by Shayne Ford
“They are your best friends?”
“Yes. Childhood friends.”
“What else do you like...?” she asks with a soft voice.
I pause and smile.
I don’t remember when was the last time someone asked me what I like other than what I do. Honestly, I didn’t spend much time thinking either.
I like my life the way it is. I know I’m lucky. I don’t dwell on it. I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that no matter how good I am, and how hard I work, I stumbled into this kind of life, the same way people trip into a life of misery. They work just as hard, and they may be just as good, and yet all they get is more hardship and misery.
Luck is luck. People say the harder you work, the luckier you get. I say luck sticks to you like mud if you happen to be in the right place surrounded by the right people.
I know I was.
That’s why I’m humble enough to admit it.
She’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer.
“Hmm... What I like. There are things...”
“Like what?”
She insists, sensing the moment of honesty I’m grappling with.
The truth is... I like mysteries and secrets.
I liked the girl with the red mask and the skin made of fire, but I can’t share that. And I like her, Dahlia, when she looks at me as if the sun rises and sets in my eyes.
I like innocent and dark, pure and dirty, simple and complicated, grounded and impossible to catch, all wrapped in one.
I like things that hold power over me, and I like those that submit to me. Two different men live inside me, and they both crave different things at different times.
“I like to travel too,” I say, throwing something innocent at her.
Tilting her head to the side, she looks at me incredulously.
“You say that to charm me.”
I breathe out a chuckle.
“Not at all. I’m hardly a pleaser.”
“Have you traveled a lot?”
“Never in that capacity. It was always the shortest route to the destination, the smoothest path to where I wanted to be, and a controlled environment when it came to how I spent my time. It was always about business...”
“And pleasure,” she adds quietly.
Tilting my chin down, I flash a wolfish smile.
“Occasionally, it was...” I flick my eyes up. “So back to traveling... it was never the kind of experience you would’ve liked. I’ve never been immersed in a culture, trying to learn new things about people. I simply cut to the bone and picked whatever experience suited me or my taste at the time... That’s what money help you to do,” I say, not boasting, simply stating a fact.
“Who knows... maybe one day, we’ll travel together, and I can teach you all of that,” she says, smiling playfully.
Caught in her game, I laugh softly.
“Yeah. Maybe...”
17
DAHLIA
I wish I could grab my phone and take a few snapshots of him.
Elbows resting on the table, eyes reading my reaction every time I speak.
I wish I could tell the world the man who makes me soft inside sits across from me, and we chat and laugh together, and once in a while we simply smile at each other.
I wish I knew better than to fall for him, but that’s not something I can control.
As he licks the last drop of coffee from his lips, bits and pieces of last Friday come to me. I sift through those moments while my eyes trace his lips, the line of his shoulders, and his hard chest.
I can’t believe I shattered in his arms.
And now he wants me back for another round. Of what?
Experiencing more of the same? Getting a taste of the girl who hides between the red mask?
It’s not wise to taunt fate.
In all fairness, it’s not wise to be doing even this–– spending time with him. As innocent as it is, it can shackle my heart. And yet I’m doing it and enjoying it.
He drops me home one hour later, and I enter my apartment, grappling with a storm of emotions.
“What happened to you?” Elsa asks.
Smiling ear to ear, I waltz into the bedroom.
She follows me around.
“Where were you?”
“Work.”
“I’ve never had work that made me smile like that. How was the meeting?”
“Good,” I say, peeling my dress off me.
I slip into a robe.
She smiles.
“Is that because of your boss?”
I grin again.
“It may be.”
Her eyes light up.
“Oh my God! You really are in love.”
“How do you know?”
“I know a thing or two,” she says, walking behind me as I head to the kitchen.
I pull a bottle of water from the fridge and take a seat at the table. My eyes lock with hers as I gulp down water.
“Then you must know how a man behaves when he really likes you...” I say sliding the bottle onto the table.
“Yeah... Pretty much.”
“So how can you tell?”
“Besides him getting hard for you?” she says, chuckling softly.
My skin burns on my cheeks.
“Yes, besides that.”
“He does things to please you. What did he do?”
“We had ice cream downtown, in a parlor...”
Her eyes light up.
“Are you serious?”
“Well, it was more like we were walking down the street, and I––”
“I can’t believe it,” she says, cutting me off.
Her phone rings the next moment, and her glee vanishes from her face the moment she roots her eyes to the screen.
“What?” I ask quietly.
She flicks her finger up and takes the call. Her features harden, a frown setting on her brow.
“Stop calling me,” she says without letting the other person speak.
I hear the voice of a man for a mere second before she speaks again.
“No. I told you, Jordan. It’s not him.”
The man argues at the other end.
“It’s not your business.”
“It is my business,” the man shouts.
I can hear his distinct words.
