The girls hand me a present. I open it to find a colorful candy ball. I clap just like they do. I love candy! After a few minutes, and after I kiss all the moms and the little soccer players, they leave the gym, my sister and niece among them.
Satisfied and touched by the show of appreciation they’ve given me, I turn to Eric with two cups of somewhat-lukewarm Coke.
“Surprised?” I ask, handing him a cup.
“Yes, you’re full of surprises.”
“Eric,” I say, finally finding the courage to speak frankly, “my life is what you see: utterly normal.”
“I know, and it worries me.”
“It worries you? It worries you that my life is normal?”
His gaze cuts right through me.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my life isn’t exactly what you’d call normal.”
I know my face must betray my confusion. I don’t understand.
“Jude, your life is full of relationships and commitments,” he says before I have a chance to ask for an explanation. “But those things have been obsolete for me for a very long time.” He touches my face with his hand. “I like you, I’m attracted to you, but I don’t want to lie to you. What I like is sex with you. I like to take you, to get between your legs and see your face when you come. But I’m afraid you’re not going to like a lot of my games. And I’m not talking about S and M. I’m talking about sex, just sex.”
“I’m a normal woman, without great pretensions, who works for your company. I have my dad, my sister, and my niece, all of whom I adore, and, until yesterday, a cat who was my best friend. I’m a coach for a girls’ soccer team. I have friends with whom I enjoy games, take vacations, go to movies, and dine out. You may be wondering why I’m telling you all this, right?”
Eric nods.
“I’m not a knockout, I don’t like to dress provocatively, and I don’t bother to try. My relationships with men have been normal, nothing out of this world. You know: girl meets boy, they like each other, they sleep together. But no one has ever managed to find the part of me that you have, and in such little time. I never imagined that curiosity could drive me so crazy. I never imagined I could do what I’m doing with you. I can’t say no because my whole body—all of me—wants to do what you want to do. I hate to be given orders, and even more so in bed. But inexplicably, I let you do it. Never in my life could I have imagined that a stranger would demand sex with just a look and that I would acquiesce . . .”
“Jude . . .”
“No, let me finish,” I say, putting my hand over his mouth. “Whether I want to admit it or not, I loved what happened at your place the other day. Whenever I’ve thought about it since, I’ve gotten excited. In fact, on Sunday, I used the vibrator and thought of you and had a marvelous orgasm while I replayed what happened in your room.”
Eric grins.
“As I said at the beginning of this conversation, I’m no expert on sex, but I like what I’ve experienced with you. It thrills and excites me, and I’m up for another round.”
“Even without a commitment on my part?”
“Even without that.”
Eric moves his head in understanding.
“And please, let me free you from the promise to not touch me. Kiss me and say something, because I’m going to die from embarrassment over all the crazy things I’ve just said.”
“You’re exciting me, sweetness,” he murmurs.
I smile, a bit embarrassed.
“You can imagine what I feel like then, having just said all that.”
Eric moves a lock of hair from my face.
“Here’s what I know: Your full name is Judith Flores Garcia. You’re twenty-five years old. Your family is your father, your sister, and your niece. From what I’ve seen, you don’t have a boyfriend, but there are men who want you. I know where you live and where you work. I know your phone numbers. I know you drive a Ferrari very well, that you like to sing, and that you’re not embarrassed to do it in front of me. Today I learned you’re a soccer coach. I know you like strawberries, chocolate, Coke, candy, and soccer, and that if you get anxious, you get a rash on your neck.”
He gives me a look of satisfaction.
“From the way you treated your cat, I know you love animals and that you’re a good friend to your friends. You’re curious and stubborn, sometimes excessively so, and that drives me nuts, but you’re also the sexiest and most frustrating woman I’ve ever met in my life, and I know I like that. Right now, that’s what I know, and that seems enough. And now that you’ve freed me from my promise, I’m going to touch you and kiss you!”
“Good!” I say, raising my arms to greet him.
“Now that we’ve worked all that out, I need you to accept my proposal so I can get to know you better and so you can be with me while I’m in Spain,” he adds. “This week, we’ll be in Barcelona. I have two important meetings on Thursday and Friday. We can devote the weekend, if you’d like, to sex. What do you think?”
“Your name is Eric Zimmerman,” I say, brushing his indifference aside. “You’re German, and your father . . .”
But his face goes dark again, and he interrupts me.
“As a personal favor, please never mention my father again. Otherwise, go on.”
That stuns me.
“You’re a pathological Mr. Bossy Pants, and that’s all I know about you, except that you’re very curious and you like to play sex games. Even so, I’d like to get to know you better.”
I can sense the battle he’s having with himself—he doesn’t know whether to open up to me or not. Then he gets up and pulls me with him. He kisses me and I kiss him back. Seconds later, he pulls his mouth away.
“My mother is Spanish; that’s why I speak Spanish so well. I’ve slept very little in the last few years. I’m thirty-one years old. I’m not married or engaged. Right now, there’s not much else I can tell you.”
Moved by that small confidence, I smile happily, as if I’ve won the lottery.
