I leaned down and patted Walker’s head, silently thanking him with my eyes for being so damn noisy during our uncomfortable make-out session. The dog lolled his tongue to the side, smiling at me. I left while Todd was still sitting there, pen in hand, trying to process the sudden change. I gave him a bright wave and firmly shut the door behind me, jogging down the front steps and hopping into my car before he could think of something to say.
Holy crap. I’m getting too old for this stuff.
I swore at that moment to stay away from men and become a spinster, collecting cats and eating raw cookie dough till I got old, fat and happy.
Twenty-Nine
Rule 6: Brad is always in control.
Thursday, my brand-new Manolos on, I started running out of things to do, a welcome problem. I got only one email from Broward all day. He gave me an off-network email account and its log-in information and asked me to print and fax some attachments for him. Five minutes later, with that task complete, I wandered over to Sheila to see if she had any items I could help with. I was determined to keep busy, and keep my mind off anything related to Brad. Sheila happily handed over a few projects and I locked myself in my office and busily worked away till the end of the day. Twice, my phone rang with Brad’s extension showing; both times I ignored the call and pushed him out of my mind.
At 5:45 p.m., I wrapped up my last email, shut down my computer and organized the files on my desk. Time to go home. I waved to Sheila and Beverly and walked through the West Wing’s double doors to the elevator lobby. Brad stood there, his hands in his pockets, the elevator button unilluminated; he saw me and hit it. Crap. Was he waiting for me? My steps faltered, but I couldn’t turn back without looking as if I was running. I gave Brad a stiff nod and stood a few steps behind him, waiting for the elevator. I prayed for someone else to come out, but luck wasn’t on my side, and the elevator opened for just the two of us.
We got in and Brad pressed the G button for the garage level. As soon as the doors closed, he turned to me. Before a word could come out, I held my hand up. “I’m not saying anything to you,” I said tightly.
“Julia—”
“No, Brad. I mean it.”
He gripped his fists tightly, then slammed one hand on the wall and punched the red emergency stop button with the other.
In movies, when the elevator’s stop button is pressed, the car comes to a gentle halt and the people have their tryst, or argument, or bank robbery, or whatever it is they stopped the car for. That is not what happened here.
The car shrieked, a painful squeal of metal on metal ten times worse than any nails on a chalkboard, and we slammed to an immediate halt. My legs buckled underneath me and I had to grab the arm rails for support. Pressing the stop button also triggered the emergency sprinklers built into the ceiling, and caused a loud, blaring alarm to sound. The overhead light stayed on, but an emergency light, now illuminated, blinked on and off, casting the car into alternating modes of red-and-white light. Whoever had created the system had not taken occupant hysteria into account at any point in the design process.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” I shrieked at Brad over the sound of the blaring alarm.
“WHY WON’T YOU TALK TO ME?” he yelled, his eyes blazing, fists at his side.
“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. WE AGREED TO STAY AWAY FROM EACH OTHER, REMEMBER?”
“WHAT IF I WANT TO RENEGOTIATE THE CONTRACT?”
“THE CONTRACT IS NOT UP FOR RENEGOTIATION!”
The water fell heavy on our heads, not a gentle mist, but buckets of liquid, cold and probably unfiltered. I couldn’t hear myself think over the blaring sound of the alarm, and I glared at Brad through the spray of the water. Somewhere inside the car a phone rang.
“IS THIS ABOUT TODD?” he yelled over the sound of the alarm and phone.
“NO! THIS IS ABOUT YOU BEING A DICK, AND A SLUT, AND SOMEONE I HAVE NO BUSINESS HANGING OUT WITH!” Our faces were now inches apart, close enough for me to see the hurt in his eyes.
So the monster bleeds.
The phone continued ringing, insistently, and Brad broke the seal of our stare and fumbled at the side of the car, finally finding a panel, opening it and grabbing a phone.
“HELLO,” he yelled, holding one hand over his free ear, trying to hear the person on the other end.
“IT’S DE LUCA....
“NO. NO EMERGENCY. CAN YOU TURN OFF THE FUCKING LIGHTS AND WATER?” At that sentence the alarm died, though the lights continued, as did the unrelenting downpour of water.
“Yeah. And take the car down to the service level. I’m not walking through the damn lobby like this.”
He hung up and turned, looking at me through the spray, his handsome face turning red-and-white with the changing lights.
“What’s this really about, Julia?” He said the words quietly, almost inaudibly, when combined with the sound of rushing water.
I sank against the wall of the car, chilled to the bone. “Broward told me.”
He stilled. “Told you what?”
“What do you think? About you, his wife. Six years ago.”
His shoulders sank. “How much did he tell you?”
“I didn’t ask for details, Brad. I didn’t need any. There’s no excuse for that.”
The emergency lights finally died and the downpour began to diminish until it was just dripping from the overhead spigot. My last sentence hung in the silence. The elevator began to move, lurching at first, then resuming its normal, smooth ride. The car came to a stop and the doors opened to a level I had never seen, full of large machines and pipes. Water gushed out the open doors, and two maintenance workers in blue coveralls stood there waiting for us. The first guy stepped forward with a smile until he saw the somber look on both of our faces. I ran a hand through my drenched hair and accepted his outstretched hand, stepping out of the elevator. “Thanks,” I said.
