Taunt Me (Rough Love 2)

We still hadn’t gone to his apartment, and I didn’t ask to go. I sensed a continuing preference to hold me at arm’s length. It wasn’t about privacy now, as it had been in the escort days, but about personal space. He insisted that we shouldn’t get too close, that a relationship with him would be bad for me. I remembered how he’d turned me inside out last time I’d fallen under his spell, and agreed that a relationship was off the table for now.

Still, I asked him for poetry, and he humored my requests. He left verses on my bedside table, whispered poems to me, and sometimes scrawled them on my body where they wouldn’t show. Andrew said I should demand more, but he was young and naïve, and trying to be a caring friend. He didn’t understand our history, and how anxious I was to avoid heartache. In the end, I understood that our thing was just about sex and release.

And design.

Price had a fertile mind for design, just as he had a fertile mind for perversity. I’d learned a lot from him over the course of my internship. I’d learned that the same principles for beauty and utility applied whether you were designing an eighty-story building or a bracelet. I’d learned about tempering vision with collaboration, creating with serenity, and keeping your cool when nothing was working. There’s always a way, he told me over and over. Don’t let people tell you no. His words inspired me to try designs that people like Cantor used to discourage, designs that were avant-garde, asymmetrical, or excessively delicate.

“Chere?”

I looked up from my most recent sketches. Price was at his desk, leaning back in his chair. He crooked a finger at me. “Come hither.”

I went to stand beside him, and followed his pointing finger to an open email from Norton.

“I have to submit a formal evaluation of your work during this internship,” he said.

“Oh. Yes. I need that to graduate.” I frowned at the questionnaire, thinking how supremely silly it was for him to have to do this, and how supremely hard he was going to make me suffer for it.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” he said. “We’ll work on it together.”

His idea of having a seat was for me to sit on his lap. He hooked an arm around my waist and he pulled me against him as I glanced at the door. We were supposed to keep things professional at the office. That was what we’d agreed upon after we’d returned from Oslo, that we’d keep a dividing line between business and sex. When I tried to stand up, he pulled me down again.

“Sit.”

“What if someone—”

His fingers untucked my blouse and tightened against my skin. I squirmed in self-protection.

“Don’t pinch me. Ouch!”

“Hush and be still.”

He read the first question, running his fingers over the bit of skin he’d just tortured. I had no doubt he’d do it again if I tried to get up.

“Let’s see. Did you find the candidate cooperative and well-mannered? Not always,” he said, giving me a look.

“What? I’m cooperative and well-mannered.”

“Yes, when it fucking suits you.”

I glared at him. He stifled a smile and typed Yes.

He went on to award me high marks for punctuality, appearance, and professionalism, while he muttered under his breath that professionalism could be overrated. I laughed at his snarky commentary, and his arm tightened around me until it almost felt like a hug. Don’t fall for him. Don’t. Sometimes he made it really hard not to fall for him. Sometimes he was sweet and playful, like this. It never lasted. Nothing between us would ever be lasting and I had to remember that.

I sobered as he answered questions about my level of design capability and my willingness to learn. He wrote that I was detail oriented and ambitious, and a pleasure to have in the office.

A pleasure to have in the office. I knew that wording was intentional, just as I knew his thigh working itself between my legs was intentional.

“What strengths did this candidate display in the course of the internship?” he read next. He thought a moment. “Flexibility, for sure. Patience. Horniness,” he said, running a hand over my breasts.

I waited. He didn’t type any of those things. He typed this:

Ms. Rouzier exhibited an immense number of talents under my purview.

I expected him to start listing sex acts. He didn’t.

From the first day, he typed, the candidate exuded an unwavering focus and willingness to learn. I found her to be an articulate and thoughtful designer, and I was constantly surprised by her attention to detail. Her creativity will serve her well in future endeavors, but her determination is her greatest asset. He paused a moment, typed a few letters, backspaced, and typed again. Ms. Rouzier is ready for whatever her future holds.