Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (43 page)

“Only in the movies.”

He smiles — honestly smiles — like he’s happy or finds what I’ve said funny.

“I thought it hardly ever got fully dry,” I continue.

“Sometimes there are parts of it where it’s a low flow.”

I try to imagine Mr. Mulroney going down to the concrete inlaid Los Angeles River, sitting down in his suit, and casting a fishing pole into the water, shooting the shit with the old Hispanic men in their overalls and baseball caps.

“How bout that Dow Jones?” Mr. Mulroney would say. Or, “Man, this new tax on the one percent is really killing me. I have to sell one of my yachts.”

I’ve got a good imagination, but that one is really stretching it.

Traffic is slowing down. We’re still a good amount of time away from rush hour, but the road is threatening to congest. Mr. Mulroney takes a right and veers off onto a side street. The little car twists and turns, weaving its way through a neighborhood of two story houses packed together like sardines.

I sneak a glance over at him. It’s hard to not enjoy just sitting here in the silence. I’m painfully aware of every tiny movement he makes, from each blink of his eyes to each thrum of his fingers on the wheel.

We come out of the neighborhood and climb up a slight hill. I don’t ask where we’re going. I no longer care. I’ve been kidnapped by my boss and I’m not going to fight it.

After all, this rendezvous is way more enjoyable than sitting back at the office licking envelopes. And I can partake in it relatively guilt free, seeing as it’s been cleared by my paycheck signer.

Sorry, Chuck.
I think about the hockey game he’s going to miss.

Mr. Mulroney takes another turn. It’s obvious now where we’re going, but I still don’t say anything. Instead, I just wonder why we’re headed for Griffith Park. He already apologized to me. Doesn’t that mean it’s time to go back to the lot now?

My pulse speeds up as he pulls the car into the parking lot. Wordlessly, we both get out. He takes off his suit jacket and tosses it back in the car. Unbuttoning his white sleeves, he rolls them up. I stand there and glance around while I wait, wondering if any of the people milling around might think the man I’m with is my boyfriend.

It’s criminal, that’s what it is. This is the dangerous territory I swore I would steer clear of.

One afternoon can’t hurt.

It’s one afternoon of escape. One afternoon of pretend. No one even knows we’re here, standing in the middle of this park. Dana probably thinks we’re stuck in LAX traffic.

If I give myself up to this short little escape, no one will ever know. I can pretend everything I want is right in front of me and it will never matter. Soon, Mr. Mulroney and I will be back at the office. He can go on being his distant self and I can continue watering plants, doing everything I can to pretend he doesn’t exist.

“Do you like Star Trek?” he asks from over the top of the car. The sunlight glints off the rooftop, making it hard to look directly at him.

It might be the weirdest question he’s ever asked me, and that includes the “Did you like what you saw?” one.

“Uh… it’s okay. I used to watch it whenever I stayed home sick from school.”

He starts walking, and I follow. The trail he picks is a familiar one. It leads to Bronson Caves. I’ve visited them a couple times, although the first time I was severely hung over.

“Do
you
like Star Trek?” I ask him.

He slows down and matches his pace to mine so we’re side by side. “I love it.”

I laugh a little. What do you know? Simon Mulroney is a real person with real interests. Semi-geeky interests, at that.

“They filmed a lot at the caves here,” he continues.

“That explains why every time they landed on a new planet it looked just like Southern California.” What I said isn’t particularly funny, but the corner of his mouth creeps up anyway. “Which Star Trek do you like the most?”

“The original. I wanted to be in it. When I was a kid, there was this cottonwood in our backyard and I took all these wooden boards and made a fort in it. I pretended that I was a crew member stranded on an alien planet waiting to be rescued.”

I laugh. “And were you rescued?”

He smirks. “Maybe I would have been if I had more patience. It’s hard to stay marooned past dinner.”

“So which were you? The nameless crew member who always gets killed right after landing?”

