“What about a change of clothes?” she asked, rising to her feet and massaging her knees. She had little indentations all over the skin of her knees, from the carpet.
“I bought a few outfits for you yesterday—they’re in the closet to your right. And in this dresser,” he turned and extended his hand toward a dark brown bureau, “you’ll find panties, socks, some t-shirts and so forth.”
She smiled and thanked him, but he wouldn’t look at her—at least, not the way he had before this latest sexual interlude.
“Is everything okay?” she asked him.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, looking away. “When you’re done with your shower, I’ll be in the study.” Red pointed through the doorway. “Just through that hall, and then to the left.”
“Okay.” She nodded, suddenly wanting to cry. She bit her bottom lip.
He turned and left the room without looking back.
What happened just now? She thought, walking as if in a daze. She found a kind of summery dress that she liked in the closet. It was strange thinking that Red had bought these clothes for her to wear—or more likely, paid someone else to do it—as if he’d planned everything down to the last detail.
Had he known a week ago that he was going to do this to her, put her in handcuffs, spank her with that thing, and then have her give him oral on her knees?
Nicole had a strange, sick feeling in her stomach as she went into the master bathroom. Of course it was incredible inside, as big or bigger than the apartment she shared with Danielle. Marble floors, a sauna, a soaking tub with jets, and a large, glass enclosed shower.
She got in the shower and cleaned herself off. When she got out, she noticed that there was a toothbrush encased in plastic, clearly left for her. She opened it and brushed her teeth, changed into the light summer dress, put her hair up in a ponytail.
Nicole made her way to the study—more of a library, really. It had bookcases stretching from one end of the room to the other, filled with hundreds if not thousands of books. There were some comfy chairs where it seemed someone would sit with pipe in hand, smoke and read for hours on end.
Red was sitting in one such chair, near one of the windows, a glass in hand. There was a light amber liquid in the glass, about a third full. His face was drawn and distant as he looked outside into the darkness.
“Hi,” she said, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her briefly and smiled, then returned to staring out the window.
She walked to the bookshelves and began perusing them. They seemed to be alphabetized by the author’s name, rather than subject matter. There were biographies side by side with legal textbooks, next to thrillers written by John Grisham and Stephen King.
“Have you read all of these?” Nicole asked, pulling down a book called The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. She’d heard of it before, but never read it.
Red looked over and saw the book she’d taken down, and the ghost of a smile came to his lips. “All war is deception,” he said.
She flipped through some of the pages. One block of text popped out at her. It said:
Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.
“You read this book I bet,” she said, holding it up.
Red shrugged. “It’s required reading for military strategists and advertising executives.”
“And for lovers?”
He raised the glass to his lips and gulped the amber liquid down, set the glass on the small table next to his chair. “I prefer my lovers to be more concerned with matters of the heart than tactics of war.”
“So that they’re more easily defeated?” she said.
He looked at her again, and now his eyes were burning with new intensity. “Is that what you think of me?”
She riffled the book’s pages and leaned against the wall in front of him. “I don’t know what to think of you right now.”
“I’m the same person I was an hour ago.”
“Are you?”
He laughed hollowly. “Last I checked.”
“You seem different to me.”
He looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were different with me tonight,” she said, her chest tightening with anxiety. “You were rougher with me than usual.”
He grimaced, his hand toying with the nearly empty glass by his side. “I didn’t realize it,” he sighed. “Maybe I was. I can be a little unpredictable when I’m feeling stressed.”
She looked at the Art of War book once more. “You’re stressed?” she said, flipping through the pages, thinking about war and manipulation and deceit. “I wish you’d told me.”
Red looked at her, and his eyes were cold. “Don’t play head games with me, Nicole.”
Startled, she immediately became defensive. “How am I the one playing games? You had me blindfolded, handcuffed, making up new rules…”