Just One Night, Part 3: Binding Agreement (3 page)

“I graduated in the top ten percent of my class at Stanford,” she says. She hasn’t even looked up at me. I shouldn’t be here at this time in this place. I should have knocked. But none of that fazes her. She just glares at the wall and continues.

“I was recruited. This firm
wanted
me. They knew what I could do for them. I didn’t need to sleep with anyone to get here.”

“I never slept with anyone out of ambition,” I say, acknowledging and correcting the insult, but this time without offense. I’m a bit too tired for a brawling fight. “Tell me something,” I ask, “if I had, would you really have a moral problem with it? Is your bitterness coming out of disapproval or disappointment?”

She remains silent, waiting for me to clarify.

“If there was a man who could help you with your career,” I continue, “someone you were attracted to, would you have made yourself available to him in exchange for his assistance?”

She shakes her head. “Not my thing. When I use sex as a tool, it’s as a knife not a stepladder.” She finally looks at me with a thin smile. “You use sex as a skeleton key. It opens doors for you. Your way appears to be amazingly effective.”

Asha’s taken her blazer off. Her white shirt is sheer against her light brown skin. She’s of East Indian heritage but something about her transcends nationality. She’s almost more of a concept than a person. She embodies cool, aggressive ambition, fierce sensuality, malicious honesty. . . . She adds femininity to sadism.

“I didn’t want to get Tom fired,” I say quietly.

“Why not?” Asha asks. “You’re going to get his job. I heard it from a reliable source. The higher-ups probably thought it would look better if they gave it to you after you have your predictably successful meeting with Maned Wolf.” She pauses, cocks her head slightly to the side. “Tell me, where did you run off to after you found out Tom had been let go? You left in such a hurry.”

“I had to confront him.”

It takes a moment for Asha to contextualize the words but once she does, a light, gentle laugh escapes her glossy pink lips. “Mr. Dade? You think what he did was unscrupulous?” She stands, crosses to me, her lips by my ear. “You have never been a beacon of morality,” she points out. “You get no points for being conflicted if you constantly choose the path of wickedness.”

“I haven’t—” I begin but Asha cuts me off.

“You are wicked, Kasie,” she reaches for me, tucks my hair behind my ear, runs her fingers up and down my back as I grow rigid. “You fucked a stranger,” she says, her voice as gentle as a caress. “You betrayed your fiancé by taking Mr. Dade’s cock in your mouth. You lied to Tom about it, to everyone really.”

“You do remember that I can get you fired,” I say tersely.

“Oh I know that’s around the corner. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but soon. First Tom then me, it makes sense. I might as well have my fun while I have the chance.” Her hand slips down to my ass but then she steps away before I have a chance to protest.

“I will say that if I had been given the opportunity, I would have slept with your Mr. Dade.” She walks to the window, puts her fingers against the glass. “When he walks into a room, he dominates it; it’s almost impossible not to look at him. His form, the broad shoulders, the muscular build . . . and yet all that is nothing compared to his presence. He has a . . . a savage sophistication. He’s Daniel Craig’s James Bond; a young, sexy Gordon Gekko.”

“He’s Robert Dade,” I say with a smile because while the analogies work I can’t compare this man to another. His effect on my life is so unique and unexpected; he stands apart from the giant cinematic images of men wrecking havoc on fictional adversaries.

“Yes,” Asha agrees. “He’s Robert Dade and I’d be a willing and eager player in his bedroom games. Not because I want his assistance but because I’d like to see if I could break him.”

I laugh, almost charmed by her arrogance.

“You don’t think I could?” She asks . . . although maybe it’s not a question. Her voice has no inflection. She turns back to me and shakes her head. “Your problem is that you have never fully understood the power of being a desired woman.”

My mind flashes back to a night in Robert’s bed. I had climbed on top of him, refused him until he said, “Please.”

Asha smiles, reading my mind. “Power between the sheets means nothing if you don’t learn to extend its reach outside of the bedroom.”

I look away. The room seems to be getting colder. I rub the back of my arms for warmth.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Asha continues. “It’s in the stories of your religion. Adam and Eve, Samson and Delilah, Salome and her dance of the Seven Veils: they all speak to the same undeniable truth. If a woman truly wants something, whether it’s having her man bite into an apple, bringing a divinely appointed superhero to his knees, or a Baptist’s head on a silver platter, she can have it. A woman can have anything if she knows how to use what God gave her.”

I start to laugh, but then . . .

If I give you the world on a platter, will you take it?

