Pure Abandon Page 14

  “Damn, girl, your legs look killer in those shoes. You should wear higher heels from now on.”

  “No, thank you,” I say as I almost lose my balance. “Three-inch heels are as high as I need for the workday. How do you last in these things all day?”

  “It’s what I do in them at night that should be the question.” Malory gives me a wink and I laugh at her laissez faire attitude toward sex.

  Unsure of my footing in these shoes, I take a seat at the bar, thankful there’s one available, and order a glass of wine. Almost everyone from the office is here, some with their significant others, occupying booths and barstools, while Trish, Malory, and I are chatting at the bar. Heather is at the opposite end of the bar, chatting up some Fortune 500-looking guy. I can’t help but hope he’s really the mailroom boy in disguise.

  Trish, as it turns out, is pretty funny. Give her a drink and she opens up into a great storyteller. She even has a few dirty jokes that have Malory and I bending over the bar in laughter. I don’t know if it’s the drinks or the fact that Trish, this very sweet little redhead, is telling dirty jokes that makes them so funny. I decide it doesn’t matter and lose myself in the conversation.

  The evening also allows me to see how my coworkers interact outside the office. Erik is just as I would have imagined. He’s sitting at the booth in heavy conversation about work with Harvey, Kevin, Gretchen, and Richard. They’re all hanging on his every word. Especially since, every so often, Erik orders a round of shots for the team. That is exactly how I’ve interpreted Erik since meeting him, all work but a lot of fun.

  Gretchen is still sewn up, head to toe, in her work attire. Where I let loose a little, she still has her shirt buttoned to her neck and blazer fastened around her waist. I think she only wears jeans to the office just to prove she’s not completely uptight. And when she does, they’re trouser cut. No hip huggers for her. I also watch her chemistry with Harvey. He may not be the most attractive man, but from his calm demeanor and attentiveness, I can tell he’s a good man. Even in the office, whenever I have a question that might seem silly or embarrassing, I always ask Harvey because I know he won’t judge. Shame on me for judging him.

  Heather is in her full glory, having changed into a sequin cocktail dress shorter than anything I’ve seen her wear to date. She’s in full conversation with Mr. Fortune 500. Even when I went over to wish her a happy birthday, she gave me a quick “thanks” and quickly averted her attention to everyone but me.

  Two hours later, I’m quite buzzed. My second glass of wine is sitting in front of me at the bar. Couple that with the two rounds of shots Erik ordered for us and I’m feeling good. Really good. So good that when Trish starts talking about how she and her boyfriend, Kevin, used anal beads the weekend before, and she describes it like “Mardi Gras in my pants,” I’m literally falling off my chair from laughing so hard.

  On my way off the chair, I try to grab hold of the bar, but someone from behind catches me before I hit the floor. Like a rag doll, I’m lifted up and onto my chair. I really can’t have any more to drink.

  As I gather myself and wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes, I look up to see Malory and Trish staring over my shoulder, their jaws falling to the floor. I don’t have to turn around to know who’s behind me. The smell of tobacco and vanilla causes me to sober up, quickly.

  “I see you guys are having a good time. Please, ladies, don’t let me disturb you. Though, I’d love to know what’s so funny that I nearly had to file workers comp for one of my new star employees.”

  My ears blush red in embarrassment. I slowly turn around to see Asher standing tall, picture perfect, as if the day just began. He’s in his full suit with perfect hair and golden eyes. He towers over the three of us, as intimidating as ever. I can feel the heat of his hand on the back of my chair as he leans over to get the bartender’s attention.

  “Auchentoshan, twenty-one.” Asher orders his drink and puts his black label Amex on the bar. “And the tab for all this.” He makes a motion with his hand toward the members of Asher-Marks who are out celebrating.

  Trish takes a sip of her Captain and ginger, trying to wipe the flush from her face. There’s nothing more embarrassing than being caught by the big boss, doing shots and talking about sex. I wonder if he heard?

