One Look At You (10 page)

He really is trying hard to make this temporary arrangement work. The least I can do is try my damnedest, as well. At the back of my head, I worry that it won’t work because now I know why I chose to act so uninhibitedly that night with him. He’s just too hot for words, and the heat is melting down all my carefully well-laid defenses. Maybe I have it backwards. I didn’t go with him because I was drunk. I drank because I wanted to be with him.

This is my first time coming to work on a Saturday. I kinda appreciate the quiet. No phones ringing. No people to distract you. It’s seven in the morning. I’m an hour earlier than he requested. Just as I put away my purse, a deep voice startles me.

“Good morning, Olivia. Are you simply an early riser or is this your way of engaging in one-upsmanship?”

“Now why would I do such a thing when clearly you never let anyone else win?”

“If you must know, I was up all night talking to our branch managers in London. They’re ahead by seven hours.”

“So you haven’t had any sleep at all?”

“Nope. Just a quick shower and back to work.” He doesn’t look tired in any way, though there are dark shadows under his eyes.

“You know, you don’t have to be here. Just tell me what you want me to do and you can go catch up on your sleep.”

“Nice try. I know when I’m being pushed out the door,” he says with a smile.

“No, I don’t want you to keel over from lack of sleep. Really, I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Thanks, but I’m alright. We won’t be here all day anyway.”

“Can I at least order you breakfast or make you some coffee?”

“Why don’t you get me the same club sandwich I had last night? And this time, get yourself a heavy breakfast.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.” He goes inside his office and I boot up my desktop computer. I make a call to Lucille’s and order two club sandwiches.

I’m looking at the figures for London and something doesn’t add up. The delivery guy makes an entrance and, after paying him from petty cash, I bring one of the sandwiches and the report to Tony’s room. I see him lying down on the sofa, his necktie undone and his crisp white shirt partly open to reveal a slight smattering of hair. Against my will, I am rooted to the spot. I take in every detail of his sleeping form.

Just then, he’s roused from sleep by his cell phone ringing insistently. He grabs his phone. “Hello.” At that moment, he sees me with the sandwich in my hand and gestures with a finger for me to wait a moment. He listens to the other person on the line, his face in a scowl.

“Isabel, let’s not have this conversation anymore. I need to work.” His wife sounds upset, her voice high and loud, though I can’t make out the words.

“Me deixe em paz!” he almost shouts and then shuts down the call.

“I’m sorry. I guess I fell asleep.” He apologizes for sleeping, but not for the conversation I just witnessed. I say nothing and just hand him the sandwich.

“You know, you really should go back to sleep.”

“No, stay. I’m awake anyway and we can have breakfast together. Where’s your food? Were you thinking of having it at your desk?” I don’t respond with the obvious. “Ahh, Livie, just bring it in here,” he orders me, so I have no choice but to get my sandwich. I sit down on the chair next to the sofa.

He opens the Styrofoam pack and starts to eat. Unlike in our previous meals together, this time we eat in companionable silence.

“I think I can have this sandwich everyday,” he says laughingly.

“It’s good, but there are better things to order.”

“Not when you’re in a hurry and want something easy to grab and eat.”

“For a sophisticated man, you have terribly pedestrian taste in food,” I tease him.

“Did you actually say pedestrian? Like I’m some boorish hick from the hills,” he acts like he’s offended.

“Somewhat,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“You’ll pay for that remark one day,” he mockingly threatens me. I giggle and he joins me in the laughter.

“Don’t you want your chips?” I ask, seeing that he hasn’t touched them.

“You can share with me,” he says as he brings the container closer to me. I reach for one chip and he does the same, and our hands meet. I immediately withdraw my hand and he stares at me for a very long time until I self-consciously look down. He moves his body close to mine and lightly dabs my upper lip with the paper napkin on the table.

“You have a few crumbs,” he says in a husky whisper. I lick my lips, and this time his groan is perceptible. He bends his head and softly brushes my mouth with his. I can’t move. One part of me is in shock. The other just wants him to go on. My eyes linger over his generous mouth. He looks at me looking at him, and then we start to kiss tentatively. Dozens of light, airy kisses. But when he nips my lower lip, I shiver in deep desire and our kiss turns fierce.
What am I doing?

