Strapped Read online

  “Do you know where Harrison stored my clothes? I forgot to investigate that before showering” I try my best to act like I am not practically naked in front of him.

  “Uhhhh...yes, I think they are in the guest bedroom that you were in last time.”

  “Did you chose that song earlier? Either that or the couch last night has had a far worse effect on my neurological system than I had guessed.”

  He smiles and looks down, coyly. I almost drop my towel.

  “Yes, I have wireless speakers all over the house. “The First Time Ever I Saw your Face” by Roberta Flack. I think it’s a beautiful song. I thought you might too.” Am I the only one that feels it again? The tension? The potential energy that has no where to actualize? It just sits there, suffocating me.

  “Thank you, it was.” I say sincerely and walk to the guest bedroom. By the time I eat my very late breakfast, it is almost 11:00. I feel spoiled, but I will be staying late and working hard to make up for this. I text Rick to let him know it’s another late night and I still do not receive a response.

  News breaks out that Russia is ready to privatize some of its major industries and is looking for foreign investment. What was initially just a trip just to bring business into Russia has now become twofold. We will also be negotiating the purchase of shares of some of Russia’s largest national industries. This means we have a lot of extra work to take care of before the trip.

  Once we do start working, his focus is laser-like. There are multiple conference calls and analyses of financial reports. We even stop into the office for a few afternoon meetings not getting back to the house until a little after six.

  “Do you like Thai food?” I guess I am having dinner with him tonight.

  “Yes, I love it.”

  “Ok, I am going to order. I’ll be back.” This is the second time that he has ordered food without asking me what I want. I am not sure how I feel about this habit. I notice he walks down the hallway to that curious panel. He pulls a small ring of keys from his pocket and sticks one in the keyhole, pulls and it opens up on hinges, just like a door. He enters and closes it securely behind him. This must be his bedroom, but it is the most unusual bedroom door I have ever seen. I understand wanting one’s privacy, but this is extreme.

  I sit down in the great room and pull off my heels. My feet are aching and I refuse to wear these suckers after 6:30. When he returns, he is wearing a low slung, off-white pair of linen pants. The softness of the worn out fabric drapes his body so nicely. A drawstring barely keeps the pants from sliding off of his narrow hips. He wears a faded gray short sleeved undershirt that is just tight enough to hug his shoulders and chest muscles. Even his bare feet are perfect. His hair is tousled and messy. He looks so young. He looks like Taylor.

  “I’m sorry, here I am changed into a T-shirt and comfortable pants and you look really uncomfortable. Do you want to borrow a T-shirt and sweats or something? It’s after six thirty, there is no need to be dressed professionally anymore.” I am glad we share the same philosophy. I oblige. Yes, it is a little weird, but it’s not like I will be the definition of sex appeal in his sweatpants and T-shirt.

  I end up swimming in his shirt and rolling up his sweatpants about three times to keep them from falling, but they are still way more comfortable than the dress I was wearing earlier. I can smell his familiar laundry scent on the shirt. He offers me a glass of wine and I also oblige. The Thai food arrives, which I collect since Harrison is not here, Harrison is a buffer for him too. We resume work over the meal. Before I know it, it’s almost nine.

  “Okay, we should probably call it a night. Just because I don’t have a life, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Your boyfriend is probably missing you between long hours here and falling asleep in the office.” Mr. Holden, you just had some kinky woman over here last night, I think you have quite the life. Wait, did I ever tell him I had a boyfriend? I blame Harrison for informing him. Either that, or he really was thorough in his investigation.

  “He probably doesn’t want to see me right now.” Too much info Shy, too much! He doesn’t address the comment directly.

  “I don’t want to keep you here. You’ve worked enough.”

  “You’re right. I should probably get home.” I stand up, and his pants nearly fall off of me. I grab them just in time and we both laugh awkwardly. “I’ll help you put this in the dishwasher.”

