Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(8)

Yes, I tell myself, because Tom is no John the Baptist and Asha is a far cry from a saint.

Asha’s fallen silent, giving me time to try to see the stories of the gospel through this new lens.

“If you knew how much power you have, you’d have courage,” she finally adds.

Sometimes, when people name the thing you want, that thing gains texture. You can see it and therefore you’re sure you can have it if you just do or say exactly the right thing.

That’s sort of how I feel when I hear Asha suggest I can be courageous. It’s what I want.

But in a moment the image fades away. Melody and her love affair with destruction and divorce from sanity, my parents and their complete abandonment of her . . . I have nursed cowardice all my life, hoping it would protect me from all of that when nothing else would. It’s part of me now. I don’t know how to expel the beast.

“I don’t have any interest in helping you keep your job,” I say, shifting my weight onto my heels, suddenly tired and resigned. “But I promise to do what I can to keep you from being fired over false pretenses. If you get thrown out of here, it’ll be your fault, not mine, and not Mr. Dade’s.”

“You say that now—”

“—and I’ll say it tomorrow.” I turn and pull open the door. “Good night, Asha. Go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Then go to the park and pull the wings off butterflies,” I say with a sardonic smile. “That seems like the kind of thing you would enjoy.”

She smiles back, shakes her head. “Butterflies are too weak.”

“Then shoot a coyote, whatever,” I suggest. “But your work day’s over. We all need our rest and if I’m going to be a dictator, I’m going to try to be a benevolent one.”

As I walk out of her office I hear her gentle and appreciative laughter. For a split second I feel a jolt of camaraderie and forget that she’s the personification of evil.

But no doubt she’ll remind me of that in the morning.

As I step into the elevator I mull over her words. Your problem is that you have never fully understood the power of being a desired woman.

That’s where she’s wrong. Robert made me feel that power. When we make love, I always feel protected, frequently overwhelmed, but I also feel the power I have over him. It’s an aphrodisiac that has become rather addictive.

Power between the sheets means nothing if you don’t learn to extend its reach outside of the bedroom.

As the elevator makes its descent to the parking lot I realize that she might have a point. But I’m learning . . .

. . . and rather quickly.





CHAPTER 4





IT’S AFTER ELEVEN. I’m about to go to bed when I get the text.

Video conference?

The last time I had a video conference with Robert, whom at the time I only really knew as Mr. Dade, I had ended up naked, touching myself . . . it became a habit with us, not the video chatting but the rest of it.

But tomorrow I have to prove my worthiness in this meeting. I can’t allow him to shake me tonight.

I text back.

I can’t.

I don’t say more than that. I shouldn’t have to. He knows what tomorrow is, what it means.

He sends his reply.

You can. Tonight will be innocent.

I hesitate. Say no? I tell myself. How can you have any power at all if you can’t say no?

But of course I can say no. Just not to him.

I turn on the computer; in a moment I see him, on my screen, in the chair in his bedroom. So far and yet so very, very close.

“Robert, I can’t—”

“Tomorrow you and your team will be in my boardroom,” he says. His voice is kind, almost paternal.

I smile. “It’s not something I’m bound to forget.” But then the weight of it hits me and I lower my head. “I have to remind them all of my capabilities,” I whisper, pulling at the ends of my fingers like a nervous child. “They need to remember how qualified I am. Otherwise—”

“You will stand in front of me,” he interrupts gently. “In front of my executives and your team and you will deliver your recommendations on how to strategically place my company up for public option. You will impress us. You’ll show that entire room the aggression and fervor that you’ve shown me every time I’ve held you.”

“It’s hardly the same.”

“It doesn’t need to be that different. Every time you’ve been in my arms, in my bed, you have risen to meet my challenge and my passion. You can do that in different ways, in a different setting. You will show everyone why you’re deserving.”

That makes me giggle. “How exactly shall I do that?” I gently put my fingers against the computer screen, touching the image of his arms where, even from here, I can see the small scratches I left there during our last time together. “By making them bleed?”