Determined: To Love: (Part 2 of the Determined Trilogy) (2 page)

Out on the busy city street, I only had to glance straight ahead to see the black SUV waiting for me. David’s lead security officer, Thomas, used to shuttle me between David’s place in San Francisco and my place in Oakland. But after a while, David came to realize I would be sticking around for the long haul, so he contracted another security officer and car strictly for my use. I liked Elliot; he was ex-military like Thomas, and about the same age, but not quite as serious.

“Good morning, Sam,” he said as he opened the car door. “Another seaweed special, I see?”

“This one has spirulina,” I intoned, my voice full of mock-seriousness as I climbed into the car. “Let me know if you ever want one.”

He walked around to the other side of the car and slipped into the front seat.

“Ha, no. That’s quite all right. Are we headed to work, Sam?”

“You know it.”

“Very good. One trip to Oakland, coming right up.”

He pressed a button on the dashboard. Upbeat music flooded the cabin, and I sat back in the soft leather seat, sipping on my smoothie. It actually wasn’t that bad, but I’d never admit that to David. I looked out the car window and smiled as we pulled onto the bridge.

~

I waved to Elliot as I turned the key in the front door of the gallery and let myself in. Kinsler Gallery was a respected gallery in an up and coming area of Oakland. It was spacious, with soaring ceilings and clean white walls. The floors were amber-hued and well worn, which gave the space warmth that you didn’t always feel in other art galleries.

I had started out as an intern for the owner, Curtis Kinsler, during my senior year in college, and he then hired me on when I graduated, and I’ve worked for him since. Besides me, there was another gallery assistant named Eve, and the three of us were like a little family. Sales had never been my bailiwick, but getting to talk to people about art all day was fun.

I walked through the gallery, savoring the quietude. I loved the gallery in the morning. Before anyone else got there, I had a little routine. I would come in, boot on the computer, and make a pot of coffee. Then, I would take some time and just stroll through the three rooms, looking at whatever was on the walls; soaking up the quiet. Then, finally, coffee mug in hand, I would flip on the lights, and turn around the little abierto/cerrado sign that we kept in the window. It was rare that anyone was waiting with bated breath to get into the gallery right when we opened, so at that point I usually settled into my desk to catch up on emails from the previous day.

Such was the case today. I had just sat down on the rolling desk chair and pulled myself up to the computer screen when my phone buzzed.

How was the smoothie?

I broke into a grin and was glad no one was there to see me go so ga-ga for this man.

It was ok. I tried to convince myself it was a milkshake.

Did that work?

Heck no.

But the burger will be worth it.

I love you.

I love you too. Thanks for the sendoff this morning.

I should be thanking you.

What time will you be home tonight?

Ready for round two already?

I’m always ready for you, baby.

I wanted to go for a run

I can be over around eight

Are you going to be safe?

You know Elliot will be there

Good. I will see you at eight

And wear those yellow heels

;)

I put the phone down on the desk, leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. This man was going to be the end of me. I clicked through a few emails, my mind hopelessly lost in lust.

~

I spent most of the morning doing inventory and paperwork, making sure the back room was organized after the busy holiday season. Around noon, I was buried knee-deep in boxes when I heard the front door. Making my way out of the back room, I heard a warm, booming voice.

“Happy New Year! I have kale salad!”

It was Curtis, loud and ebullient as ever. He was a short, stocky man, with close-cropped hair, tortoise shell glasses and lots of…
presence
. His ever eclectic fashion sense had him dressed today in cream-colored jeans, worker boots, and a bright orange scarf. On anyone else it’d probably look crazy, but on him, it read as cool and artistic. He presented a bag to me.

“Happy New Year to you too, but, kale?” I peeked into the bag. “Don’t tell me David got to you.”

I took the bag to the counter and pulled out a couple of plastic to-go containers filled with dark green leaves. I eyed them skeptically for a moment before looking deeper into the bag, hoping that cookies or a bag of chips were lurking at the bottom. No such luck.

“Sammie, it’s the new year! A chance to start fresh. I’ve decided that this is the year people are going to start mistaking me for David Beckham.” He put his hands on his hips and struck a pose.

