Translucent (8 page)

“Do you trust me?” he asks teasingly.

My eyes snap up to the broad smile on his handsome face, and I can’t help but join him. Grinning, I repeat, “I have faith you’ll make a good selection.”

“I always do.”

After he rattles off what we’ll be having for dinner, he raises his crystal glass, indicating a toast. I lift mine to clink against his, still unable to wipe this goofy grin off my face. I can’t deny I enjoy the man’s company.

“Here’s to the best business meeting I’ve had in ages—I can only imagine how sensational our dates will be—and to you, Blake Martin, for trusting me to always make the right choice for you.”

Stunned and speechless, I take a big gulp of the chilled wine and wonder how in the hell I’m going to get through the rest of this dinner.

Surprisingly, throughout the rest of the meal, we discuss the video game project in great detail during a relaxed but professional conversation. Madden admits he wanted nothing to do with the acquisition, that it was all his brother’s great idea to expand Decker Enterprises into the world of gaming. I learn the company’s primary ventures are in developing new technology for security fiber optics, and that it was first started by their father nearly forty years ago. When he suffered a heart attack six years prior, Madden took over the company much earlier than he’d expected to. I’m not sure how old he is, and quite honestly, I’m afraid to ask, but my guess would be early-to-mid-thirties. We almost make it through the discussion without him asking me any questions that make me feel uncomfortable. Almost.

As my taste buds relish the best slice of cheesecake ever, he asks, “What did you do before going to work for JDT Graphics?”

The question in and of itself seems like a normal, ordinary thing to ask someone, and I’m sure he’s simply asking out of common curiosity; however, for me, nothing about my past is either normal or ordinary.

“I, uh…I was in school,” I reply, the uneasiness in my voice clear as day.

Setting his fork down on the table, he smiles sympathetically at me. “I know you’re young, Blake. It doesn’t concern me that you don’t have any experience in the field, especially after our conversation here this evening. It’s evident you’re sharp and eager to succeed, and that speaks volumes to me.”

Relieved he mistook my nervous tone for fear he won’t think I’m qualified for the job—which I’m truthfully not—I release the worried breath I was holding. “Thank you, Mr. Decker. I am very enthusiastic about proving myself to both Mr. Thompson and you.”

“It’s Madden,” he retorts. “I don’t want to tell you again. Mr. Decker makes me think of my father, or worse, my brother.” For the second time tonight, he mentions his brother with disdain. I’m not sure of the existing dynamic, but there are obviously issues between the two of them.

“Yes,
Madden
. I apologize.”

“I know this is terribly ill-mannered of me, but I’m going to ask anyway. How old are you, Blake?”

Every time the man says my name, he turns me into a pinball machine—my stomach coils up for a brief second before springing free, releasing a ball of decadent desire to bound freely throughout my body, causing my face to glow brighter than a thousand florescent lights.

“I’m twenty-two,” I answer before placing the last bite of the rich dessert into my mouth, resisting the urge to moan in sugar-filled delight.

He blinks twice at my reply, but no other expression crosses his face; it’s almost as if he’s calculating something in his head. I’m still unsure if I should ask him the same question, as much as I want to know his age. Thankfully, he answers my silent inquiry.

“I’ll be thirty-five next month; that’s not too bad,” he says more to himself than to me. I want to ask
too bad
for what, but I don’t. I’m just happy to know how old he is without having to ask.

Not long after, Madden pays the bill and we both stand up to leave. He takes my hand in his to lead me out of the restaurant, and this time, I don’t try to pull it back. As we wait for the valet to bring his car around, we stand in comfortable silence, still hand-in-hand.

After helping me into the car, he climbs in the driver’s seat and shifts the transmission into drive. On the drive back to my car that’s parked outside my office, we make small talk about the cooler-than-normal temperatures and over-abundance of rain in the past month. I want to tell him he has no idea what
cold
is when he tells me he’s lived in southern California his entire life, but I don’t want to discuss my upbringing any more than I have to.

As he pulls into the near-empty lot, I point out my car for him to drive over to it. Nervous energy begins to build inside me, not knowing what to expect when we say goodbye. I know Jae’s going to be disappointed tomorrow, but there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with this guy, no matter how good of a time I’ve had.

Shifting the car into park, he gets out to open my door for me. He guides me by the hand over to the driver’s side of my car. I peer up at him, ready to thank him once again, and to assure him I’ll do a great job on the project, but he speaks before I get a chance to.

“Do you trust me, Blake?”

My first thought is to teasingly reply about him making good selections, but I stop myself. The seriousness in his voice and intensity in his gaze alert me he’s no longer joking.

“No,” I whisper breathlessly.

“Thank you for not lying to me,” he replies with a genuine smile. Leaning down, he places a tender kiss on the top of my head and murmurs into my hair, “You will. Slow and steady, sweet girl.”

Stupefied by his gentleness and choice of words, I slide into my car without a response. He waits for me to pull away before retreating to his own car. Driving in a haze down the highway, my thoughts a jumbled mess, I’m surprised I even find my way home, but thankfully, I do. Minutes after I let myself into my apartment, I receive a text from him.

Let me know when you’re home.

And suddenly I can’t breathe.

