Pleasure Extraordinaire 2 (PURSUIT) (2 page)

Holding tightly onto Michael’s hand and breathing deeply, I take hesitant steps toward
the ocean of people. Just friends, family and people who work for Michael make easily
three-four-hundred people, because the majestic salon is filled up to the brim with
the sheer number of guests.

If I felt nervous before entering, now I’m suffocating with fear. It’s not the first
time my photograph will be taken by the media, but never have I felt so exposed before
so many eyes that are staring at me with curiosity, and even condemnation, as if they’ve
seen through my little role play as Michael’s date.

Whatever Edric might have claimed about my relationship with Michael to prove that
this isn’t a lie and that Michael and I are just dating and getting to know each other,
what I’m doing here is indeed a lie. Michael might have taken me out on a date, but
we both know it wasn’t a real date that might have led up to romance. And worse yet,
it’s not even a genuine help to a friend. I’m getting paid for it.

My mouth goes dry, and I feel blood draining out of me. Working hard to breathe in
and out long and evenly so I am able to walk straight, I smile at the cameras pointing
at me. Not even Michael gets half the attention the media untactfully showers on me.

At one point, upon the request of one of the reporters, Michael leaves my hand so
the photographers take more of my pictures, like they haven’t already had enough to
fill up the memory cards of their cameras.

My eyes look for Taylor in the crowd so I can feel a bit of familiarity in this eccentric
situation, and when I spot her, she grins at me with warmth and joy. Is she enjoying
the party? Sure, she’ll have a chance to get to know people who hold the ties to the
State’s economy and maybe spread the name of her construction company. At least, my
little deceit might help her get more clients. Feeling a little calmer and more in
control of my body, I direct my gaze at the cameras and flash a broad smile, one of
which I’ve practiced a lot around the time my name became famous as Iron Slap.

Edric comes beside me, discreetly whispering in my ear that one of the reporters requested
to have a private interview with me about my relationship with Michael. I try my best
not to look at him in horror as I relay him my acceptance.

After the long, sweat-inducing photo session is over, Edric guides me to a relatively
secluded corner, only occupied with two men, whom I assume are responsible for security.
As soon as I’m introduced to the reporter, a middle-aged, brunette lady, Edric leaves
us alone.

I sit cautiously on the chair opposite the reporter and cross my legs, settling my
hands in loose fists on my lap. She bombards me with questions which I can answer
easily and with full honesty, like what my first reaction was when I met Michael,
whether it was attraction at first sight, whether I thought of making a move during
the period where I didn’t hear anything from Michael after our first meeting.

Despite my initial horror, I find myself explaining more than her questions are aimed
at, going into detail about my fascination with Michael’s looks, gentleness, care,
and diligence when it comes to his work. All in all, nothing comes out of my mouth
is smeared with lies, and I have a nagging suspicion that Michael went through her
questions before allowing her to do the interview.

Michael shows up the second the reporter ends the interview and asks her to send the
article to him prior to publishing it. When she’s gone, Michael holds out his hand
to help me to my feet and leaves a quick kiss on my cheek. That’s the second kiss
in half an hour. Should I be worried about his unusual kiss attack? I don’t mutter
that thought.

“Thanks for the interview. I haven’t felt this flattered in years,” he says, smiling.

“Have you been listening?” I feel my cheeks turn hot at his playful smile.

He nods, broadening his smile.

“You should know, everything I said is my true feelings about you.”

“I know. I had no idea I had such an effect on women.”

“Yeah, right. Like I’ll believe that.” I roll my eyes, slamming into him with my shoulder
playfully. I’m sure Zane doesn’t have a tenth of Michael’s humility when it comes
to his looks. Oh, Zane. Perhaps it’s a good thing he’s with another woman, so I can
put forth a serious effort to take him out of my mind and forget about the hot and
sweaty minutes we shared in my apartment.

Michael holds my hand and points with his head toward the door. “Shall we?”

With a renewed confidence, I follow suit, and this time I show up at the salon with
more confidence and determination to enjoy the party. Michael guides me through the
mass of people, stopping practically every second to shake hands and introduce me.

