CHAPTER 14

After a week at a spa, I come home feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Joe texts and calls to get my opinion on his MBA class project. He always manages to call with a few questions, but I know they aren’t the real reason why he is calling. I never call him but text with an idea or two that pop into my head. The lack of physical proximity makes it much easier to focus on his questions and topics of discussion.

I’ve been collaborating with Nathan almost every day this week about business, and best of all, this weekend is Easter. I don’t celebrate the holiday, but this year is making me reconsider. Joe is heading home to the East Coast to visit his family and I get a harmonious holiday with my best friends — another weekend free from awkward moments with Joe and Henry.

My itch for sex with a man returned over a week ago, but I’ve been able to suppress it with the help of increased masturbation or Maggie. I still refuse to interact with Henry, but he’s been a good sport about Maggie and me having our own fun at my place or his when he isn’t around. I’ve thought about connecting with Chris a few times, but my body is not interested. He’s a sweet guy, good-looking, but he just doesn't excite me even in my heightened state of arousal. Plus, he’s been asking about me every time he sees or talks to Nathan since he commissioned Nathan to be his designer for an upcoming event.

Every time I masturbate, the memory of being in the same bed with Joe returns. I’m not sure what to make of it. I’ve never fantasized about a man before; well, not this much. I bet if I did have sex with him the fantasy would go away — but, I have my rules.

The holiday weekend comes and goes, and in less than two weeks my friends and I will be in Hawaii for Maggie’s and Henry’s three-month anniversary. I particularly think that it’s too early to be celebrating anniversaries, but Henry continues to be just as enthusiastic about it as Maggie.

For as much time as they spend together, I’m surprised when Henry calls me a few times to ask some questions about Maggie. I’m curious about what he has planned for the trip. Every time I ask him about how much I owe him for plane tickets or accommodations, Henry tells me it’s not necessary. I’m getting suspicious of his response. Jared and Nathan have confirmed that Henry is paying for them as well, which doesn’t explain anything. I should probably give Joe a call to see what I can dig up, though the idea of calling him is not appealing to me. I don't want to sound needy or desperate for information, even though I am, let alone give him any ideas about us.

As my habit, I text him. “Free for a second?”

“For you, anytime,” he sends back within ten seconds.

As I finish reading his reply, my phone rings.

“Hi, Joe,” I greet.

“Hey, beautiful. What’s up?”

I’m finding myself enjoying the way he greets me a little too much.

“Henry’s being weird,” I complain.

“How so?”

“He won’t tell me anything about Hawaii.”

“What do you want to know?” Joe asks.

“My part of the bill.”

“Good luck with that,” he chuckles.

“You know something. Don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he taunts.

“Spill it.”

“Even if I know something, I wouldn’t share.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you need to know so badly?” he asks.

“Because I don’t like surprises.”

“I am a man of my word,” he states.

“What do you want?”

“You sound a little desperate,” he alleges. “Maybe I could be persuaded for a fee.”

“As I said, What do you want?”

“How desperate are you?” he inquires.

“Depends,” I say. “What do you think is an equal exchange?”

“Hmmm….” He’s silent for a few more moments. “A date.”

“No.”

“It’s just one date,” he says.

“I don’t date and you know it.”

“There’s a difference between dating and a date,” he claims.

“I know the difference.”

“Good. Then it’ll be easy for you. You. Me. Dinner. Tonight,” he states.

“This is not a fair exchange and you know it.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But you’ll have what you want. Even if it’s just part of the picture. I know you want it,” he coaxes.

“What’s expected on the date?”

“As I said, You. Me. Dinner. Tonight.”

“Anything else?” I check.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks gruffly.

I take a sip of my drink. “Nothing. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

If he thinks this is an opportunity to make out or have sex, he’s wrong. This date shouldn’t be an issue. We’ve had meals before together, some of which he paid for and some of which I have. So what’s the whole thing with calling it a date?

“Do you want to know or not?”