  Malory isn’t concerned in the least. She is confident and brilliantly beautiful. She has no need to even hide behind her glass.

  “Fine choice of scotch.” Malory swivels her chair so she’s in direct line with Asher. “Though I always took you as a Macallan kind of man.”

  The three of us watch as he draws his lowball to this lips and takes a sip of the malt liquor, letting it swim around his teeth before swallowing.

  “Macallan 1939 is my vice. But there’s a time and a place for largess,” he says with a wicked smile. “Are you a scotch drinker, Ms. Dean?”

  “Only with a cigar.” Seductiveness leaks in the way she speaks. I’ve never seen her interact with Asher before. If she weren’t like this with everyone she meets, I would think she had a thing for our boss.

  “May I?” Malory motions toward Asher’s glass.

  “Be my guest.” He leans into her, offering up the golden liquid in his crystal glass.

  Malory raises the glass to her lips, repeating the savoring process Asher had a moment before, never taking her eyes off Asher as her tongue rims the glass.

  Trish and I exchange a glance. So I’m not the only one who noticed that.

  “Vanilla and honey. A nice blend.”

  Their eyes remain connected as Asher’s lips curl up to one side like the devil he is.

  Vanilla. Is that the smell? No, he can’t smell that delicious from drinking scotch. Can he? Maybe it's a Scottish thing. I grab my wine glass and take a sip.

  Trish breaks the tension. “Speaking of vanilla, the flowers on my desk have an incredible aroma of vanilla.”

  I nearly choke on my Pinot. Instead, I spit it across the bar. Malory and Trish step back in surprise. Asher looks unaffected by the scene.

  “Went down the wrong pipe.” I swallow.

  Like a bolt of lightning, Heather is at my side, taking the space between Asher and me. I’m surprised it took her this long to approach him yet happy for the diversion.

  “Mr. Asher! I’m so happy you came out for my birthday. I thought you had plans tonight.” Heather’s short skirt grows shorter as she leans over farther to cut the line of sight between me and the devil with golden eyes.

  “I’m glad I was able to see everyone, but I’m not here to enjoy the festivities. I’m on a date.” Asher raises his glass and nods toward a young leggy blonde on the other side of the bar. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black dress with a micro skirt and dangerously low neckline that reaches her navel. She’s standing there looking bored yet waiting dutifully for her mogul to wrap up with his minions.

  “You should ask her to join us,” Trish cheerfully offers. Bless her heart.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I never mix business with pleasure.” I can’t see Asher’s expression as he utters these words. I wonder if he’s directing them toward someone. Maybe Malory?

  “Asher, we weren’t expecting you.” Erik walks over from his booth. “Not like you to join us at our little get-togethers.”

  “I like to make unexpected appearances now and then.” His demeanor is calm and authoritative. He’s still in workplace mode.

  “Don’t we know that from this afternoon?” Erik reaches up to set a friendly pat on Asher’s shoulders. “If you don’t mind me stealing these ladies, Heather, Malory… Harvey and I have a bet I need you to settle.”

  “Sounds intriguing.” Malory willingly takes my patent leathers over to the booth while Heather sulks away from Asher. Erik gives Asher two taps on the back and escorts the girls over to the booth. I immediately hear an uproar as the girls approach. Apparently, they’re reliving some old escapade and are trying to decipher whose version of the story is correct.

 
; Trish is still at the bar, with Asher and me, feeling out of place. “I’m going to see what all the commotion is about.” No, little redhead, don’t go!

  Asher takes Malory’s seat next to me. We’re each sitting at a corner of the bar so our chairs easily swivel toward each other. I must leave when I finish this last glass. A cab is definitely in order.

  “Are you going to let your date stand there all night?”

  Asher rubs his pointer finger along the rim of his glass. “I have a perfectly good sixteen-year-old scotch in front of me. Why should I let that go to waste?”

  “You can drink your scotch with your Twinkie.” The liquor is making me feisty.

  “For starters, that is not a Twinkie. Her name is Monique, and she happens to be a very wealthy socialite.”