A Baptist’s head on a platter. Is that really so different from what Robert is offering?

Yes
, I tell myself,
because Tom is no John the Baptist and Asha is a far cry from a saint.

Asha’s fallen silent, giving me time to try to see the stories of the gospel through this new lens.

“If you knew how much power you have, you’d have courage,” she finally adds.

Sometimes, when people name the thing you want, that thing gains texture. You can see it and therefore you’re sure you can have it if you just do or say exactly the right thing.

That’s sort of how I feel when I hear Asha suggest I can be courageous. It’s what I want.

But in a moment the image fades away. Melody and her love affair with destruction and divorce from sanity, my parents and their complete abandonment of her . . . I have nursed cowardice all my life, hoping it would protect me from all of that when nothing else would. It’s part of me now. I don’t know how to expel the beast.

“I don’t have any interest in helping you keep your job,” I say, shifting my weight onto my heels, suddenly tired and resigned. “But I promise to do what I can to keep you from being fired over false pretenses. If you get thrown out of here, it’ll be your fault, not mine, and not Mr. Dade’s.”

“You say that now—”

“—and I’ll say it tomorrow.” I turn and pull open the door. “Good night, Asha. Go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Then go to the park and pull the wings off butterflies,” I say with a sardonic smile. “That seems like the kind of thing you would enjoy.”

She smiles back, shakes her head. “Butterflies are too weak.”

“Then shoot a coyote, whatever,” I suggest. “But your work day’s over. We all need our rest and if I’m going to be a dictator, I’m going to try to be a benevolent one.”

As I walk out of her office I hear her gentle and appreciative laughter. For a split second I feel a jolt of camaraderie and forget that she’s the personification of evil.

But no doubt she’ll remind me of that in the morning.

As I step into the elevator I mull over her words.
Your problem is that you have never fully understood the power of being a desired woman.

That’s where she’s wrong. Robert made me feel that power. When we make love, I always feel protected, frequently overwhelmed, but I also feel the power I have over him. It’s an aphrodisiac that has become rather addictive.

Power between the sheets means nothing if you don’t learn to extend its reach outside of the bedroom.

As the elevator makes its descent to the parking lot I realize that she might have a point. But I’m learning . . .

 . . . and rather quickly.

CHAPTER 4

I
T’S AFTER ELEVEN.
I’m about to go to bed when I get the text.

Video conference?

The last time I had a video conference with Robert, whom at the time I only really knew as Mr. Dade, I had ended up naked, touching myself . . . it became a habit with us, not the video chatting but the rest of it.

But tomorrow I have to prove my worthiness in this meeting. I can’t allow him to shake me tonight.

I text back.

I can’t.

I don’t say more than that. I shouldn’t have to. He knows what tomorrow is, what it means.

He sends his reply.

You can. Tonight will be innocent.

I hesitate.
Say no?
I tell myself.
How can you have any power at all if you can’t say no?

But of course I can say no. Just not to him.

I turn on the computer; in a moment I see him, on my screen, in the chair in his bedroom. So far and yet so very, very close.

“Robert, I can’t—”

“Tomorrow you and your team will be in my boardroom,” he says. His voice is kind, almost paternal.

I smile. “It’s not something I’m bound to forget.” But then the weight of it hits me and I lower my head. “I have to remind them all of my capabilities,” I whisper, pulling at the ends of my fingers like a nervous child. “They need to remember how qualified I am. Otherwise—”

“You will stand in front of me,” he interrupts gently. “In front of my executives and your team and you will deliver your recommendations on how to strategically place my company up for public option. You will impress us. You’ll show that entire room the aggression and fervor that you’ve shown me every time I’ve held you.”

“It’s hardly the same.”

“It doesn’t need to be that different. Every time you’ve been in my arms, in my bed, you have risen to meet my challenge and my passion. You can do that in different ways, in a different setting. You
will
show everyone why you’re deserving.”

That makes me giggle. “How exactly shall I do that?” I gently put my fingers against the computer screen, touching the image of his arms where, even from here, I can see the small scratches I left there during our last time together. “By making them bleed?”

His smile widens as he leans back in his antique chair. “I’d like to think you’ll save your violence for me.”

“Ah,” I say, almost reluctantly pulling my hand away. My smile wavers. “You’re assuming too much. You haven’t seen the presentation. You . . . you may not like my proposals.”

He cocks his head to the side, raising his eyebrows in a way that is both seductive and impish. “Take a chance.”

I burst out in full laughter because it seems that lately I’ve done nothing but take chances.