“Mr. Zimmerman, I accept your proposal. I will go with you.”
17
My supervisor goes nuts when Eric tells her I’m going with him on his visits to the branch offices. Miguel is glad he’s not the one going. My supervisor tries in a thousand different ways to convince Eric not to take me. She argues that I don’t have much experience and that I haven’t been with the company that long; in the end, however, she gives in. Eric’s the boss, so she has to accept it. Check that out!
I call my father on Wednesday to explain that I have to take my vacation later than I had planned. He thinks it’s fine and encourages me to do a good job. If he had any idea how this all came about, he’d pack me up in a box and seal it tight. My sister, on the other hand, gets mad at me. For me to leave her alone in Madrid for a few weeks is disconcerting. Who will she tell her troubles to?
On Thursday, Eric comes by with his chauffeur at six in the morning. We travel in his private jet, and I’m taken aback by so much luxury. I feel utterly provincial. I look at everything with such awe that I think Eric must be making an effort not to laugh.
When we arrive in Barcelona, a car picks us up at the airport and takes us directly to the Hotel Arts. No big deal—just the best hotel in the city! They put us up in two rooms on the top floor. He’s kept his promise: separate suites. When the bellboy closes the door behind him and I’m left in the middle of that gigantic room, I spin around to survey every inch of it. It’s all so big and spacious. The best part: huge windows offering me a view of the sea.
High from so much opulence, I drop my bag and head for the window. Incredible! After enjoying the panorama for a while, I begin to investigate the room. There’s chocolate in the fridge, and I quickly appropriate it. When I enter the sleeping quarters and see the bed, I whistle. It’s beautiful. Enormous windows frame a view of the sea here too. There’s wall-to-wall carpeting, violet, like the beautiful sofa that matches it. The bed is oversized, and I throw myself
on it. Wow. The bathroom is marvelous. All blond woods and mirrors around the tub. Very sexy!
The phone rings as I’m leaving the bathroom. It’s Eric.
“How’s your room?”
“Splendid. Beyond spacious. It’s like five times the size of my apartment,” I say, laughing.
I can hear him laughing too.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in half an hour,” he says. “Don’t forget to bring the documents.”
I arrive in the lobby right on time and catch Eric talking to another woman. She’s tall, glamorous, and blonde. Very blonde. When he sees me, he beckons for me to join them.
“Amanda, this is my assistant, Miss Flores.”
This Amanda person gives me a once-over and an uneasy feeling, but in a bow to professionalism, we both reach out and shake hands.
“Miss Flores, Miss Fisher is here from Berlin,” Eric says in German. “She’ll be with us for a few days. Amanda oversees the sales of our medical products in Great Britain.”
He smiles as the long-legged blonde nods her head. A man comes up to tell us our car is ready. The three of us walk over to a long black limousine. Eric sits next to Amanda and forgets about me. That bugs me. But what bugs me most is sensing there is, or was, something between them. Nonetheless, I maintain my composure and look out the window, thinking about my own affairs.
When we arrive at the central offices in Barcelona, we’re welcomed by the branch director, Xavi Dumas. As soon as he sees me, he grins and then greets the big boss and Amanda.
“Hi, Judith,” he says, turning to me. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“The same, Mr. Dumas.”
His assistant, Jimena, then says hello.
“Jude, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Because I just found out yesterday,” I respond as I hug her.
“Well, well,” she says playfully as she watches Eric, “and with the big German boss. He’s very powerful!”
Just then, various executives, including Eric and Amanda, move into the conference room. It’s a rectangular space with dark panels and with windows providing a view of the countryside. Positioned in the middle is a long table with several chairs; to one side are a few other, smaller tables. I sit at one of the smaller tables; and next to me, Eric presides over the long table. His implacable expression makes me recall Miguel’s nickname for him, “the Iceman.”
The meeting begins, and Jimena, at her supervisor’s signal, moves from the smaller table, where she’s been sitting with me, to the larger table. Her supervisor wants her to translate everything he says for this Amanda person. I pay close attention and realize Jimena is an excellent translator. But something happens that surprises me. At one point, Mr. Dumas mentions Eric’s father; Eric, very politely but very seriously, asks him to never mention his father again. What happened between father and son? An hour later, as the meeting continues, I get an email.
From: Eric Zimmerman
Date: July 5, 2012, 10:38 a.m.
To: Judith Flores
Subject: Your mouth
Dear Miss Flores:
Is something wrong? Your mouth is giving you away.
Eric Zimmerman
PS You’re the sexiest woman at this meeting.
Without moving my head, I watch him through my eyelashes. I decide to respond.
From: Judith Flores
Date: July 5, 2012, 10:39 a.m.
To: Eric Zimmerman
Subject: I’m working.
Dear Mr. Zimmerman:
I’d appreciate it if you’d let me work.
Judith Flores
I can tell when he receives it. I see him look eagerly at his screen, and how his face lights up. In a matter of seconds, he types again, and I receive another email.
From: Eric Zimmerman
Date: July 5, 2012, 10:41 a.m.