I mull over my options. “Fine. What time do you want to meet and where?”

“I’ll pick you up at your place at six,” he instructs.

“No.”

“Yes,” he insists. “If you want to find anything out, you won’t argue with me. Besides, it’s customary to pick the woman up at her place.”

“Fine,” I whine.

“Make sure you wear a dress.”

“What? Why do I need to wear a dress?”

“Do you want the information or not?”

“Okay. I’ll wear a dress,” I huff.

“See you in a few hours, beautiful,” he hums.

I don’t answer and just hang up the phone.

I gulp as I toss my phone onto my bed. What have I gotten myself into? The thought that no good will come of this is creeping into the pit of my stomach.

An hour before my meeting with Joe, I’m standing in my walk-in closet trying to decide on what to wear. What kind of dress? Causal? Dressy? Ten minutes of staring into my closet produces only more anxiety on the subject of proper attire.

Maybe I should just cancel. I don’t really need to know that badly. Do I? Yes, I do. I like control — I need control.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I jump in the shower. I wash my hair and body and shave. Why did I just shave? I don’t plan on having sex. There will be no sex happening tonight, but I do decide to pleasure myself to reduce my edginess.

I choose what to wear while putting on my makeup; something cute and comfortable. With my hair almost dry, I put on a cocktail dress. After giving my hair one final toss and brush, I put on solid gold earrings. To finish my outfit, I put on my light bronze, four-inch strappy Jimmy Choo heels.

Just as my second shoe slips on, I get a text from Joe letting me know that he has arrived. Like clockwork, Joe is early, fifteen minutes early to be exact. Grabbing my clutch, I kiss Sadie goodnight.

Rounding the corner of the internal gate to my apartment complex, I find Joe waiting, wearing a suit with a crisp white dress shirt that has the two top buttons undone. Joe is a man that can make any suit look good — actually, he can make any outfit look good. I feel a spark of heat and moisture between my thighs at the sight of him.

“Wow! Hello, beautiful,” he greets along with his typical lean-in hug and kiss on the cheek. For some reason, he lingers close, longer than usual.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, downplaying his response and my desire.

Joe offers me his arm as he leads me to his car waiting at the curb. A driver standing by a luxurious, black Rolls Royce Phantom opens the back right door for us both. Joe ushers me in and follows just shortly after.

I’ve never seen Joe drive, let alone be driven, in a Rolls Royce. I didn’t know he had one. The thought that he might have rented it for the night comes to mind. Would he? I know he could. But, why?

“Where are we going ?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Joe replies with a wicked grin. Knowing my car challenge, he instinctually takes my hand just before the vehicle carries us off into the setting sun. “How’s business going this week?”

“Good, thanks. You?”

“Great. The suggestion you made was received well by the board. They’re starting to understand the requirement to shift more toward technology for many aspects of the industry as well as the economic need for a more ecological approach.”

“Terrific!” I praise. “Did you mention the carbon footprint reduction concept as well?”

Joe is an intelligent businessman, I can tell he’s learned a lot from school as well as from his father. However, I’ve noticed with some of our conversations that he tends to second guess himself.

“They loved it. We’ll be taking action steps at the beginning of the next quarter,” he shares. “My father wants to meet you, by the way.”

“Me? Why?”

“He wants to meet the mind behind my brilliant consultant,” he says. “That and I think he’s considering hiring you for specific consulting work.”

“It’s all you, Joe,” I reply. “I have nothing to do with it.”

“You have more to do with it than you think,” he says. “We make a great team.”

“It has nothing to do with me. You are trusting your instincts and that’s what gets it done,” I argue.

Joe takes his free hand and tenderly caresses the back of my hand he is now holding on his thigh. I feel nervous about the proximity of my hand to his groin, but his left hand is resting on his leg, just under my hand, which helps slightly.

“Have you seen the LA Philharmonic play?” he asks.

“A few times at the Concert Hall and Hollywood Bowl. They’re phenomenal. Why?”

