energy, darker than her brown Indian eyes or thick black hair. Her dress is tighter than anything I would ever wear to the office but her conservative blue blazer makes it acceptable. Still, you have to wonder what happens when she leaves the office and takes off the blazer. Does she live another life?
I wonder, but if I’m right, it would be hypocritical for me to fault her for it.
Mr. Dade is looking at me now. I feel it without having to return his gaze. The man can slip inside of my head as easily as he slides inside of my body. He looks away, toward the VP’s desk, not so unlike the desk I had been on just over an hour ago—eager, wet, his.
I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously. I’m in a room full of strangers; what would these strangers think of me if they knew? What would they think if they saw? Would they look at me the way Sonya looked at me?
Images dance inside my mind, too quick for me to catch or suppress. I see myself on that desk, with a room full of my coworkers. I imagine them watching as he undresses me; I see their eyes follow the path of my silk blouse as it floats to the floor, the first item in a continued cascade of fabric until I’m clothed in nothing but the cool air and the warmth of Robert Dade’s touch. I hear the soft murmurs of our audience as Robert explores my body with his, as he opens me up with his hands, his mouth. . . . I sense them moving closer as I succumb to every kiss, every stroke and caress. And they watch as Robert growls his desire and enters me. Beams of pleasure shoot through my body, then his; we rock with the impact as the room sighs and gasps. I’m completely exposed to all of them. And in that moment they understand me. All of me. Not just the ambitious businesswoman who advises the world’s CEOs, not just the polite lady who knows which fork to use while dining at the city’s five-star restaurants. Now they know that the same woman who can lead them to power and success, the same woman who can conquer every professional challenge, can unleash a delectable chaos when she is touched just the right way by just the right man. . . .
I shake myself out of it, stunned by the outrageousness of my fantasy and even more unnerved by the idea that the man who is now standing across the room from me could possibly be the right man. I glance over at him and I see that he’s still looking at the desk. His eyes dart back and forth as if he’s in REM sleep with open lids. He, too, is seeing things on that desk that aren’t there.
That wasn’t just my fantasy. Without sharing so much as a gesture of communication, we had shared the same sort of vision.
This man who I had met less than a week ago: I know him better than Nina, Asha, Dameon, or Taci. I know what he wants.
He wants me.
He sighs quietly. I’m the only one who notices the slight rise and fall of his chest. He walks across the room, idly, seemingly without purpose. But I know better. He crosses in front of me. No more than a foot separates us in that fleeting moment of passing as he moves to the window. It’s the tiniest signal, a little gesture to let me know that he wants to be near me. What surprises me is that what I see in his face is more than desire; it’s frustration, determination . . . maybe even confusion that matches my own. Will, still talking, still answering the questions of the team, glances in Robert’s direction as he passively stares out the window. The deep lines that are etched across Will’s forehead deepen further. This isn’t Robert’s normal behavior. He’s reacting to some invisible element that Will can clearly sense but not feel.
Ha, you just thought of him as “Robert” rather than “Mr. Dade.” My little devil relishes in my increasing familiarity with this man who has unleashed her. My angel just quietly shakes her head and thinks of Dave, the man who buys me roses and rubies.
“So your main focus is optimal positioning before your initial public
I wonder, but if I’m right, it would be hypocritical for me to fault her for it.
Mr. Dade is looking at me now. I feel it without having to return his gaze. The man can slip inside of my head as easily as he slides inside of my body. He looks away, toward the VP’s desk, not so unlike the desk I had been on just over an hour ago—eager, wet, his.
I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously. I’m in a room full of strangers; what would these strangers think of me if they knew? What would they think if they saw? Would they look at me the way Sonya looked at me?
Images dance inside my mind, too quick for me to catch or suppress. I see myself on that desk, with a room full of my coworkers. I imagine them watching as he undresses me; I see their eyes follow the path of my silk blouse as it floats to the floor, the first item in a continued cascade of fabric until I’m clothed in nothing but the cool air and the warmth of Robert Dade’s touch. I hear the soft murmurs of our audience as Robert explores my body with his, as he opens me up with his hands, his mouth. . . . I sense them moving closer as I succumb to every kiss, every stroke and caress. And they watch as Robert growls his desire and enters me. Beams of pleasure shoot through my body, then his; we rock with the impact as the room sighs and gasps. I’m completely exposed to all of them. And in that moment they understand me. All of me. Not just the ambitious businesswoman who advises the world’s CEOs, not just the polite lady who knows which fork to use while dining at the city’s five-star restaurants. Now they know that the same woman who can lead them to power and success, the same woman who can conquer every professional challenge, can unleash a delectable chaos when she is touched just the right way by just the right man. . . .
I shake myself out of it, stunned by the outrageousness of my fantasy and even more unnerved by the idea that the man who is now standing across the room from me could possibly be the right man. I glance over at him and I see that he’s still looking at the desk. His eyes dart back and forth as if he’s in REM sleep with open lids. He, too, is seeing things on that desk that aren’t there.
That wasn’t just my fantasy. Without sharing so much as a gesture of communication, we had shared the same sort of vision.
This man who I had met less than a week ago: I know him better than Nina, Asha, Dameon, or Taci. I know what he wants.
He wants me.
He sighs quietly. I’m the only one who notices the slight rise and fall of his chest. He walks across the room, idly, seemingly without purpose. But I know better. He crosses in front of me. No more than a foot separates us in that fleeting moment of passing as he moves to the window. It’s the tiniest signal, a little gesture to let me know that he wants to be near me. What surprises me is that what I see in his face is more than desire; it’s frustration, determination . . . maybe even confusion that matches my own. Will, still talking, still answering the questions of the team, glances in Robert’s direction as he passively stares out the window. The deep lines that are etched across Will’s forehead deepen further. This isn’t Robert’s normal behavior. He’s reacting to some invisible element that Will can clearly sense but not feel.
Ha, you just thought of him as “Robert” rather than “Mr. Dade.” My little devil relishes in my increasing familiarity with this man who has unleashed her. My angel just quietly shakes her head and thinks of Dave, the man who buys me roses and rubies.
“So your main focus is optimal positioning before your initial public
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