  “Don’t worry, the cleaning lady comes every morning.” Oh yeah, he’s fucking rich. Rich people don’t need to clean their own dishes.

  “Ms. Ball, you have been doing an excellent job, notwithstanding your tardiness today. I was right about you.” I think he is joking about my lateness, but he can be so damned hard to read. I still find it hard to look him directly in the eyes, because it is almost too much.

  “Can you call me Shyla?” This must be the wine speaking. He takes a breath.

  “Sure, Shyla...Please, call me Taylor.”

  Chapter Seven

  Conflicting emotions of dread and contentment course through me. Something was different today. I don’t know what triggered it. Maybe it was the fear that I might be dead¸ or Taylor’s confession about his anxiety, but I felt like I was able to work with and have dinner with the real Taylor for the first time. Ever since I first walked into his office, I have been dealing with a shell. His ever-changing and conflicted nature may mean I will again see Mr. Holden tomorrow, but no matter what happens, I will always have this night. This night will anchor me to Taylor, not letting him drift away into the abyss of Mr. Holden.

  My dread is twofold, the ever growing, dangerous fascination with this man and the reaction I will face when I get home to Rick. Things are changing all around me. I remember when I met Rick on campus years ago. He had shaggy light brown hair, amber eyes, dimples, and a tall, wiry frame. He was smart, innocent, and genuine. We were partners in our intro to Com Sci class. His mix of boyish good looks and geekiness warmed me. There was always something so gentle about his personality. He always made me feel secure and I never doubted he would be there for me if I needed him.

  And now, while we are civil, and we get along just fine, we don’t see each other anymore. I don’t mean this physically. We go on about our day, two perfectly sound individuals, living alongside one another. Yet we are invisible. I could never put my finger on what was going wrong with us, because nothing was wrong, it’s just that something was no longer right. We don’t have those long sleepless nights anymore when we just talk and laugh about nothing. There are no more late night pizza runs or impromptu road trips. We just exist. I know he loves me, but something is gone. Yet, I still don’t have the courage to pull away, because I do love him, and I don’t want to hurt him, but I think I need more.

  What is more? I don’t know. I never had a father, I don’t know what true love looks like between a man and a woman. Rick treats me well and he loves me. Shouldn’t that be enough? Aren’t I greedy for wanting more? What if I look for more and instead end up with nothing? Perhaps, I will always have a craving for more. Multiple times, Rick has told me that he doesn’t think I will ever be satisfied. Maybe he is right, maybe nothing can fulfill me.

  I hope he is sleeping when I come home, as I have no desire to engage in a discussion about last night. Instead he is awake in the bedroom watching TV, but he doesn’t come out. He doesn’t say a word. I peek my head into the bedroom, which is dark besides the glow from the TV.

  “Hey,” I say, sheepishly.

  “Hey.” Only his eyes move to address at me.

  “I’m sorry about last night. Like I told you in the text, I fell asleep at the office and my phone died, so I didn’t see anything until I woke up late this morning. Then I had to run to work and I didn’t have the nerve or the time to make a personal call.”

  “You really had me worried. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “I know,” I say pitifully as I crawl into bed. I know how to make it up to him.

  “Listen, I am happy for you abou
t this job. I really am, but it’s consuming all of your time.”

  “It’s this trip to Russia. There is a lot of prep going into that. Plus, you’re just used to me being home all the time. You know, it used to be the other way around. I would be here all day and you would be in the office.”

  “I know, I know. I just miss you.”

  “Awww. I miss you too.” Do I really? “After this trip, I promise, there will be more time.”

  “Can we set a night where we go out once a week until then?”

  “I can’t promise, things are too unpredictable, but I’ll try.”

  “Well, if Ms.Important can find time for me, I’d appreciate that.”

  “Oh stop it...” I say silencing him with a kiss. He pulls me on top of him. In all honesty, I really want to go to bed, but I know this will make him happy. I straddle him and he hikes my dress up, cupping my cheeks in his hands. I lean over to kiss him as he unzips the back of my dress and I pull it off overhead.

