Adversaries and Lovers (6 page)

"That's not necessary," Kate cut in. The thought of meeting with Ben behind the closed door to his office was bad enough. Clinging to his muscular torso while straddling the seat behind him on his motorcycle set her nerves humming.

"If you want the account," Ben said, looking steadily at her, "it is necessary."

Kate folded her arms, and replied, "And maybe I don't want the account that bad."

"But you do want to be art director," Ben said, "and that comes with landing my account."

Kate eyed him, dubiously. "How did you know about that?"

Ben shrugged. "I always do my homework. So, what's it going to be?"

Kate eyed him with vexation. She didn't like being backed into a corner, especially not into a corner with the enemy. And she'd better not forget that Ben Stassen was the enemy. He was also the means by which she'd land the job as art director of Boswell Advertising, so it seemed she had no choice. Inhaling a long, steadying breath, she said, "Alright, you win."

"This isn't supposed to be a win-lose situation," Ben said. "I was hoping we'd be on the same side."

"Maybe with your advertising campaign we will be," Kate said, "but we're definitely on opposite sides of the zoning issue, which
is
a win-lose situation. Only for you there's nothing to lose. Either way, you'll have your new office. But a whole neighborhood of wonderful old folks stand to lose everything they love if your zoning change goes through."

When she'd finished her diatribe, Ben said, "I'll be out of my office for the next few days, but I’ll plan to see you there next Friday at four."

"Is that an order?" Kate said, miffed that he'd ignored her plug for the old folks, while issuing orders like a platoon leader.

Ben chucked her under the chin. "No, it's an invitation. I'll buy dinner afterwards."

Kate didn't like the warm cushy feeling she got when she looked into Ben's amused eyes. It broke down her resolve. "I'll come at four, but we'll skip the dinner," she said. She glanced down the hallway at the closed door to Grandma’s bedroom, and added in a hushed voice, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to my grandmother about the photos. She doesn't know I showed them to you."

Ben arched a brow. "That's interesting."

"Yes, well, she has enough problems in her life right now without being burdened by ghosts from the past."

Ben slanted her a cynical, one-sided smile. "Ah yes. The poor, helpless widow is about to lose her beloved home to the evil tax collector because of the wicked capitalist."

Kate glared at him, and said, "I don't know how you can be so completely insensitive."

Ben shrugged. "I'm insensitive because I know that if my corporate office goes up in Sellwood, your grandmother and her friends won't be out on the street like you imply. They'll be able to sell their old houses, buy new ones, and have money to spare."

"
That's not the point
!" Kate said, incensed. "My grandfather built this house with his own hands and my grandmother's help. Don't you think that means anything?"

"Your grandmother needs to face up to reality," Ben said. "Your grandfather's gone, and staying in this house won't bring him back."

"I don't understand you at all," Kate said, her temper hovering on the brink of eruption. "Nothing seems to touch you. But everyone isn't like you, thank goodness. Most people own possessions they cherish and don't want to lose."

"Owning possessions is an oxymoron,” Ben said. “One can't own possessions, but one can be possessed by holdings. There's a subtle difference. When one's holdings become crucial to maintaining happiness and well-being, one becomes possessed by them."

"And you refuse to be possessed by anything or anybody," Kate said. "You do have a problem."

Ben shrugged. "I don't see it that way."

"No, I don't suppose you do. What I don't understand is, if you can walk away from your house and everything in it, why do you surround yourself with works of art you created with your own hands?"

"It's all in the eye of the beholder," Ben said. "I don't consider the pieces I've done works of art, only meaningless fabrications made from idle hands."

"Do you consider Rembrandt's paintings meaningless fabrications made from idle hands?' she asked.

"I can't speak for Rembrandt," Ben replied, "only for myself."

"Then beautiful things mean nothing to you?"

"Sure they do," Ben said, "but I refuse to let them possess me."

"And I think you're afraid that something, or someone, might touch your heart," Kate said, holding his gaze.

