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It was awkward to have to tell her that in front of my employees, but she forced my hand. Right now, all I want is for her to go.
Not only because I want to get on with my meeting but also because I’m eager to see her depart because of Gwen. Something real has started up with Gwen. I stayed at her house last night and fell asleep with her in my arms.
It felt so good to wake up there on her couch with her.
So intimate.
I don’t want her to catch sight of Vanessa and worry.
I used to be all about women like Vanessa. There was a time when the sight of her in this tight-fitting outfit would make me scheme up a cocktail recipe to impress her.
That was the old me.
The new me—the version of me that spent the night on Gwen’s couch—isn’t impressed by the way Vanessa’s clothing accentuates her curves.
When she passes by me, she stops.
“Goodbye,” I say, hoping it will spur her on.
But her high heels remain planted. Same with the pout on her lips. “You’ll call me, right? Maybe drinks Saturday night?”
“Nope.” I backstep, uncomfortable with being so close.
But she mirrors me as though we’re opposing players on a basketball court, and she’s been tasked with guarding me.
“You’ll change your mind,” she says with what I think is supposed to be a seductive smile. “You can’t work all the time. Everyone needs a break now and then. But I get it—you’re busy or whatever. I’ll let you go.”
Then she darts forward. I’m trapped in a cloud of her perfume as she pecks my cheek. She keeps her angular face close. “I had a great time Saturday. The best. I can’t wait to do it again, anytime.”
Then, finally, she steps away.
I watch her walk to the stairwell. Not because she’s conventionally attractive or anything, but because I want to make sure she follows my orders and actually departs. If she doesn’t, I’m going to have to call in security.
As she nears the stairs, a rock settles in my stomach.
Gwen is standing there, watching me. She looks hurt.
Is it because of me?
My worst fear is hurting her, and yet, right now, I see pain in her eyes, and I know I caused it. She hugs herself, and rather than walk toward me, she hangs back. Then, she retreats to the elevators. She hits the down button.
I glance over my shoulder. “Guys, take five. I need to handle something.”
Diana huffs impatiently. “All right, let’s go over the lycra sets first while we wait,” I hear her order her underlings. “Who has the specs on the open-back tank?”
Her strident voice fades as I stride toward Gwen. She’s standing, frozen, as she waits for the elevator to arrive. As I walk, the doors yawn open.
“Hey, wait a sec,” I say.
Did she hear me?
I’m not sure, but now she’s in the elevator, and the doors are sliding closed. They seal shut, and with a faint whir, the elevator departs. I hit the down button with my knuckle, then pace to the right, trying to burn off some energy.
She saw Vanessa kiss my cheek, I realize. She saw that, and she’s reading into it in ways she shouldn’t.
This thing with Gwen is happening fast. I love that—it excites me. But a drawback is that we both had lives before our paths collided like they did Monday morning. Lives with people in them. Vanessa was in my home mere days ago. Swimming in my pool. Sipping cocktails with me. Kissing me.
I treated Vanessa like I treated so many women before I met Gwen. She was entertainment. I knew there was nothing there between us when we met at the bar. But I invited her over anyway.
