Strapped (11 page)

She practically purrs like a Russian feline when she introduces herself. “Mr. Holden, so nice to see you again. I am Tatyana, I am facilitating the negotiations for the development proposal.” She doesn’t even look my way. She gives him her hand, in the old fashioned way. There is a pause and I can see hesitation in Taylor’s eyes. She has caught us both off guard. He hesitantly takes her hand for brief second and releases it.

“Yes, very nice to see you again.” He seems flustered. She leans against the wall and begins to toy with a ring on her finger. It is quite large and has a round flat disk with an unusual design. It is hideous and her obsessive toying with it makes her seem like a flirty teenage girl. I feel that I do not belong, that I am interrupting some sort of moment and I slip away. The night was going so well, like a perfectly coordinated waltz, and this vamp just stomped all over it. I don’t see Henry or Lizzy and start to feel self conscious in the crowd. Now that I am alone, people are not lining up to converse. After all, it is millionaire-bachelor Taylor Holden who everyone wants a piece of. I grab another glass of champagne, and take one last look in the distance. The floozy is all over him, so I head out to a balcony for some air.

The cool air feels so invigorating against my skin and the opalescent dusk sky gives me something to admire. Things are quieter out here and instead of looking like an awkward person with no friends, I look like someone enjoying a moment of contemplation alone on the balcony. While someone like Tatyana gets right under my skin, I have no claim over Taylor. I cannot stop a rude and desperate woman from trying to seduce him. I can’t even blame her, I think he makes most women around him act out of character. He might even want her. He may very well bed her tonight. It was right of me to step away, because he is a grown man and he can take care of himself. I find my cell phone to check the time. and I see a text I missed.

Mr. Holden:

Where did you go?

It is a text from about 10 minutes ago from Taylor. I estimate I stepped away from him and Tatyana 20 minutes ago. As I prepare to respond I hear Taylor call my name. He looks uneasy.

“Shy, I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m sorry. I just saw your text.” I am tempted to make a snide remark about Tits McGee, but I don’t want to sound jealous.

“What happened over there? You practically left the second she arrived.”

“Well, you may not have noticed, but it was pretty clear she didn’t want me there and I wasn’t sure what the rules of engagement were for hot Russian chicks. We didn’t ever get that far in our discussions.”

“I should have been more clear, but I don’t use these events to pick up women. You do not have to concern yourself with that.”

“You can’t control where you might meet a special person.”

“You’re right...” His voice trails off. Yet again, I feel like there is more than one meaning to his words. “Don’t worry about it. If it happens, I can take care of it.” He takes a deep breath. “We did well, but I would like to go. We’ve spent enough time here. Henry and Lizzy, the social butterflies want to stay out. You are of course, free to do so as well.”

“I can’t keep up with those two. You may remember my stellar showing at the club the other night.” He smiles, but I can sense he is tense and wants to leave.

The two of us sit in the limo in comfortable silence. Taylor pops open a bottle of wine, and I accept.

“I have to say, I have never been more comfortable at one of these galas. I think it had to do with your presence.”

“I’ll have to admit, I was beginning to wonder what all of the fuss was about.”

“I really hate these events, but it’s part of the job. You’ll see when we get these deals.”

“So you don’t remember any of these people from last year? Do you think you will if you return next year?”

“I don’t know. Mainly I don’t care. I only entertain them because I must. I recite lines you give me as if they are part of a script, and then I move onto the next person.”

“I couldn’t forget all these people if I tried.”

“That’s why you’re the perfect date, I can be myself and you make me look good. The night is young. Let’s stay out a bit longer.”

A rush of schoolgirl giddiness comes over me. The night is not over and it’s just the two of us. The driver offers to take us to an area with beautiful vistas while we enjoy ourselves in the car in the meantime. Once we arrive, we step out to the most magnificent views of the waterways. Even though it is well into the evening, it still appears to be twilight. Swirls of oranges, blues, and purples highlight the night sky and make me feel like I am standing in an exquisite painting rather than a city.

“That bridge over there is the Palace Bridge.” He points to a well-lit drawbridge, adjacent to the Winter Palace and the Peter and Paul Fortress. “Late into the night, around one in the morning, they draw all the bridges along the Neva at once to allow for large ships to pass. It’s simple, but majestic.”

