I truly didn’t want to lose my job for screwing up in the meeting, but I also wanted a chance to see him again, hear his voice, and maybe shake his hand. I bit down on my lip at the memory. Then I told myself to stop it and control my urges. Honestly, it was a pathetic crush. The fact that he was hotter than hell in person just made matters worse.
Millie had me take a seat and wait. When the massive double doors to his office opened, Brent beckoned me in. I hoped my knees would hold me. He had his jacket off and his button-down was open at the collar. He looked like he’d been running his hand through his dark hair with its sexy hint of silver. I forgot how to say words or use my hands normally as I followed him inside. The door closed behind me. I gripped the back of a chair, looked off to the side to admire the view from his palatial corner office and avoid his eyes at the same time.
“You wanted to see me?” he said.
I nodded.
“Did you need something?” he prompted.
“Oh. This. Kim wanted this hand-delivered to you. It’s a document,” I said lamely. I had been so excited to come to the top floor and see him that I’d neglected to ask what I was even taking to him. It could be a carryout menu from the Thai place down the street for all I knew.
He took the folder, “Are you aware of email?” he said, “because it is no longer necessary to hand-deliver intra-office mail. We have computers for that.”
“No, I know about all that. I just really like riding in elevators. Kim knows how much I love it, so she gave me an excuse.”
“So my elevators are thrilling,” he said with mild amusement.
“More than you know,” I said, and I felt his eyes bright and mischievous on me.
His gaze raked all over me, from my face all the way down to my shoes. I felt seen, noticed, thoroughly looked at from head to toe. My pulse sped up. It was difficult to breathe when I was in the room with him. Especially when a small part of me, the part that had a teenage crush on him, wanted to grab his hands and say, yes, you want me. I have incredible potential in the business world, but you want me all to yourself. In the bedroom. Jesus, my subconscious trafficked in bad soap opera dialogue.
“So, what are your top three favorite elevators?” he challenged.
“Well, the Astley Corp elevator is easily in the top three. Though I’d place it at second, just after the one at Rockefeller Center.”
He tapped a pen against his chin. “Hmmm. I’ll have to make sure to upgrade my elevators. I can’t have us being second. I don’t like to lose.”
After a brief moment, we both laughed. I realized that I wasn’t just laughing because he was funny. I was laughing because I was happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this good, this excited and almost giddy. I got a thrill just from talking with him. It was an intellectual thrill, my mind eager to rise to the challenge. I felt like I could meet him as an equal in this conversation. It was exhilarating.
“You know, I’m glad you delivered this paperwork. Unfortunately, I have a meeting that promises to be far less entertaining. Good to see you again, Ms. Sherman,” he said.
“The most fun I’ve ever had dropping off paperwork. Have a good day,” I said.
My step was buoyed all the way to the elevator from the energy of our encounter. I started laughing in the elevator because I had ranked it as a top-three elevator in our discussion as if I had favorites of such things. I would’ve said anything, would’ve offered to compare the quality of various brands of toilet paper just to keep him talking to me. I smiled all the way back to my desk.
“So, did he accept your apology?” Kim said.
Well shit, I’d forgotten the reason I’d gone up there in the first place.
4
Brent
Club Nine-Three was crowded that evening. It was a good thing we had a reservation. Malcolm, Tom, Drew and I were meeting for our monthly steak dinner.
The conversation was low and the tables were spaced well for privacy. The entire club was exactly the quintessential gentleman’s club, complete with leather chairs and dark wood, a crackling fire in a stone fireplace that boasted a mounted stag’s head above the mantle. It represented everything I had tried to attain when I started my own business—acceptance from the old boys’ club, the successful elite. When I was invited to join as a member of Club Nine-Three, it felt like a major achievement, proof I’d accomplished a great deal and become a powerful man.
Looking back on it now, it was a meaningless status symbol. The exorbitant membership dues were only worthwhile because the restaurant served the best steak in three states. So we had our dinners there more often than not. Over steak and exquisitely smooth bourbon, we caught up on each other’s lives and boasted of our business exploits.
These were the friends I’d made along the way. Malcolm had helped me set up my first marketing department when I was starting out. Tom was a former VP for Astley who’d left to start his own successful PR firm, and Drew was a former intern of mine from ten years back who had become a close friend as well.
“So, this is your last dinner as a free man, eh Tom?” Drew said, sipping his drink.
“It can’t come soon enough for me,” Tom said.
“You think so now,” I said.
“We know, you’re a confirmed bachelor, Brent,” Tom said.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then what would you say?” Drew prompted.
“I’d say I like women, just not well enough to live with one,” I grinned.
“Then you haven’t met the right one,” Tom insisted.
“I’ve met more than one, I assure you,” I said.
“We all know you’ve been around,” Malcolm chuckled, setting his drink down, “but I’m the only one who remembers you were married before.”
“Wait, you were?” Drew said. “How did we not know that?”
“Because I don’t normally talk about it.”
“What was she like?” Drew said eagerly.
“She was demanding,” I said plainly, “which was only part of the problem.”
“And the rest of the problem was that Astley Corp is really your wife and she was only your girlfriend?” Tom said, “You were probably too young to understand the kind of commitment you were entering into. It’s so fulfilling to give all of yourself to another person, to put your heart in their keeping and—”
“Good Christ Tom, save it for the wedding toast,” I chuckled. “I wish you every happiness, make no mistake. I’m a unique case, I think. A man who can enjoy the company of women without wanting to keep one forever.”
“Oh, I think there’s a lot of men like that, but when they’re in a lower tax bracket, they’re called players.”
“So at my income level, we’re international playboys? I’d believe that. Although I think the international playboy designation is reserved for men who want to have a woman in every major city and that doesn’t interest me,” I said.
“So you’re looking for just one woman? The one?” Drew teased.
“No, I just don’t want the drama of juggling affairs with multiple women. It never appealed to me from a practical standpoint, but more than that, it’s disrespectful to the ladies involved.”