“Which place is better to see them?”

“Either. It just depends on the concert and the atmosphere you want. Why?”

“If I get tickets, will you go with me?”

We’ve done a few activities together, but the way he’s asking is a little peculiar.

“Why don’t I get the tickets?” I offer.

“You pick which venue you want to buy the tickets for and it’s a deal.”

I take the high road not to battle this one. “I’ll take the Hollywood Bowl. There are a lot of options other than just the LA Philharmonic that I think you’d enjoy.”

Joe smiles with ease and I actually see his body relax more into the seat. “Great. Choose any event for yours. Surprise me.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“Yes. I know we have similar tastes based on your playlist.” He grins.

When Joe helps me out of the car, I’m tremendously pleased with my attire selection for our — night out. However, I’m a little perturbed by his choice. We are dining at one of Beverly Hills’ top restaurants. A wonderful, delectable choice, but a bit higher in price for a date compared to where we normally eat. The place is busy, but Joe and I are seated immediately which leads me to believe that Joe called for reservations.

Arriving at our table, Joe pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. He takes his seat with calm confidence, not noticing the hostess who is practically drooling over him.

Joe looks at me and asks, “Have you eaten here before?”

“Once or twice,” I say, not revealing the truth as I study him, noting that his eyes never veer from me.

The waiter greets us with a bottle of wine in hand. When he presents it, Joe takes a look at the bottle and nods. Next, the waiter pops the cork and fills both of our glasses. “I’ll let Chef Andrews know you are here Mr. Covelli,” the waiter confirms.

“What was that?” I ask.

“What?”

“The bottle that we didn’t order and then the whole I’ll let Chef Andrews know you’re here Mr. Covelli statement,” I reply with a hushed, sarcastic voice. “And, where are the menus?”

“I ordered the bottle of wine in advance. Chef Andrews knows my family and we don’t need menus since we’re having whatever the chef decides to prepare for us.”

“He’s deciding?” I reply.

“We have the same tastes. I told him what we do and don’t like.”

“How do you know my tastes?”

“How many meals have we had together over the past two and a half months?” Joe asks. He holds up his glass. “To trusting and trying new things and being surprised.”

I clink my glass with his but I’m not in full agreement with his toast. To me, there are too many underlining messages he has buried in that statement.

Right as I’m about to begin my interrogation, Chef Andrews himself is standing at our table. Joe immediately stands up to greet him. They hug and exchange pleasantries freely, proving that Joe was telling the truth.

“And who is this exquisitely stunning creature?” Chef Andrews inquires, holding my hand and kissing it. He refrains from letting go for a few extra seconds.

“This is Emma Peterson,” Joe replies.

How does he know my full name? I’ve never told him and for both of my businesses, my full name is not listed anywhere on the internet. In fact, my businesses and my name are not public record.

“Since when have you had a girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I rebut.

“And, she’s feisty too! I like her already. I see why you’re with her,” Chef Andrews says.

“She is most certainly feisty, but unfortunately we are not dating,” Joe replies. “But, we are on a date.”

“One step closer to marriage,” Chef Andrews announces.

“No,” I contend. “I don’t date and I especially don’t plan to ever get married.”

“Then why are you out on a date with him?”

“To extort information.”

“If you hadn’t seen her first, I would be chasing this one for myself. You are a lucky man, Joe,” Chef Andrews declares. “Is she like this all the time?”

“Yes,” Joe confirms.

The heat in my face increases.

“I’m working on it being more than just extortion,” Joe states.

What did Joe just say? Why does he feel so comfortable being this bold — this forward? What gave him the impression that there would even be a chance for anything to happen between us? I told him nothing would at Nathan’s and it’s like he never even heard me.

“Have you ever dined here before Ms. Emma?” Chef Andrews inquires, redirecting our conversation. He takes my hand again.

“Once.”

He kisses the back of my hand while eyeing Joe. “Well, I’ll be sure not to disappoint!” He bows at Joe before returning to the kitchen and Joe ushers my chair in again.