“I can imagine. Just looking at the bridges against the backdrop of these amazing pieces of architecture and the dimly lit sky is beautiful enough. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did you learn to speak Russian?”

“I had language tutors from the second grade up until college. Not just Russian, I speak four languages fluently.”

“What languages do you speak?”

“English of course. Then Spanish, French, and Russian. My Russian proficiency is not as strong as my Spanish and French proficiency. A touch of German and Italian too, just enough to get me around though.”

“Wow. You’re a genius.”

“No, I was just immersed at a very young age.”

“Say something to me in one of your languages.”

Taylor thinks for a few seconds and smiles. “T’es belle comme le ciel nocturne.”

I recognize it as French, but he says it so quickly that I can’t make out the sentence using my first grade level of comprehension.

“Oh la la! What does that mean?”

“You’ll have use your imagination.”

There is a chill in the air and Taylor gives me his jacket. It smells of him, so clean and comforting. I realize I haven’t thanked him for the dress.

“Taylor, before the night is over I have to thank you for the outfit and the jewelry. I have never worn anything that made me feel this way.”

“My pleasure. It’s just a dress though, whatever you feel, it’s always there, dress or not.” We both lean forward against a railing facing the water. That was the nicest thing I have ever heard him say and I am not sure what to say back. I remember the fact that he likely knows the panties I am wearing and it is strangely arousing. I try to play detective with a question since I dare not ask about the undies directly.

“So I assume this was purchased here. I doubt you flew Mona halfway across the world, but something tells me you didn’t hand pick everything.”

“Are you questioning my taste Ms. Ball? Some things I picked out from a display brought to my room, some items were picked out by an assistant.” Besides a playful tone, his answer reveals nothing. I imagine him sitting in front of a rack of dresses while on a cell phone with paperwork on his lap, pointing to the one he wanted for me. I don’t understand this man, he lavishes me with expensive gifts, yet he does not take it a millimeter further. It is equally comforting and disconcerting. I feel he expects nothing from me, but at the same time, I wonder if there is motive behind all of this that is yet to be revealed. He has been nothing but a gracious employer, albeit mildly inappropriate in his tendencies to feed and clothe me.

“You are so unusual Taylor.” I say this with a smile, but it is a genuine observation. He leans back and gives me a confused look. I am beginning to feel comfortable enough around him to try and delve into his life. “Who is Mr. Taylor Holden?” I am feeling a little emboldened.

“What you see is what you get.”

“What if you don’t let people see anything?” He remains quiet. Oh no, I pushed him too far; he is shutting down. I don’t say another word. We both watch the cityscape in silence for a few more moments.

“You may not like what you see.” I barely hear him say this as we walk back into the limo. I am not sure that he wants a reply, but I offer up a small response.

“I doubt that. I think you’re a great guy. I’m really happy we met.”

While looking down at the ground, walking with his hands in his pockets, he looks at me, faintly smiles, and nods. As if to say: “me too.”

The mood during the drive back is serene. I have learned to accept his silence and his moments of sadness. To push the issue only makes him pull away. We ride the elevator up to our floor, my stomach in knots, feeling the magnetic energy in the air. He stands across from me, his hair is just slightly out of place. His tie and the top buttons of his tux are undone. His eyes glow in the dim light. I want to run across the elevator and kiss his full lips, run my hand across his beautiful face and have him accept my touch with no qualms. Instead I stand there, frozen, facing an invisible wall I cannot cross. His coolness makes me question if everything I feel is just a figment of my imagination.

When we arrive on our floor we head to our rooms, politely bidding each other goodnight. Just as I am about to enter mine, I remember I have his jacket. I can use this to have just one more moment with him tonight. I knock on his door, his lips slightly open when he sees me on the other side.

“You forgot your jacket.” It is still on my shoulders. I turn around to offer it up to him.

“Thank you Shy,” As he says this he takes both of his hands, grabbing each shoulder of the jacket and oh so slowly pulls it off of me, grazing my bare arms and back as he pulls it off. I close my eyes taking in his touch. Each caress of his fingertips feels like one thousand little sparks. How can just the faintest touch from this man set me off like this?
Please kiss me. Kiss my neck. I won’t say no.
I hold my position for a second more than I should, but it feels so tortuously long. There is nothing, not another touch, not a kiss. I turn to face him again and bid him goodnight. His face looks sad, almost guilty. Every word, every touch, every action tonight was an implication. This keeps us safe from one another. It keeps me safe from him.

