Just One Night, Part 3: Binding Agreement (4 page)

Yes, control. That slippery thing I thought I was losing. Now, in this moment it once again occurs to me that this man who has tried to control me has given me more control than I’ve ever had before. Is it an illusion? Or is it actually real this time?

I set aside the questions as Taci finishes her part of the presentation and I take the stage again, a secret smile on my face.

Today this room filled with an attentive, eager audience is mine to dominate . . .

 . . . and I am his.

CHAPTER 5

A
T THE END
of the meeting the executives have agreed to everything. Implementation will be their responsibility but I’ve set the direction. Robert urges each of them to question me, to give their honest opinions. But I have answers to everything. They’re satisfied.

I know Robert’s about to give me more work, another project, another reason why I’ll be required to report to him but no one will question whether or not I’m deserving.

As I file out with my team, Robert and I don’t touch but there’s something in the look we exchange . . . the pretense is fading away. They can all see that. It doesn’t matter. They know and they can’t do anything about it. Asha trails behind me; I can smell her sense of defeat and it’s invigorating.

I’ve given my team the rest of the day off but I go back to my office where Barbara tells me I’ve been called to the eleventh floor. The CEO, Sam Costin, wants to see me. I don’t hesitate. I know I’m about to be offered a promotion and now I’m ready to accept. I take the elevator up and announce myself to his receptionist, who tells me to wait.

This is the first time I’ve ever had a formal one-on-one meeting with Mr. Costin but I know that he always makes everyone wait. It’s one of the ways he demonstrates his authority. And yet as I lower myself into the brown leather chair in his reception area, I find that the directive unnerves me, brings me down from the heady sense of supremacy I had only a moment ago.

The thought stops me.
Supremacy
? Was that what I was feeling? I glance over at the receptionist; her hair is tied back in a low ponytail, a black pearl ring clings to her index finger while her hands fly over the keyboard of her computer, her disinterest in me palatable. Do I really think I’m better than this woman?
Really
? Do I think I deserved more of her attention?

The minutes tick by slowly and as she continues to ignore me I find myself less inclined to believe that I do. I stare down at my own bare hands. I haven’t worn a ring since I gave Dave back the beautiful ruby he gave me. What else had I given away that day? My pragmatism? My modesty? My humility? Am I really ready to part with so much?

“Mr. Costin will see you now,” she says.

The phone hasn’t rung so I can only assume that she’s reading something on her computer screen that lets her know it’s my time. Then again, it isn’t really my time at all. It’s Mr. Costin’s. He may have called the meeting but he is still doing me a favor by keeping it. That’s what I’m meant to feel.

I open the door and step inside. Mr. Costin sits at a mahogany desk; behind him is a wall of windows. I have a view from my office. His is better. His head is bent as he reads some report. I’m treated to a view of his bald spot, not his face.

“Close the door,” he instructs and I quickly do so. He continues to read as I tentatively approach his desk. I consider sitting but think better of it. Instead I stand there and wait for him to greet me . . . and tell me what to do.

At last he looks up. His eyes run up and down my suit, his expression impassive. He’s not an unattractive man. He has high cheekbones and a strong jaw but his eyes are too light, a very pale blue that makes him look perpetually icy, even cruel. “You’ve changed your style,” he says wryly. I have a feeling he’s talking about more than just my clothes.

Uneasily I shift from foot to foot. He leans back, seeming to enjoy my discomfort. Finally he sighs and gestures to a chair.

“Sit.”

It’s the kind of command you give a dog and it shames me that I so quickly obey.

“We had to let Tom Love go,” he says. “But you know that.”

I nod, swallow hard, and stare at my lap.

“Tom was an asset,” Mr. Costin continues. “All of his departments were performing well, including yours.”

Again I nod. What was once confidence is now anxiety. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest. It’s so loud, I wonder if Mr. Costin can hear it.

“The business world is a brutal one,” he continues. “Survival of the fittest and all that. And the fittest isn’t necessarily the strongest. There are many incredibly strong animals who have fallen victim to extinction while the weaker monarch remains protected by her colors, beautiful and toxic. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

I consider challenging him but when I look up and meet his eyes I think better of it. I shrug awkwardly, suddenly ashamed of my brighter colors.

“You came up here expecting me to offer you Tom’s job. Am I right?”

Again I shrug and hope he doesn’t notice the flush creeping up my cheeks.

“For God’s sake, if you’re going to act like a shy kindergartner, I’m going to have to treat you like one. Use your words, Kasie.”

