Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy (11 page)

"I'm Alexia Hale. I live across the hall."

"Nice to me you, Alicia. I'm Jean Morton, and this bundle is Precious." She cooed and kissed the beribboned poodle on the nose.

"She sure is cute."

"He's a male dog."

"My mistake."

I extended my hand, and Precious nipped at me.

"You must forgive Precious. He prefers not to be touched by strangers. I have a psychologist working with him. She believes he suffered a trauma in his youth. Come darling, we don't want to tinkle on the rug. Good day, dear." She shuffled to the elevator.

Great, I got the token crazy lady.

I opened the door to the condo and saw the roses. The light blinked on the answering machine.

It had to be Ben. I didn't even know my phone number. I picked up the card by the flowers.

It read, "Welcome home." No signature.

An hour later, my phone rang and Ben's number filled the screen.

"Hi, I met my neighbor, Mrs. Morton and her drag queen dog," I said as I enjoyed my window view of the lake.

"She came with the building. I believe he is the third Precious. The other two are buried in Grant Park."

"I thought Grant was buried in Grant Park."

"No, he's in New York in Grant's Tomb."

"What happened to Mr. Morton?" I walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet, only dishes.

"I never met him, but I'm sure he died of embarrassment walking Precious I or II," he said.

"She thinks my name is Alicia." My cooking supplies must still be at my apartment.

"Don't bother to correct her. I'm Brad and Travis downstairs is Terrell," he said.

"When do I start work?"

"Immediately. Come on up."

"Shouldn't we meet in the lobby? We are discussing my job description."

"No place is neutral for us anymore. If you want to forget last night and this morning, that's your prerogative. I can't. There is an attraction between us, Alicia. I don't want to fight it."

"Brad, I'd like to put it on hold and try to be professional about the work," I said.

"Fine, we'll see who cracks first."

"Are you challenging me to resist you? You are all ego all the time." He did have solid reasons.

"I'll expect to evaluate all your qualifications."

He hung up the phone before I could respond.

"You pompous son of a sailor," I said to the dead receiver. "You realize this means war."

I selected my casual business attire of khakis, a white oxford shirt, and black loafers. I had to be remote to work for him, keeping my emotions in check.

When the elevator doors opened, Travis stood there, holding two bags.

"Smells like Kung Pao chicken," I said to him.

"It's Chinese food for Mr. Cobb."

And me.

We arrived and Travis knocked on Ben's door.

"It's open," Ben said. "Travis, you always go above and beyond. You delivered my meal and our latest tenant."

"Thank you, Mr. Cobb. Enjoy your dinner, Alexia." He handed the bags to Ben and closed the door.

Ben took the food and brought it to the dining room. Helen's table and chairs were back in his place. The table clothed and set, candles lit, and the wine breathed. He unpacked the bags.

"Have a seat and start eating. We have a lot to cover tonight," he said.

I sat and beheld the china, silver, crystal, tablecloth, and linen napkins.

"Everything is lovely," I said.

"I don't do paper, too much garbage and increased grocery shopping."

"I've never eaten on Limoges before, I said, inspecting the plate in front of me."

"It makes everything taste better."

The chicken, barbecue pork fried rice, egg rolls, and shrimp chow mien, smothered in sriracha sauce, were devoured in half an hour.

"I didn't realize I was so hungry. I'm sorry you won't have much for tomorrow," I said.

"I usually eat out anyway. It would sit in the fridge and grow mold. More wine?"

"No thanks, I'll clean up since you paid."

"Fair enough. Load up the dishwasher, and meet me in the library. Down the hall, third door on the right."

I finished in the kitchen and treaded down the hall. As I entered the library, I felt like I had been transported back in time. Bookcases lined the walls with every imaginable title. A glass case sat on a table behind the imposing mahogany desk. The library was a mini-museum and an old-fashioned bookstore wrapped up into one.

Alone, I poked around. This didn't count as snooping but very close.

