Chapter 11
Claire
I wasn’t sure why I called Jonathan to let him know I was at home. A part of me was furious about what he’d done to me in that bathroom, but another part of me—a part I couldn’t explain, was happy that he’d showed up and interrupted my night.
As he steered his Bugatti through the city and past the suburbs, I sat back in my seat and wondered when he was going to start talking. He hadn’t uttered a word since he’d picked me up, and he hadn’t looked over at me once.
Why do I even care? I’m not supposed to like him...
He sped through the sandy lanes of Ocean Beach, way past the familiar common areas that I was used to going to. There were no more lampposts or sparkling sand lights that helped lead the way along the shore. There was nothing but darkness and the pale glow of the moon from above.
After what felt like forever, he pulled in front of a massive wooden house and turned off the car.
He stepped out without saying a word, and then he walked over to my side and opened the door.
He reached for my hand and led me up the porch’s steps, pressing a few buttons on a keypad. As his finger tapped the last key, the door slowly opened and he pulled me inside.
My jaw dropped as soon as I stepped forward. The vaulted ceilings were at least fifty feet high and they were made of black glass. There were paintings by Renoir and Amadeo—the originals, gently tucked in their own gilded frames that hung high. The room was filled with earth-toned furniture—soft brown sofas, emerald green chaises, and bronze accent pieces, that all reflected against the windows on the back wall.
This is beautiful...
“Take off your shoes,” he ordered.
I slipped out of my flats and followed him into a kitchen so grand I wasn’t sure if it was real. It reminded me of the royal British kitchens I’d seen in Architectural Digest, the kitchens I would’ve killed to visit someday.
He motioned for me to sit down on one of the silver barstools and then he switched on the stove.
He turned his back to me and began preparing food—never once looking over his shoulder or saying anything to me. He took his time measuring different oils and sautéing meat, shaking his head every few minutes.
While he was chopping vegetables, I looked at my watch and realized an hour had gone by since we’d made it to the house.
“Here.” He turned around and slid me a plate of chicken, potatoes, and salad. “I didn’t see you eat much on your date.”
“Thank you...”
We ate dinner in complete silence; the sound of forks scraping against the plates was the only noise between us. I looked up at him several times, trying to see if he would look back, but he didn’t; he kept his eyes on his food the entire time.
When he saw that my plate was empty, he grabbed it and tossed it into the sink. He put on his jacket and walked to the frosted glass door that was across the room.
“Come here, Claire.” His voice sounded neutral, but there was still a look of coldness in his eyes.
I took my time walking over to him and he wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders. He opened the door and I realized the Pacific Ocean was only a few feet away.
I thought we were going to walk along the beach since I was still barefoot, but he led me onto a beautiful black yacht that was docked nearby. He helped me up the steps, and signaled for a man—
who appeared out of nowhere, to start the ship.
He started tugging me through all types of elegant rooms—tea room, sun room, living room, Jacuzzi room—and then he suddenly stopped.
He turned around and stared at me, looked at me long and hard, as if he were contemplating what he wanted to do—what he wanted to say.
“I don’t like being lied to.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, pressing himself so tightly against me that I could feel his erection through his pants.
He possessed my mouth with his tongue, hardly ever giving me a chance to breathe—instantly turning me on.
I knew he was upset, but I wanted to feel him inside of me again. I wanted him to take me right then and there so I reached down to unbutton his pants, but he broke off our kiss.
“Why did you do that?” He snarled.
“What?” I panted. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t give me any f*cking sarcasm...”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t stutter.” He pulled me down onto a couch. “Why were you on a date with that doctor?”
“It wasn’t by choice...” I leaned back and touched my swollen lips. “My mom set me up... I showed up to her house ready to go to the opera, but she told me she’d set me up on a date with him.”
“But someone like him is who you want to date, right?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Someone your age or older?”
“Yes...”
“Explain that to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Explain why you feel that dating someone your age or older is what’s best for you. Better yet, just tell me why I’m not good enough, because that’s clearly how you feel.”