“Kind of. I was the nameless one you think has been killed but is really alive. The crew goes back to the ship, leaving his body behind, thinking he’s a goner when he’s actually just sustained a shoulder wound and is busy learning how to grow his own crops.”

I’ve rarely heard him say so much in one go, and the subject is hilarious. I burst out laughing and he joins me.

“That’s quite a plot twist,” I say. “Maybe you can buy the rights to the series and start it fresh with that new spin.”

The first cave looms in front of us, a small gaggle of people hanging out around its entrance. We stop and wait for a group of slow walking tourists to pass through.

“I’ll always think of it as the bat cave entrance,” I say.

His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s way before your generation.”

“Star Trek is way before
you
generation. I know you’re not
that
old, Mr. Mulroney.”

“Maybe I just have good skin. Mulroney Pictures has been around for a while, you know. Who do you think cleared the land and killed the mountain lions so the back lot could be built?”

I giggle and look down at my feet. I had no idea he was this funny. Maybe it’s being away from the confines of the office that allows him to relax and let loose.

“You know they used the crushed rock from here to make nearby city streets,” I say. “That was from nineteen oh three to the late twenties, but some movies filmed here while the quarry was still in use. Lightning Bryce. Riders of the Purple Sage.”

I look back up to find Mr. Mulroney staring at me.

I bite my lip and look away.

“You’re a human encyclopedia,” he says, his words so low I can barely hear them.

I self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear. “Just when it comes to some things. Try telling that to my high school math teachers. I was dumb as a bag of rocks when it came to calculus.”

“And now you don’t use calculus,” he says. “By the way, who’s even seen Lightning Bryce? I don’t even know what that’s about.”

“It was a Western serial. I’ve only seen one.”

He’s still staring at me. A hot flush begins in my stomach and rises up.

“Come on,” he finally says.

The spell broken, he heads for the tunnel entrance. I follow behind at a fair distance. The cave is slightly cooler than outside, simply because there’s no sun beating down on our heads. The short tunnel splits into three. Mr. Mulroney goes in the direction the few people ahead of us take, and we come out into the canyon like area behind the cave. Hills are visible in the distance. Pressed against the face of one of them is the white Hollywood sign.

“Do you feel it yet?” I joke.

He turns around to face me, his face blank. “What?”

“Like we’re in Star Trek. I can pretend to shoot at you with my blaster if you want. You can run and hide behind that rock over there.”

Mr. Mulroney laughs, and the sight of it is so beautiful I can’t help but stare. Who is this man standing in front of me? He’s shown so many faces, but which one belongs to the real him?

Or maybe he’s just a psycho with bipolar disorder. That would explain everything.

I chuckle as well and kick the dirt around in front of me. His legs edging closer jerks my attention back to him. He’s less than a foot away and still looking down at me.

My breath hitches. Is he going to try something? Here, in front of half a dozen or more people?

They would just think he was my boyfriend. No one would know he’s my dick boss.

The dream sends a sweet shudder through me. If Mr. Mulroney were to kiss me, I would let it happen. I’m already swept away in this fantasy. I committed myself to it before I even got out of the car. One afternoon of letting go; of simple enjoyment.

He reaches forward and the side of his hand brushes against mine. My chest swells. It seems like he’s about to grab my hand, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers just graze against mine before falling back to his side.

I swallow hard. It’s difficult to just keep my eyes open. My head is swimming and my knees have gone weak. I force myself to lift my gaze to his.

He looks down at me, but like they so often are, his eyes are unreadable. After a moment, he turns and walks a short distance away, putting space between us. I stay rooted to one spot. I can still feel the world spinning and the universe expanding and contracting. What this man does to me isn’t fair in the least bit.

What happened to “if you’re interested I’m here?” Did he just try to hit on me again and then change his mind all in five seconds? Is he
trying
to drive me insane?

When he comes back to me, his face is blank. “We should go. It’s almost rush hour.”

“Yeah.” Disappointment and relief make the word soft.