The shelves housed the classics: Homer, Shakespeare, Joyce,
Superman
comic books, and bound issues of
National Geographic
.

The desk, polished to a gleam, held neat stacks of documents and piles of unopened mail. Architectural blueprints sat rolled up. The glass case intrigued me the most. A shadow box filled with his mother's tributes and awards. There were pictures of his mother with celebrities and a laminated letter obviously written by a child. The red crayon scribble read:

"Dear Mrs. Helen,

Your books are really good. I bet you're a good mom.

Love, Tammy."

There were folders stuffed with more letters and newspaper clippings. I tried to open the lid for a better look, but the case's lock wouldn't budge.

"Someday I've got to figure out what to do with all of it," he said.

He pointed to the desk.

"Welcome to your job. All of this is now your responsibility. I get mail begging for money, artwork, personal appearances, and advice. I have bills that need to be paid, checks to be deposited, supplies to be ordered, parties to attend, proxy stock votes to be sent, reports to be read and written. In other words, I'm up to my eyeballs, and I need help."

This was overwhelming. If I wanted to make real cash selling information, he handed me the mother lode. Why did he trust me?

"Ben, are you sure you want to release all this sensitive information to me?"

He took my hand and kissed it.

"Alexia, when you had me at a disadvantage, you didn't use it against me. You could have given Wally everything and more than he dreamed of, and you stopped. Discretion is a rare commodity. I appreciate it and reward it."

"Don't expect any miracles. I have a lousy track record of making a mess out of workplaces."

"You've worked for the wrong people who didn't appreciate all your talents."

The nudity would play a part. Something new to add to my resume.

"So what do I do here?"

"I want to paint and not be bothered by life in general. That's where you come in. Fix it, file it, and allow me to forget it. You need to fill out these forms." He handed me a packet. "You can work here or move everything downstairs. You will need my signature on some things. If you have questions, please make a list, and we'll go over it. Why don't you get started? Here's a key to the apartment, if you decide to work here."

"Won't I be in your way?" I asked.

"I'm not home during the day. I'm at my loft, painting "

"How many models do you go through in a week?"

It came out with all the innuendos attached. His past private life was none of my business, but I wanted a count to drive myself crazy.

"None as of late. I haven't found anyone to keep my interest in years until a few days ago. A sweet blonde with Renaissance portrait features appeared in my studio and blew away the cobwebs growing between my ears."

Ben selected two oversized art books off a shelf. He leafed through the first and left a page open, then did the same to the second. He spun both toward me. Two of the world's most famous paintings stared back at me: Vermeer's
Girl with a Pearl Earring
and Leonardo da Vinci's
Mona Lisa
.

"Neither of these women had any idea they would become infamous. They are looking at the artists, posing for a portrait, maybe hungry or tired. I could discuss the uses of light and shadow, style and colors, but these women are the reason the paintings resonate and made the artists famous. It's their eyes. Windows to the soul, keepers of secrets and knowledge, they entrance us, behold us. I'm sure they bewitched the artists, the desire, the purity, the honesty of the glance is breathtaking."

As Ben spoke, I viewed the portraits as if for the first time. Barely a smile on one and shyness wafted off the other, but the compelling straight-on stare did it. They drew me in and held me.

"This is how you made me feel when you posed. Your glance lured me in and froze me there. I had to get your image on the canvas, nothing else mattered. You haunt me, Alexia. You're the beauty I've been waiting for, everyone else has been filler."

He should write greeting cards because he melted my heart with those words. Not a declaration of love, but damn close.

"So I'll work for you and pose with my clothes on?"

He laughed as he kissed my cheek.

"Always pose nude. I'll leave the work attire to your discretion. I vote the less, the better."

He slipped his arms around my waist and my professionalism wavered, but I stemmed the tide and fought back. I vaguely remembered wanting to keep the upper hand in this relationship.

"I guess I'll dive in to get a feel for the job." I untangled myself and had to trek around him to sit at the desk. He caressed my back as I passed.

