Hot Water (13 page)

A few moments of silence pass, where he stares at his phone. Finally, he looks up and clears his throat. “I don’t talk about my personal life with co-workers,” he says, looking straight ahead. “But to clarify . . . things with my fiancée are . . . complicated.”

I groan inwardly, biting back the response that immediately springs to my head:
Well, I suppose “complicated” just happens when you attempt to screw around with a girl who isn’t your fiancée during your bachelor party
. “Okay,” I say, hoping he won’t elaborate.

He doesn’t. We arrive at the building. It’s beautiful and posh. He stops at the front desk and everyone there practically genuflects and kisses his hand, they love him so much. He retrieves a key card, which he hands to me. “For you,” he says.

I walk toward the bank of elevators, expecting him to get back into the limo. Instead, he follows me. “Where . . . where are you going?”

He presses the up button on the elevator. “You’re floor 22.”

Okay, I think, but what is he? He’s like a fungus. I just want him to go, to leave, and yet he steps into the elevator with me. Its walls are polished bronze, like mirrors, and I can see his reflection in the door. He’s tall, formidable, confident, and in that suit, he looks like he owns the world. I look so small, silly and immature next to him. I can’t be in a closed space with him without my knees giving way. The elevator climbs in silence, opening on the twenty-second floor. By then, I’m about to go mad, wondering what he’ll say to me when we finally say goodbye.

But it’s nothing epic. Just, “Have a good night. See you tomorrow. ”

Of course. Why would I expect more? I nod and step out, as the elevator doors start to close.

“Oh, and Miss Chase?” he says. I turn to face him, those beautiful, sexy, eyes of his staring intensely at me, the way they had in my dream. As I’m cringing, he says, “You should expect to stay late tomorrow as well. We have much to do.”

#

The company apartment is way nicer than my apartment in Metuchen, and much bigger. I should be able to relax, spread myself out, and wind down.

But even though it’s nearly two in the morning, knowing that Caden is somewhere in the same building, I’m anything but wound down.

I suppose he must live here. I wonder what he is doing right now. Maybe he’s stripping down, naked, ready to take a shower and wash all of the “long day” from his body. Maybe he’s thinking about me. That’s stupid. Likely, he’s “making it up” to Andrea, like he’d said in his phone conversation. I can’t help thinking that involves sex, and picture them together again in the way I’d dreamed.

Alone in the apartment, I find disposable toothbrushes and small tubes of toothpaste and bars of soap. I’m brushing my teeth when I suddenly look through the mirror, at the dark, vast room with the king-size bed, and feel the first thrill of freedom. I’ve never been in such nice surroundings, but what’s more . . . I’ve never had a place completely to myself before.

I put the toothbrush down and then turn on the television as loud as I want. Then, looking in the mirror, I strip, checking my curves in the full-length mirror. I think I have an okay body, athletic but not too muscular.

 I put on the shower and step inside, letting the water run over myself until the room is sufficiently steamed up. Then I step out of the tub, running the towel over my limbs. When I’m done, I imagine Caden’s hands on my body. And as soon as I think of him, my hand instinctively finds its way between my legs.

I don’t have much of a selection of what to wear, and I can’t figure out how to turn on the fan, so it makes my choice of sleeping attire easy. I climb into the bed, still touching myself. I’ve never done this before. But thinking of Caden, in my dream, lapping at me with that desirous look on his face, I’m so achy and desperate that I keep moving my finger in circles on myself, harder and harder until the friction becomes too much, and I arch my back, curl my toes, and cry out as sensation explodes through me. Breathing hard, I turn on my side, caressing my warm skin . . . imagining he’s holding me, and finally feeling relaxed enough to sleep. When I’m done, I feel stupid. Ashamed. Alone. He can’t want me like that. Not now, and not ever.

Still, the last thing I think of, before I nod off, is him.

When I wake up in the morning, naked in the giant king bed, I’m even more embarrassed. I think of that dream. I think of the things he’d driven me to. Lying alone in the dark, pleasuring myself and thinking of things that aren’t possible, while he is in the same building, carrying on with a life that will never include me. It’s pathetic and, worse of all, it’s destroying everything my mother wants for me. I can’t have a sane, business-like thought anymore, without him intruding. I can’t do this. As I dress in the morning, I make a vow to myself. This will stop. Now.