I clear my throat. “I have heard rumors . . .” but my voice trails off. I don’t have any idea how to proceed. I thought I knew what was coming, but I don’t.

“Now that’s an interesting way to put it,” Mr. Costin steeples his fingers and smiles. “I’ve been hearing a few rumors myself. Shall we compare notes? Do tell, Kasie. What have you been hearing?”

I squirm slightly. “I heard that you might be about to offer me a promotion,” I say. My voice is as thin as a monarch’s wings.

“As rumors go that’s probably one of the more innocent ones I’ve heard in a while,” he notes. “Most of the rumors circulating around this company lately are more . . . salacious.”

Now I know he can see my blush. I straighten my posture. I have to hold my own here. I need to look like a woman who deserves a promotion, not, as Mr. Costin just implied, like a scared little girl. “Are you considering me for the job, Mr. Costin?” I manage to sound a little more composed this time.

But my composure is tenuous, more so when Mr. Costin takes his time answering me, studying me with those cold eyes. “Maned Wolf has business relations with many of our clients and Robert Dade is a personal shareholder in the rest. He has more pull and influence in the business world than any other man in LA. I had to let go of Tom because keeping him could have cost us all of our accounts. I wasn’t given a choice. I don’t like it when people take away my choices, Kasie. Do you understand that?”

I nod.

“Your words!”

“Yes, Mr. Costin,” I say quickly. So much for being powerful and in control. This roller coaster of emotion is too extreme for me. I want to get off the ride.

“I also like Dylan Freeland, the cofounder of this company. He may no longer be that involved in the day-to-day operations here but he is still a key player in all our major decisions. Do you know what it was like for him? Being cornered? Feeling like he has to make decisions to elevate someone who caused pain to those he loves while ruining a man who has always served his company—the company he
built
—with honor?”

Honor. Tom Love doesn’t deserve to have the word associated with him. And yet I hadn’t felt comfortable with his firing, either. It hadn’t been based on his sexual harassment of me; it had been based on lies. I have no defense against Mr. Costin’s attacks.

I force myself to hold his gaze. I can see there’s more he wants to say. Insults and accusations that he’s working hard to hold back. He’s yet to accuse me of sleeping my way to the top even though that’s clearly what he thinks I’m doing. He hasn’t told me that I fucked around on Mr. Freeland’s godson only to then get rewarded for opening my legs to a client. Does he want to call me a bitch? A slut? What would he do to me if he wasn’t afraid of repercussions?

And that’s when it dawns on me, he
is
afraid of repercussions. His anger has no teeth. I lift my chin. Sticks and stones. I can bear this. I
have
to bear this. It’s no less than what I deserve and, honestly,
it can’t hurt me.

“If Mr. Freeland is upset, I’m truly sorry about that. I’m sorry you’re upset, too,” I add, “but that was never my intention. I’ve worked here for six years and none of my clients have ever had a complaint.”

“I wonder why,” Mr. Costin says dryly.

Again I squirm. He says so much without saying anything at all. Still I push forward. “I just led a team on a major project for the first time. While I realize that most people who are moved into a supervisory position such as Tom’s—”

“You should refer to him as Mr. Love. You owe him at least that respect, don’t you, Kasie?”

I wait for the sting of that insult to fade before I continue. “I realize that normally, someone stepping into Mr. Love’s managing partner position have led more than one team but if you talk to the executives at Maned Wolf, I think you’ll find that I did an exemplary job. I believe we’ll have that account for quite some time along with many lucrative projects.”

“
Quelle
surprise.”

Behind him I see the city laid out. The tops of buildings and little cars that look to be no bigger than matchboxes crawl through the crowded streets. Everybody is going somewhere and everybody has to deal with the irritation of the traffic and the long stoplights. But eventually they’ll get to where they want to go. The trick is not to let the road rage get to you.

“Do I have the job, Mr. Costin?”

Again he waits before answering but this pause isn’t as intimidating as the last one. We both know his choices have been taken away.

“Start tomorrow,” he says coolly. “You have a lot to learn. Your entire experience here has involved things like Corporate Finance, risk, marketing and sales, and so on. You have zero experience with Health Care Systems and Services, Media and Entertainment, or Travel Transport and Logistics and yet those are three of the four departments that will be reporting to you now. Your protector won’t do you a lot of good if you screw up this company beyond repair.”

“I don’t have a protector.”

