1. The Weaker Sex
Chapter one
The Weaker Sex
Five Months Later
U gh. There's just so much to do, I think to myself.
Lying on my back and staring off at the window in the bedroom, I fight off a wave of discontentment at seeing the sun firmly set, and all the lights of the high rise apartments surrounding us come on. Though right now, I can't even be distracted by the beauty of the city.
My thoughts race, disassociated from my boyfriend Christopher who's in bed with me.
I have to meet with Fabian tomorrow at eight in the morning to go over paperwork regarding the sign off of the plans that he requested so King can get started on the development. I also need to meet with Anna, so we can put together a portfolio of the design that should be paired perfectly with the new changes.
My brow furrows with irritation because I need King to look at it first before submitting to Fabian, because apparently I can't put a fountain in the wall that is going to have a load bearing beam and tons of studs. According to King, that is.
Thinking about that particular talk with him, where he said I needed to wait for his sign off in order to plan and execute my designs, makes my blood boil enough with irritation to almost make me orgasm.
Almost.
I look back up when my body jerks with a harder than normal thrust, and I frown, seeing Christopher's taking a bit longer tonight than usual to orgasm. Though we've been intimate for two years, he's accomplishing absolutely nothing on my end. He's currently thrusting, looking off to the side, and he looks just as bored as I feel.
Wanting to get it over with I wet my lips. "Come on baby, come for me."
My faux sultry game is on point as I move my hands to grab his ass, digging my nails in and jerking him to me harder. Attempting to coax him to ejaculate so we can be done with this, because I have stuff to think about: like an incredibly full day tomorrow, and a meeting with King to go over plans that's making me so anxious I can't relax enough to orgasm.
Though I'd never offend Christopher by telling him this, his bedroom game is not intense or on point enough to distract me from the thoughts racing in my head. He's bored, I'm bored, and frankly over it. Apparently my 'sexy' move didn't land how it was supposed to. Irritated, I bite my lip to keep my mouth shut as he jerks his head to look down at me with an annoyed expression on his face .
"Ow." Christopher snaps his eyes to mine, reaching back to yank my hands off him. "What the fuck Isobel? You know I don't like that. Now my erection is gone!"
I tighten my lips, feeling him soften inside of me and slip out. Having a man lose his erection while inside of you has got to be easily top five of the most icky feelings ever, in my opinion.
Unfortunately, this has been happening for the better part of a year. Any minute thing on my part, and he loses his erection. I don't get it. Christopher looks away once more, rolling off of me on a long suffering sigh that I truly want to echo, but don't feel like having the conversation that would follow that.
He's already told me I was becoming difficult. Showing too much of an attitude for him.
Christopher just doesn't get it. He comes from wealth and doesn't have to be as strong or work as hard as I do. And for the record, I'm not just becoming difficult, I've always been a bit strong willed. Which was just fine with him up until about half a year ago around the time he started going soft on me while we're intimate. I'd just figured that the honeymoon bliss part of our relationship had drawn to an end.
"Sorry," I mutter, closing my legs and swinging them over the side of the bed to get up.
Truth be told, I don't care anymore.
I've spent months frustrated with our boring sex life, but in the end it really doesn't matter. I need dependability and steadiness right now which is what Christopher provides, not hot sex. I get up and head to the master bathroom, drawing up short as we almost run into each other awkwardly, both of us having the same idea: to jump in the shower as quick as possible afterwards.
I tuck my dark, copper-colored hair behind my ear and give him a little smile as I inch around him. "I'll just use the guest bathroom tonight. Enjoy the spray," I say, referring to the coveted shower head that's been my best friend for all the year and a half that I've been here.
I dubbed her "Sensa" because she's sensational and has helped me through many a frustrated night where Christopher got off and I didn't. Me and Sensa have had a time . But I'm off to the guest bathroom where there is no handheld shower head. You'd think that Christopher would offer for me to have the nicer bathroom, but that's fine.
I'm used to not being considered in this way.
I snag a towel and a spare loofah, hightailing it to the guest bathroom, smiling at the privacy I'm able to have now. I can actually be left to think, without having someone inside me to interrupt my thoughts. Pinning up my straight hair carefully so I don't get it wet and ruin my blow out, I pull on a plastic cap and step under the spray to lather my loofah with my favorite jasmine soap and begin again.
It's mental gymnastics.
Eight in the morning meeting with Fabian to go over paperwork, then meet with my friend and assistant Anna to develop the portfolio in enough time to book it to the west side of town where King's architectural firm, King Dynasty, is located, then have him look over it personally.
I have no clue why Hendrix King, the CEO and god of the New York Architectural universe, feels the need to do these meetings with me in person. I would think he'd have one of his lower minions handle my appointments, but no. Apparently my first and last meeting with a couple of the associates intimidated him so badly that King decided to meet with me personally.