I sip on my wine a few times before I’m fully refocused on my task at hand. “So what do you know about Hawaii?”

“Going right for the kill, huh?” Joe laughs.

“It’s why I’m here.”

“How about I’ll answer whatever you want to know when dessert is served?”

Whatever I want to know?”

“Yes, whatever you want,” he agrees.

During our first three courses, Joe and I comment loosely about the food and other general topics when he evades some of my indirect questioning that pertains to Henry and Hawaii. He doesn’t comment that he notices, however, he just brings up another topic instead.

“I had an idea about how you can easily increase your profits for Raven Media without having to take on new clients or too many new staff members,” Joe states.

“How?” I ask.

“You said you created the entire software system yourself, right? From the ground up?”

“Yes, why?”

“Why not package it as a software program service for companies?” he suggests.

“What do you mean?”

“There are businesses who have their own internal social media staff to handle each platform, but not a single system to access and monitor it all as Raven Media does. So, why don’t you offer it as a cloud-based system service? They pay a monthly fee and have functionality based on their needs,” he explains.

My brain factors out what could be done and what it would entail.

“That’s a really great idea. I’d have to hire direct staff to handle a whole new division and do some tweaking to the overall company structure, but I don’t see why it couldn’t be done.”

“I’d be happy to help in any way that I can,” he offers.

“Thanks.”

I sit pondering the different things I can do and almost forget where I am and who I’m with for a few minutes until our next dish arrives to the table.

Taking a second bite, I finally ask, “So, how do you know Chef Andrews?”

“My brother, John Jr, and he were good friends growing up. Our families know each other.”

I nod my understanding since I have a mouthful of food. As I’m about to take another sip of wine, my hand stops just before the glass touches my lips. I see someone across the room heading in my direction. I quickly look away but not fast enough to not alert Joe.

“Everything okay?” Joe asks.

“Yep,” I lie, gulping my wine.

“You sure?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Emma!”

I awkwardly stand in an effort to not encourage the person to linger or to cause the potential for Joe and him to talk. “Hi, Chris. What are you doing here?”

Chris places one hand on my waist and the other behind my neck, and taking me by surprise, plants a long kiss on my lips. My eyes are wide with shock and disbelief at his blatant, unwelcome show of affection in public. “I’m meeting with my agent. What are you doing here?” he asks, keeping his hands on my hip.

Joe clears his throat loud enough for Chris to turn his head. “Hi. I’m Joseph Covelli.” After he stands, Joe reaches his hand towards Chris.

There is a cool, calm, distinguished manner to Joe that catches me by surprise and ironically turns me on.

“Hey man, I’m Chris Cooper.”

“I know who you are,” Joe states. “Seen a number of your movies. Not bad.”

“Thanks,” Chris replies, still hovering near me. “Apologies, I thought you were Jared or Nathan.”

Chris is lying. He wouldn’t have treated Nathan like he did Joe if they’ve been discussing a custom piece.

“That’s okay,” I say. “We should let you get to your agent.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a minute. He’s not here yet,” Chris claims. “Caleb says you haven’t been back to Ayana’s since we last saw you.”

“Correct,” I confirm.

“I was hoping to see you again,” he admits.

“I’ve been busy.” I shift my body closer to the table, but he follows.

“Too busy to see me again?”

“I told you where things stood for me, Chris. They haven’t changed.”

“Then why are you on a date with him?” Chris contends.

Chris’ bold question catches me off guard, leaving me temporarily speechless. The last thing I want to do is lie, but I don’t owe him any explanation either. I can’t believe this is happening to me right now.

Chris turns and extends his hand to Joe. “It’s nice to meet you.” He turns back to me. “I hope you’ll give me a chance too.” He kisses my cheek before walking away.

I take a moment to compose myself and then move to sit down.

Joe helps me into my seat without saying anything. “Nice guy.”

He just made this moment more awkward when he rounds the table to his chair.