Mr. Costin flashes me a sarcastic smile. “We all have protectors, Kasie. Gods that we pray to for help. A lucky few of us get the attention of one of the earthly gods. They’re more easily seduced. But then you know that, don’t you?” He glances at his watch and sighs. “Go home, come back tomorrow ready to learn. I assume that tonight you’ll need to do some more worshiping because without your protecting god, you don’t
have
a prayer.”

I dig my fingernails into my palm but then force myself to release my fist and smile at Mr. Costin before leaving his office with the quiet humility he seems to want from me.

But I don’t leave the building as he requested. Instead I go to my office and start to organize. I hadn’t asked if I would be moved into Tom’s office; Mr. Costin hadn’t exactly invited those kinds of questions. So odd to get a promotion from a man who hates you. And it’s odd that only a few months ago I couldn’t imagine anyone really
hating
me any more than I could imagine anyone completely loving me. I just hadn’t viewed myself as the kind of person who inspired those kinds of extreme emotions. But now the word “hate” comes up a lot in regard to me. Dave, Tom, Mr. Costin, perhaps Asha . . . how is it possible that after so many years of playing it safe, I’m now inspiring such contempt?

I don’t like it. I never wanted to be the Bond girl who destroys lives for lovers and profit. But I
have
always aspired to power, and perhaps it’s the meek who inspire more charitable emotions. If so, isn’t strength worth the price of animosity?

The strong can’t be erased.

And what of love? Does Robert love me? Or is this something else?

As for Mr. Costin . . . well, if he’s right about the amount of influence Robert has, I could have his job as easily as I got Tom’s. He must know that. So in his case it’s his fear that makes him hate. It’s so conventional, it’s not even interesting. The only part that gives me pause is that I’m the one he fears. The head of this company fears me. That’s . . . different.

I drive home that night thinking of the moon and the ocean. Together they can do so much damage.

CHAPTER 6

I
DON’T WANT TO
invite Robert over tonight. It’s not just that I need space this time. Things are getting out of hand but the most frightening part about it is that his ideas, propositions, and philosophies that I
know
are unethical are becoming more and more alluring.

So I don’t reach out to him. Instead I make myself a salad, open a bottle of wine, and cry. Maybe it’s because this isn’t the life I imagined. It’s so much more and so much less. Eventually I call my friend Simone. She doesn’t berate me for evading her for weeks on end. Instead she simply listens to the notes of emotion in my voice and tells me she’s coming over.

She arrives holding a bottle of Grey Goose by the neck. She studies me, standing in my doorway like an expectant trick-or-treater. I’ve changed out of my suit into a long silk robe; my hair hangs loosely over my shoulders. “Wow,” she says as she finally enters, walking past me. “What a difference a month makes.”

I follow her into the kitchen, where she leans against the counter holding the vodka against her heart. I study the label depicting white birds flying over a glass sky. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s think,” she says solemnly as she opens the bottle. “You were a good girl dating a controlling asshole and then you had an affair, and then you got engaged to the asshole, break up with the asshole, and couple up with your lover. All that in less than thirty days?” She raises her blonde eyebrows. “That might be Guinness worthy.”

“And exactly what world record would I be setting?”

“Most transformation ever achieved by one Harvard grad during the month of March? Can we make that a category?” she asks. She hops up on the counter. “Do you have ice cream?”

I hesitate only a moment before going to the freezer and pulling out a pint of Stonyfield Vanilla. Simone unceremoniously digs out scoops for both of us and drops them into my blender before drowning the ice cream in the clear alcohol and blending it all together into something that reminds me of false innocence.

“You’ve already been drinking,” she notes.

“Yes,” I admit.

“But you’ll drink more?”

I nod and she smiles, pouring the drink into two gracefully curved water goblets. “That’s a change, too. Tell me, Kasie, does this mean you’re finally willing to relinquish some of your precious control?”

“I’ve been relinquishing control to Dave for years.”

“True.” She sips her drink, purposely giving herself a milk mustache to make me smile. “But that was like getting on a merry-go-round. You many not be controlling the plastic horse, but you know where it’s going. That ride’s over, so I guess I’m asking, are you moving on to the controlled thrills of the roller coaster, or are you ready to leave the amusement park altogether and try skydiving?”

I shake my head. “You thrive off risk; I don’t.”

“Oh? And what makes the newest rendition of Kasie Fitzgerald thrive?”