“I promise you this,” he says softly. “I won’t pressure my executives to accept your proposals. Whatever reaction you get from them will be honest and I won’t overrule them.”

Ah, so there is no guarantee here. The realization actually relaxes me. This is the kind of challenge I’ve trained for. I get it and it’s familiar. Right now, when everything in my life feels new and scary,
anything
that feels familiar is a blessing.

I roll back my shoulders, raise my chin just a little. “Sleep well, Mr. Dade,” I say softly. “We both have a big day tomorrow.”

“Good night, Miss Fitzgerald,” he says and with a small smile he disappears. My screen goes black.

But I still feel him.

Like the ocean feels the moon.

*   *   *

AND THE NEXT
DAY
I’m ready. I have to be, right?

“I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready,” I repeat to myself as I pull the comb through my hair, ripping through the tangles, barely flinching at the pain.

I choose a black fitted skirt that hits a few inches above the knee and match it with a tight-fitting blazer with a peplum flare. Under that I’ll wear my silk sleeveless top in a green that reminds me of the Everglades. It’s so light you almost expect it to be sheer. It’s an illusion, a hint of mysticism encased in the harsh realism of a business suit. I’m making a statement.

“Today’s my day,” I say again to the mirror.

My reflection looks back at me, doubtful.

I grab my briefcase, my grip a little tighter than usual, and walk out. No need to go to my office. My team will meet me at Maned Wolf.

As I drive there I think about the name, Maned Wolf Securities. A little research has taught me that the maned wolf is the largest canid of South America and, thanks to its long legs, it stands taller than any wild canid in the world. It bites the neck of its prey, shakes it violently until it’s limp. But unlike other wolves, this one doesn’t form a pack. It claims a large territory that it roams and defends with only the help of his mate. Together they work to keep all threats and challenges to their authority at bay. The maned wolf mates for life.

But for all its height and aggression, the maned wolf is considered a vulnerable species. It’s hunted.

Driving now through Beverly Hills I decrease my speed and wonder if Robert sees how much he resembles this animal. I think Robert’s a vulnerable predator. And I could be his mate, helping him rule and expanding his territory.

But we’ll still be vulnerable.

Eventually I reach his Santa Monica building. Tinted glass walls stretch up to the sky as if appeasing this city’s need to see its own reflection. I park on the street, straighten my posture, and breathe. My team knows that I’ve slept with the man we’ll be presenting for. They’re judging me. If I mess this up and still get a promotion, I’ll invite nothing but disrespect and derision. I’ll have to turn down the promotion, maybe even leave the company.

That simply can’t happen. I swallow hard and walk through the doors of the massive building. I stride past the security desk and on up to the conference room. I’m ten minutes early but people are already in their places. My team sits with the Maned Wolf executives all ready for my performance. Only Robert is missing. I walk to the front of the room. Taci has everything set up for the PowerPoint presentation.

I stand in front of them all and idly reach for the laptop that stores the visuals I’ll be using. I wonder if anyone else notices the slight tremble of my fingers. The executives flip through their iPhone apps, read e-mails; a few grace me with quiet smiles. If their thoughts are lewd, they hide them well under their bland, almost disinterested expressions. I’ve spoken to every one of them over the last few weeks but none of them address me now. They all just wait.

And then he enters the room. The energy immediately shifts. Everyone lifts their faces to Mr. Dade but as his eyes stay trained on me, the others follow suit. The intensity of the attention hits me like a wave of heat from a controlled explosion. I click on to PowerPoint and begin.

I start with market trends, boring stuff to most but not to me. The trend of the market is a mathematical manifestation of the expectations and values of an entire class of people. The ticking numbers of the Dow can tell you if thousands of people are feeling hopeful or scared. Are they pulling their money out, hoarding it like one would hoard water before an impending disaster? Are they investing in pharmaceuticals, predicting that more of us will find solace in a pill? But the trends that are relevant to Maned Wolf are even more interesting. Their alarms and safeguards can give the insecure a sense of safety. So the question here is, will investors be attracted to the market value of fear?

And the answer is,
always.

I walk them through the different aspects of their business that will appeal to investors and find the areas that will mean little to them. Protection details for foreign nationals in dangerous countries is a division that should be downsized. Too much risk. The profitability of fear is continuous, the profitability of death is finite.

Everything can be reduced to a number.

The executives are more alert now. They watch as I point to different areas of the graph. My fingers no longer tremble. I can feel their eyes, but Robert’s gaze has a distinct texture. It’s velvet against my skin.