Ben studied her soberly, and as she looked into his eyes, Kate caught a glimpse of sadness, like windows opening to a soul that harbored pain. But the moment was fleeting, leaving her with a nagging uneasiness that she’d just touched on some hidden truth. She wanted to smile in triumph but didn't, because to do so seemed, for some inexplicable reason, a hollow victory. She did, however, like the feeling of power over Ben, marginal as it was. Then, the sadness vanished, replaced by amusement. “If I go through life unscathed,” he said, “it’s because I don’t make decisions or take actions based on emotions, but instead on logic, reason and self-control.”

Feeling an uncharacteristic boldness, Kate reached up and said, while tracing the firm line of his lips with her finger, "And if a woman turns the tables on you, are you still able to maintain that unshakable self-control you're so proud of?"

A new light came into his eyes. "Go ahead. Test me."

Kate knew she was playing with fire, but she refused to back down. Bracing her hands on Ben's chest, she tilted her face up and pressed her mouth to his, and with the tip of her tongue, traced the line of his compressed lips. She’d proved her point and had no intention of going any further, when his hands came up to cup the back of her head. He threaded his fingers through her hair, tipping her head back, and covered her mouth with his with a hunger that took Kate by surprise, evoking a longing she wasn't prepared to acknowledge. She curved her arms around him, her lips moving against his, their tongues twisting and tangling in sensuous surrender. As the kiss deepened, her chest felt tight, her heart started pounding, and her breathing came so fast she had to break the kiss to gulp in air. Stunned and confused, she moved away from him. Folding her arms, her hands clasping her forearms, she said with irony, "Have I made my point?"

Ben stared at her, eyes luminous in the subdued light. Then a muscle tensed in his jaw and he said, soberly, "I’ll see you Friday at four.” He left abruptly, pulling the door behind.

Kate stared at the door, bewildered by his hasty departure. She felt a nagging uneasiness that something profound had just happened, that their odd liaison had just moved to a new level. She didn't know whether she wanted to move with Ben to that new level though, but she sensed that if he wanted her there, she'd go willingly. Like a lemming following the piper to the sea.

***

After a week, Kate still couldn’t shake the expression in Ben's eyes after their heated kiss. Nor could she reason through his hasty departure. What she did know was that there was far more to Ben Stassen than she’d initially thought. In fact, he was the most complex and multifaceted man she’d ever met. He was also expecting her in his office at four o’clock, but she’d been puttering around doing menial tasks, so anxious about seeing him again after their passionate kiss, that it was already well past four.

Grabbing her portfolio, she left for downtown Portland. Twenty minutes later, as she stood in the elevator that would take her to the eighth floor of the lofty building and the offices of Stassen Sports Gear, she felt a curious fluttering in her stomach that had nothing to do with the fact that she’d skipped lunch. Something happened during the heated kiss that changed the dynamics of their peculiar association, and she had no idea what to expect from Ben now.

Whatever it was, she definitely did
not
expect to find him standing in his office, dressed in a tie-dyed tee-shirt and gray sweats, and wearing the most peculiar-shaped swim fins she’d ever seen. She found herself smiling. He didn’t smile back. Instead, he acknowledged her with a brief nod and said to his secretary. “Carla, get me a pair of women’s medium fins—” he turned, and his eyes ranged the full-length of Kate “—and a ladies Sealskin size six.”

“Any special color on the Sealskin, Mr. Stassen?”

Ben looked at Kate, held her gaze for a moment, and replied, “Green.”

Kate’s smile shriveled. She eyed him with wariness. “I hope you don’t expect me to do what I’m thinking,” she said, nervously fingering the top button of her shirt.

“Test the products?" Ben said. "I told you we’d be doing that,”

“You said motorcycle helmets, not bathing suits,” Kate said, the timbre of her voice cranking up a notch.

“I said products,” Ben retorted. “And we won’t be testing bathing suits, only swim fins. You can test in the raw, swim in what you’re wearing, or change into a Sealskin. Your choice.”

Kate glared at him. “And where, exactly, do you intend for me to test your swim fins? At your cozy little hideaway in an oversized hot tub made from a giant steam boiler!?”

One corner of Ben's mouth tipped up, then flattened, as if he were holding back a smile, and he said, “We’ll be testing them in the pool on the roof of the building."

“We?”