  “That must be comforting. She clearly doesn’t want you for your money. I heard that’s a major concern of yours.”

  “She may not need my money, but she definitely wants the power. Monique is like the others. She’ll stand there all night if I ask her to.” Asher flashes a smile, showing off his perfect teeth and full lips.

  “Then why bring her at all? If you don’t even like her…”

  “A man has needs. She’ll do for tonight.”

  I down the last of my wine. “You are disgusting.”

  “I am honest. I told you we’re friends. We’re honest with each other.”

  “It still doesn’t mean I can’t be repulsed by you.” I barely get the words out as I dismount from the stool and grab my purse.

  I turn to walk away but am pulled back by Asher’s hand on my arm. “Please, don’t let me offend you. We’re having a nice night. I haven’t had the chance to tell you how lovely you look. I like your hair down. It’s very becoming of you.”

  Night and day he is!

  “Thank you, Asher, but really, it’s late and I have to go. And you have a Twinkie to tend to.”

  Asher rises from his chair, leaving his scotch. “The Twinkie can wait. How are you getting home? You’ve had a lot to drink, and in those shoes…” His voice trails.

  “I’m taking a taxi home. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” He places a hand on my back and ushers me toward the door.

  “No, people cannot see me leave with you. They’ll get the wrong idea. It’s entirely—”

  “Inappropriate.” Asher finishes my line. “Come on. I’ll walk you out and come right back. It’s the responsible thing to do. Besides, I want to see how long I can make the Twinkie stand there.” He beams in a devilish grin that takes up his entire face. He’s so mean, yet his boyish charm makes him disarming, and I can’t resist.

  Turning on my heel, I follow Asher out of the hotel and walk to the curb to hail a taxi. My hand is high in the sky, trying to flag a car, when I turn around to see Asher standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, staring at me.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  “You have no idea.” He leans back on his heels. “You really should wear fuck-me shoes more often.”

  “These are not fuck-me shoes and they’re not mine. Asher, I am a marr—”

  “Married woman, I know.” There he goes, finishing my sentences again. “You know, just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t get spicy like this every now and then. It’s a good look for you.”

  The air outside is cool, yet I can feel my skin heat up. Standing under the street lamps, Asher looks divine. The shadows highlight his square jaw and perfectly formed nose. His hair glistens and his eyes light on fire. Even in my five-inch heels, I feel small compared to him. He commands attention, and I can’t help but give it to him.

  “Enjoying the view?” He teases my line back at me.

  I blush in embarrassment. Was I really just gawking at him in public?

  “It’s the lighting. New York City streets at night make people look so…” What’s the word?

  “Angelic.”

  That’s it. How did he know?

  “You look divine standing there in the light. Pure,” he says before getting a very serious look on his face. “I meant it when I said you looked beautiful tonight.”

  “You never said I looked beautiful.”

  “I was thinking it.” Asher steps toward me, and I am vaguely aware that a black SUV has driven up alongside me. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

  Asher steps around me and opens the back passenger door. “Devon will take you home.”

  I open my mouth in protest, but he puts his finger over my lips.

  “Devon takes you home and that’s final. I have some company upstairs to entertain, so I won’t be leaving for a while. He’s all yours.”

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  “Alex? What happened to Asher?”

  “I only call you that when I’m mad.”

  “Well then, let’s hope I stay on your good side. I like it when you say my name. Knowing our track record, I’ll do something to have you calling me Asher by morning.”

  “Good night, Asher.”

  “Already?” He laughs.

  “Why wait ‘til morning? If it’s a given, I might as well just call you as you are.” I walk over to the open door, about to get into the car as Asher holds the door behind me.

  “Savory or sweet?” he asks, causing me to turn around.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Breakfast. Do you like savory or sweet?”

  It’s an odd question, but he is an odd man.

  “Pancakes.”

  Asher seems to find this answer acceptable.

  “Sweet dreams, Gray.”

  “Enjoy your Twinkie.” I climb into the backseat and he closes the door of the car.

