The Essence of Fate

by Alison E. Steuart

  Yet, this evening, as I walk through the foyer, it suddenly seems quiet and vast and empty. Putting my things down, I head over to the bar to fix a drink, the clink of ice cubes on glass echoing through the silence. Mindlessly pouring the scotch, I fill the glass a little too much. Not that I really care; I probably need it.

  Standing at the window, I take a fortifying sip, relax my shoulders, and look out across the ocean, lit up and sparkling by the full moon hanging low in the early night sky. My mind is fully occupied by Charlotte, wondering where she is right now, what she’s doing, what she’s thinking. And there it is, that feeling deep in my core, the same one I felt when I was walking toward her for the first time. Like a magnet, being pulled by that invisible force of energy. If you let it go, they inevitably lock together with a snap, sometimes impossible to break apart.

  I should tread lightly. My sudden obsession is new ground; this powerful attraction and bone-deep need for her is foreign. Initially, my easy confidence has no doubt she will be mine and soon. That’s how it’s always worked for me. But in the back of my mind, there is something telling me it’s different this time. She’s different. My grip tightens on my glass as I try to ignore the possessive longing that just came over me. This could get interesting.

  I raise my glass to the moon, now blazing bright. “Here’s to you, Charlotte LeFay, until we meet again.”

  Three

  Charlotte

  Staring out over the ocean, hypnotized by the full moon’s sparkling reflection, I hear the door open as Erika comes back onto the balcony with our wine refills. “I don’t care what you say, Charlotte. That is literally the hottest thing I have ever heard in my life! You don’t even want to know what I was tempted to do just now when I went to the bathroom, I was so turned on. Why the hell doesn’t awesome, sexy shit like that happen to me?”

  Erika is my best friend, confidant, and soul sister all in one. She was the first person I called when the sadistic God of Orgasms and All Things Sexual left me neatly strapped into my car seat, humiliated and defeated. I’m still numb, questioning my sanity because there is no way that really happened to me.

  “Yeah, the only problem is, it doesn’t matter how sexy it was, how sexy he was, or how amazing the bastard made my body feel. It was fucking humiliating beyond words and I hate him for it!” Just saying it puts a lump in my throat. I’ve been crying off and on since I got home, which is frustrating as hell because I can’t really pinpoint why. Strangely, it doesn’t feel like it’s because of the unbearable humiliation of being controlled and violated…publicly…by a stranger that looks like some superhero of hotness and sex appeal. No, that infuriates me beyond words, this is deeper than that, like it’s connected to a part of me I’ve never known, pushing me off-center and well outside my comfort zone, which is something I guard and protect with my life.

  Truthfully, I’m not a crier, I’m not a drama queen, and I have a really thick skin. But right now, I’m none of that. I’m insecure, exhausted, and kind of weepy, like PMS emotions times a thousand. The crazy thing is, I haven’t even gone through an expected and completely justified fit of rage, smashing things that I picture as his face. Compounding my confusion and humiliation is the fact that my body doesn’t seem to be as upset as my mind. Apparently it remembers, all too well, the effect my nameless nemesis had on it, because when I allow myself to remember his gorgeous face, those mesmerizing turquoise eyes with their intense stare, his mind-numbing scent, that mouth, that kiss—God, that kiss—and the feeling of letting go in his arms, it heats up and creates butterflies in my stomach that seem to have a direct line of communication with my clit. “Ugh…I hate that bastard!” bursts out of nowhere.

  I put my head in my hands then rub my temples, making a mental declaration that I’m never talking to Sibel again for getting me into this mess. Crazy bitch.

  “Drink your wine, honey. The third glass is the charm.” Holding her glass up, Erika proposes a toast. “To healthy libidos and the ability to have spontaneous orgasms from intense nipple stimulation. May the universe pleeeeaaasse grant me this same ability so I can experience it too before I die!”

  We bust out laughing, working up to hysterics as tears run down our cheeks. Coming up for air, Erika can’t let it go. “I still cannot believe that happened to you. I swear, when you were all upset, telling me everything that happened, I was like, wow…this sounds pretty freaking amazing to me. Then you pop up with this sudden orgasm via nipple tweak and I almost tripped into oncoming traffic!”