I glare at him for a moment before taking a huge gulp of wine. “He’s okay.”

“Good actor,” Joe adds.

“Mm,” I hum as I sip my wine.

“He’s the Chris who Nathan was teasing you about and the one getting the custom suit?”

“Yes.”

"Well, if you do go on a date with him, let me know.”

“I don’t plan on it, but why?”

“So I can get the first kiss of the date.” A wry smile forms on Joe’s face.

He’s not offended or uncomfortable by what just happened?

“I’ll consider it,” I reply, still in shock to his laid-back manner.

Joe and I finish our seven dishes of our nine-course meal. Our conversation after the incident with Chris is a little awkward, but only for a few minutes.

“So what do you want to know about Hawaii?”

I glance up at Joe. “This isn’t dessert.”

“I know, but you’ve been a good sport about the whole date thing. Thought I’d show a little bit of mercy.”

“Mercy?” I snicker.

He doesn’t comment.

“Why won’t Henry let me pay for my share of the trip? I know he’s said the same thing to Jared and Nathan, but I just don’t understand. I can easily afford my portion of the trip.”

“Well, why did you give Jared, Maggie, and Nathan Teslas?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

Joe chuckles. “A lot.”

“How?”

“Even though your friends can buy their own cars, you still went ahead and gave them as gifts anyway.”

“They were business deductions.”

“Yes, perhaps…then why haven’t you purchased vehicles for the rest of your staff regardless if they are employees or independent contractors?” Joe doesn’t give me a chance to think about his question or answer. “Aside from the logical business side of it, you care deeply for your friends. You want them safe and happy.”

“That’s different,” I contend.

“How so?”

“I didn’t buy a car for any of my friends’ friends. Just my friends.”

“True. But, Henry believes his actions of including the three of you are an extension of his love for Maggie.”

“Don’t say the L-word,” I request.

Joe chuckles.

“And, I don’t see the connection.”

“You love Jared, right?”

There he is using the L-word. Does he think that his cute smile will suffice and make up for him saying it again?

“Of course. He’s family.”

“And you would do anything for him?”

“Without a doubt. There is no question."

“And, the same is for Henry with Maggie. Money is just a resource to aid in their happiness together. Money provides choices and opportunities. It’s not a matter of whether you or anyone else can afford the same things. It’s a matter of enjoying life with each other.”

I bob my head back and forth while trying to wrap my head around his statement. I don’t agree, but I also don’t disagree.

“Why did you put money behind Nathaniel’s?”

“Because it made sense as a business investment,” I state.

“Then why haven’t you put money behind other fashion designers?”

I raise my brow, starting to see the connection though I don’t dare admit it.

“It’s not just about the investment. There are other designers with just as much potential and ability.”

“True,” I agree.

“It’s because you love Nathan and would do anything to see him happy and pursuing his dream. Your money is the tool that has provided him opportunities that he might not have had otherwise.”

“I guess so,” I unwillingly agree, accepting his clarification.

“Does it make you happy seeing Nathan happy?”

“Yes.”

“It makes Henry happy to see Maggie happy. It doesn’t matter if it costs money or not to him. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

“I told you not to use the L-word,” I remind.

Joe laughs.

“Beside…what do you know about….”

“Love?” Joe asks. “Plenty. I have parents and three brothers who are happily married.”

“But, have you had your own experience to validate these statements and what people do when they are in…you know?” I can’t bring myself to say the word.

“Perhaps…but, it shouldn’t matter.”

“Perhaps yes or perhaps no?”

“Perhaps,” he says with a wicked smile.

I shake my head in disagreement over the statement about love. I still can’t believe that Maggie and Henry have been saying they love each other already. The thought of love and Henry’s gesture bothers me, but I refrain from asking any further questions. I got my answer even though I don’t like it.