“It’s not that you’re not good enough, it’s just that...” I saw him clenching his jaw. “Whenever I do decide to date again, I want to date someone with a little more life experience—someone who didn’t have everything handed to him, you know? Someone who knows what it’s like to love and lose and someone who would go out of his way to make sure neither of us felt that again...”
“And because he’s older with life experience, that means he’ll treat you right?”
“There’s a greater chance of that. Yes.”
“For the record, I didn’t have anything handed to me. Believe it or not, I had to work for every dime that I have. I know exactly what it’s like to love and lose, and I would never ever hurt you. If you—”
“You never had anything handed to you?” I scoffed. “Have you read your bio in the company handbook lately? You were born and raised in an upper class Boston family and you went to an expensive prep school— Phillips Exeter Academy, in New Hampshire. And you and your—”
“All of that shit is a lie, Claire.” He hissed. “I had my best friend, who happens to be my security director, make up a past for me. I even paid Phillips Exeter to create an old transcript and Photoshop my face into old yearbooks...I didn’t think trailer trash kid with meth-head parents who almost killed their own kids sounded very inspiring.”
What?
My mind went blank. All these weeks I’d been trying to come up with excuses to use should this very conversation ever happen, but his lack of life experience was one of my biggest ones.
“I’m...I’m so sorry about your parents, Jonathan. I didn’t know...But still, it’s only a matter of time before you find someone your age or younger and you’ll want to date her—which is perfectly normal and understandable. I mean, the past couple months have been fun, but I honestly think you’re going through a MILF phase.”
“A MILF phase?”
“Yes. Mother [You’d] Like to F*ck. I don’t think that—”
“First of all, I’ve already f*cked you— numerous times, so consider that point null and void.
Second of all, I’ve told you over and over that I don’t give a damn about your age. I don’t know how else I can make that fact any clearer. What do you want me to do? Send out a company memo about it?”
“I just don’t want you to think that you and I could ever have something serious...I know you say you don’t care about the age gap now, but that’ll change with time. It always does...And while I’m extremely flattered by your little crush—”
“Jesus.” He balled his fists at his side and glared at me. “I like you, Claire. Point blank. Period.
From the moment I saw you at Pacific Bay Lounge on New Year’s Eve, I was captivated by you and I’ve never been this drawn to a woman in my life. I’m not hung up on your age at all. You are. All I see is a beautiful and intriguing woman who is hell bent on frustrating the shit out of me. If I thought you weren’t interested, or if you would have convincingly told me that all you wanted me for was sex, I would have left it alone. But, since neither of those things have happened, just admit that you like me and say that you want to date me because I know deep down you want to.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I just sat there, blinking at him, trying to process everything he’d said. I didn’t remember ever seeing him at Pacific Bay Lounge. I thought our first encounter was at the grocery store.
I put on my best poker face and sighed. “It’s—”
“It’s not that difficult. I’m not asking for your heart or anything. I’m just trying to get to know you better in other ways... Just say, ‘I like you Jonathan and I want to date you.’ That’s it.”
“I think that—”
“I like you, Jonathan, and I want to date you.” He fumed.
“What’s the difference between what we’re doing now and dating? Public dinners? Movie nights?”
“Admit that you like me and I’ll show you.”
“And if I don’t admit it?”
“We’ll keep sailing out here until you do. I’ve got all year.” Just say it...
“I’ll think about it.”
“Close enough.” He pulled me close and draped his arm around my shoulders. “Was that so hard to say?”
“I didn’t say anything. I said I would think about it.”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about, but not here. Lunch on Monday?”
“Together?”
“Yes. When two people are dating, they typically eat together.”
“I still don’t want people at work knowing that—”
“I’ve been eating lunch with a different director every day for a month now. No one is going to suspect anything. They’ll think I’m having another business lunch.” I sighed. “Okay...”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, there’s one thing I’ve wanted to do to you all night.” He moved his arm from around my shoulders and held my face in his hands.
