Chapter Thirteen
Over the next month, Bryan was true to his cautious word in the movie theater. Wilco attacked Made Here and Bryan’s board with spurious claims, so Bryan didn’t leave a shred of evidence electronically about us. We didn’t email, we didn’t text, we didn’t leave any paper trails. Nor was there any evidence that could have been captured photographically because we hadn’t touched each other.
We had, however, engaged in many delicious encounters. We’d had sex in a limo, on the beach, in the stall of one of those sleek silver and black bathrooms at clubs after we’d danced pressed against each other to pounding music. We’d done it in a hotel room, in the shower, on an airplane. I’d been on my hands and knees for him, I’d ridden him, I’d taken him in my mouth.
Even though I hadn’t.
We were make-believe lovers, and we’d gone there in our fantasies, in our late-night conversations with phones pressed to ears turned red and throbbing. With breathless words, and longing, and so many sighs and moans. I knew now what Bryan sounded like when he came. I knew the way his breathing intensified, the way he said my name. I knew when he was close, and I craved so much to have my hands on him, body pressed to his, legs wrapped around him.
He knew too exactly how I liked it. How sometimes I wanted to be taken, pinned down by my wrists, spread, powerless, and filled up. How other times I wanted to be in charge, to set the rules, to tell him what to do, when and how.
When I saw him at his office for the mentor-protege time, we pretended we were good boys and girls who hadn’t said those things. One afternoon, I joined him and his team for an operational meeting in the conference room to discuss the supply chain plans for the upcoming quarter, and I practiced the fine art of restraint as I kept my gaze on my notes the whole time. Only once, did I meet his eyes, and when I did I saw as much desire in his as I felt. But the specter of his conservative board as well as the lawsuit hung over us, so I shelved all my dirty ideas, especially since we had an appointment at Professor Oliver’s office that same day for a mid-term check-in.
He pulled three chairs into a circle, and Bryan and I sat next to each other, inches apart, eyes on Oliver the whole time.
“Ms. Harper, tell me about the business challenges that you’ve weighed in on at Made Here.”
“I’ve been able to devise solutions for some of the supply chain complications that have arisen, from new timeframes to replacement suppliers,” I said, and then shared more of the details of the projects we’d worked on.
Bryan jumped in. “I can’t underestimate the value of this input, Professor. For instance, Ms. Harper’s swift and well-researched recommendation for a new vendor singlehandedly allowed us to stay on track with one of our key accounts.”
Professor Oliver beamed, then asked more questions we took turns answering. When the meeting was done, Bryan and I left together, getting a kick out of having pulled it off. As we hit the street his phone buzzed. “It’s Caldwell. I just need to answer this quickly.”
He stepped a few feet away, and as I reached for my phone to check messages, I nearly bumped into a curly-haired man wearing sunglasses and a long coat.
“Excuse me,” I said and glanced quickly at the man. His face was unremarkable. He was a standard sort of average-looking guy, but something felt familiar about him. I flipped through images in my mind, and finally settled on one – a photo I’d seen alongside the article Made Here Business Partner Ousted by Board Following Affair.
Was this Wilco?
I stiffened, recalling Bryan’s words. He’s hunting out dirt.
The man turned away, muttering something that sounded like a hiss, then swiftly walked down the street into midday crowds.
“Hey!” I called out, but I wasn’t sure what to say or do next. I was frozen momentarily, tense all over. Then I relaxed my shoulders, telling myself that the guy was probably was just some random fellow who happened to look like Wilco. After all, Wilco looked like every other ordinary guy. My nervous mind was playing tricks on me. That was all.
“Everything okay?” Bryan asked when his call ended.
“Yeah. I saw someone who I thought looked familiar. But it wasn’t anyone after all.” I didn’t need to add to his worry, especially since we’d been playing it so safe.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
But I wasn’t entirely sure. I was quite certain though that we needed to continue being careful, especially when I searched for Wilco online again that evening. I studied his headshot closely, at the image of Wilco looking professional and proper in a suit and tie. Maybe my mind was still fooling me, but I couldn’t be sure if Wilco was the man I’d seen today. I clicked over to his Facebook page to hunt for less posed photos, but didn’t find any. What I did find, however, was another reminder to stay above reproach. Wilco’s status update was one line: Things I hate – hypocrites.
I shut the page quickly, as if someone or something might jump out of the browser and attack. I pressed my thumb and index finger against the bridge of my nose. I needed to get Wilco and his hostility out of my head, where he was lurking. I reached for my eReader and settled into my couch for a much needed escape into a story of a young woman with a tragic past who falls for a sexy Scotsman.
Yes, mind-blowing sex had a way of erasing all the bad.
*****
Later that night, Bryan called and asked what I’d been thinking about during the meeting.
“The one with my professor?”
He laughed. “No. The one in my conference room when you gave me this look as if you were doing very naughty things to me with your mouth.”
“Oh, you caught on?”
“Of course. So tell me.”
“I was imagining crawling under the conference room table and going down on you while you asked your team for supply chain recommendations.”
“Whoa.”
“You asked. I answer.”
“Oh, I like that answer a lot. Tell me more.”
“I thought I’d start as some of your guys were presenting slides on their picks for the next quarter. I’d casually drop a pen under the table, and no one would notice me as I bent down to pick it up. Then I’d make my way on my hands and knees to the head of the table.”
“What would you do then?”
“I’d touch your legs, and you’d be startled for just a second because you hadn’t realized I was under the table.”
“Ah, a surprise visit.”
“But you’d compose yourself quickly and appear to be listening attentively as I made my way up your legs, and to your zipper, and you’d be instantly hard knowing why I was there.”
“I’m pretty much instantly hard with you just in the room. Or talking to you. Or thinking about you. So, yeah, all the time.”
I laughed once because I liked the sentiment. “And you’d do everything to stifle a little moan as I felt how much you wanted me right then and there.”
“I’d be such a great actor I’d get an award.”
“But, I’m a considerate woman. I wouldn’t want to make things too difficult for you during a meeting, so I’d make quick work of you. I’d unzip your pants quietly, and inch down your boxer briefs so I could free you.”
“Mmmm.”
“And you’d appear to be listening to your team, as I ran my hand over you, feeling how hard you are and how much you wanted me to be touching you. You’d move nearer to me under the table and I’d answer by tracing a tongue up and down, teasing you with little flickers so much you’d want to growl.”
“Instead, I’d put my hands under the table and bring you closer.”
“And that would be my cue to take you in my mouth. So I’d wrap my lips around you, somehow smiling wickedly at how rock hard you are.”
“Like steel, baby.”
“Of course. And you’d taste so good to me as I took you all the way in.”
“And I’d grab your hair. I’d want to have you as deep as you could be.”
“It wouldn’t take you long since you were already so turned on.”
“Because I was watching you during the meeting, thinking about how low your shirt was, and how much I wanted to take it off.”
“And I’d taste you, and you’d grip me even harder, and I’d know you were going to come very soon.”
“I’d have to be very quiet, so no one knew that I’d never enjoyed a meeting more than this one.”
“This would totally be your best meeting ever, as I took you all the way in my mouth, and traced my tongue across you as my lips held you tight, and then you grabbed my hair even harder as you came in my mouth.”
Then he did, calling out my name as I were the best thing he’d ever felt.
He tasted spectacular in my imagination.