For my own sanity.

Chapter Fourteen

Caden

When I get up to the penthouse, Andrea is at the elevator. She gives me a kiss and a smile. “Hard day?” she asks.

She has dinner waiting on the center island, with a glass of red wine. Even though it is nearly two, and she likely made this special meal as penance, hoping to share it with me, she doesn’t complain. She never complains. She points things out, yes. She explains things calmly and rationally. But complaining is beneath her.

She is wearing a red silk nightie. Though it is late, she looks impeccable, as always. She usually wakes up at six to get in her work-out before heading off to her job. I know she needs the sleep, and yet she leans across the island as I eat, watching me. As she does, she lets the strap on her nightgown fall, exposing her tits. It is her way of punishing me, of saying,
You should have been home hours ago, and then look what you could have had?

She will not let me fuck her tonight. This is part of the game she plays.

But I refuse to let her get to me. She talks on and on about her day, and meanwhile, my mind wanders. It ends on Cicily. In a day that was more of the same old shit, she was different. Everyone in this city seems to know exactly what they want and what they’re doing. But she was so terribly clueless when I’d dropped her off at the apartment. She looked frightened, as if it was her first night in an apartment, alone. Part of me wanted to go with her. As Andrea drones on, I start thinking about what we might be doing if I had.

She probably would have slapped my face. When she looked at me, when she mentioned my fiancé, I knew exactly what she was thinking.
What kind of slimeball fucks another girl three weeks before his wedding day?

 So I start to think of just what she’s doing, alone, in that apartment. Probably sleeping. It’s late, after all. I wonder how she sleeps, what she dreams of.

And when I wake, the first thing I think of, is her.

Shit.
Why
?

I don’t see her all day. She must be in her cubicle, working on my presentation. Fuck me for giving her a stupid job that keeps her locked away from my sight. She periodically sends me slides, but there’s nothing I can’t handle via email. And it wouldn’t be normal for me to stop by her cubicle, as executives never do that. So I call her the following afternoon, partly hoping she won’t catch on that my intentions are not purely professional, and partly hoping that she will.

 “It looks good,” I say. “Do you mind if I do a run-through, for you?”

“A run-through?”

“Yes. Come to my office and I’ll give the presentation. You can critique it.”

She pauses. “But . . .”

I need to sweeten the deal. “I’ll buy you Chinese,” I offer, thinking about how sweet she’d looked, her head cradled in her arms, sleeping on Victoria’s desk. “Not the bad kind, though. Come on.”

 “I really . . . can’t.”

I wait for an excuse, but there is none. “Miss Chase. I get the feeling something’s not right with you. With you and me. Are you all right?”

There’s a longer pause. Then, her voice comes back, as just a whisper, “I can’t do this. Pretend like what we did doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t to you, but it does to me. Especially since you’re engaged. It’s . . . wrong.”

I pause for a moment, happy to hear her bring it up. I know I told her not to, but it’s been unmentioned for so long, I’d started to think it never happened. But her tone of voice does
not
make me happy. “You’re angry.”

“Not angry . . . just . . . disgusted.”

Disgusted. That’s a new one. I’ve been called many things, but disgusting has never been one of them. But the worst part is, I think she’s right . . . the way I’ve been acting since I found out about Andrea and Rhys has been appalling. It’s like I don’t know
how
to act anymore. “You’re disgusted in me?”

“Yes. And you should be disgusted in yourself. I mean, do you ever even think about what you did with me?”

All the time
. “But—“

“Because you act like it was nothing. Or maybe it’s not an act. Maybe that’s who you
are
. And if so, I don’t like it.”

Fuck
. This wasn’t at all what I expected from her. Suddenly I feel like a piece of shit on her shoe. “Look. What we did
does
matter. You’re right.”

“And what you told Mr. Bradley . . . about us. It was a lie.”

Double fuck. “He
told
you what I said?”