I smile and try to exchange a few words of greetings with the guests, but after half
an hour of repeating the same thing, my facial muscles begin to hurt for having been
pulled up for so long, and my stomach growls with hunger. I’m glad for the live music
and the noise of people chatting around me for covering up the embarrassing proof
of my hunger.

To keep myself from dying of complete boredom while Michael exchanges niceties with
the guests, I dedicate myself to analyzing the dresses the ladies chose to wear for
this luscious party. After red, the colors of gold and silver seem to be in trend
and also the shorter the better for the skirts.

After an hour of shaking hands and rinse-and-repeat introductions, we finally reach
our table, where Taylor and Adam are also sitting. Michael excuses himself to continue
involving himself with his guests, and I plop my already tired body into the chair
beside Taylor and grab a piece of the pastry to calm my raging stomach.

“This party is unreal,” Taylor whispers to my ear. “How are you doing?”

“All right, I guess. Have you met anyone interesting?”

“Yeah. Dylan Berenson’s parents.”

“Did you find out why they sold the Country Club? I thought golf is a permanent money-making
machine, since wealthy men love hanging out with their wealthy fellows.”

Taylor shrugs. “Don’t ask me.” Then she turns to Adam, who is busying himself with
his phone. “Have you heard anything about why the Berensons sold the Country Club?”

Adam just shrugs, keeping his eyes locked on his phone. “I’m not sure, but according
to the rumors, some drug lords used it as their location to make deals. Once the police
found it out, they canceled the liquor license of the club. That was the beginning
of the end, I guess.”

What a way to end a successful business? Even one of the safest businesses can flip
unexpectedly. Which makes me feel grateful for having decided to accept Michael’s
offer in exchange for money. Just like I lost my job without actually being at fault
after suing the supervisor who tried to harass me sexually, Clark Berenson lost his
business because of other people’s misconduct.

“What are you looking at?” I hear Taylor asking Adam, but my mind is busy with feeling
compassion for the Berenson family and contemplating people who ruin others’ livelihood.

Through the line of people, I glance at Chloe and her fiancé Dylan. Both being gorgeous
and glamorous, they make an eye-catching couple. Yet, I’m failing to see any passion
or intimate glances between the two. They hold hands, yes, but nothing else in their
behavior proves they’re going through the first step of uniting their lives. Perhaps,
they’re well-versed on how to behave when surrounded by an immense number of people
and cameras. If acting distant is the norm, then I should be happy about how I act
with Michael, because he and I react the same way to each other as Chloe and Dylan.

I see Zane and his date approaching Chloe, and soon Chloe is flashing ear-to-ear grins
to her brother. Well, that, too, I’d do exactly the same if Zane was hugging me tightly
with his sturdy body as he’s hugging Chloe.

Doing my best to ignore my resentful feelings toward him, I wonder where Chloe’s other
brother is. The only information I know about Christian Hawkins is that he’s the youngest
among the three and also the most private. That’s why I never got to see any pictures
of him from any mainstream media. That and the lack of interest from my side to waste
useful time on nonsense gossip about celebrities.

But now, sitting here, wondering who among the hundreds of people is the youngest
Hawkins, I feel dumb for not going through at a few magazines to know how he looks.

The music band stops playing, and I hear Michael’s soothing voice over the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for the guests to turn their attention
to him. “I can’t thank you enough for being with me during one of the worst days of
my life.” A roar of laughter takes over the salon at Michael’s sarcasm. “Aside from
sickness or death in the family, I think giving his daughter away is the hardest thing
a father can face.

Enjoying Michael’s light and warm confessions, I turn to Taylor and Adam and see their
faces long with dolefulness. Of course, as parents of a deceased daughter they’ll
not enjoy Michael’s jokes. I reach up and cover Taylor’s hand on the table, wishing
they’ll have another child much sooner rather than later.

“If it wasn’t for the man Chloe chose to marry, I’d have to speak to the Governor
to push up the legal age to marry to fifty-five.” Michael holds up his hand toward
Chloe in the middle of the salon, and she walks through the crowd toward the stage,
with her boyfriend behind her.

