That voice – the one that had propositioned me just hours before – washed over me like a warm shower. If I had been at home, I would have curled up on the couch, phone to my ear, and purred back.
Realization dawned on me that this was about the Facebook ad. “This is she.”
“This is Paxton Crown.”
“I’m sorry, who?”
A sardonic laugh came through the phone. And, in a tone that indicated he knew I knew exactly who he was, he said, “Paxton Crown. I own the Live Once Vertical Studio.”
“Oh yes. How can I help you?”
Holding my breath, I sat down at one of the outside picnic tables and stared out at the cars passing by.
“It seems we owe you a reimbursement for the Facebook ad you placed.”
“There’s no need.” I had crossed my right leg over my left and was swinging my foot back and forth.
“Yes, actually, there is. And how much will you need to charge us for your time today?”
I uncrossed my legs, and sat still. “Time for what?”
“For writing the campaign for her.” Irritation laced his words and I suddenly panicked.
Oh no. I didn’t want Erin to get in trouble. I had to focus on ensuring she kept her job.
“Mr. Crown –”
He cut me off. “Paxton.”
His tone was softer, more intimate. I paused before continuing, allowing his name to settle between us.
“Paxton.” Saying his name was unnerving, and I reverted back to formality. “Mr. Crown. I didn’t write the campaign for her. She did it on her own. I’m in sales, and I simply acted as a thought partner for her today. She did all the work.”
“What the fuck is a thought partner?” he asked abruptly in a boyishly annoyed tone.
“You don’t need to be rude about it. Frankly, you should be a little kinder to your employees. Erin works hard for you and you might have asked her if she knew how to do a marketing campaign before expecting her to deliver one.” I collected myself, feeling like I was on more solid ground, and said, “And a thought partner is someone you share ideas with, bounce your thoughts against, and try to come up with the best solution; A thought partner.”
He inhaled deeply, apparently frustrated, and then said on an exhale. “I’m going to text you a phone number. Her name is Solara, she’s our Chief Financial Officer. Please tell her you need to request reimbursement for an ad. She’ll know what it’s about.”
The abrupt business-like tone was not what I expected to hear from him, and my emotions were zinging around inside me like a pinball machine. Sparks – respect – lust… they all hammered against the bumpers of my brain, demanding attention at rapid-fire speeds. One minute I was turned on by his voice. The next, it reminded me of being back in a boardroom.
“Mr. Crown – ”
He repeated, “Paxton.”
I once again settle into a comfortable lull from his voice, a sorcerer weaving his mystical spell on me. “Paxton.”
I paused, then said in an almost pleading tone. “Paxton. She tried. She really did. I do sales campaigns and customer research for a living. I wanted to help her. Please don’t fire her. She was really enthusiastic about what we came up with, and she’s a good girl.” He didn’t immediately respond, and I said again with more closure, “She’s a good girl.”
He inhaled and then exhaled deeply. “I’m not going to fire her. Quite the opposite, actually. She said good things about you. She seems to admire you, and she expressed an interest in going back to school. I told her we’d pay for her first year of community college if she was interested. It’s up to her now.”
The person I was talking to was behaving entirely at odds with the man that had sparked in me a primitive need to be made love to. No, that wasn’t what I needed from him. He was something else entirely.
Speaking softly, I thanked him. We both stayed on the phone for a moment longer, neither of us speaking. This afternoon’s encounter played out in my mind until the quiet became awkward.
Breaking the silence, I asked him tentatively, in almost a whisper, “Is there anything else?”
He cleared his throat. “No. I’ll send Sol’s number right over.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Charlotte.” His voice turned deep again, and I waited for him to continue. “It was nice to meet you today.”
I inhaled sharply, and couldn’t think fast enough to respond.
He saved us both. “Have a good-night,” he said, and then hung up.
Sitting still, shocked and bewildered, I was jarred out of my thoughts when my phone chimed again, startling me.
“Christ!” I said out loud as I rolled my eyes heavenward and then down at the phone. A text. Solara’s number. Nothing else. I saved both numbers to my phone. I would call Solara tomorrow.
The ride to my house was just a few short minutes and I clicked the automatic gate opener when I turned onto my street.
As I waited for the wrought iron gate to open inward, I stared pensively at the house. Upward lighting, planted in the yard in front, cast luminescence against the columns, making it appear larger, more statuesque. A wrought iron chandelier hung from the front porch and had been turned on by an automatic timer. It was a home worthy of a magazine spread, and yet, it looked…empty.
When the gates were fully open, I drove through and around back to the garage, parking my car under the portico and entering the house through the back door.
The lights were dim in the kitchen, and the rest of the house was dark.
Placing my bag on the granite countertop, I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Drinking right from the bottle, I gulped down most of it before screwing the top back on and putting it back in the fridge. Glancing down the hall, a sliver of light shone from Mark’s office and I walked down to talk to him.