He pulls me towards the couch and I find myself lying on top of him. I feel his soft lips explore every part of my face and neck. His warm hands roam all over me insistently. The sweet smell of his body permeates my senses.
What is he doing to me?
As his tongue works its way into my mouth, I jackknife myself into a sitting position.

We stare at one another, both of us unable to speak. All I can think of is that he’s my boss and he’s married. Yet, neither fact stopped me from responding to his advances, nor him from making them. He sits on the sofa and rakes his fingers through his hair, and it seems like he’s carefully thinking of what to say.

“Olivia, I don’t know what came over me. I swear.” I say nothing. “You were right. I should have gone back to sleep. I guess deprivation robs one of the ability to think properly.” What he doesn’t say, of course, is that I was eagerly responding to his advances, and I certainly am not sleep-deprived.

He has just effectively written off what happened as a situation arising from his weakened state of mind and body. I won’t let him see how humiliated I feel, so I plaster a big smile on my face.

“You need your rest and I need to go back to work, so I’ll be on my way now.”
Oh God, please don’t let him say anything else
. He doesn’t, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I force myself to concentrate on work. I again examine the data I wanted to show him earlier, and look for documents to support my suspicions. At least three hours pass, and I find myself anxious to discuss what I’ve discovered with Tony. I don’t know if he’s still taking a nap, so I slowly open the door to check. He’s on his laptop. He glances at me and asks, “Did you want something?”

“As a matter of fact, I want to show you one of the reports. There is something strange about the figures.”

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” He extends his arm to ask for the document.

“You see the highlighted column? The shops buy their maintenance supplies from one vendor, and the amounts are practically the same every week, regardless of the sales. The percentages are relatively higher than the standard for the international division.”

Tony is looking at the figures and mentally crunching the ratios. “Do you have the background report for this vendor?” he asks.

I hand him the document. “Thanks, Liv. Your report was most helpful. I need to talk this over with my uncle.”

“Do you need me for anything else?”

He gazes at me as if he wants to say something, and then firmly shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”

I nod slightly in his direction and close his door on my way out.

“C’mon, ladies. Keep up!” Mark is shouting at Jen, Mel, and myself. It’s six o’clock in the morning, and Mark has dragged us out of bed for an early morning jog in the park to be followed by a lazy breakfast at Camille’s in Burbank.

“Screw you, Mark!” Melanie is not a morning person, and is still angry that Mark rang her doorbell a full five hours before she normally wakes up on a Sunday.

“Where’s your zest for life, Mel?” Mark laughingly replies.

“If I had known you were going to force me to run, I would never have opened the door. Ugh!!” Jen and I snicker at their ongoing argument.

I’m actually enjoying myself. Mom’s in Santa Barbara because it’s my uncle’s birthday. So, instead of just lying in bed or reading a book, I’m running at a leisurely pace with my friends through the lovely scenery at Canyon Park. At this time of the year, there’s a vast expanse of blue, purple, and pink hyacinths. I feel energized, my mind free from the angst I’ve been experiencing lately.

“Why are you so annoyingly cheerful today? Are you on a health kick or something?” Mel asks Mark.

“Nope. Skyped Alicia all night. Woke up with a smile on my face.”

“Your happiness disgusts me! Go back to your normal weird self,” Mel snipes.

Mark stops in his tracks and jogs back to where Melanie is. “Mel, Mel, Mel, we’ve got to get you a boyfriend fast,” he says, and then starts running to get back to lead position.

Jen and I say nothing, but we’re both laughing softly.

“Are you two on his side, as well?” Mel asks.

“Just a little bit,” I respond. “Nobody likes a party-pooper, Mel,” I say with a snicker.

“This is not my idea of a party at all,” she mutters. “When are we going for breakfast?”

“Yeah, when are we stopping for breakfast?” Jen wants to know.

“You know what, I’m never gonna jog with the three of you again,” Mark says. “With the possible exception of Livie,” he says with a wink in my direction.

“No! Take us with you next time, please… said no one ever,” Mel says. Then she starts to giggle and we all crack up until we fall to the grass.

“Fine, let’s go stuff ourselves at Camille’s,” Mark says after the laughter dies down. “Race you to the car!”