He looked deep into my eyes and I braced myself for another passionate kiss—closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Then I felt him ripping off my Batman Band-Aid.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a different Band-Aid, a clear one, and softly pressed it onto my hand.
“No grown man should be carrying around Batman Band-Aids.” He pushed me down onto the couch.
“Seriously? Are you that insane?”
He covered my lips with his. “You have no idea...” I was sitting in my office, listening to one of my associates present his idea for the s Tablet. It was conversations like this that made me wish the Golden Gate Bridge was closer so I could run out there and jump off of it.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Travis asked. “With this idea we can capture our lowest demographic market of kids between the ages of ten and twelve. We’ll be forcing their parents to run out and buy one!” He held up his board and pointed at the colorful clowns.
“Travis...” I sighed. “Our target market for this product is adults aged twenty-five to thirty four.
I’m not sure if—”
“No, wait! I haven’t told you the best part yet! The magical clowns are delivering all these cool s Tablets to the kids after school, right? So, once the kids get them in their hands, the clowns start shouting, “Use your imagination!” and the kids suddenly disappear! ‘ sTablet...It’s Magic!’ See?
Awesome, right?”
I refuse to deal with this today...
“Get out of my office. Now.”
“But—”
“Right now.”
He gathered his boards and rushed out, slamming the door behind him.
“I’ll be down to your office in ten minutes so we can finish our conversation from Saturday.” Jonathan texted me.
I looked over my schedule for the day and realized I had to sit through eight more associate presentations. I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to do it. Although Travis’ idea was a bit far-fetched, his was actually the best one of the day.
I slipped my comfy slippers off under my desk and reached for my pumps. I had a feeling I was in for a long conversation with Jonathan today. We’d discussed a few things about dating each other—
exclusivity, keeping it private, and not rushing things—but the conversation had been cut short with sex.
There was a sudden knock at my door.
“Come in!” I was still changing my shoes. “I thought you said ten min—” I looked up and realized that it wasn’t Jonathan knocking at my door. It was Michael.
I stood up and smoothed my dress. “Um...Hi?”
“Hello, Claire. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.” He walked in and handed me a fresh bouquet of yellow roses. “I was delivering some prescriptions to the nursing home down the street and I remembered that you worked here. Since you were sick Saturday and had to go home early, I was thinking we could try it again? How does this Friday work for you?” Shit...
“Umm...”
“No seafood. I promise.” He laughed. “You can pick the restaurant and I’ll bring my epi-pen just in case you break out in hives or something.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds very very sweet of you, but I...Actually, I’m kind of—”
“Are you—” Jonathan walked into my office and stopped. He looked back and forth between me and Michael and his lips curved into a forced smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Gracen. And you are?” He looked at Michael.
“I’m Dr. Michael Clarkson,” he said, reaching out to shake his hand. “And yourself?”
“I’m Jonathan Statham.”
His eyes widened. “The Jonathan Statham? Of Statham Industries? The CEO?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry if I was intruding on a meeting or something, Claire.” Michael smiled. “I just wanted to stop by and see you.” He looked me up and down. “You look stunning by the way...I don’t think there’s a dress that wouldn’t look good on you.”
“You’re not interrupting anything.” Jonathan shook his head. “It’s perfectly fine, Dr. Clarkson. I take a different director out for lunch every day and it’s a completely laid back affair. We were about to eat at Water Bistro Café. Its two blocks down. Would you like to join us? Everything is on me.” WHAT?
“Sure, I’d love to. I have to make one more home visit, but it’s relatively close. Will you still be there in about twenty minutes or so?”
“Definitely.” Jonathan smiled.
“Great.” Michael stepped forward and planted a kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you there, Claire.” Out the corner of my eye I saw Jonathan’s jaw clench as Michael placed two more kisses against my cheek.
“It’s not what you think.” I looked up at him once Michael left the room. “I swear, it’s not.”
“Oh really? What am I thinking?”