I approached the second man and asked him how to get to the garage level. He pointed to a stairwell and I banged through the door and headed up the stairs. Brad called out to me, but I didn’t stop, trying to keep from getting emotional and just wanting to be dry at home, in my bed. I heard his heavy steps on the concrete stairs behind me, and increased my speed, taking steps as quickly as possible in my soggy heels. Just keep moving. Hitting the garage level, I reached for the handle and pulled. The door was stopped by Brad’s big hand, pressing it closed. I gritted my teeth and looked up into his face, now above me, his eyes frustrated and his jaw set.
“What?” I ground out.
“I don’t know what to say, Julia, except that it was a mistake I made a long time ago. One I’ve spent the last six years trying to make up for.”
“I did the math, Brad. You were married then. If it wasn’t bad enough.”
“I told you I had been unfaith—”
“Stop it, Brad. Please. I know I’m young, but I’m not out fucking around for a good time. I know you see sex as a cavalier passer of time, but I don’t. I’m looking for him—the one—someone I can marry and have kids with, and not worry that he’s out fucking half the town while I’m washing his fucking laundry. He’s not you. I haven’t seen a more clear-cut case of not the one in a long time. So I realize that me ignoring you is a black mark on your fucking conquest record, but I don’t really give a damn. Because I am looking out for me. And you are nothing but a time bomb ticking on my well-being. Plus—” I felt tears welling and my voice cracking as I fought to keep my composure “—these are brand-new Manolo Blahniks, which I spent a lot of fucking money on, and you and your stupid dramatic elevator act ruined them! They’re suede and now they are fucking ruined!” I sagged against the steel stairwell door and sobbed, my tear ducts fully open now, my beautiful new shoes the final straw.
Brad caught me and lifted me easily, setting me down gently on the top ste
p. He sat next to me, looking out, thinking. He pulled off his soaking-wet suit jacket and folded it over his lap.
“You’re right, Julia. I’m not any good for you, and you’re smart to stay away. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just can’t seem to help myself...there’s just something about you that I’m drawn to.”
My sobs subsided a bit and turned into sniffles as I tried to get my emotions under reasonable control.
“I guess the issue is,” he continued, “I want happily-ever-after, too. I don’t want to be living alone in my big house, eating lunch with a housekeeper that doesn’t have more than fifteen English words in her vocabulary. The parties and trips are to keep me distracted, to keep me from realizing that I have nothing, nobody. I don’t ever want to live a dull life. But I need some stability—I want a partner who can enjoy this lifestyle with me.”
“So marry. I’m sure you have a waiting list a mile long. Just go through your client list.” I fought to keep a smile off my face at the subtle dig.
He laughed briefly. “It’s complicated. The trophy wives waiting in the wings don’t get my sexual needs. And the girls that do aren’t ones I want to grow old with, or spend a Saturday afternoon at the house with.”
“Your sexual needs being the need to go and sleep around—to cheat?” I huffed into my hands, trying to dry at least one part of my body.
“No. I don’t want to get into it with you.”
We sat for a minute, not speaking.
“So many of the divorces I deal with are for superficial marriages. The couple marries out of loneliness, or fear of being alone, or for convenience, or for status or money. Then they end up as two people living separate lives in the same house until one of them cheats, or one of them decides they want something more fulfilling.”
I looked at my ruined shoes and sighed. “I think that’s what my parents’ marriage is like. They never fight, and they’ve been together forever, but they just seem...I don’t know...apart, I guess. Mom has her work, and when she’s not there she’s doing stuff with friends. Dad spends all his time out at our lake house fishing, or fixing stuff in the garage. That’s what I grew up knowing, and I don’t want that for my life. I want someone I can’t stay away from, who I love spending every free moment with.” I hugged my knees and rested my chin on them. “Maybe it’s an unrealistic expectation.”
He groaned and reached over, fingering a piece of my wet hair. I flinched, but didn’t push his hand away. Having him there, so near to me, was difficult. His presence alone weakened my resolve, his essence pulled at me. I wanted nothing more than to have his arms around me, his lips on mine. I hated myself for my weakness, for the crack in my common sense. A crack that would break me open if I didn’t stay strong.
“What if what we’re looking for is each other?” he asked quietly.
That was unexpected. I turned and stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” In his eyes I saw a flicker of vulnerability, but that disappeared before I could grab hold of it.
“Look, we’re both looking for a soul mate, right? And I know you want your prince to come riding up, all perfect and unmarred, but this is real life. Typically the best things come from the most screwed-up circumstances. How do we know we aren’t the person we both are searching for?”
I began to fluster, spitting out words in quick succession, but he held up a hand, quieting me. I glared at him.
“Build a case,” he said with a challenging look. “Give me supporting evidence.”
“Fine. Next time, don’t give me such a cakewalk for my first assignment.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t underestimate your opponent, Ms. Campbell.”