I shook my head as I handed him one of the salads, along with a fork.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Curtis, you’re adorable just the way you are,” I said as we popped open the containers. “Guys are always fawning over you at the openings.”

“Sammie. I don’t want to be adorable,” he paused and took a bite. “I want to be
hot
.” He smiled with a mouthful of greens, for comic effect.

~

At five o’clock I locked the door to the gallery, and ducked into the waiting SUV.

“How was your day, Sam?” Elliot turned to at me.

“It was good. Quiet. Got a lot of work done. I’m trying to get ahead of things because we have a new show opening at the end of the month.”

“Who’s going to be in the show?”

“It’s going to be drawings, mostly two local artists, but also a few by someone I saw at Art Basel last month.”

I had been cherry-picked by a San Francisco gallery owner last month. He brought me to Art Basel in Miami, one of the biggest art shows in the world. Whilst the trip didn’t end on a great note, I still made a lot of good contacts.

“His name is Julian Saer. He does the most delicate, intricate drawings with ball point pen.”

“Ball point pen?”

“Yeah, plain old ball point pens. But you’d never guess. They are crazy beautiful.”

“Can’t wait to see it, Sam,” he said. “Okay, where are we headed?”

“Just back to my place for now. I was thinking about going for a run, if that’s okay with you. We can go back to the city later.”

As my driver and personal security detail, Elliot accompanied me everywhere. During my work days, he waited patiently outside the gallery, just in case I needed him. Around the clock security probably cost an arm and a leg, but David insisted. I’d learned to never dismiss the detail, having paid the price once already in Miami, but I still wasn’t quite used to it. To be honest, my run that evening was intended to be a chance for both of us to stretch our legs.

“Of course, Sam,” he said, as he pulled out into traffic.

The gallery was only a short distance from where I lived, and we got there quickly. Elliot pulled up alongside the curb outside my address. At the street, a restored Craftsman bungalow was glowing and lit from within, and the scent of garlic and onions floated in the air as I exited the car. The house was owned by an older couple named Clark and Leslie, and I rented a studio in the back yard. They had built the studio years ago and used the rental income to pay for the ongoing restoration process. I loved the studio. It was small, with a postage stamp sized bathroom and kitchenette, but it was all I needed. Plus, it was cheap. A real deal in the Rockridge area of town, where most rents rivaled those of the expensive city across the bay. Add neighbors that kept me fed with a constant supply of soup and casseroles, I planned never to leave. And I hadn’t, yet, despite spending almost every night at David’s.

I caught Leslie’s eye through the front window as Elliot and I headed toward the side of the house. I hadn’t seen her for days, so I shot my hand up and waved, letting her know that yes, I was still alive. She waved back.

Elliot and I continued along the stone walkway that led to the back yard. The winter air was cold, and I looked forward to pulling on my windbreaker. After I opened the door, Elliot made a quick scan of the studio and nodded.

“See you in ten?” I asked.

“See you on the sidewalk.”

I closed the door behind him, and exhaled, reveling in the moment of quiet. I appreciated the detail, but sometimes it was hard, constantly feeling like you had to be ‘on.’ I hadn’t grown up in the world of the rich, and wasn’t quite used to their ways yet.

I turned my focus to finding my workout clothes. I kicked off my heels, and slipped them inside a white paper bag by the door. I tore through a laundry basket and unearthed a red sports bra and some black running tights. I retrieved a t-shirt from of my dresser drawer and plucked my neon pink windbreaker off the back of a chair. Shimmying out of my black and white dress and into my running outfit, I felt a surge of energy come over me. It had been a week or so since my last run, and I missed it. I threw my hair up in a high ponytail and grabbed my iPod, purse, and shopping bag on the way out, locking the door behind me.

Elliot met me on the sidewalk, outfitted in a sleek gray tracksuit, having taken advantage of the blacked out windows of the SUV to change. He was like a boy scout, always prepared. I threw the white bag and purse in the car, and we exchanged serious glances as I hit a button on my phone. A catchy beat filled my ears as I started to jog down the street.

Once I hit College Avenue, the main street that linked Oakland and Berkeley, I made a sharp right and headed toward the university. Elliot hung back, invisible, giving me all the space I needed. I ran intervals, spacing quick sprints between periods of regular running. The night was cold and fresh, and the streets were busy with people still making their way home. I dodged them expertly, to the beat of the music, pretending that if I ran fast enough, maybe I could lose Elliot in the crowd.