It’s a complicated question and I meditate on it as I swallow the sweet taste of sin. I think of what it feels like when Robert is inside of me. I think of the energy he fills me with, the intensity. In those moments the world becomes brighter even as the darkness inside me is expelled. In those moments I’m skydiving, breathing in the clouds, relishing in the thrill and danger of the fall. Perhaps that’s what it is to thrive.

Or is it when I hold the corporate world in my hands? It’s no wonder that I fantasize about sex while mastering a boardroom. It’s a different but related thrill. Falling versus flying. And what about Robert’s proposal . . . and it is a proposal, controlling the world, making up the rules as we go and forcing others to bend to our whims. He’s proposing that we reshape the universe, make ourselves gods. If I were to give in to that, which of course I could never do, would I thrive?

“You don’t have an answer,” Simone whispers. Her voice is hushed and touched with awe. “Things really
have
changed, haven’t they? Not too long ago you had an answer to everything.”

I laugh out loud, “I
thought
I did.” The drink is making my consonants softer, a little harder to understand. “Turns out I didn’t even know the questions!”

Simone reaches forward, brushes my hair back behind my shoulders then lets her hands slide down the edges of my silk lapel. “Relax,” she whispers. “You’re beautiful when you’re vulnerable.”

“And when I’m strong?”

“You’re gorgeous.” Simone’s hands float back down to her sides. I’m seeing the room through a soft-focused lens. Simone is the one who is gorgeous as her fingers stroke the stem of her glass. Her life has always been luxuriously simple. My eyes follow her hair down to her neck where for the first time I spot the small bruise that’s been left there. A mark of triumph left by a recent lover. “Who gave you that?” I ask knowing that whoever it was probably won’t be around for long. Simone has a habit of choosing easy, unambitious men who can act out her fantasies without touching her mind. It’s fun at first, until it gets boring.

She raises her fingers to the mark and smiles reverently. “My first ménage à trois.” She giggles. “I think his name was Joseph and she called herself Nidal. It’s a lovely name, isn’t it? Nidal. A boy’s name given to a girl . . . it suits her.” She lets the word slide around on her tongue.

I hesitate. I’m not the only one who is changing. Simone has never crossed that line before. “Did you . . .” My voice trails off, unsure of what to ask. “What did you do?” is the question I finally settle on. I’m not sure I want to hear anything she’s too scandalized to volunteer. After all, Simone isn’t scandalized by much.

“It was Nidal’s idea. She’s a DJ at Divinity.”

“Divinity?”

“You haven’t heard of it?” She puts down her glass and raises her arms into the air, stretching her back as she reaches for the sky. “It’s a little club on Melrose. Divinity. A funny name, isn’t it? It’s sort of a reminder of why people go to clubs. To dance, drink, and flirt until reality and all sense of mortality just sort of melt away and we all feel a bit like divine beings. Deities of the night.”

I look at my own glass. I’m not drinking because I hunger for a taste of the divine. I get that every time I lay my lips against Robert’s. I feel it when I lay beneath him, when he enters me and throbs inside of me, and I hear it every time he whispers my name.

On the contrary, I’m drinking because I want to touch the part of myself that is endearingly clumsy and human.

“It scared me at first,” she admits. “Nidal always flirts with me but I never thought anything would come of it. I told her I didn’t swing that way.” She pauses before adding, “Then she started asking me questions I didn’t have answers to.”

“Like what?”

“She asked if I was afraid I’d lose myself. She wanted to know if I thought I’d be changed if I let another woman touch me, if I liked it. She wanted to know if I thought it would muddle my sense of identity, my definition of femininity and sexuality. It was all very philosophical and I began to wonder . . . what
am
I afraid of?”

“But you’ve never mentioned being interested in women before,” I note. The thick, creamy concoction coats my throat and stomach, making me happy. Happy for this mild intoxication and happy to be distracted from my life by one of Simone’s titillating but innocuous adventures. “Perhaps it wasn’t fear that held you back, just lack of desire.”

Simone laughs. “But I’m always desirous of adventure. And I wanted to know . . . how strong
is
my sense of self? If it’s strong enough, no adventure should be able to shake it.” She meets my eyes, sips her drink again. “It was interesting . . . a woman knows a woman’s body. She knew where her touch should be light and where to apply just a bit of pressure. She instructed our partner, too, Jason—”

“Joseph.”