  I nearly choke on my wine trying to keep myself from spraying it across the table. “Oh my God! I didn’t even think about telling you to sit down first, or better yet… Hold on to your hat, sister, you’re not going to believe this one!” The latter I belt out in my best country accent and we’ve lost it again. The wine is clearly kicking in. I need this more than anything right now, and Erika knows it.

  “Honestly, when I first answered and could tell you were crying I thought something terrible had happened, then you start going into this pornographic fantasy and I’m like, ‘What the heck?’ Is she messing with me? Is there a hidden camera on me somewhere?” She’s turning her head side to side, mimicking herself looking for the camera. It is hilarious, and I have no doubt this is not an exaggeration.

  “I’m so sorry! I was so out of it I wasn’t even thinking about how ridiculous everything must have sounded or that you might faceplant out of shock!” I take a huge, reassuring breath. “You have no idea how much I needed to laugh about this. I feel more like myself, thank you. You always know how to keep me grounded.”

  “Yes, I do, and I expect the same from you when some alien from the planet Hot-as-Shit shows up and warps my mind, melts my bones, and makes my clit explode. Oh…and gives a bonus nipple orgasm!”

  I smack her leg, cracking up. “You’re losing it, Erika Fleming.”

  “You think I’m kidding? I’m going to be pissed if it doesn’t happen to me. Dammit! Now I think you’ve ruined me for all others. How the hell is any guy I meet ever going to top your mind-blowing, roadside sexcapade?” Shaking her head, she mumbles, “Nipple orgasm. You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Cheer up, babe, it’ll happen eventually,” I encourage as if she’s a child that just lost the All-star game.

  “It’s not fair. I’m the slut in this relationship. It should have happened to me.” The petulant sarcasm in her tone sets us off again.

  “Erika, you’re drunk, and I’m getting you an Uber.”

  “No, don’t bother. I’ll sleep in your guest room so we can get up early, have coffee out here on the balcony, and talk more trash about Lambo man and his magic fingers.”

  Walking inside with my arm over her shoulder and our heads leaning into each other, I agree. “That sounds perfect.”

  Just before the sun rises, a long full-body stretch kick-starts my energy. I lie still for a few minutes, allowing myself to fully wake. As yesterday comes back to me, the first thing that drifts through my mind is how grateful I am that I slept through the night. If ever there was a time for me to toss and turn from mind-racing stress, it was last night. But I actually feel pretty good—physically, anyway. Mentally…I’ll evaluate that once I’ve had some caffeine.

  Making my way to the kitchen, I see the wine bottles and glasses from last night and smile. I should let Erika sleep a little longer. She’s not an early riser. Although, once she gets a whiff of the coffee brewing, she’ll drag herself out of bed and join me on the balcony.

  The sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. I love starting my day out here in the fresh morning air straight off the ocean, the orange burst filling the sky as the sun works its way up over the edge, breaking that precise line with its glow. It’s crazy, but on the days I sleep in and miss this event, I always feel a little off, with a little less pep in my step. It reminds me of one of my grandmother’s favorite sayings: The sunrise and coffee are to the start of your day what the sunset and wine are to the end. Then she’d wink a
nd say, “We must balance our vices.”

  Even though it’s Saturday, I’m going to head to the office for a bit. After that last board meeting, I have some loose ends to tie up. Plus, I’d like to stay busy so I don’t sit around and obsess about being pleasured beyond reality and humiliated all at once by a total fucking stranger. The thought of it makes me get up and refill my mug that’s only half empty. A pointless act meant to keep myself busy so yesterday’s events don’t rotate on replay in my head.

  It’s a futile effort because as soon as I’m comfortable again with the now blazing sun warming my skin, I can’t help but remember my reaction to seeing him for the first time. Even if I get Alzheimer’s when I’m old, I will still remember that moment. The flood of physical, mental, and emotional stimulation is something you only read about in books, never really believing it could be real.