“Whatever it is, it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Are you going to put your pretty new roses in some water?” He looked at my flowers. “The good doctor went through a lot of trouble to bring them so you should probably try to keep them alive.”
“I’ll do it when I get back...”
“Okay.” He unclenched his jaw. “Are you ready to go?”
Jonathan and I took the employee shuttle down to the Water Bistro Café. Most of the employees who were on board seemed excited to see him, and just like he’d mentioned earlier, they seemed to think it was only a business lunch; they even joked about needing his help in their own departments.
Once the bus stopped, he allowed me to step off before him, and linked my arm in his.
We didn’t stop by the hostess stand; we simply made a left and walked upstairs, to a large private room with a view of the ocean.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Statham.” A waitress showed us to the only table in the room—a high table with tall silver chairs that sat next to the window. “Are there any other persons joining your party today?”
“Yes, a Dr. Clarkson.” He ushered for me to sit down. “Could you make sure his valet parking is made complimentary when he arrives?”
“Yes sir. Shall I wait until he arrives to take your order?”
“That’d be fine. Could you bring us the chef’s suggested wine while we wait?”
“Right away.” She placed three menus on the table and disappeared.
“So,” Jonathan said as he sat down next to me, “how are the ideas coming for the s Tablet?”
“Cut the crap, Jonathan. I know you’re upset about Michael dropping by my office today. Aren’t you?”
“Why would I be upset?”
I don’t know... “Never mind...” I shook my head. “I just thought you were the jealous type...I apologize for thinking that... I think the s Tablet is going to be even harder than the s Phone.
“Why is that?”
“Because ‘ s Tablet’ doesn’t rhyme with anything.” He laughed. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something amazing.” The waiter returned with a tray of wine glasses and Michael was a few steps behind her.
“This is a really nice restaurant.” He sat down across from us. “Is there a reason why the tables are so high?”
“It’s a water bistro.” The waitress smiled and passed him a glass of wine. “All of our food is steamed and served on floating plates of hot water. The height of the table and the grooves on the edges prevent our guests from burning themselves.” She blushed.
“Oh...What do you suggest I try first, Mr. Statham?”
“Please, call me Jonathan.” He smiled and turned his head towards the waitress. “How about giving us all a sample of everything?”
“As you wish sir.” She collected our menus and stole one more glance of Michael before walking away.
The three of us took short sips of our wine and sat in complete silence before Jonathan cleared his throat. “So Michael, what hospital do you work for?”
“None. I have my own practice downtown. It’s relatively small though, only three doctors and five nurses.”
“What’s your specialty?”
Michael’s eyes met mine. “Women.”
“Interesting...” Jonathan reached over and put his hand on my thigh. “What made you choose that?”
“Well, no disrespect to the Children’s Hospital—I worked there for over a decade, but my true talent,” he said as his eyes met mine again, “has always been working with the female anatomy.” I picked up my wine glass and practically chugged the whole thing. I tried to clamp my legs shut, but Jonathan had already slipped his hand between my thighs.
He wouldn’t dare do this here...
“Hmmm...” Jonathan nodded. “This may seem like an odd question, but do any of your patients ever ask you out?”
He laughed. “Yes, but I always turn them down. It’d be inappropriate.”
“Completely inappropriate.” I felt Jonathan’s thumb circling around my *.
“Except in your case, Claire.” Michael beamed at me. “If it had been you and not your mom, I’m sure I would’ve broken the rules for you...”
“You two are dating?” Jonathan smiled and looked back and forth between the two of us, teasing my opening with his middle finger.
Before Michael could answer, a group of waitresses brought out a series of plates. Each entrée was floating atop its own silver bed of steaming hot water.
“I had the chef make a miniature version of every signature item,” our waitress said as she refilled our glasses. “He wishes to speak with you personally after your meal, Mr. Statham. I’ll return to check on all of you rather shortly.”
I looked over a small plate of brightly skewered vegetables and sautéed chicken. I was about to pick up my fork and taste a piece, but Jonathan drove two fingers deep inside of me, pinning me completely still.