I reached the university and continued to run onto the campus. UC Berkeley was my alma mater as well as David’s, although he had attended six years ahead of me. I looped through the campus, between handsome historic buildings marked with the names of generous benefactors. The campus was quiet as many students were still out on winter break. When I was at Cal, as they called it, I studied art history, having switched from sociology. I almost double majored in both, but senior year I got the internship with Curtis, and I ended up throwing myself into that instead. Sometimes I toyed with the idea of returning to school and finishing my second degree, but the reality of my student loan debt kept that idea at bay. David had studied business and economics, but beyond that, I didn’t know much about his time at Cal. As I circled the campus, I found myself wondering which dorm he stayed in while he was a student. I made a mental note to ask him more about it later that evening.

After a while, I started to feel the muscles in my legs weaken- no doubt a result of my all-kale diet that day- so I headed back up College Avenue toward home, slowing my pace a bit. About five minutes from my place, I slowed to a walk and used the last few blocks to cool down.

As I approached the SUV, Elliot came up behind me. He had barely broken a sweat. That man was in phenomenal shape. I pitied the person who picked a fight with him; his years in the military had turned his body into a tightly honed machine. We took a moment to stretch our hamstrings and then climbed into the car.

Looking out over the bay as we crossed over the bridge, my thoughts naturally turned to David. He would be home at eight, which gave me plenty of time to shower and get ready for him.

~

I left Elliot in the elevator as it let me out into the foyer of David’s penthouse apartment. At David’s place, the other security team took over and Elliot was free to go back to his actual life. I walked into the quiet apartment and immediately knew David wasn’t home yet. I knew he wasn’t due until eight, but I also couldn’t sense him.

David’s apartment occupied the penthouse of a very upscale hotel in downtown San Francisco. The top ten floors were all reserved for private residences that enjoyed the perks of hotel life—room service, access to a private state-of-the-art gym, a full service spa and other accoutrements. Being on the top floor, the unit also had the most magnificent views. Huge windows and high ceilings created the impression of floating inside a cloud. The entire apartment was adorned in neutrals and had a distinctly modern, masculine vibe. It was understated and very sexy—just like David. I dropped my keys on the kitchen counter and headed toward the bedroom.

Closing the door behind me, I unzipped my windbreaker and tore off my running shoes. The cool floors felt good on my hot, abused feet. In the bathroom, I turned on the shower, allowing warm steam to fill the glass enclosure. I peeled myself out of my sports bra and pants and slipped into the rush of warm water. The heat felt good on my worn-out muscles, and I lathered up using a fancy body wash that smelled like David. I took my time; shaving my legs and washing my hair, letting the conditioner sit before I rinsed it out.

Out of the shower and wrapped in a big fluffy bath sheet, I towel dried my hair before moving to the vanity to blow dry it. Normally, my brown hair is a bit wavy and unruly and kind of does its own thing. Tonight though, I decided to give it a sleek blow-out. Working with a big round brush, I patiently coaxed each section of hair into submission, and finished the ‘do with a sweep of glossing mist. Since I was staying there so frequently these days, David had outfitted the bathroom with many of the products I used. I opened the vanity drawer and pulled out my dark kohl eye pencil and drew a line along each lash line, smudging them gently with my finger, before adding a sweep of mascara to each side. I looked in the mirror and smiled, satisfied with the result.

Back in the bedroom, I retrieved the white shopping bag that I had left on the bed. I pulled the contents free from the tissue paper wrapping and examined the articles. A week before, I had a free afternoon and had spent it at a very fancy lingerie store in the city, picking out a treat for David. I wanted to surprise him with something new, and I had a good sense of what he liked based on the kind of undergarments he had stocked in my closet. Most of what he had picked out for me was simple and sophisticated, so I had purchased a cream-colored satin bra and panty set with matching garter belt. I slipped on the bits of fabric, and felt immediately aroused by the delicate sensation against my skin. I checked the time and was pleased to see that he was due any minute. I dimmed the lights, slid on the yellow heels and crawled onto the bed, maneuvering myself into a sexy pose that flaunted my curves.