She remains silent, waiting for me to clarify.
“If there was a man who could help you with your career,” I continue, “someone you were attracted to, would you have made yourself available to him in exchange for his assistance?”
She shakes her head. “Not my thing. When I use sex as a tool, it’s as a knife not a stepladder.” She finally looks at me with a thin smile. “You use sex as a skeleton key. It opens doors for you. Your way appears to be amazingly effective.”
Asha’s taken her blazer off. Her white shirt is sheer against her light brown skin. She’s of East Indian heritage but something about her transcends nationality. She’s almost more of a concept than a person. She embodies cool, aggressive ambition, fierce sensuality, malicious honesty. . . . She adds femininity to sadism.
“I didn’t want to get Tom fired,” I say quietly.
“Why not?” Asha asks. “You’re going to get his job. I heard it from a reliable source. The higher-ups probably thought it would look better if they gave it to you after you have your predictably successful meeting with Maned Wolf.” She pauses, cocks her head slightly to the side. “Tell me, where did you run off to after you found out Tom had been let go? You left in such a hurry.”
“I had to confront him.”
It takes a moment for Asha to contextualize the words but once she does, a light, gentle laugh escapes her glossy pink lips. “Mr. Dade? You think what he did was unscrupulous?” She stands, crosses to me, her lips by my ear. “You have never been a beacon of morality,” she points out. “You get no points for being conflicted if you constantly choose the path of wickedness.”
“I haven’t—” I begin but Asha cuts me off.
“You are wicked, Kasie,” she reaches for me, tucks my hair behind my ear, runs her fingers up and down my back as I grow rigid. “You fucked a stranger,” she says, her voice as gentle as a caress. “You betrayed your fiancé by taking Mr. Dade’s cock in your mouth. You lied to Tom about it, to everyone really.”
“You do remember that I can get you fired,” I say tersely.
“Oh I know that’s around the corner. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but soon. First Tom then me, it makes sense. I might as well have my fun while I have the chance.” Her hand slips down to my ass but then she steps away before I have a chance to protest.
“I will say that if I had been given the opportunity, I would have slept with your Mr. Dade.” She walks to the window, puts her fingers against the glass. “When he walks into a room, he dominates it; it’s almost impossible not to look at him. His form, the broad shoulders, the muscular build . . . and yet all that is nothing compared to his presence. He has a . . . a savage sophistication. He’s Daniel Craig’s James Bond; a young, sexy Gordon Gekko.”
“He’s Robert Dade,” I say with a smile because while the analogies work I can’t compare this man to another. His effect on my life is so unique and unexpected; he stands apart from the giant cinematic images of men wrecking havoc on fictional adversaries.
“Yes,” Asha agrees. “He’s Robert Dade and I’d be a willing and eager player in his bedroom games. Not because I want his assistance but because I’d like to see if I could break him.”
I laugh, almost charmed by her arrogance.
“You don’t think I could?” She asks . . . although maybe it’s not a question. Her voice has no inflection. She turns back to me and shakes her head. “Your problem is that you have never fully understood the power of being a desired woman.”
My mind flashes back to a night in Robert’s bed. I had climbed on top of him, refused him until he said, “Please.”
Asha smiles, reading my mind. “Power between the sheets means nothing if you don’t learn to extend its reach outside of the bedroom.”
I look away. The room seems to be getting colder. I rub the back of my arms for warmth.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Asha continues. “It’s in the stories of your religion. Adam and Eve, Samson and Delilah, Salome and her dance of the Seven Veils: they all speak to the same undeniable truth. If a woman truly wants something, whether it’s having her man bite into an apple, bringing a divinely appointed superhero to his knees, or a Baptist’s head on a silver platter, she can have it. A woman can have anything if she knows how to use what God gave her.”
I start to laugh, but then . . .
If I give you the world on a platter, will you take it?
A Baptist’s head on a platter. Is that really so different from what Robert is offering?