“Joseph . . . yes, Joseph. We started with me going down on him. I was on my back, my head hanging off the bed and I took him in my mouth while he stood up. I was totally focused on what I was doing, sliding my hand up and down the base of his erection while my mouth worked on the tip and ridges. . . . I didn’t even notice what she was doing until I felt her tongue against my pussy.”

I jump slightly, squeeze my legs together a little tighter as if Nidal’s here, right now, trying to smooth away my lines in the sand.

“It was a perfect way to begin,” Simone says, her voice hushed with memory. “My focus was on him, I didn’t even see her, and a woman’s tongue feels just like a man’s . . . except perhaps more skilled. I started to moan even as my mouth was wrapped around Joseph, I tried to keep my hips still, but couldn’t. That’s when Joseph asked if he could have a taste, too.”

“Simone!” I whisper her name with an urgency that surprises me. I hadn’t expected this tale, or its allure.

“Nidal told him how to pleasure me,” she continues with a smile. “She stood over him and told him to move his face down to my pussy, she told him to slide his tongue gently around my clit and then back and forth. It started slow but then it was almost too much and I was writhing around on the bed while she watched me and he touched me. She was the teacher and I was the lesson. She told him how to add his fingers to the experience. And in between sentences she would lean down and nibble on my ear, find the sensitive spot there with her tongue; her fingers traced the area around my nipples, making them hard without her ever touching them directly.”

I look away as if the scene were right before me rather than in Simone’s head. As if I was seeing me on that bed. I could never do that, could I? I could never relinquish so much control, could never challenge so many conventions. I’m not even attracted to women. But this story caresses me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I cross my arms over my chest so Simone can’t see that Nidal has worked her magic on me as well.

“She told me where to touch her. . . . I’ve never touched another woman’s breast before. But I liked the way it felt, firm but so soft. I liked the way Nidal responded to me. Joseph liked it, too.”

“Did you actually have sex with them?” I ask. My cheeks are bright red and my question comes out in a whisper.

“Nidal directed that, too. She told him to enter me slowly, she told him how to rotate his hips just right. She asked me to kiss her while he rode me.” Simone falls silent, momentarily lost in the memory. “Nidal asked me to face my fears,” she finally adds, “and she rewarded me for it.”

“With sex?”

Simone hesitates only a moment before replying. “She rewarded me with adventure. And with the most amazing orgasm I’ve ever had. It ripped through me, Kasie. It almost made me weep. Joseph said he could actually feel the spasms that shot through me. It was . . . it was spectacular. And it’s a memory I will hold on to until I die. When I’m eighty I’ll be able to look back at that night and remember that I was once daring and bold.”

“Yes,” I say slowly. For a few moments we let the picture she’s painted hang between us, demanding both reverence and wonder. But as it fades I begin to remember what’s real and what isn’t. I reach for something to pull us both back fully into the present.

“You’ll always have the memory,” I say slowly, “but . . . you might not remember if you slept with Jason or Joseph.”

That makes her giggle and with her laughter the mood shifts to something a little less intense. “Well,” she finally says, “that’s why we have to stay friends. So you can remind me of these things.”

I smile down into my milk shake, relishing the idea of having a lifelong friend. She hesitates only a moment before taking my hand. “It sounds like you have fears you need to face, too,” she says kindly. “What’s going on, Kasie?”

I take a deep breath and begin to talk. I tell her of the push-pull lover’s game I’m playing with Robert. I tell her I’m being promoted by a man who wants to fire me. I tell her about Asha and Tom and how conflicted I am. “I’m being granted power and influence without respect,” I finally say. “I didn’t even know that was possible!”

This time Simone’s laugh is richer and more boisterous. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed but that’s the situation of all the dictators in the world and quite a few of our elected officials. We respect the office, we certainly respect the power, but it’s fairly rare that we respect the individual who wields that power over us.”

I shake my head. “I disagree. When we read our history books, it’s the leaders who we honor and idealize.”

“Oh please. The whole point of history books is to bring our attention to the exceptions. There’s not enough room on the page to write about those who represent the status quo, the
norm.
My God, how boring would that be?”

I giggle my half-hearted agreement.

“No,” she sighs, “
normally
when someone has power over us, we go out of our way to look for that person’s flaws. We exaggerate them in our minds and in our gossip. We ridicule our leaders when their backs are turned. We convince ourselves that they’re not really deserving. That they’re not better than us. Sometimes we’re right, sometimes we’re wrong. It doesn’t really matter because we still respect the
power
and we will still bend to it regardless of how we may feel about the hands that hold it.”