Chapter 19
Dawn took a steadying breath before finally opening the front door and striding into the dimly lit restaurant.
Middle Eastern music played in the background and laughter and conversations buzzed around her. Elaborate colored tapestries with fanciful patterns hung on the gold-inlaid walls and couples sat on low seats, surrounded by silk pillows as they ate their meals of b’stella and beef shish kebabs. An adventurous few smoked from hookah pipes.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It isn’t like I haven’t done something like this before, Dawn thought as she drew toward the back of the restaurant where Razor had texted he was sitting.
But she knew deep down that this time was different. It wasn’t like in the past where she had manipulated men for her own gain. This time she wasn’t calling the shots, and she wasn’t sure if she would really benefit in the end.
Percy wanted Razor to show his work at Templeton Gallery—no matter what—and she didn’t want to disappoint Percy. That meant taking the Acela train yet again to New York. She had to do everything possible to win Razor over tonight and that could easily mean ending up in bed with the young artist before sunrise—a prospect she truly hated. It wasn’t that she didn’t find Razor attractive. Yes, he was hot . . . in a grubby, bad boy sort of way. But he seemed more like a spoiled little brat than a grown man, and Dawn didn’t have sex with children. And sleeping with him meant breaking one of the family’s prime rules, something she just didn’t do.
Well, I didn’t do . . . up until now, she silently corrected.
Dawn found Razor sitting alone, leaning casually against a stack of pillows as he munched on dates. He watched a lithe belly dancer gyrate in front of him to the music. He was completely entranced by the woman’s undulating body.
Dawn waited for him to notice her standing there. He didn’t. After waiting for several seconds, she loudly cleared her throat. Razor finally looked up at her.
“Please . . . Don’t let me interrupt,” she said wryly.
Razor’s handsome face curled into an impish grin. “You aren’t interrupting, babe. You’re exactly who I was waiting for.”
No longer the center of attention, the belly dancer wandered off to sway her hips for a couple at another table. Razor held out his hand to Dawn.
She took it and began to sit down, intending to take the seat beside him, but she yelped in surprise when she felt him roughly tug her toward him. She tumbled face first into his lap. Razor cackled like a hyena and Dawn grimaced, muttering to herself. She rolled onto her side and sat upright. She shoved her skirt back down, which had flown up around her waist when she fell.
Great, she thought. Now about half of the restaurant knows what color panties I’m wearing.
“You thought that was funny?” she asked tersely, glaring at him.
“Oh, come on! Lighten the fuck up, babe! Life’s a party. Enjoy it!” He held a date toward her. “Want one?”
“No thank you,” she grumbled before adjusting in her seat.
“More for me then.” He tossed the date high into the air and caught it in his mouth. He turned to her, grinning again like he had just kicked a winning field goal.
Dawn fought the urge to roll her eyes. This is going to be a long damn night.
“Just suck it up,” a voice in her head urged. “Suck it up so that he’ll agree to show at the gallery and you can be done with this.”
She took another deep breath, trying her best to regain her composure. “So . . . thanks for inviting me to dinner.”
“No prob.” He leaned toward her. His green eyes twinkled. “I wanted to see you again. I couldn’t get you out of my head since that night you showed up at my studio. Damn, you were hot!” He reached for his glass of red wine and gulped down what was left. “If I could have stripped you down and fucked you right there I would have.”
Lord, give me strength!
“Uh . . .” She tucked her hair behind her ear and loudly cleared her throat again, deciding to pretend that she hadn’t heard that last part. “Well, I’ve had a hard time forgetting about you too, Razor. I think you’re very talented and I’d love to have your work at my gallery. I’m a big fan of yours.”
“Big fan, huh?” He tilted his head. “So that’s the only reason?”
“The only reason what?”
She tried to shift away from him slightly though he drew even closer.
“That’s the only reason you couldn’t forget about me?” he asked before trailing a finger along her chin, then her throat. His finger drifted lower, past the collar of her blouse. “I hope you’re interested in more than just my art.”
“Well, I . . . I . . . like you,” she lied, reaching for one of the dates from the gold-plated dish in front of her, making him pull his hand away from her. She chewed. “Of course, I do. But you’re an artist. I’m a gallery director. It only makes sense that we work together for our mutual gain. I mean . . . I acknowledge that DC isn’t New York by a long shot, but it’s an emerging market with plenty of wealthy people who are willing to pay—”
Her words drifted off when Razor loudly huffed. He lowered his wineglass back to the table in front of him and shook his head. “Babe, let’s not talk about that shit tonight, all right? Business . . . money . . . dude, it just brings me down! It brings the world down!” He smirked. “Let’s talk about us instead. Or better yet, let’s not talk at all.”
When Razor leaned forward and she felt his wet tongue flick across her earlobe, her first instinct was to push him away, but she fought it. This is what she came for, after all. This is what she knew she had to do to get this kid to agree to show his work at Templeton Gallery. Razor’s lips left her earlobe and sucked at the skin along her neck.