Once the young couple is on the stage, taking their places on each side of Michael,
people begin clasping hands. Michael raves about his soon-to-be son-in-law’s success
in business for minutes to come, and I can’t help but feel my attention being drawn
to somewhere else. To Michael’s biological son, Zane. His girlfriend is nowhere to
be seen—I wish she’d vanish altogether, but I shouldn’t be harsh to someone for falling
for the Adonis in flesh and blood.

Much to my bad luck, Zane reciprocates my stare, cocking his head to the side while
the corner of his eyes crinkles with a daring smile. I drop my gaze to the table before
me, wishing he hadn’t noticed my blatant ogling, and when I look back up, I see him
strolling toward me, ignoring the people around.

Shit. If he mentions anything about Saturday afternoon, Taylor will get a whiff and
then start asking question. That’ll be the end of everything related to my silence
about the contract. No, no, I tell myself. He won’t speak anything about that embarrassing
encounter.

“Adam, Taylor.” Zane nods and shake their hands, as the gentleman as he can be, and
then settles in the chair next to me.

Everything else, the guests, Michael’s talk, Taylor on my other side, lose their significance
in a matter of seconds as I feel Zane’s arm brushing mine for a brief second. I hold
my breath and concentrate on the napkin in my hands in an effort to stifle the shivering
the close distance between us is giving me. It’s an impossible task, though, because
the memories of him wrapping his hands around my body, flipping me over, and bending
me down on the arm of the couch flood my mind, and my sex pulses with the need to
be stretched by his manhood again.

Pulling the chair closer to mine, Zane leans in and whispers in my ear, “Bla, bla,
bla.”

As if I wasn’t already aroused, his lips brush my skin and the hair on my nape jumps
up at the touch of his lips and the seductiveness of his deep voice. I gasp, unable
to do anything else, wishing his girlfriend would come and save me from him, or I’m
sure Taylor or another guest will see his effect on me. Worse, he’ll realize I turn
into a puddle of goo at his mere presence.

“What?” I ask, tilting my head slightly toward him, willing my sex to stop interfering
with my brain.

“My father, the actor.”

I shake my head to convey to him my confusion, glancing up at his eyes briefly. Without
my control, my tongue brushes my lips to moisten them, and I notice Zane’s face lightening
up with a seductive smile.

“Why do you say that?” I mumble each word with difficulty like a drunken person would
speak.

“His publicist jotted down his speech for him.”

I turn my attention back to Michael, who’s still on the stage in front of the microphone
while embracing Chloe and Dylan under each arm. “That’s not true.”

“Being a father to a daughter is something unique, something extraordinary,” Michael
says. “I don’t mean any disrespect to my sons. I wouldn’t change them for the world,
but when I held Chloe in my arms the first time on the day of her birth, she stared
at me intently, as if she knew who I was. My heart changed permanently as I realize
who she was. The real owner of my heart. Her birth gave me reason to be the best person
and father I can be, make the world a better place for her, and make her proud of
me.”

Zane smirks. His face looks amused and pained at the same time. “Lies, all lies. He
was on a business trip the day Chloe was born. The first time he saw her was when
she was already five months old. Not just that, during her first year, he visited
her only three times, and maybe half an hour at each visit. He didn’t care about us
in the least when we were kids. He doesn’t care about us now, either.”

I’m having difficulty picturing Michael as a heartless father. He’s sweet and thoughtful
to say the least. “How can you say that about your father?”

“Because, I know him. He’s not the person you think he is. He’s mastered his role
as a caring gentleman after years of practicing. Don’t fall for his games. Nobody
with a loving heart and good intentions can even dream about the power and money he
owns. These’re all his games, and we’re all his puppets. Chloe, you, me. Even the
governor can’t pass laws if my father is against them, because he’s threatened to
close down his business in California and move to another state, leaving thousands
of people unemployed.”

I analyze Zane’s cold expression and his intent eyes for a clue to his lie, or at
least a motivation behind his smear campaign. “If he’s such a bad person as you make
him out to be, then why are you working for him? Why don’t you run from him as far
away as you can?”