He was at his desk, deep in thought, and I watched him from the doorway until he glanced up and noticed me.
“Hey, babe. How was your night?”
By all standards, he was genetically gifted. A perfect six feet tall. A perfect one hundred and eighty pounds. Perfect white teeth, courtesy of orthodontics. Perfect… just fill in the blanks. And, he was perfectly smart and driven.
For the first few years of dating, and eventually our engagement, we were surrounded by our college friends. We celebrated engagements and baby showers, weddings and baby’s first birthdays. The last few years, we’d spent less and less time with our friends, and subsequently less and less time with each other. It’s almost like we didn’t really know who we were together, without our friends.
I sat down in the high back chair in front of his desk, slipping off my shoes, and tucking my feet underneath me. “It was good. Suzanne and I had dinner together, talked about the party Saturday night.”
“Oh good! Are you excited?” He had gone back to work and his words felt obligatory. Like he wasn’t really interested in my response.
“Mm-hmm.” I continued watching him work. The line between his forehead deepened and I could tell he’d become engrossed in his work again, forgetting I was there.
I unfolded myself, picked up my heels by the back straps, and stood. “I’m going to head upstairs.”
Absentmindedly, he responded, “Okay, babe.”
Turning in the doorframe, I took one more look at him before heading back to the kitchen to grab my bag. I went around through our formal living room and headed towards the circular stairs in the front hall that would take me to the master bedroom.
Padding up the stairs, my feet sunk into the carpet, leaving impressions in the luxurious pile with every step.
When I reached the landing, I opened the French doors that led into our room, and crossed to my nightstand to plug in my phone. My bag went in the chair in front of my writing desk and I strolled into my walk-in closet.
The closet was the size of a small bedroom, and I put my shoes on a rotating rack that would fold in, only to reveal another row of shoes.
Gently, I took off my dress, and put it in a bin for dry cleaning.
As I stood in the middle of my closet, in only my underwear, I was struck with inspiration. Hurriedly, I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser in the center of the room and pulled out a sexy outfit I was saving for this weekend. The red and black bustier, with matching thong panties and garter, had been packed lovingly in a garment bag, with black silk stockings. Next to them in the drawer was a pair of black silk gloves that went past my elbows, and I gingerly pulled them out too.
I took my underwear off, and replaced them with the thong. The bustier was a little more complicated, and I had to leave it loosely tied. I sat down on my white cushioned bench and slowly slid on the stockings. Standing, I fastened them to the garter belt and went to find a pair of black stilettos.
Quietly, I walked back down the stairs to Mark’s office, and sashayed over to his desk. He was once again totally engaged in his computer in front of him, so I rested a hip on the desk in front of him, pushing on his shoulder to get him to lean back in his chair.
“What are you doing, Charlie? I need to get this proposal response finished.”
He had stopped his typing, and gave my outfit a cursory glance. His eyes dilated. He was affected by my seduction.
Leaning towards him, I unbuttoned the top button on his dress shirt and purred, “I thought you could take a break. Relax a little.”
He grabbed my wrist, forcing me to look up from where my hands were caressing his now-exposed neck, into his eyes. “What brought this on, Charlie?”
A voice in my head said, I don’t fuck the dancers, but I could make an exception for you.
I stood and straddled him in his chair, pressing down against him. Seductively leaning into his neck, I kissed him softly, whispering, “I want to make love with you.”
His hands had raised to my hips and I ground down onto him, thinking my arousal was matching his.
Instead, he gently pushed me away. “I don’t have time for this, Charlie.”
Again, with the voice, So, you don’t want to fuck? I leave in an hour. There’s time.
Hot tears burned in my eyes, but I held it together. Doing my best to hide my embarrassment, I stood and laughed it off.
“No big deal. I just thought it would be fun. We haven’t made love in a while, and I miss you.”
“Soon, Charlie. But tonight, I really need to finish this project.”
“I understand. I’m going to bed.” I leaned down to kiss him and he kissed me chastely in return. I felt nothing.
He mumbled good-night, and as I went back up the stairs to bed, my tears started to fall.
When I reached my closet, I unceremoniously ripped off the garter and the bustier, not caring that I put a hole in the stockings and broke the strings. I shoved the garter back in the bag with less love than when I took them out. The stockings were next, and I threw them in the trash can under the bathroom sink.
My blue silk nightgown hung on the back of the bathroom door and I slid it on over my head. My tears were sporadic now, and I hiccupped as I brushed my teeth.
As I pulled back the covers on my bed and slid under the cool sheets, I reached for my phone on the nightstand. I pulled up my recent call log and stared at the last Arizona number. Turning off the phone, I set it back on the nightstand, reached up to turn off the lamp, and settled under the covers to sleep. Sleep came fitfully, tormented by dark eyes and a naughty voice.