old brick building with exposed pipes and concrete floors. On our way in we passed offices with large posters of what looked like future designs of various products, everything from couture gowns to custom furniture. When I was still in college we studied Oaken Industries in my American Revolution and Design class. As I listened to Mr. Oaken discuss his goals for branding his next rollout of eco-friendly shoes, I tried not to fangirl over his brilliance. The only thing keeping me in line was the man who sat ramrod straight on my right. He nodded his head along with Mr. Oaken, engaging him in ways that made me want to be the focus of all of that attention. His eyes were earnest and his voice strong, and I was almost just as fascinated to see him in this new environment as I was to be in the presence of a design icon like the Henry Oaken.
A fly on the wall, I sat and wrote my notes without interjecting or adding to the conversation happening between the two. I was not completely ignored as they both turned to spea
k to me—a signal that emphasized the point that their words should be written down.
The meeting with Oaken Industries went off without a hitch. There wasn’t so much as a grimace that passed Mr. Belford’s face—a look I was becoming used to. Two hours later the meeting was over and we were on our way back to the office.
“What did you think?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“The product sounds amazing, but his ideas for branding sound too bland,” I paused, allowing him a chance to respond. When he nodded his head in agreement, I took that as a sign to continue. “For a product that seems like the next phase in eco-friendly attire, I would want to see a brand that’s moving away from the same old same eco-branding. We’ve seen the clean simple lines and earthen colors before.”
“What do you propose?”
I chewed on my lip as I mulled over options. Mr. Belford was actually engaging me and I wanted to surprise him, in a good way. I might never have the opportunity to impress him again.
“Well…the product is catered more towards the urban dweller, so I was thinking bolder colors with a soft hue, maybe a loose script font. I’d have to think of a logo but maybe something nature inspired to tie it all together.”
“You’re on the right track. We’ll expound on ideas in our meeting on Friday.”
I fucking did it.
I could have fist-bumped myself, I was so excited by his approval. He didn’t outright say he liked my idea, but he didn’t say no either, which was good enough for me. I didn’t know why it meant so much, seeing as how I hardly knew Mr. Belford, but something about pleasing him made me happy. A part of me wanted to make him proud. I was still that girl from the subway, after all.
His strength was a magnet pulling me down to his feet where I could offer up myself like a virgin to be sacrificed to the gods in return for a bountiful year. Except, I was no virgin and he didn’t take me in all the ways I was willing to give myself. I didn’t know it at the time, but when he stepped off the subway and disappeared into the darkness his magnetism stole a piece of me. I’d spent the previous three months searching for that piece back, and now that it was there right in front of me, I realized I didn’t want the piece back; I wanted to give him the rest of me.
Inspired by his seeming vote of confidence, I returned to work with renewed enthusiasm for the job, this project, for working for the man who I’d second-guessed since the moment I stepped foot into his office. Inspired, I broke in our pod’s couch like an uncomfortable new pair of shoes, twisting and turning, burrowing and fidgeting my way into the crevices of the cushions like a cat marking its territory, minus the fur left behind. By the end of the following day, I felt permanently fixed to the sofa, pen in hand and notepad in lap.
I flipped through the pages, taking a quick glance at the five or six rough sketches that filled the pages. There was nothing groundbreaking there, but I was pleased with what I’d been able to crank out in less than two days.
Friday, August 21st
Like every other day at 5 p.m. the subway was packed from end to end, full of people looking to escape their work lives and reemerge into their boroughs—stripping the work filth from their clothes like bleach to their whites. Fridays seemed to be the worst, and with the day I’d had, I just wanted to get home and forget about the highs, and more specifically, the lows of my new job.
Riding high from the ideas I mustered up the day before, I arrived to work on cloud nine. It didn’t take long for me to fall back to Earth.
“These are all just a regurgitation of the same idea,” Mr. Belford said while flipping through my sketches, unimpressed. I sat across from him on the couch and watched as he lingered on every line, every word. His eyes didn’t match the words coming from his mouth. Maybe I didn’t understand what he meant when we left Oaken Industries, but I thought he said he liked my idea.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t understand. I thought you wanted me to run with this idea?”
“This is only one idea though. Don’t you think it’s in our best interest to provide multiple ideas so that the client can see different concepts? These are all the same concept.”
“Oh. It’s only been two days. I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with more next week.”
“Did you have Ed working on these with you?”
“No. I wasn’t su—”
“Why not? If you think you’re going to be able handle this all by yourself then maybe I misunderstood your skills. You do know how to delegate, do you not?”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know who the client was.”
“And are you saying you can’t ask for help without divulging that bit of information?”
“No—”
“Then I expect you’ll have plenty more ideas for me next Friday.”
Deflated, I slumped over as Mr. Belford passed my notepad back to me. The rejection stung in a way I’d never felt before.
