James
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking with the damn cake. I should’ve shown up at her door and demanded her price. No peace offering needed. This was to be a business relationship, anyway.
I’ve been frustrated all day. It was difficult enough to fire innocent little Sophia Simms. Showing up at her shiny new door was icing on the cake of the universe calling me an idiot. Rarely do I make a fool of myself.
Sure, I got what I wanted. But I hate that I felt at risk of having to beg.
I could’ve got some tweed-suited professor to follow me on this trip, but I didn’t want that.
If it wasn’t Jessica, I wanted Sophia.
I’ve vented my frustration tonight in a foolish way. Sex. Hard. Raw. But as unpassionate and cold as the black ice on the sidewalks below. There was nothing pleasurable about it.
I stand at my bedroom door with my glass of scotch brought to my lips. I look at the little piece of art lying sideways and facing away from me on my bed. Katherine.
A beautiful mess of black curls hangs over her shoulder. The deep serpentine curve of her spine spills into the delta of her hips.
She’s truly something to marvel at. Yet I feel nothing. Not arousal for another round nor a sense of possession I’ve got with certain women in the past.
The model on my bed seems no different than this scotch—a buffer. An attempt to quiet the voice in my head. I did this so I could behave in Egypt.
I know I hurt Sophia by firing her, but it doesn’t make me any less pissed off at how she made me turn around and hand off that cake. I should’ve come inside with the cake. Made her understand that if she’s working for me again, there will be rules.
Respect.
A sharp spanking and a hard fuck for disobedience. But no.
Sophia is off-limits. Sophia is not another girl I can turn out in the morning with a waffle bar and an Uber Black. She’s too smart, innocent, and most importantly involved in my business dealings and personal life.
She’s coming to Egypt but staying the hell away from me. I need to set things straight. My thoughts towards her are adolescent. Weak.
To be drawn so strongly to a woman just because I can’t have her is the kind of apish behavior I abhor.
She’s an asset whose advice and assistance I need on this trip in order for it to be a success.
I was cold when I fired her, and I’ll be cold with her rehired. Simple as that. She’s not about to jump ship with the kind of money she’s getting. My cold shoulder is something she can deal with.
I get an incoming call from a private number. At this hour I know exactly who it’ll be.
“Cody,” I say. “How can I help you?”
“I heard your Egyptologist is out of commission.”
“I found a new one.”
“Good. You’re quick. You know the pieces we’ll be paying for, right?”
“Of course,” I say.
Cody is a tier higher than me in The Society. He’s my blackmailer.
I got in a situation I shouldn’t have. Cody is my age, but his ancient father works in Washington as the Director of the Office of Management and Budget.
It’s a role no one really thinks about, but he has a say in the spending of the Department of Defense’s budget. I got my first contract through connections I made in The Society, but now Cody is saying if I don’t go along with the plan, the government will quit purchasing Aquarius software.
I’m being softly blackmailed, and if I don’t facilitate the purchase of these artifacts, I lose my most valuable contract. It’s left me in a rage, mostly at the fact that Cody isn’t even leveraging his own power but his daddy’s. There is no peer my age who can hold a candle to what I’ve accomplished without being their father’s golden boy or girl.
The problem with being blackmailed is if you give in, it only shows that you’re bendable. I have plans for Cody, but those will have to wait for now.
“We want two cross-border transactions before they reach the states,” Cody says. “These pieces are supposed to be things that have never been for sale before. It will make sense when their prices double from purchase to purchase as the market determines their value.”
“Send me the list, and I’ll have my assistant look it over.”
“Very good. You’re almost clear, .”
My fist wraps so tight around my scotch glass, I set it down before it breaks. I have to be careful not to tell him how he’s already forfeited his life. Once this debt is paid and I look like any old billionaire willing to play ball to the rest of the society, Cody is done for.
“Happy to pay it back, Cody.”
“Good man. Give me an update once the pieces are in transport.”
“Will do,” I say and end the call.
I go back to the bedroom and rouse my date. “Hey, I’ve got a flight first thing tomorrow. No sleepovers.”
“Huh?” She rolls over on her other side so she’s facing me and stares at me sleepily. “You want me out?”
I told her this when I texted her to come over, but apparently, I’ve fucked her brains out. I suffocate my annoyance. “Yes. I’ve got an early morning.”
She nods and starts to get dressed. I leave the room but stand back from the open doorway. Now that I watch her move, I realize this model kind of looks like Sophia. At least more than any other girl I could call over for a night of casual sex. I don’t know whether to be amused or horrified at the doings of my subconscious.
All I know is that it didn’t work. The itch is still there.
The next morning, I’m up hours before sunrise. I work out, take a cold shower, and have what a nutritionist would call a balanced breakfast. I’m starting this Egypt trip off on the right foot.
I texted Sophia last night that her car would come to pick her up to go to the airport at 8:30. I’m leaving at 8:00, and we can easily carpool, but she doesn’t need to know that.
The plane I’ve chartered is thankfully larger than it needs to be. We’ll keep our separate spaces in the air, too. The less time I spend next to Sophia, the better.
I don a navy suit, white dress shirt, and no tie, and then I take my private elevator down to the apartment lobby. I’m walking towards the doors and my black Mercedes idling outside when I freeze.
Sitting in an orange lounge chair is Sophia. She has earbuds in and a sweatshirt on. She has two big roller suitcases next to her with their handles up. I’m impressed that she’s dressed for traveling in comfort. My presence alone isn’t enough to get her to spend a nine-hour flight in work attire.
