“You’re supposed to be having your final internship, not showering off mental jizz.”
“Psychological bukkake,” I murmured. “It’s starting to get to me.”
That was a lie. Price had gotten to me long, long ago, but I kept going back for more, skirting the line of my own destruction.
“He messed me up so bad before,” I said to my friend. “I can’t start up with him again, right?”
“No. You definitely can’t.” Andrew shoved another piece of pizza in his mouth. “I love you, babes. I don’t want you to get hurt again. You don’t need him, and no matter how much he pushes the sex thing, he doesn’t need you.”
Shit. No. He didn’t need me. He had money and success and everything going for him, and if I didn’t eventually sleep with him, he’d move on to someone else. The thought of that made a sick feeling tremble in my stomach. I put down my pizza and pushed away my plate.
“Tell me about your gallery,” I said, to get my mind off my mentor. “Tell me—”
“Don’t change the subject yet. Are you going to be able to resist Price?”
“I kind of have to.”
“You have to, or you’re going to? What happens if he disappears again?” he lectured. “What happens when your internship is over?”
“I’m trying to keep a distance between us. A space. That’s what I asked for, pure professionalism.”
“If he was giving you pure professionalism, you wouldn’t be showering off mental jizz. I’ve met lots of hot guys during my internship, and there’s been absolutely no jizz involved.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Andrew shrugged, looking out my living room window at the rain. It was a cold, drizzly Saturday, one of the rare Saturdays when Andrew didn’t have a date and I wasn’t haunting the metals lab. Cantor had caught me there last weekend and grilled me about my internship. It was the most uncomfortable conversation of my life. I could have sworn he was trying to warn me about Price—like I didn’t know the danger.
“Tell me about your gallery internship,” I said, trying again to turn the conversation from my object of obsession. “Tell me about this guy you met.”
Andrew went from looking stressed to totally blissed out. “Craig.”
“Craig. Ooh. What a strong name. Is he strong like an animal?”
Andrew hardly needed egging on. “Yes. Kind of,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I see hints of animal in him. He’s just a gallery manager now, but he’s ambitious, and he’s a talker, and Jesus, he’s so Dom.”
“Yum.”
“He’s very calm and very kind. Authoritative, but in a good way.”
“How old is he?”
“Ten years older than me. And so much wiser.” He gave a wistful sigh. “He’s flirted with me, more than once, but I don’t know if it’s real interest or just some game to him, you know, mindfucking the new intern.”
“I didn’t know mindfucking interns was such a thing.”
“You should know, sister.
Anywaaaay
.”
I leaned my head back against the cushions. I liked Craig already, because he wasn’t an escort client. “My advice is to keep it professional with this Craig dude until the internship is over, and then see where it leads. Even if things don’t work out, he’ll be a contact, maybe with enough influence to get you a show someday.”
“He’s talked to me about my work.” He got all fluttery again. “I showed him a few paintings on my phone. He says he’d like to see them in person.”
“Take him to the paint lab at night, put on the music, the whole deal.”
“I know. It’ll happen.” He clutched at his chest. “I’m just kind of freaked out. I really like him. It’s scary, how much I like him.” He let go of his chest and carried the pizza box into the kitchen, and tossed it on the counter with a pensive look. “Craig doesn’t know anything about the escorting. I mean, of course he doesn’t know. If he knew... I don’t know. I don’t want to keep secrets, but I don’t want to tell him either.”
I watched the conflict play across my friend’s angelic face.
“You can stop the escorting anytime,” I said. “And you don’t have to tell anyone. You’re the only one of my friends right now who knows I used to do it.”
He sighed and hunched up his shoulders. “But I know I would end up telling him. If I fell in love with him, I’d spill everything. Especially if we were Dom/sub.”
“Which you would be.” I shook my finger at him. “I told you the escorting was a big decision, not to be taken lightly. Once you do it, you can’t erase it from your past.”
“I enjoyed it for a while. I’m still enjoying it. The money’s great. It’s just...”
“I know.” I walked over and embraced him. “I remember. If you want to stop, just tell Henry. He won’t be angry. He won’t pimp-slap you or anything.”
Andrew pressed his curls against my cheek. “That’s too bad. I probably would have liked it.”