“This is just the first meeting. I don’t want you to think I didn’t like your work. Like I said Wednesday, you’re on the right track. I just want more. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have more for you next Friday.”
I avoided him the rest of the day, hiding out in the kitchen when I wasn’t sitting in the marketing pod with my back to the glass. Seeing as how our office was directly opposite Mr. Belford’s office, I didn’t want to accidentally look up and see that look of disappointment steal his features—especially with the image still so fresh in my mind.
On the train there were no seats, no available poles to claim as my own, no spots just inside the door I could lean against. Thrust into the middle of the subway car, I was forced to share a pole with a Hispanic woman wearing headphones blaring salsa music and a man who looked as rough as the day’s NASDAQ. I held on and waited as other bodies moved and shifted with the rolling wave of people flooding on, all while secretly hoping no one else decided to cling to the same spot as me. Three was more than enough in that heat.
I smelled him before I saw him. Even in a tunnel of steaming sewage, that smell wouldn’t be able to evade me. I looked to the door of people still crowding in and didn’t see him. Like a vulture, my eyes circled over the crowd of people, but I could only see one disgruntled person after another. It wasn’t until I turned to the left that I spotted him. His hand grasped the same pole as me. Mere inches from me was the man who I’d been avoiding all day. Following the length of his arm, I peered up to his face. He leaned over the top of my head, close enough that it looked like he was inhaling the scent of me. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. The slight quirking of his eyebrow wasn’t a question but an invitation—for what? I wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t quite the look I expected after the meeting we’d had that morning.
“Mr. Belford,” I said with what I imagined to be flushed cheeks and half-mast eyes.
“I think it’s safe to call me Vett here,” he said. The breath of his hushed words lingered on my cheek. Was he flirting with me? Was this how older men flirted? Where you’re not quite sure if they’re simply being polite or if it’s an invitation for more. I wanted it to be more. I wanted to call him Vett and have him whisper things in my ear that weren’t so ambiguous. Things that would make me hot with carnal desire and crave for a Subway Interlude, Part Two. Things to make me forget all about how I’d disappointed him with my redundant work and less than stellar ideas.
The subway jetted forward, and we both latched on. I took notice of the grip of his hand and how he held the pole with the same intensity he clutched my arms when I nearly collapsed in his office. I knew what it felt like to be held that tightly by him. Only a sliver of metal and a few surrounding passengers separated my body from being fully pressed against his. What would it feel like for me to be fully pressed against his body?
The next stop came and the man and woman who were sharing the pole with us disembarked, allowing Vett and me the space to put a little distance between us. Vett didn’t move thou
gh, as I anticipated. Instead, he stepped closer aligning his chest with my back. Just a tilt of my shoulders and my body would fall into his embrace. Like a shadow he hovered over me, but he was still so far out of reach.
Vett’s fingers slipped down the pole, his pinky and ring finger curved around the top of my hand, holding me as I braced myself for the departing train. I knew that touch would be short-lived. As gravity evened out, making movement less precarious, he would end all contact and I would once again become Ms. Ericson and he Mr. Belford. How could such a small gesture, something so innocent as the touch of a hand, make me feel so heady?
Vett’s hand stayed locked around mine, creating friction as we both tensed from the movement of the train. The urge to turn around and look into those dazzling green eyes was painful. I wanted to see if it was mere coincidence that we were touching. Did his body look as tense as mine felt? If I leaned into him, would he touch me elsewhere?
I hated this game he played, but what I hated more was the fact that I wasn’t sure if he even knew he was playing.
The train stopped at Astor, the doors opened, his hands loosened. His fingers made one last tempting dance up my inner wrist before locking around my wrist like a cuff.
He released me and took a step back. “Have a good weekend, Indigo.” Like a hug from an absent lover, his words clung to me. I wanted to pull them in tighter and bask in the tenor sound, which gave me goosebumps.
Frantic, I turned around, eager to see him before he disappeared completely, but also desperate to understand what had just happened between us. He couldn’t just vanish, not after that. Whatever that was.
He was already halfway through the door when the initial shock of his touch wore off. The memory of his hand locked around mine wouldn’t be enough to hold me over until Monday. Not after his parting words that hovered in the air like a finger urging me to follow.
Like a sheaf of paper parting around a scissor’s blade, bodies separated as I cut straight through to the door. Up the stairs and down the street I followed him—his head a few inches above everyone else, making him an easy target to track. My legs pulled me forward, and as much as I knew following him was wrong, I was too tempted to stop myself. A quiet thrill hummed in my veins. I was a huntress tracking her prey, shielded by towering concrete and the cacophonous music of the city. From fifteen feet back I followed him—so close that if he’d turned around I was sure he would have spotted me. Luck was on my side that night and I continued prowling after him undetected through the streets.