“Stop calling me,” she says. “I don’t need to hear you screaming at me.”
He says something with a softer voice, and she listens to him for a few moments.
“I don’t want to see you. I told you I don’t want you in my life. If it weren’t for your stupid jealousy, I would’ve still had a job right now...”
A protest comes from the other end, and her eyes turn dark.
“Stop bugging me. I won’t tell you, and that’s that.”
She ends the call. The phone rings one more time. She flips it annoyed. A different expression slides onto her face.
She turns her back to me, the voice at the other end sounding muffled.
“Okay then...” she says with a soft voice and ends the second call.
She spins to me.
“I have to go now.”
“Where?”
She hurries to the hallway. I leap out of my chair and follow her.
“Where are you going?”
She puts on her jacket.
“I’ll be back,” she says, without giving me an actual answer.
I watch her disappear through the main door before I dash to the window.
Minutes later she walks out of the building and darts to the black sports car waiting for her at the front. She vanishes inside, the car spinning away in a tailspin.
Who the hell was that?
DAHLIA
Elsa shows up the next morning, minutes before I get ready to walk out the door.
A big smile sits on her face.
“Are you okay?”
She doesn’t say a thing. Only grins.
“I guess you are. Should I be worried, Elsa?”
>
She shakes her head.
“What do you want me to cook for you?” she asks as if she didn’t just enter the apartment.
“Nothing. Get some rest,” I say, catching sight of the dark circles around her eyes.
“I’ll cook something good,” she says, ignoring my advice, and I’m out the door.
The week turns out to be emptier without him.
Once the Monday rush fades away things go back to normal. It’s the beginning of the summer, and people take time off, several cubicles on the hallway filled with silence.
Sheila Lane calls from Switzerland. She wants to know if everything runs smoothly. Chris goes on vacation too. I start eating lunch at my desk, no longer taking breaks in the cafeteria.
Andrew Mako calls in the middle of the week and jokingly asks me if my crazy boss is around.
We chat for a few moments, and I quickly realize he’s one of the better men working for Larry Wells.
He straightforwardly admits his co-workers have crossed a line by spreading those rumors. He also wants to make sure I understand he was the one who had defended me.
Hypothetically, we plan a lunch together. No date set. Sometime in the future. Perhaps when my crazy ass boss is away again.
As the days pass by, I start to get anxious, and Friday finds me a ball of jitters.
I haven’t heard from anyone else the entire week. By that, I mean Lex Harrington and Tasha.
Come Friday morning, I call her. Nothing has changed, she says to me, when I ask her about my evening gig, and I have to assure her that I’m not bailing out.
My fingers dance on the phone screen.
Should I call him? Or should I not?
Even if he answers me I’m not going to find out much from him or his evening plans.
Reluctantly I type the message.
Me: I hope you had a wonderful week. How was your vacation so far?
Fifteen minutes pass by.
What did I expect?
Really.
I pick up the phone again.
Me: Planning anything special for this Friday?
Another fifteen minutes tick by.
I start playing with a pen, and rearrange the flowers in my office, glancing at my phone from time to time. I finally snatch it off my desk.
Annoyed.
Me: Okay, then. I have to leave early....
I ponder for a few moments whether I should play with him or not. I don’t think he’s gonna bite. He’ll probably know I’m setting him up. And yet, I continue typing.
Me: Andrew Mako is here. Have a nice weekend!
I barely press send, and the phone rings. I let it ring for a few times before I answer his call.
“Hello there,” I say, a mischievous smile threading through my voice.
“Hey,” he throws at me.
Panting?
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Laughter travels to me from the other end.
“Working out. What did you have in mind?”
“Never mind,” I say, suppressing a chuckle.“Why don’t you answer my messages?” I ask.
He laughs again.
“Because you’re working for me, not the other way around...” he says.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“I was... Until you told me that Andrew Mako is picking you up.”
“Is that the only reason why you called?”
There’s silence at the other end.
I hang up on him.
The phone rings again. His name flashes on the screen. I decline the call, throw the phone in my purse, power off my computer, and dash to the door.
“I’m leaving,” I say to the receptionist, who’s talking on the phone.
She lifts her finger up, her eyes locked with mine. Her hand goes over her mouthpiece.
“Wait!” she breathes out.
Thick desperation lines her voice.
“Yes,” she says on her mouthpiece. “I’ll tell her...”
I spin around and pull away.
“Ms. Fox?”
I glance over my shoulder, my finger already on the elevator call button.
“Alex Harrington is on his way. He wants you to wait for him.”
Tell him to shove it, crosses my mind, but I don’t voice it.
The elevator doors slide open.
“Tell him, I’ll see him on Monday or... whenever,” I murmur, the doors closing over my last words.
18
DAHLIA
He calls one more time as I exit the building, and then Andrew Mako texts me.