And for the last nine months since I've nabbed Fabian as a client, we've met every time in person, once a month. Fabian was a huge win for me. The break I've been begging and praying for since I started my own interior design business just three years ago.
Fabian's no Olive Garden, or Pasta House. No, he's straight from the vineyards of Stanley Tucci's Italy himself. A pure-blooded, famous Italian chef who's cooked with the likes of Gordon Ramsay and Irina Garten. Holds four Michelin stars and nine restaurants around the globe, and this latest undertaking in New York will be his tenth.
Hendrix King, who I've nicknamed King because, well, he damn near is one, was picked to build the place. And I was picked to make it pretty.
Thinking of King, my sex clenches greedily, having not been satisfied.
I meet with him once a month to go over this project in a painstakingly long, drawn out process that I think might be unique only to him, because the few other folks I've done business with do not operate the way he does. No, King really takes his time to go over every detail, asking me question after question. Making me explain my process and the why's of it all.
Why does this material need to be used, the structure will need to be built differently to accommodate it? Why does this space need to be so open, it'll affect the integrity of the ceiling because of the beams we need to use? Why put the fountain feature there, it'll disrupt the piping for the industrial work?
Why, why, why.
Last meeting we had, I told him to go fuck himself because I was getting that fountain in that exact spot I wanted it, and I didn't care if he had to break his fingers to build the damn thing himself to make it work. I was getting what I wanted.
I'll never forget the way he looked at me when I verbally set him out that day. It was a Friday afternoon, a little later in the evening. He usually sees me around five-thirty, or six, letting me know that he's a late worker, doesn't fuck off like other people do the moment the clock strikes five.
The sun was starting to make it's way down in the sky, and the light slashed across his face just right that his eyes turned this magnificent shade of blue, making his dark brown hair look almost auburn like mine. The sun really was magnificent that day, highlighting the rich cream tone of his office with his dark mahogany wood desk, and the light gray suit he was wearing. He had two shirt buttons undone, showing crisp chest hair that wasn't too thick.
He'd sat back in his seat, nailing me with his gaze, looking delicious.
"I see you got a fiery temper to match that fiery hair," he'd said. "Tell me, is it natural, or do you dye it that color? It's rather unusual… but goes rather beautifully with your skin tone."
I'd rolled my eyes and scoffed, because just like so many white, straight men in his field that I've encountered, he just doesn't know how to keep business business. My response was a sharp one, and why I'm sure King elects to take me on personally, and not leave me to the lower associates.
"I guess you're going to grab me by the pussy next, huh?" I tilted my head and gave him a slow once over of my own, because he's not the only one with eyes. "Boy, you wealthy white men are all the same, aren't you? Rich, entitled, arrogant, spoiled, out of touch. Some would even say delusional, King. Handle the shit, please, so I can give our client the restaurant of his dreams and stop talking to me about fucking nonsense that has nothing to do with work. I'll have you know that I am not the weaker sex. You can't just talk to me any kind of way because I'm a woman. " I grabbed my briefcase, and snatched the paper he was holding out of his hand and turned to walk away. "Oh, I want that fountain in that exact spot I said I wanted it. Make it work. If you don't, next meeting I'll come with attitude."
"You're capable of even more attitude than this?" he'd retorted.
I'd turned back to him and raised a brow. "Oh, I can raise straight hell if you'd like?"
The slow smile he gave me was enough to ruin my panties and make me realize that I do want just a little more than what I'm getting from Christopher. But needs come before wants, and I need stability more than I need excitement and a chaotic sex life.
I rolled my eyes at him before exiting the office without waiting for him to walk me out, or a fancy receptionist to see me to the elevator. I was pissed the entire drive home too, because he made me think of my father.
Yes, my hair is real, courtesy of my red head evil father who I haven't seen since I was five years old. Almost twenty years ago. It's a dark auburn, but glows almost copper in the sunlight. My mother is a beautiful African American woman, hence my mixed race. I guess I could count myself lucky he didn't try and touch it, as that happens more often than I'd care to think about.
Do people not realize you shouldn't touch other people's hair without permission? It's fucking rude.
I finish up in the shower and head straight back to bed, happy to see that Christopher has remade it, and thanks to our lackluster sex life, the fitted sheet where I was laying was bone dry. You can't even tell there was any fucking going on.
To be honest, Christopher and I can have sex even less and it wouldn't hurt my feelings any. We love each other, we depend on each other, but the passion just isn't there.
As I lay down, I look at him. He's a hunk of a man. His goatee is always perfectly trimmed, his hair is always in these beautiful waves, and god, he smells amazing. What attracted me to him initially was his eyes were hazel, just like mine, and I wanted hazel-eyed babies one day. But what really got me going was he's an accountant. But not just any accountant, Christopher comes from a prestigiously wealthy family who's accountant pedigree dates back six solid generations.