“Goodnight Shy,” he says as if dismissing me from his presence.

“Goodnight Taylor.”

Chapter Ten

I awake to a beautiful St. Petersburg summer morning. The sky is gleaming and I choose to spend my day revisiting the Hermitage, this time taking in all the artwork. In the evening Taylor, Henry, Lizzy and I have an early dinner planned as one final get together before we depart the next morning. I venture out very early by myself. These past few days have been a nonstop litany of human interaction and I desperately need some time alone to decompress. While I would love nothing more than to see if Taylor is free for the day, after last night, I sense that I am entering dangerous territory with him. I am beginning to lose my compass here in this strange land with this strange man. While we have crossed no clear lines, I feel a sense of guilt about our interactions. There is something distinctly intimate about us in a room together, even if we are ten feet away from one another. While I know Rick would be hurt or angry towards my innate lust for Taylor, one cannot help who they are attracted to, they can only control their actions, and I have been loyal. I make it a point to not touch base with Taylor before leaving the hotel to give us both some space. When we meet up together later, Henry and Lizzy can serve as a welcome buffer to our tension.

I throw on a light blue sundress, ivory sunglasses, and gray ballet flats to embark onto my solo journey to the Hermitage. As I marvel throughout the edifice where royalty and Czars once made their home, my thoughts wander back to Taylor. He, much like these people, is wealthy beyond imagination, yet while his home is magnificent, it is stark and cold. I wonder if one day he will have a family, and if he will raise his children in that home. He never talks about his family. It is as if he just appeared onto this world on his own. I only know about his history through the small amount of information I could find online. His father must have been a great influence on him; after all, he passed the company to him at such a young age. Yet, at the mere mention or reference to family, he either changes the subject or goes into Mr. Holden mode. I can understand not wanting to share his personal life with a mere assistant, but I am more than just his assistant. I can’t label it, but that title does not adequately describe our relationship. There are moments where I feel like I can see right into him, if only for a second. He hired me under the pretense that I was not just an average person to him, that he felt a special bond with me. I stop my wandering train of thoughts about Taylor. The entire point of being on my own was to get away from him and yet he even finds a way to follow me into the great walls of this palace.

Sometime in the afternoon, Lizzy calls. She is sunbathing at the hotel alone. Henry slept in and wasn’t doing anything of consequence until dinner. She mentioned, I dare not ask for fear of sounding too interested, that she had not heard from Taylor. She assumes, being his assistant, I would know of his whereabouts. I feel a little embarrassed. It’s my day off, but I still should have checked in. I am beginning to let my confused feelings get in the way of performing my job optimally. Casually, I tell her that I have no idea as technically we are off today. Once we hang up, I resolve to text Taylor, very formally to let him know where I am and that if he needed me for anything work-related, I would make myself available. A half hour passes before I receive a response.

Mr. Holden:

Enjoy your day exploring the city. Just catching up on work in the room. Nothing I need today that the concierge can’t take care of.

Dinner is at 5:30 since we have a very early flight the next day. The driver brings me back to the hotel around four o’clock. I am excited for our gang to have dinner together. As a group we have great chemistry and can laugh and talk for hours. I decide on a gold sequined mini skirt, with a billowy silk beige tank top tucked in. I top off the look with a pair of nude suede platform pumps and a high bun with pressed bangs. I feel really good about this outfit. It is fun, young, and sexy but not as scandalous as the one I wore to the club. I grab my clutch and head to the lobby to meet everyone. I only see Lizzy and Henry, which doesn’t surprise me since Taylor is always the last one to join the group. They both greet me and Henry asks me if I am ready to go.

“Yeah. Where’s Taylor?”

“He didn’t tell you? He’s not going to be able to make it tonight. He didn’t say why, you know how he is. I figured you would know though, being that you are his partner in crime.”