  It’s not like I’m a virgin or something and have no idea what being attracted or even aroused feels like. No. Whatever the hell happened yesterday was not typical, not average, not normal.

  Making matters worse, he had the upper hand. I’m admittedly a control freak; I have my reasons, but it’s worked out pretty well for me so far. I’ve always worked hard, keeping to the high standards I set for myself. So having control taken from me and rubbed in my face is a hard pill to swallow. Actually, I’m not even sure I’ve swallowed it yet. It’s just sitting in my mouth dissolving, acrid and burning.

  I wish I had someone older and more experienced to turn to. Not to simply rehash the whole thing—Erika and I can and will do that for the rest of our lives—but someone to help me understand and justify the deep emotions that were awakened by a nameless man. Sadly, I don’t have that someone, and I’m sure as heck not going to ask Uncle James. I laugh at the absurdity, knowing he would probably put a hit out on Joey Porn Star.

  Oh my God! It’s like that awful record scratch sound in my head. What if he is a porn star? No, he probably owns the freaking production company and website! Miami is huge for that. Ugh. And it would explain that over-the-top, I-have-money-to-burn car he was driving! Not to mention his unconventional familiarity with making a woman cum on command. “Oh. Dear. God!” I say, putting my head in my hands.

  “What now?” Startling me, Erika appears on the balcony. “Don’t tell me Magic Mike showed up in the middle of the night with more of his orgasmic sorcery.”

  “Thankfully, no. But it just hit me that he could be part of the porn industry and I’m completely skeeved out. Wouldn’t that make sense? He’s rich, flashy, hot, and clearly knows more about sex than your average person.” My tone says that I’ve come to a conclusion on this and the sky is getting ready to fall.

  “Ahhh… It kinda does make sense,” she agrees, making a sort of cringe face. “He’s probably an instructor that teaches all the newbies the tricks of the trade, like proper nipple stimulation techniques.”

  “Wow, that really helps a lot, Erika. You’re supposed to disagree and give me all the reasons why it doesn’t make sense and that he’s actually a super clean guy that comes from a great background and simply had a momentary lapse in control because he was overwhelmed by our raw chemistry!”

  Erika laughs. “Honestly, the porn guy scenario seems more believable than that fantasy. Don’t worry, though. All you really did was kiss him. It’s not like you guys had unprotected sex or anything. What’s the worst that could happen, you get mono?” She seems so unfazed by the possibility that I may have had a seriously intense make-out session with a guy that’s been with thousands of women and produces sex movies for all the world’s creepers to masturbate to. I, on the other hand, am not okay with that notion.

  “Please change the subject. My brain cannot properly process the potential of that scenario,” I say, exasperated, rubbing my temples.

  “You brought it up, I just agreed.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Erika continues, waving her hand. “Okay, fine. What’s on the agenda for today? Let’s go get lunch and then go to your spa. It’s been too long, and you could really use a good massage right now.”

  “Maybe, we’ll see. I have to run in for a little while anyway and wrap up some things from yesterday. You know I can’t stand getting behind.” Right then, my phone pings a text notification. Glancing over, I see that it’s Tracy from work.

  Tracy: Good morning! I wasn’t sure if you were coming in today or not, but there is a group that contacted us early this morning that wants to book the Garden Room. No big deal, I know, but they insist on working directly with you on the details. It’s their “policy” to cut out the middleman.

  Great…it’s one of those deals. I know it all too well. I’m usually stuck with some snippy, wannabe intern with overdone makeup and wardrobe. Exactly what I don’t feel like dealing with today. Doesn’t matter, though; we’ll accommodate, they’ll pay.

  Me: It’s okay. I’ll be there. But tell them I only have a twenty-minute window on such short notice and to be there at 11. Thank you!

  “Great! My morning just got a slight interruption. I have to pacify some firm that’s too important to deal with my employees and insists on dealing with me.” It’s happened before and it annoys me to no end. Do they really think I’m going to be intimidated or maybe impressed by this request? Only deal with the general manager so everyone looks and seems uber important, not only to their clients, but the employees working the event. Whenever a client is truly that important, they don’t need to request my involvement.