To put it mildly, I was attracted to the stability that not having to struggle would bring me.
I couldn't live that life anymore. My mom said she risked her life to get me out of the lifestyle my father was living. Apparently he was a part of the mafia or something. She told me one day she found a body in the trunk and bolted and never looked back. I don't know if my trauma was such that I'd made up that story or not, but either way he hasn't been around, and mom and I don't talk about him.
But, man, did we struggle! I mean we were so dirt poor that I started working at fourteen in order to help keep us from going into a shelter. When I was sixteen I fucked our landlord for two hundred dollars so we wouldn't be put on the street.
The whole time he was using my body, I was praying to God to give me a decent life where I would have money and wouldn't have to fight to survive. Make it to where I could be successful so that I could take care of myself, my mom, my baby sister. So that when I have kids one day my child won't have to decide between fucking some guy to make rent or be evicted.
My mother, still to this day, doesn't know some of the things I did to make sure we could make it. To make sure we didn't lose my baby sister Melody to the foster care system. But whatever I did, it still was hardly enough for us to scrape by.
We ate so much top ramen that it took me years to be able to eat anything that had a noodle in it. I still won't, because it will make me gag. I substitute every noodle dish with rice. That's why it's so ironic that my first big break came in the form of an Italian restaurant.
It felt utterly symbolic, like I'm about to turn a page into the next chapter of my life.
So when I met Christopher a year after I graduated from school, and he was just so normal, dependable, I glommed onto him quick. However when I found out that he had money, I jumped all over him like he was a freaking lifeboat and I'd been drowning. Because I know what it's like to be be destitute, and I am never going back.
Don't get me wrong though, I don't want to just marry into money. I want to give it to myself.
I busted my ass to pay my way through college, working three jobs and somehow managing to network and straight wiggle my way into circles so that I could get connections. And one day, Fabian landed in my lap like a divine gift from God himself. I still don't know how he heard of me, to be honest. My work has been small scale, since I created ISB Design, INC.
ISB for Isobel Sophia Brookes. Maybe that prayer that I shot up to the sky nine years ago when I let that pervert take my virginity for two hundred dollars finally made it's way to the right person?
I don't know… maybe it happened when I met Christopher? I know the sex between us is trash, but, I really am with Christopher because I need his non-hectic energy that keeps me calm, and not remind me of the craziness of my childhood. I want no reminders of that time in my life.
I turn towards him in bed, leaning forward to kiss his lips softly. "I'm sorry I ruined your erection, I won't grab you there next time," I whisper against his lips, smiling when he nibbles at the corner of my mouth and draws me a little closer. I have a split second of hope that we might actually cuddle when his arms slides out from under me .
"That's just fine babe," he says. "Don't worry about me at all."
I purse my lips, haul the sheet up to my neck, and then stare at the ceiling. That familiar sensation of disappointment blankets me when the bed bounces as Christopher turns roughly on his side, facing away from me without sparing me an ounce of affection.
That's another thing… there's no touchy feely with this man.
Speaking of touchy feely I bite my lip, get back up and pad quietly over to my purse, double checking that the hand cream that King likes that I let him use that one time is in my purse. I bought him his own tube of the heavy duty stuff that you only need a dime sized amount for. But with King, he might need more.
His hands are big, and he's always rubbing them. Kneading them rather hard while he's looking over my paperwork.
I don't normally buy this type of stuff for men, Christopher usually gets a wallet, or a gift card to a golfing venue from me. But I felt led to do this for him for some reason, so, I listened to that internal voice and bought the cream regardless. I really hope he doesn't think I'm stupid, or worse, being unprofessional.
Seeing the tube is there I head back to the bed and climb in, determined to get a good night's sleep.
The next morning we're both up earlier than normal and I'm stirring eggs in the kitchen, trying to make an omelet. I look up, seeing Christopher in the living room with his feet up, still not moving. The six am news is on and his cell phone in his hand, texting.
"Christopher," I call out in a teasing voice. "Come make breakfast with me." He looks up from his phone and I smile at him, tossing a pepper from side to side. He turns his attention back to his phone almost immediately, not returning my smile.
"No Isobel, not this morning. Sorry."
I deflate, my spirit made even more low by the sound of thunder in the background and rain hitting the windows. Early fall makes for lots of rain, a depressing season.
"Aw. Why not? We're never up this early together. It'd be a nice way to start our day?" I say in a small voice. I wish he paid more attention to me, or at least wanted to do more things with me. I mean there's boring but then there's…well…whatever this is. He can't even chop a pepper next to me so we can talk for a few minutes?
"Sorry Isobel, I'm actually not hungry. Don't worry about me, just make enough for yourself. I gotta get out of here anyway." He stands up and walks over to our shoe cabinet and pulls out his dress shoes, not meeting my eyes.