Ben shrugged. “How else can I get your input?”

Carla returned with a thin silver foil box tucked under her arm and a pair of the peculiar swim fins hanging from her fingertips. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Stassen?” she asked.

“Yes. Tell callers I’m testing equipment and won’t be back for a couple of hours.”

Kate looked at Ben, nonplussed. “Two hours to test a pair of swim fins?”

“Two hours for you to test, evaluate, and pitch me ideas on how best to promote them." Ben slid the box with the bathing suit across the conference table, and said, “You can change in the ladies dressing room down the hall. Then come back here and I’ll take you up to the pool.”

Kate stared at him. “Surely you don’t expect me to parade around here wearing only this—” she waved a box so thin it couldn't contain more than a bikini.

Ben eyed her with undisguised annoyance. “Our models do it all the time." As he said the words, two tall, slender women in bathing suits paraded past the open doorway.

“I’m not one of your models,” Kate snapped. “In fact, I can’t imagine that you expect every artist you hire to go through this.”

Bracing his palms against the conference table, Ben eyed her steadily, and said, “Every artist I’ve hired has gone through this, but none bitched about it. Most welcome the chance to swim in a rooftop pool instead of pitching ideas in a stuffy conference room." When he said nothing more, Kate realized she’d been dismissed.

She turned and made her way down the hallway to the dressing room. Un-tucking the flap at the end of the foil box, she pulled out a one-piece suit and held it up. The plain, satiny suit with its high-cut front and wide straps seemed reasonably modest. It wasn’t until she slipped into it and viewed herself in the mirror that she realized how revealing it was, with its leg holes cut high on her hips. It was obviously a racing suit intended to glide through the water without resistance. The slinky fabric clung to every curve and angle of her body like an iridescent-green skin, delineating her breasts with their puckered tips, and the sharp angles of her hips, and the abs in her tummy, and even the slight mound of hair at the juncture of her thighs. And as she stared at her all-but-naked image, and imagined Ben’s eyes scanning the length of her, a shiver of anticipation coursed through her, settling below her belly.

She also realized Ben’s attitude toward her had changed since their kiss. No more bantering, no more teasing, just irritation and indifference. So maybe his demand that she test the fins was nothing more than that, and she was being
emotional
. Still, she had no intention of parading down the hall and into the elevator with Ben, where she'd stand all but nude in her iridescent-green skin, while the elevator crawled up to the twenty-sixth floor of the building.

She looked around the dressing room with its tile floor, line-up of make-up vanities, and glass-enclosed showers, and spotted a full-length cabinet. Inside, she found shelves lined with white towels and wash cloths, each carrying the Stassen Sports Gear logo. Taking a bath towel, she draped it around her shoulders and returned to Ben’s office. When she stepped into the room, he barely took notice of her, and she found it oddly disturbing, though she couldn’t reason why. He was, after all, the enemy. Although she was quickly making her way up the ladder as an artist, she was definitely at the bottom rung with Ben in convincing him to find another location for the corporate office. She also noticed that he still wore his tee-shirt and sweats, which annoyed her. She’d barely conjured the words in her mind, when she found herself saying, “Obviously you expect women to parade around here half-naked, while you do as you please.”

Ben eyed her with irritation. “Let’s just set the record straight then." He yanked off the swim fins and shrugged out of his tee-shirt and sweats, leaving her staring at an iridescent-blue Sealskin suit that hugged his narrow hips and dipped low on his belly, drawing attention to the blatant, packed-in bulge of his well-endowed male anatomy. “Are you satisfied?”

Realizing she was staring, Kate raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and replied, “Uh... yes... I mean... I’m satisfied that... men… uh… parade around here like that too...”

“Good.” Ben grabbed both pairs of fins, tossed a towel over his shoulder, and left the room, Kate close behind. As they rode up the elevator, Kate stood in front of Ben, while staring at her own reflection in the polished silver elevator doors. But when she raised her gaze, the dark eyes in the sober face reflected off the shiny surface were looking directly at her. Deciding it was time she broke the ice cloak that seemed to have encased Ben, for whatever reason, she said to his reflection, “You seem distracted and uptight."