Before leaving the restaurant, Joe and I finish with a bowl of creme brûlée each. It’s a good thing the portion sizes have been small or else I would have had to stop when our fifth plate was served. I excuse myself to use the ladies’ room for a second time and I’m relieved when I don’t see Chris sitting anywhere. Checking my phone on my way back to Joe, I’m shocked to see that it’s almost ten at night. We were eating and chatting for over three hours.

“Ready to go?” Joe asks as I approach.

“What about the bill?”

Offering his arm, Joe ignores my question and says, “Let’s go.”

Back inside the glorious Rolls Royce, Joe and I settle in quickly. The drive back to Pasadena is peaceful and relaxing. Just after the car exits onto Colorado Boulevard, the driver pulls into a dark parking lot where there are only two lights nearby that are coming from a building. Joe gets out first and reaches his hand to assist me.

“What are we doing here?”

“A late-night private viewing. You had mentioned that you’ve been wanting to come back.” Joe takes my hand, draping it over his arm as he leads me to the front door.

“You know the museum is closed, right?”

“Not for us,” he claims.

An older gentleman standing just inside the large glass doors bows as we approach. “Good evening, Mr. Covelli.”

“Let me guess, your family knows someone.”

“No. But, they’re very accommodating for a more than generous benefactor of the foundation.”

“Of course,” I huff.

Mr. Brookes, the gentleman who greeted us, directs us through the exquisite Norton Simon Museum. He stays in each room with us to answer any questions we may have but keeps his distance as not to intrude. Other than Mr. Brookes, Joe and I are alone as we soak in the marvelous masterpieces of paintings and sculptures.

Joe follows me through the museum, always keeping one of his hands on the small of my back. The warmth of his body is invigorating and I find myself leaning into it on occasion.

Standing by Pablo Picasso’s Woman with a Book, Joe places his hands on my waist and states, “This one reminds me of you.”

I blush at the sensation of the hum of his voice in my ear. Our bodies remain more closely connected for the rest of the time at the museum, savoring the moment.

Arriving back at my apartment, Joe insists on walking me to my door. He says it’s the gentlemanly thing to do on a date. I wouldn’t know if he’s telling the truth or not since this is technically my first date ever.

For some strange reason, right after we get to my door, I lean into him and kiss him on the cheek. I’ve never kissed him on the cheek let alone put my lips anywhere on his body like this.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?”

“For a great first date.”

“So, you really have never been on a date before?”

“No,” I admit sheepishly.

“Well, maybe we can have many more firsts together,” he suggests with a widening grin.

“Don’t push your luck. If they involve breaking any more of my rules, no way.”

“Which ones have we broken?” He takes a step closer.

“The fact that you know right where I live.”

“And?” he asks, taking another step closer.

“I don’t know if I want to tell you.”

If he knows I’ve already let him in more than other men, this could get weird.

“I know,” he states with a twinkle in his eye.

“No, you don’t.”

He closes the gap between us. “Tonight…our date.”

My body instantly tenses at his words. Suddenly, Joe’s lips press to mine with a silky, defined force. I don’t move as my chest heaves. Joe pulls away, and my mouth follows him, only to be met again with more intensity this time. Everything moves in slow motion as my hands instinctually slide up each muscular ridge of his stomach and chest. His right hand drops down my side, pulling me further into him as our lips temporarily separate. Returning his mouth to mine, Joe groans into my slightly opened mouth as he gently presses his tongue inward. For some strange reason, my tongue reaches for his. Aware of where this is going after the third contact with his tongue, I push my hands against his chest and shake my head. His mouth hovers as his forehead rests on mine.

“Just friends, Joe,” I barely mutter.

He doesn’t argue or fight but he doesn’t move either.

My body craves him — it needs him — it wants him. It’s demanding his body on mine. I see it and feel it when we’re together, but I can’t give in. I have rules, rules that protect me and keep me safe from being hurt.

He gently kisses me again, holding his lips to mine for as long as I let him. I finally convince my body to listen and my lips slowly peel away.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

His words provoke my yearning for him.

“Goodnight, Joe.”