“Damn, you’re tasty,” he murmured, before reaching for one of her breasts. He then roughly turned her face toward his and kissed her. His tongue dove inside her mouth like it was wearing scuba gear, making her cringe.
Dawn closed her eyes and told herself to just bear it. She was doing it for her job. She was doing it for the gallery. But none of those thoughts were working. Instead, she was silently cursing Percy, calling him just about every name in the book. Then she started to curse herself. Here she was a grown woman of thirty-six, sucking face with a twenty-two-year-old in the middle of a Moroccan restaurant in some Brooklyn neighborhood. Is this really what her life had come to?
“Hello, Razor. Sorry, I’m late. I—”
Dawn tore her mouth away and looked up. When she saw who was standing in front of their table, her eyes widened.
“Sasha?”
Sasha Duncan, Sawyer Gallery director and all-around bitch, stared at Dawn, looking equally shocked. “Dawn, what . . . What the hell are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ What the hell are you doing here?”
Razor leaned back. “Sasha! Hey, glad you could make it!”
Dawn turned to glare at Razor. “Wait . . . wait, you invited her too?”
“Sure, I did. Why not?” He pet the open seat on the opposite side of him. “Thanks for coming, babe. Don’t worry about being a little late. We haven’t started any of the dinner courses yet.”
Sasha’s face twisted with confusion then outrage, but she quickly recovered. The bottle blonde pasted on a smile and adjusted the front of her very short leather skirt. A skirt that looked better fit for someone about thirty years younger.
“Well . . . thanks for waiting,” she gushed before lowering herself to sit beside Razor.
He draped his arm around her and Sasha giggled. This time Dawn did roll her eyes.
Dawn had known that Sasha was full of crap when Sasha said she had no interest in having Razor’s work at Sawyer Gallery, but Dawn had underestimated the lengths that Sasha would go to get the job done. As the evening wore on, Dawn gradually realized how much she had underestimated Razor too. Not only was Razor a spoiled brat, but he was also a manipulative little bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing when he invited both her and Sasha to dinner. He also knew what both women wanted out of him—and he was going to make them work for it, playing one desperate gallery director off the other. There were several times when Dawn wanted to get up and walk out of the restaurant, but she fought down the urge. Not only did she have Percy to worry about, but now she also had her pride to consider. She wasn’t going to lose this contest to the likes of Sasha Duncan.
No way, no how, Dawn thought stubbornly as she chewed her lamb.
When the trio finished the last of their mint tea and Razor wolfed down the last Moroccan pastry (Such a gentleman, Dawn thought flippantly), he stretched and wrapped his arms around each woman.
“So what do you babes say we take this back to my place?” He looked back and forth between the two.
Oh, hell no! He has got to be kidding! He doesn’t actually think he’s going to have sex with both of us tonight, does he?
“Absolutely,” Sasha said, ruffling his beard.
Razor lowered his mouth to Sasha’s and the two shared a sloppy, wet kiss that made Dawn cringe. To any bystander, Razor looked like he could have easily been kissing his mother.
Razor licked his lips and turned back to Dawn. “How about you, babe? You game?”
No! No, I’m not game, you greedy little asshole!
“But think about the gallery,” the voice in her head pleaded.
Dawn hesitated.
“Hey, if it’s not your thing, that’s OK,” he said, removing his arm from around her.
Sasha grinned arrogantly, pissing Dawn off even more.
“I just thought you were open to stuff . . . like me,” Razor continued. “But if you don’t—”
“Sure, I’ll go,” Dawn said quickly, forcing out the words before she had a chance to think any further. “Let’s . . . Let’s do this.”
What the hell am I doing, Dawn thought for the umpteenth time as they climbed the stairs to Razor’s East Williamsburg condo. I can’t believe I talked myself into this!
Razor climbed the last step and walked toward his front door. He unlocked it and threw it open with a flourish. “Make yourselves at home.” He gestured the two women inside.
Sasha entered first, taking off her shawl and revealing the leather bustier that matched her skirt. Dawn slowly walked in after her and looked around.
“Oh, my God! I love your digs, Razor!” Sasha exclaimed. “It’s so . . . so awesome!”
At that, Dawn almost snorted, but managed to hold in her laughter.
Awesome, indeed.
The condo resembled more of a frat house than the upscale apartment it was supposed to be. The décor was expensive, befitting the rich kid that Razor a.k.a. Trent Horowitz really was. The furniture and paintings on the walls were easily worth a quarter of a million dollars, but the tables and floor were littered with empty bottles of wine and liquor as well as dirty glasses and several turned over plastic cups. Ashtrays piled high with used cigarette butts also dotted the condo’s landscape and the living room smelled like a heavy mix of weed and whiskey. Dawn wouldn’t be surprised if she stuck her hand underneath one of the couch cushions, she’d pull out a bra or a thong.
“Can I get you babes a drink?” Razor asked before strolling across the living room and into his state-of-the art kitchen.