I was glad Andrew and I were friends, even if he bitched at me sometimes about Price. We understood each other because we were equally fucked up in the head.
“Price wants me to travel to Oslo with him,” I said. I’d been saving that little nugget until Andrew calmed down. “He’s been offered a commission there, to design a historical museum. We’ll be there a couple weeks, for meetings and financial stuff.”
“Let me guess, it’s just an internship thing?” Andrew pulled away from me. “I guess you’ve already told him yes?”
“I won’t have sex with him. We won’t be alone there. Three of his associates are coming too.”
“Great, an orgy then. How exciting!”
“No sex. No orgies. No choking and fucking and mayhem,” I emphasized. “One hundred percent professional.”
Dear religious, all-powerful entity, please help me be professional. Please help me resist sleeping with my sexual titan of a boss on this business trip.
In the name of God or Krishna or Moses, or whoever can freaking help me. Amen.
We weren’t alone on this flight to Oslo. It wasn’t a lovers’ getaway, unfortunately. In my fantasies, yes. In reality? No.
Three of my firm’s associates were with us, and one of them, Raneesh, had taken the seat beside me on the plane. Hannah and Jennifer sat in the adjacent row, and Chere was one row back, in the seat I’d intended for one of them.
Fuck. I couldn’t oust Raneesh so Chere could sit beside me, because I had business to talk with Raneesh, and Chere was just along to “learn.” Still, I wanted to do it.
I didn’t.
In all this time, not one of my associates had come to suspect that Chere and I had a history together. They treated Chere the way you’d expect them to treat an intern, with polite and stand-offish condescension. If they thought it strange that I paid for an intern to accompany us to Oslo for two weeks, they didn’t comment on my decision.
Chere wasn’t even in front of me, damn it. If she was in front of me, I could have at least stared at the back of her head. Instead, I had to control the number of times I zoned out on Raneesh to glance back at her. I cursed myself for not hiring a private plane, large enough for two passengers and a bed. I could have been inside her all the way across the ocean. Oh, but I couldn’t. Professionalism and all that.
When we arrived in Oslo, it was evening, local time, and Jennifer suggested dinner before we headed to the hotel.
Fuck me. Of course we would go to dinner. That’s what associates did on a business trip, and I was the only one fluent in Norwegian. At least I could look at Chere during dinner, if I couldn’t touch her and lick her all over the way I wanted to. Travel made me horny. No, not exactly. Traveling
with Chere
made me horny.
I stared at her as we waited for a car to take us to the restaurant. She was in full intern mode, silent, sober, listening to Hannah and Jennifer go on as if their idle conversation about Oslo’s skyline was of utmost importance.
“Hey, boss. You all right?”
Raneesh’s question stopped the ladies’ conversation and brought all eyes to me.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You look tense.”
I raised my shoulders. “I might be a little tense. I worked late last night, getting some final idea sheets together.” Actually, I’d worked late last night masturbating to the fantasy of fucking Chere over my drafting table. “I’ll order a massage at the hotel,” I said, as they continued to regard me with concern.
Hannah was the first to drop her gaze, but not before I saw the invitation there. She’d give me a massage if I asked her to. She’d even let me fuck her over my drafting table, but she was the ball-busting, corporate-climber type, and I was pretty sure if I ever let her touch my dick, she’d break it off.
At dinner, I played a game called
How long can I go without looking at Chere?
Some of the glances were gimmes. It was natural to look at someone while they were talking, or while they were ordering. It was less natural to look at someone as she chewed bites of lemon-sauced salmon, and took sips of wine that seemed increasingly seductive. I wondered what the others would have thought if I ordered her under the table to suck me off. If they weren’t here, I might have tried it just to see what would happen. I was that wrought up.
As dinner dragged on, Chere made it more difficult to look at her by growing increasingly silent. Raneesh didn’t bother to ask her if
she
was all right, the asshole. In fact, they pretty much ignored her until the end of the meal. Our waiter brought coffee and cream, and Jennifer finally turned to Chere.
“You graduate soon, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Chere glanced at me briefly. “Next month. The end of April.”
“That’s exciting,” said Raneesh, who got excited about everything. “What are your plans?”