I go over the numbers of their R&D department. This is an area that needs to grow, but their marketing department needs a makeover. New hires will be needed here; layoffs will be needed there.

When it’s reduced to numbers, I can be ruthless.

Daemon has forgotten that he needs to keep his eyes to himself. I can feel his gaze, too. But it’s not like earlier. His desire doesn’t stem from what he knows about my relationships. It stems from my power. I’m a force.

Asha’s looking at me, too. The power excites her. She wants me, to touch me in the most intimate ways. She wants to be the hunter who can bring down the predator, tie me up and display me for all to see.

And these executives . . . they
all
want me. And their desire is not an insult. It’s a gift.

Image and branding is Taci’s area, and I step back and allow her to temporarily take the floor. But I know the attention is still on me.

What if I let them all have me? What if I made them work for my affections,
made
them bend to my will, agree to the implementation of all my plans? What if I rewarded them for it?

I imagine it now. Daemon stands up, crosses to me, waiting for instruction while Robert nods his approval. This isn’t betrayal. This is strength. It’s the kind of power that allows me to do anything I want anytime I want. No one dares object.

I imagine myself stripping Daemon down. I remove his jacket first, then his tie, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor while he stands quietly compliant. I slowly unbutton his shirt as he faces the room; Nin smiles as I expose his carefully sculpted, slender torso; run my fingers along the outlines of his muscles, his pecs, his abs, his narrow waist. “Take off the rest,” I say, standing back, watching as he obediently pulls off his belt, then his pants, and finally the boxer briefs. He’s slimmer than Robert, a little less bulk, and his youth gives him a fragility that can’t be shaken by his daily workouts. His erection gives away his desire. He looks to me, hope lighting up his brown eyes as he waits for his next instruction. I put my hands on his shoulders and press down until he lowers to his knees, waiting.

Again I look at Robert. He smiles as I raise my skirt to my waist, lower my panties just enough.

“Taste me,” I instruct, and immediately I feel the caress of his tongue splitting me open as my milky desire runs over his tongue.

The VP stares at Daemon, envy coloring his face. I nod at him, beckon with one hand, and he immediately complies, coming behind me, pressing himself against me; I can feel his erection as he sucks gently on my neck even as Daemon continues his ministrations. My eyes are now locked with Robert. This time it’s Asha who must attend to me. She, too, walks behind me, running her fingers through my hair, up and down my arms. She wants more but this is all I will allow her. This is my party. I make the rules.

Robert smiles; he understands. His eyes speak his requests; to please him I allow Asha to unbutton my shirt, unfasten my bra. The VP gets to his knees and strokes my thighs as Daemon’s tongue plunges inside of me. I shudder, my head falls back slightly, the pleasure is intense. But my eyes stay with Robert. Slowly he gets up, walks around the table, stealthy, confident, demanding. He stands in front of me.

“Step aside,” he says and the other players in this game fall away, none of them fully satisfied but knowing that they are not allowed to protest. He runs his hands over my hips, my stomach, my breasts as I work on his belt.

And then in a flash we’re up against the wall, in front of everyone. My legs wrapped around him as he thrusts inside me over and over again. I cry out as the room watches, waiting to see if they might have a turn.

But they can’t. I’m Robert’s and he’s mine. We make the rules and the excitement of that is almost as intoxicating as the feeling of Robert’s erection inside of me driving deeper and deeper. He steps back, pulling me with him so only my shoulders are against the wall now and I rotate my hips, grinding against him, bringing him to new levels of ecstasy. From the corner of my eye I can see Daemon itching to join in.

Just when I think I’m about to come, Robert stops me, lowers my legs to the floor, and turns me around. He gently presses down on my back and I bend over, putting my hands on the wall. I moan as he enters me from behind. I turn my head so I can see the room. The VP is touching himself as he watches us. Asha looks angry and envious. Taci squirms in her seat, shy but desirous.

And Robert’s hands stay on my hips as he thrusts harder and harder. I’m shaking now as I brace myself against this wall, feeling him, seeing them. One of his hands slides up to my breast, he pinches my nipple before bringing his hand down, between my legs. I’m so wet; he knows that, everyone here knows that. They all want to touch and taste. But this is just for Robert. He touches my clit, moving his finger slowly at first then rapidly, playing with me even as he presses inside of me.

I scream as I come; the sound is too raw and unrestrained to be considered a yell. I feel him come inside of me, filling my body even as he fills my mind with a new sense of dominance, influence, control.