We keep a careful distance all the way through the tunnel and down the trail. The parking lot is half empty, but the sun striking off the remaining cars is brutal. He doesn’t go to open the passenger’s door for me this time. I don’t know what made him think he needed to do it before, but the gesture is kind of missed. It made me feel like I was anything
but
his assistant, if only for a minute.

I let some of the trapped and sweltering air escape from the car before climbing in. Mr. Mulroney rolls down the windows and starts the AC. I buckle my seat belt, pulling the strap taut for good measure.

Suddenly, his palm is against the back of my neck. I never sensed him reaching over, but he’s there, the softness of his fingers pressing lightly beneath my hair line. I whip my eyes over to him. His pupils are wide, staring me down.

Acting of its own accord, my face gravitates towards his, but he pulls his hand away and purses his lips. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

His regret comes as a surprise. Then again, surprises are starting to become the norm around him. He didn’t apologize for being so forward, and I know I should do the right thing and say his slip up is all right.

But I’m not having any of that. Swiftly unbuckling my seat belt, I lean forward and press my palm against his chest. His lips are soft and accepting, pushing back against mine as soon as I touch my mouth to his.

His scent fills me up and covers the air around me until there is nothing else but him. His hands go up to my head, winding their way through my hair. His mouth opens wider, and I shift more of my weight forward. My head bumps against the top of the roof, but I don’t stop kissing him.

A voice speaks up in my head, shouting at me to stop before it’s too late — before I do something I’ll regret — but I shoot it down. What’s happening is beyond stopping. I’ve given myself over to what I’ve been dying for. I’m liberating my soul; setting myself free from the constant need to get a taste of what I thought I couldn’t have.

One of his hands leaves the back of my head to press against my lower back. My skin sparks where he touches me, even though there’s a layer of clothes between our bodies. The sensation swirls down into my core, lighting me on fire.

His tongue runs over my teeth and his hands grasp me tighter, the fabric of my shirt bunching between his fingers. Both hands come to my lower back, urging me forward into his lap.

My heart beats wildly, and it’s not just the passion of the moment that has me going. I’m fucking terrified. Here we are, making out in his car — and where can it possibly go from there?

Will we have frenzied car sex in a parking lot, then go back to work and act like it never happened?

I’ll be calling him “Mr. Mulroney” and saying, “Yes, sir,” for many years to come, all the while thinking of what it was like having him inside of me.

This shit is messed up.

“Oh my God,” I moan into his mouth. I pull back and collapse, my shoulder painfully banging against the passenger’s side window.

He’s frozen, staring at me with wide eyes and lips rubbed red.

Was I really kissing him that hard?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Oh my God.”

“I want to.” His voice is husky and just the sound of it nearly does me in. I almost catapult myself back over the divide between the seats and tear his clothes off with my teeth.

But as hard as I tried to convince myself, this afternoon isn’t a movie. It’s not a scene separate from the rest of the day. We’ll go back to the office and sooner or later he’ll turn into the same person he always does. Though he apologized, it’s like that story about the scorpion and the frog. Sooner or later he’ll sting simply because it’s his nature.

“I want to,” he says again.

“I don’t.” I’m near tears, the need and the reality tearing me in half.

He looks at me but doesn’t make any move to touch me. “Yes, you do. I could tell from the first day. You were as attracted to me as I am to you.”

Hearing him blatantly say he’s turned on by me makes my head spin and limbs ache.

I clutch at some of my hair. “That doesn’t change things.”

He blinks.

Is he expecting me to spell this out for him?

“You’re my boss… among other things…”

Realization passes over his face. He turns and stares out over the steering wheel. The painful moment stretches on until he rolls the windows up and buckles his seat belt. My hands shaking, I strap myself in.

He got the meaning behind the “other things” part. He had to have. It was harsh, but I needed to say it. I close my eyes and press my hands together in my lap. Next to me, there’s only the sound of his shallow breathing.

Not a word is spoken the entire way to the studio. When we get to his parking spot, he doesn’t kill the engine. Leaving the car going, he turns and looks at me.

“This won’t change anything about our working relationship. Your job is secure no matter what.”