“Well, I’ve been putting together a portfolio. Some projects I’ve worked on, accessories and metalware, silverware, rings and earrings, cufflinks.” Her eyes darted toward my wrists. I sported another pair of her creation, small, spare polished-silver ovals in her signature style. “I hope I can interest some of the bigger jewelry houses in my work.”
“Or you could start your own company,” I said. “With your own vision. Your own designs.”
I’d been considering how to give Chere a leg up in a highly competitive business. I thought I might give her some seed money to start her own jewelry line. She could make exclusive pieces for the rich and famous, glittering works notable for their delicacy. She could design under her own name, instead of disappearing into the back rooms of some big conglomerate.
Hannah raised a glass to me. “That’s what you did, isn’t it, Price? Started your own business right out of school?”
“But he went to school for ten years,” laughed Raneesh.
“Yes, and I got four degrees in those ten years. Mainly because I didn’t know what I wanted to do.” I clinked Hannah’s glass, ignoring the way her eyes raked me in the ambient light. I looked across the table at Chere. “Do you know what you want to do, Ms. Rouzier?”
I knew what
I
wanted to do. I wanted to take her back to the hotel and fuck her, and she knew it.
“I’m not completely sure yet,” she said after a moment.
“I was younger than you when I started my firm.” I stirred my coffee to watch the cream swirl on top. “I made a ton of mistakes, but I had an end goal. I still have an end goal. Do you have an end goal?”
My associates watched me, admiring and silent. I was the boss teaching the intern, passing along my experience and power. They thought I was mentoring. No, I was badgering.
Do you have an end goal, Chere? Does it involve surrendering to my sexual needs?
“I haven’t made any decisions. My world is kind of...” She spread her hands. “Kind of wide open right now.”
I wanted to spread her legs wide open. I wanted to be inside her. It was so hard to sit across from her and pretend I was just her boss. Why had I brought her here? So I could suffer from 24-7 temptation, instead of the usual 9-5 agony?
Great job, Price, you stupid prick.
It would be better at the hotel. Out of sight, out of mind. To reduce temptation, I’d had her room booked onto a separate floor. I hoped she appreciated my efforts.
I raised a hand and signaled the waiter for the check.
*** *** ***
The first few days were busy. We were overscheduled and jetlagged, and Chere bore the brunt of everyone’s irritation. We sent her for coffee and food and electrical adapters, and medicine when Jennifer developed a recurring headache. She was the intern, so she did what we asked.
Then Saturday arrived, and I told everyone to head out and explore the city. I knew they wouldn’t. I knew all of them would work so they’d be ahead on Monday. That was why I’d hired them.
But I didn’t want to work. I went to Chere’s floor and walked by her room, as I’d done a dozen times by now. This time I allowed myself to knock.
No answer. I knew she was there, that she could see me through the goddamned peephole. I knocked again. “Open the door.”
She did, looking irritable and rumpled in her robe. I looked past her into her room.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Resting.”
“You’ve been a sport,” I said, acknowledging her thankless grunt-duty over the past few days. “I’d like to show you Oslo, if you’re interested. If you’d like to go for a walk.”
“A walk?”
“A walk,” I repeated acerbically. “It’s this thing where you advance your feet in a forward motion, perambulating by your legs—”
“Okay. All right. Give me a minute to get dressed.”
She made me wait in the hall, which was wise. I’m not sure I could have restrained myself in a hotel room with her, even a small, rather ascetic hotel room in downtown Oslo. Once she was ready we set off, bundled in warm, high-collared coats. I was relieved we didn’t run into the others on the way out of the hotel. I wanted Chere and only Chere, because I wanted to see the city through her detail-oriented eyes. If I couldn’t have her body, I could at least wallow in her mind.
I took her to the Parliament Building and the National Theater. We spent a couple hours talking, pointing, discussing, taking things in. We posed with the statues in Vigeland Park, the naked men and women carved in stone. We grabbed food from a takeout place and headed to the City Centre to look at the ships. She was cold. I knew she was cold but I didn’t want to go back to the hotel where we’d retreat to our separate rooms, leading our separate lives. I tried to sit where I shielded her from the wind. My leg pressed against hers as we hunched forward, scarfing sandwiches and cake.