  “You look great,” he tells me.

  “Thank you.”

  I whip off his boxers and he is fully ready to go. I go down on him for a minute to make it easier for him to penetrate me. Finally, I mount him. The first few seconds feel intense, but then the feeling subsides. There is no spark, no flood of energy. Maybe it’s because I am tired, or stressed, or is it because...is it because of Taylor Holden? I close my eyes and Taylor is now underneath me. His firm chest is underneath my hands. I run my fingers through his dark hair and the moment seizes me. With my eyes closed, it’s Taylor, not Rick cupping my breasts. It’s Taylor, not Rick, admiring my naked body. Now that he is here in my bed, it isn’t long before I am fully aroused.

  The next morning Rick and I get ready for work. He seems to have gotten over yesterday’s incident, especially after our romp. I find myself having a tough time looking into his eyes, knowing what I did last night. It’s one thing to fantasize about the abstract: an imaginary person, or someone you will never meet. But it happened twice yesterday. Two times Taylor Holden invaded my thoughts, drawing a physical response from me without even being in the same room. I am finding it harder and harder to be present with Rick because whenever I am with him, my mind is on Taylor.

  I have stopped eating breakfast at home thanks to the gorgeous buffet that awaits me every morning at Taylor’s. As Rick eats his breakfast, I kiss him on the head and head over to another busy day at work.

  ***

  I peck Rick on the lips as he pulls my luggage out from the back of his SUV. While I will miss him, I am very excited to ride on a private jet for the first time.

  I pull out the handle of my rolling luggage and speed away to meet Harrison, who will escort me to the tarmac. Rick insisted he drive me to the airport to see me off, so Taylor and Harrison are already waiting there for me. I found out just a couple of days ago that Henry, our chief technology officer, will be joining us as well. I have seen him in passing a few times at Holden Industries since our first meeting. He is very playful and flirtatious. His behavior is a stark contrast from his brooding friend, Taylor. He makes it a point to make a joke or act silly whenever I walk by. Thanks to the crass comment I heard, I think I know why. I have been very guarded around him as a result, which only seems to make him try harder.

  The past few weeks have been an insane flurry of activity. Rick has been patient about my work demands, which have kept me too busy to think about any relationship in my life. Being so busy has been somewhat of a blessing in disguise as it seems to have put my personal life on hold for a few weeks. I am still on a first name basis with Taylor, but ever since the day he invaded my thoughts I have made it a point to dig no further. It has not been as difficult as I thought it might be since we have spent much time at headquarters working with the rest of the H.I. staff getting ready for this trip. We haven’t had much time alone which means fewer moments of tension and less opportunity for me to become distracted by him. I like working at H.I. I thought I would hate it, but I have never been surrounded by a more energetic and competent group of people. I like working at Taylor’s house too, but the reasons are different and they are ones I should shy away from.

  I have begun to recognize his hangups or “rituals” as he calls them. I now know when to step in and grab a document or a beverage for him. His habits are bizarre, but at the same time, they make me feel needed. One of the hardest things for him to deal with is the universal symbol of business, the handshake. He hates touching people’s hands. Everyone in H.I. thinks he is a germaphobe and he prefers this, but I know it is the touch itself, not the germs, that makes him uneasy. One would think that the need to avoid touch would be more harmful to personal relationships than business relationships, but in the business world, there is nothing more offensive to someone than to stick out his or her hand and to be left hanging. On one occasion, I noticed him try to contain a wince while shaking someone’s hand. He was a client from overseas and there was very little Taylor could do to get out of it. I asked Taylor about it to understand how I could help. He explained he could tolerate an individual here or there, but at a party or a gathering where he would deal with a barrage of hands, he would find the cumulative anxiety more than he could bear. He didn’t elaborate on what the result would be, and I didn’t push for an answer.

