Get Stuffed

Charles leans forward on the elbows. "That night at the party you said I had a reputation and just now you said you know that you weren't the first. It seems clear that you think I have sex with all of my secretaries. Did someone tell you that?"

I roll the question through my mind. I don't want to get Jennifer in trouble, but I also just agreed to answer his questions as best I could. I settle for ambiguity. "Not explicitly. They said you had a reputation with women."

"Can you tell me who it was?"

I allow myself a small smile. "I plead the fifth."

"That's fair," he chuckles. "Okay, next question. Do you like working at my company?"

I sigh. "Yes I do."

"Then why are you going to resign?"

I take another sip of wine. Okay fine, I finished the glass. "Because resigning is better than being the girl who fucked the boss. You don't come back from that."

"Are you two ready to order?"

I startle as a tall waiter interrupts us. I hadn't even decided. I desperately look at the menu for something I think I'll like, and end up picking some sort of salad that says it has mandarin oranges in it. Charles orders something with duck. What I wouldn't give for some French fries and a milkshake right about now.

The waiter leaves and Charles turns his laser focus back to me. "Last question. Why do you think this was your mistake?"

"It is,” I say. "If I hadn't been writing those stories at work, you would have never happened, and today would never have happened."

"Okay." He says, "Thanks for answering. Now will you let me offer some responses?"

The waiter left another glass of wine when he came to take our order, and I take full advantage. "Sure."

"I'm thirty-two. I got really lucky out of college working for my mentor Peter McLane. I knew I wanted to run some sort of business, but that's about all I knew. Peter taught me everything I know about hotels, and even though he tried, his company wasn't doing so well because of some decisions he made early on. When he died, he left the company to me and I had the opportunity to remake it under a new name and turn it around." Charles looks down and fiddles with his napkin. "I'm not telling you this to brag, I'm telling you that for the past ten years I've been so busy with my career that I've haven't had a long-term relationship since college. I also have never had sex--or anything else--with any of my secretaries, or anyone who works for me. Until now." His face is steely, daring me to challenge that truth.

I feel myself turning red in the face, mortified that I made an assumption. However, I've never met a man who looks like him that wouldn't live up to that assumption. I feel foolish. I don't say anything.

"I'm pretty sure I know who warned you about me. She's been trying to get me to sleep with her for years."

I nearly choke. "Really?"

"She hit on me after you left the party."

I realize I've outed Jennifer. "I didn't want to get her in trouble."

"She's not in trouble." He laughs, "because I already knew, and I'm never going to sleep with her."

The waiter arrives with our food. "That was fast, though I suppose the portion size makes it easy to prepare." I say, looking down at my salad-in-a-cup. The waiter glares at me as he walks away, and Charles starts laughing so loudly people in the restaurant turn and stare. Then I start laughing too.

It bubbles up from inside me like cool relief, and our laughter is so not dignified enough for this place.

"Alyssa," he says, getting a hold on his voice. "I don't want you to resign. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that party. I gave you professionalism because that's what you asked for, but I've never been so happy to not be professional. This isn't your fault at all. We were both there, we both decided. We could have stopped, but we didn't, and we did that together." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. The warmth of his fingers seeps into mine as he traces designs across them.

"I didn't bring you here to buy you off. I brought you here because in the week I've known you I've seen that you're sweet, hardworking, and beautiful. I don't know you very well, and I want to. I want you to keep your job, and I want to keep seeing you."

My heart is pounding in my chest. Wow. Words. You should respond with some sort of words. Speak. All I can do is smile.

"Oh," he says, giving me a grin inspired by the devil, "and there will be more sex in my office. That I can guarantee."

"Well," I say. "I can live with that."

"Good."

I look down at my salad again, "But if you really want to get to know me, for the love of god take me somewhere where I can get a burger and fries."

He laughs again, deep and full, the richness of his voice pulling at parts of me that are waking up again. He throws his hand up in the air and flags down the waiter. "Check please."

8

Charles

The diner is crowded and loud, and Alyssa is way more comfortable. I can tell from the way her body is relaxed, and the fact that she's smiling ear to ear while downing a milkshake. If I can see that smile every day, I'll be a happy man.

All those things she said, there has to be more to them. But now isn't the time of place to ask. She might not even know how strange it is to take that kind of burden on herself. It's not like she seduced me against my will. It's definitely something we'll have to talk about later. Preferably naked.

But now is first date time, so first date questions. "Why New York?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" She's distracted, chasing a chunk of Oreo at the bottom of her glass.

"I signed off on your resume, remember? You had a great job in L.A., and I'm pretty sure you were making more than you're making now. Why did you leave?"

She sighs, pushing away the glass. "I didn't leave, I was let go."

I freeze my face so my shock doesn't show. "I find that difficult to believe."

"I had a boss that was...difficult."

"In what way?" I steal a French fry from the left-overs on her plate.

"She's not a bad person, and she is really good at her job. She just views things a bit differently than I do."

I cover her hand with mine, making her look up at me. She'd been avoiding it. "I promise you can tell me."

"Fine." She huffs out a breath. "She was an unreasonable perfectionist. Even when I learned from my mistakes she never let them go. She never gave me the benefit of the doubt. Every mistake was my fault even if I wasn't the one who made it."

A light bulb goes off in my head about where her guilt issues might be coming from, but now still isn't the time.

"I worked there for three years, and she was still bringing up mistakes from when I was new. Finally, she said she had to let me go because my work wasn't good enough. On top of that she refused to give me a recommendation. I wanted to get away from L.A., and New York is p

retty much the opposite without going to Amish countryside."

I laugh. "You'd look good in a bonnet."

"I would, but I could never do the country. Too much country growing up. I'm from Ohio."

"Wow."

She shakes her head, putting on a twang of the Midwest. "Yep. The buckeye state."

"Please don't ever do that again." I steal another fry, waiting for her to stop me. She doesn't.

She tosses back the last bits of her milkshake, and some spills on her dress. "Crap,” she says, grabbing the napkin and using her water glass to help clean it. I should probably help, but all I can think about is how good she'd look soaking wet...and some interesting potential uses for ice.

She catches me staring at her breasts and smirks. "Cat got your tongue?"

"My tongue has many uses, all of which I'm willing to demonstrate." I'm watching her as I say it to see her reaction, and I see the pupils in her eyes dilate, and I see her breath hitch. That's something she's definitely interested in. We're staring at each other now, and I know what I'm imagining--I'm imagining her eyes dilating again as I sink deep inside her, and I'm thinking about making her keep her eyes open and on me. What I don't know, is what's going on behind her eyes. I'm dying to know. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," she coughs, "I'm not thinking anything."

"Liar."

"What about you?" She asks, "Where are you from?”

"That side-step was about a mile wide, but I'll let it go. I'm from the Southwest. Arizona."

She's drawing shapes on the table with the condensation from her glass, "Must be cold for you up here."

"A little, but I like it. New York is a great city."

She shrugs. "I don't think I've been here long enough to really love it."

"Do I need to make a list of things for you to try? Things that aren't on the typical tourist list?"