  Maybe it’s the wine talking but, I have to admit, I’m starting to like nicknames.

  The sun beats down on the New York City pavement as I exit the subway terminal and walk briskly to Lincoln Center. I haven’t been inside David Geffen Hall in over two decades and want to reacquaint myself with the venue before finalizing production details for Asher’s report.

  A bright young woman named Claudia escorts me through the campus and gives a guided tour of where the gala will take place. The limos will pull up on Broadway and the guests will walk out on a black carpet. The paparazzi pit will be on the far right side of the carpet. At the end of which, a station will be set up for interviews by select media outlets. There is a giant fountain outside. I can imagine it lit up and glowing in the evening, with spotlights illuminating the space for the event. It will look spectacular. I request rows of lighted-trees be placed around the parameters to create an elegant ethereal feeling. We make a deal for the venue to pick up the added expense.

  Inside, I ask to see the concert halls. They are exquisite. David Geffen Hall is nothing short of spectacular, adorned with gold filigree and velvet seating.

  Claudia’s phone rings and she excuses herself. I leisurely glide my fingers over the front of the stage, taking in its enormity up close. My thoughts are halted by his husky voice.

  “Have you ever performed?”

  I freeze and look up onto the dimly lit stage. Walking out from the left wing, he’s dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt with the top button undone. He looks polished and perfect. What is he doing here?

  “Mr. Asher. It’s a pleasure to see you again, albeit a surprise,” I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

  “I could say the same thing.” He strolls across the stage and takes his place above me, idyllic eyes gazing down at me. “Mr. Asher? Since when did we go back to formality?”

  I stare up at him in awe. His golden highlights are combed perfectly, glistening in the soft light of the stage.

  “Did you enjoy your Twinkie?” I ask.

  “Turns out I’m not into sweets.”

  “No?”

  Asher tilts his head to the side. “No, I want something a little more savory. Say, a Gray’s Papaya.”

  We may be on friendly terms now, but his innuendos still make me uneasy. I give
him my best deadpan stare. “I think you should stick to dessert.”

  “Come up here,” he commands, holding out his hand.

  After a beat, I raise my hand and grab his. I walk up to meet him, careful not to trip over my wobbly feet.

  I look out at the scene in front of me. The theater is massive. Over twenty-seven hundred seats face me. It’s hard to imagine this is our smaller venue. You can only imagine how many people will be at the Central Park event. It’s no football stadium, but our talent is excited to play on this iconic stage.

  The room is illuminated in golden hues. The lights on the balcony aren’t lit, but I know they’re spectacular when turned on. The room irradiates in their warmth and casts a heavenly glow from all sides of the theater. There are three rows of balconies lining the left, back, and right walls.

  The stage is lined in wood, but for our event it will be covered in backdrops, plasma screens, and a top-of-the-line lighting system. Erik, Richard, and the technical team have all been working hard making sure this place will be perfect.

  My eyes travel around the room and fall on my hand, still enclosed in Asher’s. I pull it back quickly.

  “Feels incredible, doesn’t it?” For a second, I think he’s talking about our touch, but I flush to realize he’s talking about the stage. He’s right. The feeling is extraordinary. Standing here facing hundreds of seats… I feel larger than life. The corners of my mouth turn up in an insolent smile, but it quickly fades when I realize he’s staring at me.

  With a puckered brow, he looks at me quizzically, as if trying to answer a plaguing question inside his head. He shakes it off and moves toward the back of the stage.

  “I used to perform on this stage when I was a boy.” He reminisces.

  “What do you play?” Of course he’s a classically trained savant.

  “The cello.”

  My face must register surprise, because he laughs, and for the first time, I relax. He has a great laugh.

  “This is something I am very passionate about. Music is my life. That is why these concerts are so important. Through music you can express how you feel. Through music you can find yourself. And there is no greater way to bring people together than with a song.” His passion for the subject is genuine. He seems so vulnerable; as if music were a beautiful woman he can’t get enough of.