"I don't know," I said. "If you do a few of those things again, you'll have me blushing all the way to my toes."
She finally let loose a giggle. "Stop. We're not talking about that."
"You're right," I said. I leaned over and kissed her neck. "Talking's overrated."
"What would we even have to talk about?" Tasha asked.
I knew what she was thinking. Outside of work, what did we have in common?
My phone buzzed in the kitchen and saved us both. Tasha nodded for me to answer it and took a large bite. At least I knew she wasn't going anywhere.
"Don't worry, it's not work," I said.
Tasha coughed. "You work past sunset?"
I chuckled but bit the inside of my cheek when I saw the message from Berger. He and the guys were out in San Francisco and my absence was a major topic of conversation. Berger had called my assistant and heard all about my day in the East Bay. With Tasha. The messages then devolved to the current odds on me bedding the Ice Queen and a list of suggestions for if I managed to get the chance.
I had to send out a message reminding Berger of my interior designer. Then I realized he might know Sheila. I swore at my phone and then turned it off.
When I rejoined Tasha on the couch, the fire was warm, but her expression was cool. Even though the couch was a jumble of cushions, her clothes were wrinkled, and her hair was still a seductive riot, Tasha looked prim. Her plate was balanced on top of where her knees pressed tightly together. She pretended to eat as if nothing was wrong, but I knew the magic glow was gone.
"Speaking of work—" she started to say.
I groaned and cut her off. "No. You're not going to do that. Can't we just finish dinner? Maybe have another glass of wine?"
"But you have to drive back to the city tonight," Tasha said.
I lost my appetite and left my plate untouched. "I can always call a cab."
Tasha put her plate on the coffee table and swept her hair back over her shoulders. I caught her hand before she could twist her hair into a neat bun. She froze at my touch and then firmly pulled her hand free.
"It's always better to catch Stan early in the morning, especially with a progress report. He'll be in a better mood the earlier we catch him," Tasha said.
"You're setting an early meeting?" I asked.
Tasha fumbled under the couch and found where her phone had fallen. "I think it's best, don't you? We need to measure our campaign inch by inch so we don't waste more resources."
I watched her type the email to Stan while I pulled on my shirt. "I'll just be going then."
Tasha walked me to the door of her condo and I held my breath before I stepped outside. I wanted her to grab my arm; she wouldn't even have to pull me back. Instead, she kept both hands flat on the door, her body pressed against it like it was a shield. That empty want stretched out as I waited a few more seconds, but nothing happened.
I felt that hollowness even after I crossed the Bay Bridge and drove towards Presidio Heights. I blared the horn and cut around slow tourists, revving my sports
car past sane speed limits. I liked hearing the tires scream as I took off from red lights, jumping ahead of traffic so I was out on my own.
A speeding ticket would have been the perfect punctuation to the night. I had gone too fast and screwed everything up. That moment, that mushroom cloud of passion, was still reverberating, but now it was a permanent black mark on my record with Tasha. Had she thrown me out to protect herself or had I just been used as a one-night stand?
I couldn't imagine Tasha being so stupid as to choose an officemate for casual sex. Only I was that idiotic.
The thought that Tasha had shut me out in order to protect herself lit up the rest of my drive. My neighborhood was dark, the majority of the mansions empty and silent. All the other occupants were off on exotic vacations or living the good life in some other corner of the world. I imagined some of them, energetic couples, happy families, all somewhere warmer, brighter.
I left the sports car in my driveway and walked around back onto my deck to watch the cool fog. San Francisco was shrouded in fog, the ocean view an undulating mass of eerie gray.
Tasha's neighborhood was still clear and bright. She'd said the fog never reached her hilly street. The thought twisted in my chest. I shouldn't have left. I should have stayed and made her glad that I was there.
I kicked the deck railing and turned to let myself into my echoing mansion. I imagined Tasha still cozy in front of the fire, sipping her wine.
I snorted to myself. "Probably in pajamas that button all the way up to the top. Or she's already in bed with her outfit for the morning all laid out proper."