Again, I feel embarrassed and a little bit sad and angry. Right now, I look pretty dumb, being his assistant and not knowing what he is up to. He told Henry, which means he made a conscious decision to leave me out of it and I feel betrayed. But the real reason I am upset is that I won’t see him tonight. I won’t get to enjoy his laugh or the way he sometimes pensively gazes away while everyone else is going on and on. I wanted him to see me in this outfit, so I could play the fun game of reading his reaction. Every night it has been different and I wonder what it would have been had he come downstairs tonight. I pretend to be unaffected by his sudden absence, and we head to the restaurant, bottles of champagne already open in the car.

We arrive at miX, a very contemporary and chic French restaurant. Until recently, I have been a burger or fried chicken kind of girl. Since working for Taylor, he has exposed me to the finest wines and restaurants money can buy. We are escorted to a glowing dining room decorated in notes of brown and cream. Large orb-shaped chandeliers with hundreds of tiny lights adorn the ceiling, softening its clean lines. This is so Taylor. Before we even look at appetizers, Henry orders a bottle of wine for the table. Taylor and I are usually the ones to show restraint on a night out (excluding the night at the club) and now I am with the two biggest lushes I know. Luckily, I feel like drinking, I need that giddy feeling and I think it will allow me to stop obsessively wondering what would cause Taylor to bail out on dinner without telling me. Between the drinks in the car, and the wine brought to the table, by the time our appetizers arrive, I am feeling very much loose and talkative.

Henry shares story after story about his crazy travels and his antics. As far as I can tell, he is Taylor’s best friend, and they couldn’t be more different. Taylor is reserved, mysterious, cautious, and methodical. Henry is loud, rambunctious, carefree (maybe even careless, I can’t determine which) and loves attention. I find it so odd that he would choose this man as his CTO, but I know why: For all of Henry’s craziness, this technological genius has never let Taylor or the company down.

I ask Henry how he got to know Taylor. For one, I am genuinely curious about how they became friends, but I also want to learn more about Taylor’s relationships.

“That’s a story for the ages,” Henry smiles brightly.

“Here we go again,” Lizzy chimes in sarcastically as she pours herself another glass of champagne.

“Oh come on Liz, she asked! You just get all hot and bothered hearing about my former outlaw ways.”

Lizzy nearly spits her champagne back into her glass. “Yes
Henri
,” she often pronounces his name in French, “nothing gets me in the mood like hearing about a pimply-faced computer nerd.” The banter between those two never gets old.

Henry shakes his head at her while holding a smirk and turns his attention back to me.

“Outlaw ways? Now you two have to shut up and tell me the story!” I demand.

Henry takes a deep breath and leans onto the table. “How old are you? 25? 26? Anyway, you were probably in middle school when this happened, but when I was 17, I hacked into a bunch of banker’s computers. At the time, it was a major case because of my age, but also the political implications that came with it. There were many unfavorable memos that were exposed. I didn’t do it for money; I could have easily stolen their banking info.”

“So why did you do it?”

Henry eases back into his seat, puffing his chest. “Oh, I don’t know. I was being a rebel, trying to stick it to the man. Other kids smoke weed or drink, I hacked.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah, but not nearly in as much trouble as an adult would have gotten. Mainly, my name suffered, it was dragged through the mud, although I became somewhat of a mythical figure in computer hacking circles. My parents had to pay a lot in legal fees, which I am proud to say I have since repaid,” he says pointing his index finger into the air. “Legally, I was fined and served probation.”

I look over at Lizzy, who seems to be completely tuned out, so I speed up the story for her sake. “And how does this road lead to Taylor?”

“Well, it’s a few years before I meet him. After the whirlwind died down, I had a hard time finding my way. I dropped out of college after the first year and many companies were reluctant to hire me since I was viewed as anti-establishment. I decided to take advantage of my hacker reputation and started a computer security consulting business. You know, hire the bad guy to protect you from the other bad guys…”

“You’re so clever!” Lizzy bats her eyelashes and places her hand on his lap in feigned admiration. Henry winks at her, takes her hand and lifts it off his lap, but continues to hold it as he wraps up the story.

“So before blondie over here explodes from hearing this story for the twentieth time…H.I. got hacked shortly after Taylor took over. He hired me to analyze the company’s I.T. security and we clicked. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He wanted me to train to become the new CTO and it’s like once he knew he wanted to hire me, that was it.” As he finishes recounting the story, I can sense Henry feels a great sense of gratitude towards Taylor.

