Chapter 2
CHRISTOPHER
If we’re being honest, I don’t even remember what this panel is about. When I chose the ones I wanted to attend, I had a different mindset. Being an architect for many years doesn’t mean you stop learning. I’m always looking forward to learning new techniques.
Things changed. Instead of paying attention to the speaker and the slides, I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Long, light brown hair, the strands looking silky to the touch.
I can’t wipe the image of them roped around my knuckles and her big, brown eyes fastened on me.
My imagination was never this vivid—I’m a rational man, a person for numbers and technical drawings.
There’s not an inch of an artist in me, and yet I want to take pictures of her and fill an entire wall with images of her beautiful face.
Athena is beautiful. She beckons to me like no soul ever had. The few words we exchanged mark her as an equal, someone who knows, someone who loves what she does. She had me hypnotized from the moment our eyes met.
And Athena looked young, yes, but it didn’t dawn on me until I learned she’s a Menken.
If Athena is Vera Menken’s daughter, then that means she’s not only young but too young for me.
I know Vera. We went to countless congresses together, events like this one.
We never got along well—I can’t believe she gets along with anyone, really—but we were often called the faces of modern architecture.
If Athena is Vera’s daughter, then she’s old enough to be my daughter.
Fuck, how could I want someone this young?
No, I had to step away. Wanting her is wrong.
I’d just be the old man hitting on the young woman, a predator, someone using my authority in the field for lewd motives.
The possibility makes me shiver with shame.
I would never do that. I would never flaunt my authority in the field or use my age to take advantage of someone.
Having her is out of the question.
And yet, as I sit on the last line of chairs, pretending to watch the panel, she’s the only thing in my head.
I pull my phone out and type her name into the search engine.
God, she’s beautiful. These expressive eyes of hers get me every time.
I sneak a glance up at her back. She’s watching, unlike me, and I can see she’s also taking notes.
Her silky hair is pulled back from her face, held up by a pen.
I glance at the smooth expanse of her neck, and there’s an aching pit inside of me that desires her more than everything.
The want for her taste is overwhelming. I want to bury my face between her breasts and inhale her scent, then dig my fingertips into her thick curves, feel the warmth of her softness against me. I want to lap at her skin, devour her until the two of us become one.
I shake my head. Shit, I’ve been daydreaming ever since we met.
This can’t go on like this. Looking down at my phone, I tell myself I should shut it off and put it away, but the sight of her pictures calls me in again.
There are a couple of news stories about her and her mother, but I don’t care about those.
I want to see what she’s done with her life and what she likes.
I find a couple of her projects, mainly non-profit organizations and small clinics.
She’s good. I pinch the images, checking her lines.
She’s really good. I admire her unique take on sharp and curvy lines, and how it all joins organically.
How she draws as if it’s a scene from a dream.
She’s talented, but there’s more. I find some stories on volunteer work and how she spends her weekends in orphanages and hospitals, reading for children in the oncology department.
I find several pictures of her on the NGO’s site, her smile wide, her face painted with colorful shapes as she joins others in cheering children up.
Athena is gloriously beautiful, and her body makes me want to drop to my knees and pray for her curves.
But there’s so much more. She’s a hard worker, talented, and has a good heart.
All the more reason to stay away. I’m nothing like that.
I worked hard to get where I am today, yes, but that doesn’t make me a good person the way she is.
Shutting my phone, I put it away, glancing at her back again. My foot tapping the ground, I face the dilemma I’m in. I want her, but she’s too young and too good for me. Can I keep my distance? Can I keep away for this week?
The person sitting next to me gets to his feet and excuses himself.
I get up and out of the way. It’s a weird maneuver in this space, even more so when I was too distracted watching Athena.
Even sitting in the last line, in the very last chair where I can have a bit more space for my long legs, I still face these occasions.
I’m a big man, wide and inelegant when compared to the thin lines of my work.
That, plus the color of my skin, are reasons I faced quite a challenge to progress in this field.
I didn’t give up then. Even when everything pointed at my potential failure... Should I give up now? Should I give up now that I’m presented with a new challenge?
Grinding my teeth, I leave the room. I’m not paying attention and being in the same room as Athena is driving me mad.
I have to remind myself this isn’t a challenge.
Our age difference will never change, and she gave me no reason to believe she has an interest in me.
Or any interest besides the professional.
That’s it. She has no interest. It doesn’t matter how much I want her; her disinterest ends the matter.
All I have to do now is pretend this never happened.
Let this slight obsession work its way out of my system.
I stride to my room and change into working-out clothes.
Better spend the next hour in the gym, sweating this feeling off, or I won’t learn a single thing from this congress.
Athena made my blood boil like never before, but that has to stay in the past. I can’t have her, and the faster I accept it, the better for the two of us.