  The night before we were to fly out to St. Petersburg, we sat down in his office late in the afternoon for our last recap in the US before flying out. After going through many logistics, I asked him for details about my role at the gala.

  “So, what did you do before me? What did you do with Emily?”

  “Emily was a great assistant, she would intercept items from people, but as usual, I was on my own. She knew about the issues and helped whenever she could.” Emily couldn’t touch him either. Again, I feel very special.

  “What about parties? She didn’t shake hands on your behalf, so what do you do?”

  “Sometimes, I tell people I have a bug, and that I don’t want to give it to them if it’s a smaller gathering. I always make sure to have a drink in one hand and my other hand in my pocket or occupied with something else. This minimizes the odds of people sticking out their hand for a shake. I also do the friendly pat on the shoulder, which requires no skin contact and eliminates the need for a handshake.” I remember Henry greeting him with a pat on the shoulder the first time I met him. He knows too. “I also have gotten really good at pretending I don’t see the hand and go in for the shoulder pat. It’s the no-hand to shoulder pat combo.” He says this with a smile. I think using humor to talk about this is good.

  “So how can I help?” I ask.

  “Well, you have been extremely helpful and discreet so far. There’s not much more you can do.” He pauses. “Well, there is one thing, but it’s not necessary and only if you are comfortable.” I genuinely appreciate the rare moments when he and I can just talk like this.

  “Just tell me. I won’t do anything I am not comfortable with.”

  “Well, you could...uh...hold my hand.” This powerful man, this mega-CEO suddenly reminds me of a boy asking a girl to prom. “It’s a credible way to keep my other arm occupied. You could also hook your arm into mine. It has the same effect.”

  “Are there no end to the terrible things you will make me do?” I say, clearly feigning outrage.

  “Well, if we need to use this tactic, we can, if we can go without it, we will.” He smiles, places his hands on his knees, and rises from his seat. No, please, I will gladly accept.

  ***

  Harrison escorts me to the plane. I am greeted by the pilot and turn to see Taylor sipping on a cup of coffee in a large, camel colored leather chair. Henry is sitting across from Taylor, his back facing me, while on his cell phone.

  “Good morning Taylor...Henry.” I give Henry a very professional nod.

  “Morning Shyla!” Henry says while still on the phone.

  Taylor raises his coffee as if toasting to me, but remains especially quiet this morning. I assume he has
a lot on his mind with this upcoming trip and he is in full blown Mr. Holden-mode. I open my huge file of Russian people. I have been so busy with all of the number crunching, errands and proposal writing, that I haven’t really had a chance to dig into this. I hope the flight will give me ample time to learn about the people we will meet. While in Russia, there will be many meetings and business dinners; there will also be a good amount of free time. I did my research and St. Petersburg looks like a beautiful city with many museums and interesting architecture. Taylor informed me that during this time of year, the sun never fully sets, but instead sits just above the horizon throughout the night. I can’t wait to explore the city during my down time.

  After many hours of reading about Russians and trying to get some sleep, we arrive in St. Petersburg. The city is grand and opulent. Baroque and neoclassical buildings pepper the relatively flat cityscape. We are picked up by a Russian driver which makes me think of Harrison. I kind of already miss the guy. I have found his quiet presence to be warm and secure, as if having a diluted version of a father.

  We slide into the limo and Henry takes a seat right next to me.

  “I don’t know about you two, but I think we should go out tonight!” I don’t where he finds the energy.

  “I don’t think so. This travel has me exhausted.”

  “Same here, let’s get past the next two days and then we can celebrate,” Taylor chimes. I can’t imagine Taylor partying, but I would love to see the occasion. Tomorrow we meet about the fiber optics project and the next day is focused upon acquisitions of the newly privatized industries. On day three, Taylor planned a “free day” for the entire H.I. crew. On day four, we have some morning meetings and the gala in the evening. Day five is our last and is a free day, which I am very much looking forward to.