I rolled my eyes and started. “First off, don’t get offended by anything I’m about to say. I’m stating the facts, and if you don’t like them, tough shit.”
He grinned at me. “My skin is very tough, Julia. I promise to not get my feelings hurt.”
“Oh-kay, there are multiple reasons why you would never be my soul mate.” I faltered slightly as I tried to organize my thoughts, tried not to think about his hand so close to my leg. “One, you have a proven history of being unfaithful. Two, you are deceitful. Three, you have control issues. Four, you seem to have some mysterious sexual ailment that you refuse to discuss.” I folded my arms and looked at him, waiting for his response.
“You’re right—I have been unfaithful in my past. In that marriage I unknowingly set myself up for failure by marrying the wrong woman and expecting myself to be content in that situation. There are ways for me to be faithful, to stay loyal to my spouse. But I would need the right woman, the right situation. As far as temptation, there are ways for me to curb that, ways for me to fill that need without cheating.”
I snorted in response to that load of crap.
“In response to your earlier statement that I am deceitful, that is absolutely incorrect. I have never misled you or lied to you. I have been nothing but honest with you, regardless of whether it caused your opinion of me to be diminished.”
He paused, waiting for an argument from me, but I shrugged. He had me there. He was a pig, but he was an honest, or rather unapologetic, pig.
“We are compatible. We get along well, enjoy each other’s company, have incredible chemistry and desire a similar lifestyle. I believe in living life to the fullest, and as my partner you wouldn’t have to worry about me burying myself in work.”
“I don’t think anyone in this building is worried about that happening.”
“Plus, I believe that sex is crucial to a relationship, and have never met a more gorgeous, sexual woman.”
I punched him in the arm. “Oh my God, how many women have you said that to?”
He turned and looked me dead in the eye. “I’m serious. You have every single physical trait I look for in a woman. Most women I pick apart in my mind, wishing that this part or that part of them was different. But I don’t do that when I’m with you. Even your imperfections I find attractive.”
“I don’t have any imperfections.”
He leaned over, his lips hovering over mine. “No, you don’t.” He closed his eyes and waited, asking my permission. I froze, his face inches from mine, his breath warm on my lips, his magnetism reaching straight into my core. What if he was right? What if this is the real-life compatibility I’m meant for? I want to fight it. Want to be strong enough. But despite my better judgment, I leaned forward, closing the gap, and pressed my lips to his.
They were soft and salty. He opened his mouth and grabbed me with his free hand, sliding me until my wet body was sandwiched into his burning-hot one. His tongue met mine in perfect harmony, and there was nothing to think about, no moves to make with the kiss. It just happened, perfect and hot, and passion grew with every second that our kiss lasted. I pulled away, gasping, and looked into his eyes, dark and full of fire. I felt like Alice falling into the rabbit hole, getting sucked farther and farther down. I looked away quickly and tried to scoot back, but his strong arm kept me there, kept me still.
“Okay,” I said quickly. “We have established that you find me attractive.”
He shook his head, and tried to find the track he had been on. “What else—oh, the control issues. I like to be in control. If we were dating exclusively, I am sure that I would have to occasionally tell guys to back off of you. I’m not naive enough to think that that’s something I can control. It’s hardwired into my body. I am an aggressive person. If that’s a deal breaker for you, then I understand that. But don’t take my control habits as jealousy. Jealousy can be an evil, two-headed snake, and I’ve seen the harm it can do. If you knew more about me, you would understand that I am anything but jealous.” He pulled at the back of his soaked dress shirt, and looked over at me. “Anything I missed?”
“Yeah, the gigantic elephant in the room—your secret sexual need t
hat no normal woman can fulfill. What, you need it like eight times a day?”
He laughed softly and removed his arm from around me, placing his palms together and thinking. Then he turned and faced me head-on. “Before we go into this, if I didn’t have any sexual hang-ups—would you date me? Would you be my girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really want to answer that question yet.”
He didn’t respond to that, just seemed to be quietly mulling something over. Then he turned to me, his eyes burning with intensity. “I know that I have what many people would consider a fucked-up view of relationships. But for me it just comes down to being honest with myself and with my partner about what turns me on.” He thought for a second, then continued. “I thrive on competition. I want to know that I am pleasing a woman better than any other man. The idea of my wife having sex with only me for the rest of my life doesn’t feed that competitive streak.” He paused before throwing me the ultimate curveball. “I love to watch. What you did with Montana—at Saffire—but typically the game goes a lot further than that. It would turn me on to see you with women and other men, to share you sexually.”
I didn’t say anything, but all my mind could think was: what the fuck?
He refolded his jacket. His voice was deep and measured. “Other than it being what turns me on, I also don’t think humans are engineered to be monogamous. It’s against our basic instinct to be tied to one person for the rest of our lives. It is a losing concept that we fight hard to keep because it is what society expects. I believe, for a couple to value their partner and learn their sexual needs, they need to occasionally sample sex with other people.”
I spoke for the first time, my words careful and measured. “So you’d want me to let you go around fucking other people every once in a while?” And he wonders why he can’t find a good wife.
“Not just me—you, too. But not alone, it would be something we do together, as a couple.”