S
OMETHING
SHOULD
’
VE
ALERTED
me when Ish showed up at my high school to pick me up the Monday after I met him, when I’d given him no information other than my first name. Somehow, in a city of a couple million people, he’d found me with no problem, but instead of getting freaked out when the well-dressed, good-looking older guy I’d met at the club on Friday pulled up in a brand new Lexus and called out to me, I was awestruck and enchanted. If I hadn’t had dance practice after school, I’d have undoubtedly left with him right then. I explained to him I had mandatory practice all week and my mom would be picking me up, and he smiled and told me ‘no worries’, that he’d see me soon. Then, he kissed me in front of everyone, declaring I was his before he pulled away with the bass in his car thumping loudly. I was in a delusional fog for the rest of the afternoon, and when I received a text from an unknown number about an hour later that read “I want to know when you’re home,” I thought his caveman-like actions were charming. I never bothered to ask how he got my phone number or any other information; I was too caught up in wanting to be wanted. And Ish wanted me.

By the next weekend, I belonged to him, no question. He swept me off of my feet in the blink of an eye—visiting me at school every day, buying me extravagant gifts, calling me his
Princesa Americana,
and making me feel like I’d won the boyfriend lottery. Within two weeks, I’d gifted him my virginity, and began skipping school to be with him. My mom and younger brother were both leery of him, but he was always polite, and as long as I was happy, they went along with what I wanted.

Whenever I asked about what he did or where his money came from, he told me he worked for his father in a family business. I knew his parents were separated, and I never thought much to ask about his dad because I met his mom on numerous occasions, and she was always very friendly and accepting of me. She was from Brazil, and even though she understood English well, it was very broken when she spoke it. Typically, she and Ish spoke in Portuguese to each other in their home, so I began to study it when I was home late at night or when he was working. I’ll never forget how proud I felt the first time I surprised them both and spoke it during dinner one evening. That night, he rewarded me for my hard work by performing oral sex on me for the first time; usually, it was me who did it to him, thanking him for taking such good care of me. I quickly became obsessed with trying to please him, never wanting to disappoint him. Somehow, I always knew if I upset him the price to pay would be more than I could afford.

The vibration of my cellphone yanks me from the dreadful memory, and I find myself crouched in a ball on my bedroom floor, knees curled tightly to my chest. Thankfully, I haven’t hurt myself—at least I don’t feel any pain or taste any blood. Glancing at my phone lying on the floor next to me, I study the two messages staring back at me from the screen.

Let me know when you’re home.

Blake, please let me know if you’re home safe. I’m worried.

Both messages are from Madden, and after reading them, I realize why I drifted off into the flashback. Inhaling and exhaling several deep breaths, I stretch my legs out in front of me and pick up the phone. Quickly, I type out a response.

I’m home. Didn’t mean to worry you.

My heart rate takes a few minutes to return to normal from the panic-driven anxiety attack that always occurs when I think about my life with Ish. My mom was always right when she said things that seem too good to be true usually are. Ismael Oliveira was way too good to ever be true.

Using my dresser as a crutch, I pull myself up to a standing position and strip out of the clothes I’ve been in all day. The events of the last fourteen hours have exhausted me physically, mentally, and emotionally—from the anticipation over the morning presentation, to the overwhelming nerves during the dinner with Madden, and everything else in-between. I detest that the last thing in my mind is the memory of
him
, which taints all of the positives. Part of me wants to forego the shower and just climb into bed, but I know I’ll feel better once I scrub myself clean, at least for a little while.

The following morning, Jae is waiting for me in our office with a look of hopeful enthusiasm evident all over her face. Before the door even shuts behind me, she pounces.

“Blake, Blake, Blake. Tell me how wonderful it was! I can’t wait to hear all the sordid details,” she cries as she races to my side.

Laughing softly, I shake my head at her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jae, but nothing
sordid
occurred.”

“What? You’re joking, right? Did you turn him down?” She fires questions at me faster than I can set my purse down to answer.

“We had a nice dinner. The conversation was good; we talked a little about ourselves, but mostly about work and the project. Then, he drove me back to my car and that was it. I drove home.”

I’m not sure why I don’t want to tell her about the sweet kiss on the head and his final words; I just don’t. I guess I’m afraid she’ll make more out of it than it was, and I don’t want to have to answer continuous questions about if I’ve heard from him or seen him. Chances are—other than for business purposes—I won’t have contact with Madden Decker again, despite his auspicious remarks. A man of his stature doesn’t strike me as the type to spend many nights alone.

She stares at me in disbelief. “I’m not buying it. The man was interested the second he laid eyes on you, and he even went through the trouble of calling your boss to ensure you’d have dinner with him.”

“Perhaps he really wanted to talk about video game graphics with me,” I suggest. “Did you ever think of that?”

“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffs. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you hear from him again. I know it won’t be long.”

Rolling my eyes, I sit down in front of the computer monitor, ready to get started with the day’s work. “Okay, Miss Matchmaker, I will,” I promise. “Now what are we tackling this morning?”

We spend the rest of the day compiling data on different soccer teams and players. With the upcoming World Cup, everyone agrees it should be the first game we focus on. Yesterday, Mr. Thompson assured us we’d have two other assistants assigned to us by the end of the week to help us with the first phase of input. The hours pass rapidly, and before I know it, it’s time to call it a day. Much as I expected, I didn’t hear from Madden all day, but I admit I did check my phone a couple of times in the rare chance Jae might’ve been right. No messages. No missed calls.