“Scotch on the rocks for me!” Sasha shouted.
“No thanks. I’m good,” Dawn answered as she shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over the back of one of Razor’s club chairs.
“You sure?” he called out, opening one of the overhead cabinets.
On second thought, if she was actually going to go through with this whole fiasco, she should probably fortify herself with a drink or two.
Dawn shrugged. “I guess you can make me a scotch too.”
He poured two glasses and returned seconds later. He handed a drink to each woman.
Dawn sipped from her glass while Sasha guzzled her scotch down in two gulps.
“So,” Razor said, slapping his hands together, “you babes ready to have some fun?”
“Sure. What are you up for?” Sasha asked seductively, licking her ruby red lips.
“Whatever you’re into.” Razor grinned.
I’m into walking out that front door, getting a cab, and going back to my damn hotel, Dawn thought.
“Let me uh . . . tidy up some shit first, and I’ll meet you babes back here in a couple of minutes, OK?”
“Sure,” Sasha said.
Dawn nodded.
Razor walked off, disappearing down a hall. When he closed a door behind him, Sasha turned to Dawn.
“I don’t know why you’re pretending,” Sasha whispered. “It’s not like you’re going to actually go through with this!”
Dawn set her drink on one of the end tables and crossed her arms over her chest. “Trying to psyche me out, Sasha? Can’t take the competition?”
“No, just stating an obvious truth. You don’t want to do it! It’s written all over your face.”
“Oh, like you’re that eager to have a ménage á trois with a kindergartener? Isn’t your son his age?”
“How old Razor is doesn’t make a difference to me. I want him at my gallery and I’ll do whatever I have to do to get him there! If that means me being part of a ménage á trois . . . hell! If that means me crawling around on all fours naked, I’ll do it!”
Dawn raised her chin in defiance. “Well, maybe I will too.”
Except the crawling part, she silently corrected.
“Bullshit! You don’t have what it takes, sweetheart. So you can—”
“Babes!” Razor shouted, stopping Sasha mid-sentence. “I’m ready to go if you are.”
Dawn turned and faced the hallway. When she saw Razor, her mouth fell open in shock.
He was buck naked, wearing only a watch and a smile. He wasn’t lying about being “ready to go” either. His hard-on stood at full attention, showing that his artistic skill wasn’t the only thing he could be proud of.
He doesn’t waste any time, does he?
“Be right there, Razor,” Sasha called back.
Dawn watched—stunned—as Sasha began to disrobe. Sasha lowered the zipper on her bustier before letting the garment fall to the hardwood floor. Despite her continual insistence that she had never been to a plastic surgeon in her life, Sasha had obviously had some work done. Her boobs were perky, but rock hard and her nipples looked as if they could poke someone’s eye out. She tugged off her skirt next and kicked it aside. The gallery director stood in Razor’s living room in nothing but her red lace panties and kitten heels. She slowly walked toward him. When she drew near, they shared another slobbery kiss. Sasha grinded her pelvis against his erection and Razor cupped her saggy, dimpled bottom, pulling her closer.
Despite her disgust, Dawn couldn’t look away. She suddenly sympathized with people who slowed down to look at car accidents. Something this disturbing was hard to peel your eyes away from.
The couple finally came up for air long enough for Razor to look over Sasha’s shoulder at Dawn.
“You coming?” he asked breathlessly.
Dawn blinked, snapping out of her malaise. “Uh . . . yeah, I’m . . . I’m coming. You guys . . . go ahead and start. I’ll meet you in the bedroom in a couple of minutes.”
Razor nodded before kissing Sasha again. The woman looped her bony arms around his neck and he lifted her and carried her into his bedroom, making her squeal.
Dawn lowered her eyes. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.
What am I doing?What the hell am I doing?
She rushed toward the end table where she had left her drink and grabbed her glass. She finished what was left of her scotch, coughing when the hot liquid burned her throat, hoping the alcohol would calm her nerves, but the feeling of unease didn’t go away. Neither did her trembling.
“This doesn’t mean anything!” the voice in her head argued. “It’s just sex! You’ve done it plenty of times before with men you’ve felt nothing for. This isn’t any different! You can’t let Sasha win.”
“Right. It’s just sex,” she muttered, unbuttoning her blouse. “It’s just sex. It’s just sex,” she repeated over and over again as she walked toward the bedroom.
When Dawn neared the doorway, she heard Razor moan and Sasha whimper. She paused.
But it’s not just sex, she thought.
This was about her and her body and if she used it to get something . . . then damn it, she wanted to use it on her terms for what she wanted! Not because she was being bullied by her boss. Not because some rich little asshole was trying to manipulate her. Dawn Gibbons didn’t go out like that.
“To hell with this,” she whispered.
She then turned around, walked back toward the living room, and grabbed her jacket. Dawn heard Sasha’s cries of orgasmic delight just as she walked out. She ignored them and shut the front door behind her with a slam.