“I would enjoy that very much,” he admits to me and there’s a crackle between us, one that hasn’t spared us during a single interaction.
“If I’d met you at a bar, would you want me?” I dare to ask him. “I’ve wondered about it since I first saw you. I wondered if you’d fuck me had we met differently.”
“I think it may be a matter to discuss at another time, Ella.” Zander doesn’t move with me in this step of our dance. My body goes so very still as I feel nothing but vulnerability.
“I’d fuck you, Zander. However you’d like. I’d fuck you.” I don’t allow my gaze to slip as he holds me steady with his, leading me to divulge a truth we’ve been tiptoeing around. For good measure I add, “Hell, I’ve already fantasized about it.”
“I am obligated to maintain a professional relationship with you.” I have no idea how he can speak so coolly, when his gaze blazes like fire and his tone is thick with desire. There is no mistaking that a boundary has already been crossed. A social one. Perhaps a moral one. And neither of us were affected by it. Our boundaries lie elsewhere.
“What a shame—” I start to murmur, readying myself to remove the throw and tell him exactly what it is about him that fuels my interest in him. But I’m silenced and caught off guard as my head whips to the left.
There’s only the quick thud of the door that alerts the two of us that someone’s here. Just around the corner. Zander’s ease is uncanny. His ability to simply slip on a mask that hides every etched detail of the scandalous desire that was on his face just a moment ago is impressive.
With his back pressed against the chair, no one would have any idea of the seduction that nearly prompted me to do illicit and unwarranted things in return for a pleasure I’ve been dreaming of.
The sudden intrusion would be shocking this late at night if it weren’t for the person responsible for it. Kam enters the room like he always does, already talking and as if whatever it is that he has to say is more urgent than whatever’s already occurring. He’s done it all my life, and in the past I welcomed it. Currently, I’m grateful for his impulsive ways, given the fact that he seems to have failed to notice the energy of the room. “Could we talk?”
My gaze shifts between the two men. “Of course,” I answer and swallow, grasping at any sense of normalcy to ground me back in the real world.
“Stay,” Zander commands with a subtle hand signal and steals Kam’s focus. “Let me leave so you two can have the room,” he states, giving Kam a nod.
* * *
If Kam noticedthe tension between Zander and me, he doesn’t let on.
That doesn’t change the fact, though, that I feel as if I’ve been caught. My rapid pulse and wide eyes give it away, if only Kam would look at me rather than watching a very calm Zander leave the room. I catch sight of his hand flexing on the way out; it’s the only indication he givesthat maybe he’s not as collected as he appears.
I have a moment to fix my expression, and I take it. What’s happening between Zander and me is mine, mine alone. I need this and I’m unwilling to allow anyone to take it away. It’s only once we’re alone that Kam takes the seat Zander occupied only moments ago.
He sits on the edge of it, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. “I had a meeting tonight.”
“A meeting.” I mutter the words and already feel on edge. The urgency makes sense. Kam’s a buffer between myself and “others.” In the past he’s negotiated deals, dealt with threats, lawsuits, slander. Anything that would threaten me or my estate in any way.
The times in the past where he’s had “meetings” that led to him barging in like this generally meant things needed to change in some form or another. Suddenly all the heat threatens to overwhelm me, and I find myself staring at the fireplace that is no longer lit.
“I’ve gone over a number of things and I want to start with how to get you back out there,” he tells me and that’s not at all what I was expecting.
“I wanted to talk about creating routines and maybe …” He’s anxious as he pauses and breathes in deeply, as if what he’s about to say is controversial. “Maybe posting again.”
There’s a small crack in my chest that’s raw at the idea of it. It’s so very small, though, only a sliver.
“Let’s get you together; new hair, maybe?” he offers and I only half smile back at his grin.
“A woman who cuts her hair …” he begins, and I complete the Coco Chanel quote for him.
“… is about to change her life.”
“Just a snapshot, just to tell them you’re okay.” I nod along with his plan. “What do you want them to know?”
I offer the first words that come to mind: “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, no,” he says, comforting me. “There is no room for that. You don’t owe them an apology.”
“I’m trying.”
“I love that about you. I love you,” he emphasizes. His lips form a thin smile and it’s contagious, although the sorrow lingers.
“I love you too.”