“Hey,” she says and takes out an earbud.
“I said your car was coming at 8:30.”
“I know. I get nervous about missing things.”
It would be foolish to make her drive separate now. “You can just come with me.” I motion for her to follow with a tilt of my head.
“Oh.” She stands and grabs both roller bags like they’re dogs on leashes and steps out onto the sidewalk.
Our breath plumes. The smell of exhaust is sharp in the cold morning air. Her bags are heavy, and I help my older driver, Simon, load the trunk.
This apartment doesn’t have a full-time doorman, which I am a fan of. The more privacy the better. When the trunk closes, Sophia and I sit in the back seat.
The partition is up. I wish it wasn’t, but I can’t bring myself to lean forward and lower it for no reason. But with it raised, this space is intimate.
I pull out my phone and scroll mindlessly. After a few blocks, Sophia looks at me with her eyebrows arched.
“Are we going straight to the airport?”
“Yes.”
“Oh… Then why were we going to take separate cars?”
I don’t have an answer for this on the tip of my tongue, and before I can speak, Sophia continues.
“Are you avoiding me, ? Because we’re going on a trip together. I don’t know how possible that’s going to be.”
“I’m not avoiding you. I think it’s better if we have our separate space.”
“That’s a roundabout way to say you’re avoiding me. Is that the kind of thing they teach you in business school?”
“I wouldn’t know. I dropped out my final semester.”
“But you were at Dartmouth’s School of Management before that, right?”
I’m flummoxed. I don’t usually have to stay sharp around subordinates. I can let my guard down because no one challenges me anymore. And sure as hell no one teases me. Is that what she’s doing? I can hardly believe this.
“Look, if we’re going to be working closely together, there’s going to be a set of rules. Personal rules.”
“Like what?”
I meet Sophia’s soft brown eyes. Are they teasing me, or am I seeing what I want? “Like no cute teasing.”
“Fine, then you can’t call me snowflake.”
My muscles clench when she says this. It’s an accusation. She’s saying that she hasn’t been the only one being cute . She’s right. My behavior around Sophia is adolescent. But it’s those eyes. Those soft lips I want to feed on. The flush in her cheeks.
I want to blame the two mugs of black coffee I had with breakfast on my fluttering pulse right now, but really, it’s her two brown eyes.
“Sure. First names only.”
“Great.” Sophia moves a strand of hair behind her ear. I can tell she’s still annoyed that I fired her. We haven’t discussed that. How cold it was. How impersonal. “Anything else?” she asks.
This would be a chance for me to change gears. To tell her we’re partners for the time being and to put the past behind us. But I keep the word partners from my mouth. “This is a business relationship. Our discussions should be that way, too.”
“Right.” Sophia nods. “I see the Dow is set to open up two-hundred points this morning.”
“That. That right there. Cut it out.”
“I know you don’t hate fun as much as you make it seem you do.”
“I don’t hate fun. I just have a different definition.”
“Like what?” Sophia asks.
I don’t have an immediate answer. If I told her, she’d think I was crazy.
“You think fun is conquering your enemies and increasing your net worth,” she says, reading half my mind. “That’s not fun. That’s satisfying your ambition. Fun is social. Good times between people. You know? F is for friends…” she says in a sing-song voice.
I stare at her blankly.
“I didn’t expect you to get that one.”
“You have your fun, Sophia, and I have mine. Leave it there.” I can tell she’s trying to open me up. I don’t blame her. She doesn’t want to spend the next week abroad working with a grump. But if it becomes easy to talk to this girl, easy to spend time with her… I might just find it easy to have a taste.
Like an addict, I’ll end up rationalizing one hit. One drink. And that’s what my brain thinks Sophia Simms is—a drug. My fast pulse. My hardening cock. The fire I can feel her watching in my own eyes when she meets my gaze… It all comes alive when she’s near me.
You don’t make a billion dollars without self-restraint. Without sacrifice of the most extreme. I said no to taking a single day off work for two fucking years. I can say no to the voice telling me to taste this girl.
“You mind your business, and I’ll mind mine,” I say as stone cold as I can.
“Of course,” she says, and her lips purse.
My voice isn’t something to be trifled with. I think I succeeded in killing the rest of her want to be on each other’s good sides.
Suddenly, Simon lays on the horn. I can’t see what’s happening out the front window because of the partition, but he slams on the brakes.
German brakes are no joke. The car goes from thirty miles per hour to a dead stop in a second, and Sophia and I both rocket forward. I don’t think when I do it, but I feel my arm go out to try to protect her.
My seat belt locks, and I still nearly hit my head on the partition.
“Fucking hell,” I say. “Are you okay?” I look over at Sophia. My arm is pressed against her chest, and I hold a fistful of her sweatshirt at the far shoulder.
Her mouth is open as she catches her breath. “I’m okay. I’m good.” She looks at my arm. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” I say and slowly release my grip. I almost don’t want to let go. My hand comes away from her soft sweatshirt and carries her smell with it. Flowery. Sweet.
“Sorry, sir,” Simon says, rolling down the partition a few inches. “Jaywalker.”
“I should break his kneecaps.”
“Being mad at jaywalkers in New York is like having it out for pigeons. Part of life,” Sophia says.
She’s probably right about that, but I’m still furious. I’m so distracted by my anger that I don’t realize my hand is resting protectively on the top of Sophia’s leg.
I don’t even care. She’s under my protection on this trip, and there’s nothing cute about that.
I let my hand rest there until we reach Teterboro. She doesn’t seem to mind.