“What about you Lizzy?” Suddenly, I am afraid to know. While I sense no sexual chemistry between her and Taylor, what if our stories are similar and I am not as special as I think I am?

“She’s shy about it,” Henry teases.

“No, it’s fine! I just hate saying it because it sounds so stereotypical: working your way up from the mailroom,” she says in an animated voice. “I was a temp working in the mailroom. I was asked to deliver a package personally to Taylor, excuse me, Mr. Holden at the time. He immediately picked up on my faint accent, which many people to do not. Next thing I know, we are having a conversation in French! I was so nervous because he’s the big CEO and people mentioned that he was so serious and intimidating, but here we were just yapping away. Honestly, I think he just wanted to use me for practice,” Lizzy takes a sip from her glass. “So he asked about my experience and I expressed that I had just moved to the area and was looking for work and the temp agency sent me here, yadda, yadda. Before I can say
voila
, he is offering me a position in sales. I turned out to be pretty damn good at it and here I am today, landing big fucking deals in St. Petersburg! You’re classic mailroom to exec story sitting right here in front of you.”

“And I’m the arrogant one?” Henry chimes in.

I had my doubts about Taylor’s intentions when hiring me, but Henry and Lizzy’s stories confirm what he has always said. He likes to find young, raw talent and completely lavish them with opportunity and wealth. It seems to have paid off with Henry, who I get the sense would do practically anything for Taylor. I can sense that even Lizzy, with her boisterous personality, sees Taylor as a dear friend.

Lizzy quickly changes the subject and begins to go on about a handsome young shipping heir she met at the gala. Spending the last 15 minutes talking about Taylor, along with an alcohol-induced illogical sense of boldness gives me sudden urge to text him, maybe even call him. While I am aware that this is coming from a place of drunkenness, I embrace the courage I would never have otherwise.

“Guys, can you excuse me? I think Rick just called.” This buys me an excuse to leave the table without any companionship as Lizzy may join me if I excuse myself to the bathroom.

As I stand outside, I stare at the phone, second guessing what I should do. Fuck it. I am calling. No text. I am calling. The phone rings twice...three times...Relief runs over me as I decide to hang up.

“Shy?” He sounds not like himself.

“Yes.” I realize I have to no idea what to say to him. I can’t believe I am drunk dialing my boss. Fuck me for being such an idiot.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine.” Then, before I know it, words are pouring out of my mouth, completely unauthorized by my brain.
“I was just wondering what happened to you. You didn’t even tell me you weren’t coming tonight; I had to find out from Henry.” There is a pause.
This is a bad idea, Shyla. A very bad idea.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware I had to report my whereabouts to you.” His unapologetic tone shocks me. His sarcasm angers and emboldens me.

“You know what, you actually kind of do have to tell me. I thought I was your right arm, who doesn’t tell their right arm what they’re doing?” I sound so drunk right now. “I mean, you tell Henry, but I’m supposed to know what is up with you, it’s my job and I am the one in the dark.” I realize by my tone that this has nothing to do with my professional responsibilities. I swear I hear him smiling on the other line.

“Shy, you’re probably right, but this is personal and I would prefer not to share. I didn’t share my reasoning with Henry either.” My heart sinks, he doesn’t want to share his personal life with me. I don’t say anything for a few seconds. “If you have been drinking please take care of yourself, I can’t be there to help you and Henry is great, but he tends to keep himself occupied.”

“I see.” I say this as if to close the conversation, but I end it with a trademarked Shyla Ball verbal stab. “I understand that you want to keep things impersonal, except when you send me out on some freaky scavenger hunt for my own underwear or hold my hand or give me expensive jewelry. I wonder what you have planned for the other pieces of underwear, your next assistant perhaps? Don’t worry about me, I will be fine tonight.” I hastily end the call before he can rebut and gasp for air. The party is over. I think I just got my ass fired. I better go enjoy my dinner, because this will all be gone in a couple of days. What the hell was I thinking? I shut off my phone, scared to deal with what I assume will be a call back to let me know I am done at H.I. I wipe the tears that have rolled down my cheeks and take a few deep breaths to stop the crying.