Andrew: How’s your Friday? Mine just got busier. Your boss assigned me to one of your company’s projects. Do you know anything about this?
Ugh!
Another text flashes on my phone screen.
Andrew: He said it was urgent. Anyway... Have a great weekend!
Elsa is not home when I push through the door, yet a smell of freshly cooked food fills the air. I glance at the stove, inspect the pots and pans, and then walk into the bedroom.
The place is clean, and all things are in order. I remember the days when Elsa used to sleep in, and her room used to look like a freight train had rammed through it the night before.
The next few hours fly by as I get ready for my evening project.
Close to eight o’clock, I get ready to leave.
I dig my phone out of my purse and call Elsa. I reach her voicemail.
“Where are you? I’m leaving for Silver. Call me... or text me. I want to know if you’re okay.”
I check the history of missed calls. He hasn’t called me once after I left the office.
I throw a light trench on me, grab the car keys and whoosh out the door.
My heart beats in my throat all the way to Silver. I take the longer route and ride through downtown. The ice cream parlor where we stopped last Monday is shrouded in darkness.
My hands tighten on the wheel as I get closer to the next town and approach the area sparkling with light, and brimming with cars.
I pull into the employee parking lot and slip through the back door.
Tasha is already backstage. She motions me to one of the vanities, and for the next half an hour or so I work on my make up and hair. There are twice as many girls as last Friday.
“What’s going on?” I ask her.
“There’s some party at the front, and the VIP rooms are all booked,” she says. “Oh... that looks nice,” she says taking in the bondage style corset and cut out cups. “Let me see,” she says nudging me to stand up.
I rise to my feet and twirl. She smiles.
“Damn it. You’re gonna kill him,” she mutters taking in my G-strings, and the crisscrossed straps of black leather-looking fabric on my back.
Someone knocks on the door, and one of the girls slides it open.
“That’s for you,” Tasha says, glancing at the door.
I shift my gaze in that direction. The owner beckons me to him.
“The room is ready. Go there and wait for him.”
My lips pull apart, a questioning look on my face.
“Yes?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Good. Try not to run away this time.”
I nod and send one last glance to Tasha who gives me a thumbs up before I roll down the corridor. The noise dies out in the background as I strut to the end of the hallway and take a left.
There is only one door at the end. A thick, wide black door.
I push it open and walk inside. It’s a different room than the last time. I let my eyes adjust to the dimness before I amble to the middle of the room, where a round shaped, red velvet love seat sits.
Candles cast a trembling glow over the floors.
A window is cracked open, and a soft breeze slithers in, brushing my legs. I turn to one of the mirrors hanging on the wall and check my black lace mask and dark red lips.
My fingers thread through my hair, when I hear a door opening and closin
g as well as footsteps heading my way speaking of a confident man.
Mellow music drifts from the hidden speakers. It’s a soft trumpet tune.
I freeze.
My heart hammers in my chest, and my eyes glue to the mirror as I watch the man erasing the space between us.
He wears a blue dress shirt open at the neckline. It outlines his sculpted chest and reveals his muscular neck and the top of his chest.
This is the same man who renders me weak in my knees and makes me long for his kiss way too many times. He’s also the man I can no longer think of like my boss.
And yet, he is.
He casually walks my way, a glass half full dangling from his hand. The other hand stuffed in his pocket.
Sipping his drink, he smoothly runs his eyes on my back and rear, the G-strings covering practically nothing.
My heart flips in my chest as I begin to turn to him.
“Don’t,” he says, the simple sound of his voice turning me into a mess.
My eyes stay on him as he edges to me and stops behind me. Warmth transfers from his body to mine.
He looks in the mirror, his gaze sweeping my face and lips, and then overtly going down on me.
For me to see...
Every inch of surveilled skin starts burning, sending pleasure to the spot between my thighs.
Curling an arm around my waist, he pulls me flush against his body. My back hits his torso, and my ass brushes his groin. He tips his head down, and sinks his lips into my hair.
I’m shaking so hard there’s no way he can’t feel it.
He certainly does. The moment he raises his eyes and meets my stare in the mirror, I see the hunger in his gaze.
He sets his drink on a side table.
This would be the moment in which I’d normally say he’s not allowed to touch me, and yet I can’t use my voice right now and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to stop him.
Barely breathing, I tremble against his chest while he brushes all my hair away over one shoulder.
His breath traces the column of my neck, making my blood simmer in my veins. He holds me tightly against him, letting me feel his hard muscles and the full length of his erection pressed against my lower back.
A gasp escapes my lips followed closely by a moan.
He breathes softly over my skin, and goosebumps drape over my shoulders.
Sliding my hand on top of his, I tip my head to the side, exposing my neck to his lips. Swept away, I close my eyes. He slowly grazes it, setting my skin ablaze.