“Oh, no! We’re not doing that,” Jen says.

“Go ahead, Mark. We’ll catch up,” I agree.

As he runs to the car, the three of us stroll. Melanie whispers, “I hope that bitch is worth it. She owes me a Sunday morning.” Jen and I just nod, really hoping, for Mark’s sake, that Alicia is the one.

“Coffee and banana pancakes, cheese omelet with fruit on the side, tuna salad sandwich, and the breakfast special with coffee,” the server announces as she brings us our orders.

“Wow, Livie, are you sure you want to eat all this?” Mark asks as he eyes my mini pancakes, bacon, eggs over-easy, buttered toast, and hash browns.

“What? It’s Sunday. I’m entitled to a hearty breakfast,” I say defensively.

“Of course you are,” Mel says, “if you haven’t eaten all week,” she adds sarcastically.

“What is this stupid obsession with weight?” I ask with a deep frown.

“It’s not your weight I’m worried about,” Mark replies.

“It’s her weight,” Melanie counters.

“No, it’s not. I just worry that you’re using food to distract yourself,” Mark says.

“From what?” I ask, my voice louder than normal.

“Wait, what are we talking about now?” Jen asks, confusion written all over her face.

“Livie, I know you. We’ve had breakfast on weekends countless of times. This is the first time you’ve ordered this much. You don’t even like pancakes, and you seldom eat eggs,” he says.

“Maybe it’s more than I intended,” I say hesitantly.

“How are things at work?” he asks. Both Mel and Jen lean closer to listen to my reply.

“Good.”

“Really good?” he asks again.

“Yes.”

“What did he say when you told him you were staying?”

“Staying?” Jen’s eyes are as big as saucers. “Did you resign?”

“Did he threaten to fire you?” Mel interjects.

“When did all this happen?” Jen asks again.

“Did he harass you in any way?” Mark asks, and both Mel and Jen turn their head to Mark questioningly.

“Calm down, everyone. Mark, this is all your fault. Why did you have to bring it up?”

“What? I just wanted to know why you’re burying yourself in food! Plus, you never told me how he reacted when you went back to work the next day. Call me curious,” he says.

“Can you please start at the beginning? My food’s getting cold,” Mel says.

“I went to Livie’s office last Friday and her boss saw me,” Mark says, and I hear Jen and Mel gasp.

“Did he…?” Jen asks.

“Yes. My boss recognized Mark.”

“So what did you say?” This from Mel.

“What could I say? I tendered my resignation, and he told me to think about it for a night.”

“And while we were having dinner after she walked out, I told her to rethink her decision,” Mark says.

“The two of you had dinner without us,” Jen accuses.

“Focus, Jen,” Mark says. “We’re not cheating on the two of you,” he says snidely.

“I’ll let that one pass for now,” Mel says. “So how did your boss react when you came back the next day?”

“He was glad, I think. He even said that we’re wiping the slate clean.”

“This all sounds promising,” Jen remarks.

“So why do I have the feeling you’re not telling us everything?” Mel says, looking at me with eagle eyes.

“I’m not.”

Mark stares at me for a long time, and then says, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

I sigh, unable to keep up the pretense. “He’s married.”

This time I hear a collective gasp.

“But, apparently, they separated six months ago.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, Olivia Harris,” Melanie says with a small shake of her head.

“I didn’t know then, obviously. And I’m not sleeping with him now,” I say in my defense.

“Then why do you look so guilty?” I wanna strangle Mel until she stops talking.

“Fine. Yesterday I reported for work, upon his request. He was up all of Friday night communicating with London. We had breakfast and …” I don’t want to continue.

“And he ended up having you for breakfast instead,” Melanie says triumphantly. How can she tell?

“It’s not like that! We kissed. That’s all.” After confessing that tidbit, I can’t look at any one of them.

“Olivia,” Mark uses my full name as if he’s about to say something harsh. “I don’t know the man, so whatever I say is based on common sense and my own perception, but first, if he’s married, he’s wrong for you, even though he’s separated or about to be divorced from his wife. Second, he’s your boss, and though he met you outside the office environment, he has to keep away from you because his intentions, no matter how good they are, can still be mistaken for sexual harassment.”