I need to get off the phone, and quick. But before I can make my quick and gracious exit, she comes out with: “Yes. Why would you do that? It’s bad enough to walk into a new job and not know anyone, but to have one of them spreading lies about me . . . you talk about being professional, but how is
that
professional?”

What can I say? I hang on the line for a while, realizing that for the first time, I am completely speechless.
She
has made me speechless. Finally, I gather myself and say, “I see.”

“And I don’t feel comfortable coming to your office when there’s no one else around.”

 I’m nothing more than a low-life criminal, to her. I find myself full of negative emotions, which I bite down. Using all my strength to control my voice, I say, very coolly, “Fair enough. We’ll pick it up tomorrow?”

“Fine.”

She hangs up first, which is something that never happens to me. I’m Caden Williams. This is my company. I hang up first.

Dammit. I can’t let this lie.

Normally I’ll work until seven or eight, but I spend much of the evening stalking back and forth in my office, beating myself up. My father would be furious at me, would smack me across the head and tell me to man up. Who the fuck cares what our little intern thinks? I need to think of Williams and Williams and what’s best for the company. My personal life means shit here. I need to stop letting it intrude.

I need to make the decisions about which interns we’re bringing to Vegas. Normally, I just pull the names out of a hat. And fuck . . . I shouldn’t be doing this, but as I type out the memo for Victoria to disseminate to the staff, I know there’s one name that definitely shouldn’t be on it. It would cause me too much trouble. I don’t need trouble now.
I don’t.

 I write the name out, then delete it, then write it again, about a thousand times. I stare at the email for another ten minutes before I send it to Victoria.

Then I walk downstairs, to get some air. Karl is waiting for me, but I wave him on. The sun is just setting and it’s pleasantly warm. I need to cool down, need to walk. I normally don’t notice things when I’m walking, but the first thing I see when I pass a department store is a mannequin, wearing a tiny black and pink bikini. All this fucking concrete and bland ugliness, and in the middle of it, that. Just like her, a thing of beauty among all the dirt in this city.

Shit.

It’s like someone’s taunting me.

The very next window has a mannequin in a grey dress. It’s a nice dress. Very professional. Covers everything well. If Cicily had been wearing something like that when we first met, I might not be in the pit of hell I’m in right now.

As I look at it, I realize I’m biting on my thumbnail. When the hell was the last time I did that? Andrea
hated
that I chewed my nails. She dragged me along to get a manicure with her, which was fucking ridiculous, and when my dad found out, he called me a queer for three months. Manicures are not me, but neither is nail chewing. It shows nervousness, uncertainty. All negative emotions.

I let my thumbnail flutter to the ground and claw my hand into a fist. Then I go inside.

Cicily

The following day, the names of the interns who will be going to Vegas are announced in an email. It’s Dax, Jacinta, and me.

Me.

He’s been acting completely professional around me. But I’d thought that after I called him out, told him he disgusted me, he’d go out of his way to keep his distance. He wouldn’t be flying me to the City of Sin. Maybe he thinks I’ll tattle to his fiancée if he doesn’t keep a close eye on me. Or maybe he’s trying to apologize for being so disgusting to me.

Whatever. I’m going to Vegas!

So now, as I’m sitting in the conference room, listening to the briefing for the attendees of the NAWM conference, I can’t help letting my mind wander. Three days in Vegas, thousands of miles away from my parents and his fiancée and the company. It’s a completely different world, and if there was ever a place where Caden might let his guard down, show the non-business side of him I’d seen when we first met, this would be it.

Caden is all business, talking about the “packed” itinerary and how there will be very little time for rest and relaxation. He’s so confident and in-command at the front of the room, with all eyes on him, it’s quite the opposite of disgusting. Had I really called him that? I cringe, thinking of it.

Meanwhile, Caden doesn’t seem to have been affected by my opinion of him, at all. He strides around the room, a relaxed smile on his face as he tells us that the employees that come will, of course, receive a bonus for their hard work, in ten-percent of their annual salary. That means absolutely nothing to the unpaid interns. He smiles at Dax, Jacinta, and me, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear his eyes linger on me a second longer than they did on the others. “But you three will get valuable experience.”