To: Judith Flores
Subject: Mad?
Your words dismay me. Are you mad about something?
Eric Zimmerman
PS That suit looks phenomenal on you.
I stir in my seat uncomfortably. For several minutes, I try to pay attention to the meeting, but then my computer lets me know I have another message.
From: Eric Zimmerman
Date: July 5, 2012, 10: 46 a.m.
To: Judith Flores
Subject: You decide.
I warn you, Miss Flores—if you don’t respond to my email in the next five minutes, I’m going to stop the meeting.
Eric Zimmerman
PS You’re wearing a tanga under your skirt!
When I read that, my eyes open wide as saucers, but I stay calm. He’s just trying to provoke me. He loves to get under my skin. I dare him with a look. He does not return my smile. Time passes and I relax. I see him glance at his computer, and imagine he’s writing me another email, when I hear him suddenly interrupt the meeting.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve just received a message I must attend to immediately. I beg your forgiveness,” he says as he stands up. “Would you be so kind as to give me and my assistant a few minutes of privacy? And please, no interruptions. My assistant will let you know when we’re finished.”
I want to die.
Is he nuts?
I watch, astonished, as the executives pick up their folders and briefcases and leave. Jimena gives me a wink and follows her supervisor out the door. The last to leave is Amanda. She looks at me with a vinegary expression. “I’ll be right outside,” she says to Eric, in German, then closes the door behind her.
I’m still in my chair, staring at him and not sure I understand anything. He closes his cell, sprawls out in his chair, and stares right back at me.
“Miss Flores, come here.”
I leap and go straight to him, my expression indicating my surprise.
“But . . . but how could you do that?”
He looks at me, smiles, but doesn’t answer.
“How could you just stop the meeting?” I ask.
“I gave you five minutes.”
“But . . .”
“You’re the one who stopped the meeting.”
“Me?”
Eric nods affirmatively, and just as I step in front of him, he grabs my hand and pulls me between his legs. Then he pushes me and makes me sit on the table. Blushing, I quickly scan the room for cameras.
“There are no cameras in the room, but it’s not soundproof. If you scream, everyone will know what’s going on.”
I’m about to protest, when Eric does that thing that drives me crazy. He licks my upper lip. He looks at me. Then he runs his tongue on my lower lip, bites it until I open my mouth, and finally kisses me. He sucks on my mouth in such a way that I’m breathless, and like always, I surrender. He pushes me down on the table and raises my skirt. His hands slowly climb my thighs until I feel them reach my hips. Then he grabs the tanga and yanks it off.
“Mmm . . . I’m glad to see you’re wearing a tanga.”
I’m enjoying the moment and give in to the game.
I lick my lips and open my legs shamelessly, wanting more, and then he lifts his head without otherwise moving.
“Did you bring what I’ve told you to always have with you?”
I close my eyes and curse in frustration.
“I left it at the hotel.”
My reaction makes him laugh. He sits me up on the table while barely touching me, except for the insides of my thighs.
“I’m sorry, sweetness. But I’m sure you won’t forget next time.”
I just look at him, stunned.
Is he going to leave me like this?
He gives me a little slap on the butt when I get off the table.
“Miss Flores, we have to continue the meeting. And please, don’t interrupt it again.”
I feel my cheeks burning and a high fever of desire whenever he takes control. But it enrages me too. He knows it. He takes my hand and pulls me to him.
“As soon as the meeting is over, I want you nude at
the hotel. For the moment, I’m keeping your tanga.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“No way. Give it back.”
“No.”
“Eric, please. I can’t be without my tanga.”
He stands up. He smiles slyly and shrugs.
“Sure you can.”
He fixes my skirt. Then he pushes me toward the door, insistently.
“C’mon. Tell them to come in. This is an important meeting.”
I let out a long breath to calm my nerves, then walk resolutely toward the door. But before opening it, I turn back to face him.
“You’re going to pay for this,” I tell him.
Eric is unmoved.
A minute later, the meeting picks up where it left off, and everything goes back to normal. Everything except that I’m naked under my skirt.
18
The meeting goes longer than expected, and we don’t adjourn until eight thirty that evening. Eric’s face is utterly serious. To my amusement, Amanda turns out to be a real ballbuster who puts obstacles in everyone’s path.
At day’s end, we get into the limo, with Amanda. During the ride, Eric takes refuge behind a mask of hostility I don’t like at all. He asks me for several documents that he and Amanda look over as they talk.
When we get to the hotel, I just want to run to my room and get naked, as Eric has requested. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Eric and me. Eric on top of me. Eric taking me. But my desire soon drowns in a well.
“Miss Flores, would you like to dine with Amanda and me?”
That stops me cold. That question really should have been phrased, “Amanda, would you like to dine with Miss Flores and me?”
My anger sits in my belly. I’m burning inside. But this time, my fire has nothing to do with desire. I feel that woman’s eyes on me. Deep down, I know she’s as resentful as I am about having to share Eric’s company.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Zimmerman,” I respond, not willing to give in to him this time, “but I have other plans.”