  Getting up and saying a silent goodbye to my spectacular view, wishing I had time for a walk on the beach, I take my last sip of coffee. “I’m going to jump in the shower. You stay out here and enjoy your morning.” I get no disagreement from Erika as she winks and holds up her mug as if to say, “Cheers.”

  An hour later, I’m primped and ready, more done up than I had originally intended for a quiet morning of paperwork and no meetings. Erika is just coming in as I gather my keys, purse, and laptop. “I’ll text you when my meeting’s over. Let me know where you want to go for lunch, I’ve got a comfortable change of clothes with me so let’s do kinda casual. I need to feel like it’s at least a half day off. No heels, no layers, no synthetic materials.” Dressing up for work every day in Miami can be exceedingly unpleasant. The heat and humidity can be uncomfortable when all you have on is a skimpy bikini, forget about work attire with its heavy materials that end up creating more heat. I keep telling myself I need to create a line of super stylish, professional clothing made of cotton and bamboo, specifically for women forced to dress up in a tropical climate.

  “Okay, I’m heading home to get ready. As always, thanks for letting me crash here last night.” Erika leans in and kisses my cheek.

  “No, thank you for being here. You saved me from going completely insane. I’m not sure what I would have done without you.” Sincere in my appreciation, I give her a tight hug. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Arriving at work in what seems like only a few minutes, I’m in a surprisingly good mood. It must be the lack of traffic. It’s so refreshing not having to deal with all that chaos and idiocy. During the week it takes me a minimum of thirty minutes to get here, and that’s on a good day.

  Checking in with Tracy, I get a quick briefing of the night before. No issues, problems, or cranky guests. Precisely how I expect it to be. She has the conference room set up for this morning’s impromptu meeting and fills me in on the rest of the details there.

  “It’s a real estate development firm, McAlistair Architecture, Design & Development. They have a new client from Brazil arriving next week. According to the gentleman I talked to, there will be a total of twelve people, including those from the McAlistair firm. They requested the Garden Room and would like your recommendations for what to serve for lunch.” Looking up from her iPad, she pushes her glasses back over the bridge of her nose, which she will do at least five more times during this conversation alone. It’s a charming habit that suits her personality. “Since he had such an amazing voice and
was being genuinely polite, I decided not to push the issue and explain that we have people that are paid very well to help them decide what to serve a group of Brazilians for lunch.” Her monotone voice is betrayed by the smirk on her face.

  “Hmmmm…an amazing voice, huh? Perhaps I’ll have you escort them to the Garden Room while I ‘finish my call’ so you can put a face on that voice. You might be pleasantly surprised.” I jokingly lift my eyebrows up and down. Tracy blushes and silently begs me with her eyes not to do that. She is extremely shy and reserved when it comes to the opposite sex, but something tells me that doesn’t mean she has no desire. Quite the opposite I suspect. “Don’t worry, I’m only teasing you. But you’re welcome to accompany me, if for nothing more than to appease your curiosity.”

  She thinks about it for a minute, then opts out, as I knew she would. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.” And she takes her leave.

  I start organizing some of the notes from yesterday’s board meeting so when I go over everything with Uncle James, it’s quick and precise. He prefers to get business out of the way first when we chat so we can talk about more interesting topics like politics, world events, and any hospitality industry gossip either of us may have. I’m truly fortunate to have him. He’s more like a father than an uncle, and he means the world to me.

  The morning passes quickly, and before I know it, my phone buzzes with Tracy informing me that my eleven o’clock is here. At least they respect my time and have arrived promptly. Touching up my lipstick and making sure my appearance is in order, I make my way to the lobby.

  I’m surprised to find only one gentleman waiting for me when I arrive. He’s impeccably dressed and quite striking with his tall, well-built stature. As I get closer and his face is no longer shadowed, I notice his pale green eyes that almost glow against his dark skin. Wow! Talk about handsome. No doubt Tracy melted somewhere behind the front desk because I don’t see her anywhere.