"As for other activities, you are welcome to spend the night here as often as you want. Or I can come to your apartment if you would prefer." He leaned down for a kiss.

"We should wait to see if I'm capable of the job."

"You were born capable. It's a lot of work, but I'm positive you'll do a much better job than I ever did. Alexia, I told you the job wouldn't come between us. I won't allow it. I want you." He kissed me and made my toes curl. "We'll go slow. I'll let you work. I won't attack you in here. Yet."

He left, closing the door behind him.

My resistance shook but held. I started with the unopened bills, invitations, solicitations, and commendations.

Except for the bills, each had a similar message: "Will you speak, attend, contribute, apply, paint, or write to my aspiring artist son, daughter, friend, dog?"

The requests were overwhelming. The money being asked for and offered flew off the chart. According to the postmarks, these seventy-five pieces of mail came in last week.

Where did they get off making so many demands on him? He was an artist, not a prop or a cash station. I became the guardian at the gate and protector from the onslaught.

A waste can next to me overflowed as I stamped envelopes. A long time later, Ben cleared his throat and startled me.

He would make a great bogeyman.

"I'm glad you're here. Please sign these letters. I'll mail everything tomorrow. This is my question pile. Do you have time?" I asked.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"No, I'm sorry. It's late. I should go." I started to clean up.

"It's almost midnight. You don't have to leave unless you want to. Are you having fun yet?"

He sat down next to me.

"Some of these people have a lot of nerve, wanting you to help their careers. I should apologize since I'm guilty of the same thing. I had no idea you were under siege. Please forgive my imposition."

I was genuinely sorry.

"I'm glad you intruded. I have the beginning of a great painting. I hired an already devoted assistant. I will also list the fringe benefits." He reached for me.

"Do you hear water running?" I asked as I moved to the side.

"It's the Jacuzzi. I wondered if you would care to join me for a swim."

He pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his chest, molded into layers of contoured muscles. All the air whooshed out of my lungs. He popped the top button on his jeans and unzipped them. He pushed them down to his ankles and stepped out of them.

I fought the urge not to run my hand up his sinewy leg. He stood there in his bulging boxers like a bronzed god.

"You don't play fair," I said.

"All is fair in love and war and bowling." He knelt down and unbuttoned my shirt. "When you entered my studio, you changed my life. I like what I see. You care about people. You talk about my mother like you knew her. You remember her books from your childhood, but as an adult, you can recognize her artistic gifts. No one has discussed my mother's work with me as comprehensively as you did. There are a lot of layers to you, and I would like to peel them away one at a time. Please give me a chance," he said.

For a standard line, it was a damn good one. It worked on my resolve as I followed him to the hall.

Candles surrounded the huge white tub, and the flames danced on the reflection in the water. Foaming waves built and broke along the walls signaling we were going to have a bubble bath.

I bent down to test the water temperature with my hand. The warmth travelled up my arm to the knot in my shoulder. Straightening up, I caught a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror.

Not a timeless beauty, but desired, pursued, and emboldened.

As I undressed, he came in and shed his shorts. I immediately put my arm over my breasts and a hand in front of my crotch. The only light in the room came from the candles. He stayed mostly in the shadows.

"You can't be shy with me," he said.

"I can't get enough of you, and it's all your fault."

"Thank you. It's good to hear because it's mutual."

He coaxed my arms from their defensive positions and placed them around his shoulders. My whole body responded as I licked his chest. After we sat down in the water, he cradled me on his lap.

I planned to win a few battles before I lost the war.

He placed his hand between my legs and gently rubbed with his finger and thumb.

He found the right spot and quickened the pace as my eyes fluttered shut.

We, who are about to orgasm, salute you.

"Not yet, I think you'll like this too," he said.

With his other hand, he cupped my breast. His finger and thumb rolled my nipple into a swollen berry.

My battleship sunk.

He leaned down and took my other nipple in his mouth. His tongue made slow circles and sucked tentatively, and then his teeth came down for a quick bite. Everything went into overdrive.