"What? At six in the morning? You don't have to leave for another hour and a half," I say in a shocked tone. I frown, beginning to chop the vegetables.
"Yeah, I want to get an early start to the week."
I nod, understanding because I'm like that too which is why I'm usually up early on Mondays, but Christopher usually isn't. Staying quiet, I push back the hurt of rejection and turn to sauté the diced vegetables at our little four burner gas stove. As they sizzle, I turn back to face him. "Hey, there's an office space at King Dynasty that's for lease that looks really promising. Do you think we can go look at it today before my meeting at five?"
Christopher pauses. "At King Dynasty? Don't you think that might be a bit expensive? "
"Well, its still only two offices but it's got a bigger board room. I'm starting to garner more business and I think that it'd be smart to have more space."
"No, Isobel, I don't think we can afford that."
I look up shocked and irritated because we've got plenty of money in our joint account. Seeing his distracted look I leave him alone. I'll go look and ask for the rent price myself then come back to him later when I have an actual monthly rent amount to tell him. "Oh. Okay."
But he didn't even try, didn't even seem the slightest bit interested in joining me to look at it. I feel my irritation grow so I choose to stay silent, resolving myself to just catch up on work stuff over my solo breakfast when I hear Christopher exit the apartment without a goodbye to me. Ironically, my irritation gives way to relief.
I pull out my work phone to text Anna, thought she isn't ever up this early.
Are we still on for meeting at twelve today over lunch at the deli? -Isobel
Then a text to Fabian.
Mr. Fabian, just verifying that I will be there at eight am to go over the latest designs draw up prior to my meeting with Mr. King. -Isobel
Then a text to King.
Good morning King. Verifying our meeting at five pm today. -Isobel
Dumping my omelet onto my plate I add a little more cheese and sit at the table with a glass of orange juice. My phone lights up as I take the first bite.
Anyway we can do a little after one pm? I'm sorry, I have an appointment at noon I forgot about. -Anna
I frown.
Okay. But that wont give us much time before my appointment with King though. -Isobel
It's totally fine, I went over the portfolio last night and organized the newest designs so all we have to do today is enter what you go over with Fabian. -Anna
Immediately feeling better I smile, because she really has been an amazing assistant. I don't think I would have been able to take on Fabian and King without help and now due to my connection to them, I'm beginning to take on more clients. Which Christopher would know about if he'd paid the slightest bit of attention.
I look down and see my phone lit up with a text.
We are verified for five. But I have a question for you, if you'd oblige me. -King
I'm curious so I bite, taking the bait.
Yes? -Isobel
Would you also be willing to meet me for dinner at six fifteen tonight, after our business meeting? -King
My jaw drops as my heart begins to pound. What's a man like King doing asking someone like me out on a date? I sit back in my chair, biting my lip, and let myself fantasize saying yes.
In another lifetime maybe I could have, but not this one .
No, Christopher is who I'm with. Christopher is the safe choice, not King. Nothing about King screams safe to me. He's too affluent, meaning a hectic lifestyle as a socialite girlfriend. And with that lifestyle comes charity dinners, always putting his business first because he's a part of the King Dynasty. And even though little ISB Design, INC. is small peas in comparison, it means the world to me and I wouldn't give it up for nothing.
Nothing.
Give me my safe, boring, and hell, I'll say it , straight up disinterested boyfriend who doesn't demand anything of me, and therefore I can keep doing what I'm doing. Building my business brand solo without interference, and not having to give it up to stand behind some man and his accomplishments.
Thanks for asking but I don't think that would be appropriate. -Isobel
Why not. Are you married? -King
May I remind you that I have a boyfriend. -Isobel
Then that means you have options. Come to dinner with me. -King
My eyebrow arches. Oh my God that's bold of him. My fingers tap furiously. I'm honestly pissed because I'm insanely attracted to him, and he's making this hard what with the whole "you have options" and all. What nerve. I'm already resolving myself to be extra professional later at our meeting.
King, not that it's any of your business but I've been with my boyfriend for two years. We are committed to each other. So no. I don't have 'options'. I'm not a cheater. -Isobel
Interesting that after two years I don't see a ring on your finger. It doesn't take that long for a man to know what he wants, Isobel. Until your name is next to his on a marriage contract, technically you are a free woman. Come to dinner with me. -King
Holy shit the audacity is astounding, dangerous, and quiet frankly, sexy. Solidifying my choice to stay on the safe path. It'd hurt me if I thought Christopher was entertaining the advances of another woman just because we weren't married. I get people think like that, but in my head, I'm committed.
Even if King does do something to me I can't explain, I refuse to entertain it.
I can't go out on a date with you and I'd appreciate it if you'd let it go. See you at five. -Isobel
With that I clean up the kitchen and leave the apartment, headed to Fabian's test kitchen.
What a morning, and it's not even seven-thirty yet.