“This looks amazing.” Michael picked up his spoon. “So Jonathan, I’m sure it must be great being the CEO of your own company. What’s the most difficult part?” I couldn’t concentrate on the conversation–not with Jonathan sliding his thick fingers in and out of me—slowly, teasingly—like he was going to prolong this session forever.
“The hardest part?” He used his left hand to pick up his fork, keeping his right hand extremely busy. “That would probably be a product’s development stage.”
“Really? I would think that would be the easiest part.”
“No, not at all.” He shook his head. “Let’s say you have this beautiful and amazing product—
something you know everyone else will want. You have to figure out a way to keep it to yourself throughout all stages of development before it becomes official. You know, mark your territory so to speak.” His fingers were rubbing against my G-spot, making my breaths shorter and shorter.
“So quite naturally,” he continued, “you have to be willing to take certain public risks.”
“Isn’t your company about to go public in a few months?” Michael asked. “Is that a risk?”
“Yes, it’s a huge risk.” Jonathan’s fingers plunged as deep as they could go. “But, I’m all in and I can’t turn back...Once I’m in deep, the only option is to go deeper and deeper. Isn’t that right, Claire?”
Son of a bitch...
I nodded.
“Are you okay, Claire?” Michael looked concerned. “Did your food go down the wrong way again?”
Jonathan turned to look at me. “Yes, Claire. You’re confusing the two of us...Do you not like the water plates?”
“I’m okay...” I murmured and attempted to pick up a fork. “I’m just...” I felt his fingers punishing me again. “Feeling a tad bit weak...”
Michael shrugged and took another bite of his food.
The waitress stopped by and cleared away the empty glasses, providing us with freshly filled ones.
Before she walked away, Jonathan grabbed her by the arm. “I’m sorry, but could you bring some more hot water for our friend here?” He looked at me. “I think she likes her tier plate extra wet.
Maybe that will help you better, Claire.”
“Could I get some too?” Michael spooned butter onto a slice of bread. “Claire, you’ve been quiet all afternoon. How’s your day going so far?”
“It’s going...” I was on the verge of an orgasm—I could feel my * throbbing, my insides clenching together tightly. Since Jonathan knew exactly what spot to hit and how to hit it, I knew I was only seconds away from a sweet release. “It’s...”
Jonathan turned to face me and smirked. “It’s going well? Is that what you’re trying to say? Do you need help spitting it out, or are you almost there?” F*ck you, Jonathan...
I nodded and tucked my lips in, trying to remain as still as possible as wave after wave of pulsing pleasure rippled through my body.
“Claire? You sure you don’t want to get that checked out?” Michael sipped his wine. “I know a specialist you can use.”
“No...” I caught my breath. “I’m okay and my day is going very well...” He suddenly stood up from the table. “This is an emergency page from one of my nurses. I’m sorry, but I have to take this.” He walked out of the room.
“You should try the steak strips, Claire.” Jonathan smiled and removed his fingers. “They’re very succulent.”
He IS insane! “I can’t believe you! You are so—I don’t even know what you are! Why would you do that in front of him?”
“Would you prefer if I did it behind him? When he comes back, we can move the table around and try it. Maybe then I won’t have to deal with him eye-f*cking you.”
“He was not! He was being extremely polite! Was that the only reason you invited him? So you could further inflate your ego?”
“No, I did that because you lied to me about the directors’ meeting a few weeks ago.” He laughed.
“You didn’t think I forgot about that did you?”
I rolled my eyes. “So you’re really not mad about today?”
“Mad? About today? About the guy I told you to get rid of showing up to your office with flowers because he thinks he still has a chance? Or about this same guy kissing you on your lips right in front of me? Which part?”
“I told you it wasn’t—”
“Tell him you’re not interested or I will.” He planted a kiss on my neck and stood up. “I’ll go talk to the chef and see you back at corporate later...Oh and Claire?”
“Yes?”
“I am the jealous type.”