Push & Pull(4)

As I smoothed down my coat and slid my hands into the pockets something caught my attention. A note. No. A business card in my right pocket belonging to, none other than, Liam. He must have slipped it in my pocket the night before. Sly bastard. As much as I hated to admit it, I quite enjoyed what had transpired in the janitorial closet because I rarely indulged in me time. Well, unless you counted loving of the battery operated persuasion. He hadn’t turned me down, but Lucca had. In all of the years of doing this, I’d never planned for failure. What happens when a mark doesn’t take the bait? It hurts like a bitch and it’s hard to not take it personally because it is personal. Someone, whether betrothed or not, basically says, “I don’t want you.” Lucca didn’t want me. He had Jill. I waited for the happy friend feelings to return and when they didn’t I called and canceled my appointment.

It never crossed my mind that perhaps this was a bad idea, that I should stay home, cool off, and call my appointment tomorrow. Resume life as usual. The previous night kept looping in my mind as I dialed the number on the business card.

“Liam speaking.” His voice was the same smooth, arrogant tone I recalled.

“I bet you didn’t expect to hear from me,” I said, testing the waters to see how many women he’d given this card to. He probably cast the net wide and even though I was hurting for the attention, I wasn’t about to be a number.

“Claire,” he replied, without missing a beat, “I knew you’d call.” The confident smirk emanated through the receiver. I paused too long and showed him all of my cards. “We should talk in person. Can you swing by?” No appointment. No plans.

“Sure.”



His apartment building looked like a high security prison with a sleek, modern design and brilliant onyx gating. He had sent me a text with the address and gate code. The cynic in me felt he may be a bit too trusting. Or desperate. Both? Parking was sparse but socially revealing as I passed row after row of Mercedes Benz, settling on a narrow spot towards the back of the garage. He was on the forty second floor, the top floor, I soon realized as I pressed the elevator button. Great. What kind of self-indulgent asshole was I getting involved with now? As the elevator rolled to the top I began to rethink my decision. It wasn’t too late to turn back.

The elevator opened slowly revealing a doorway to the first apartment. The only apartment on the whole floor. My stomach started to turn anxiously as I rapped on the door. Laughter sounded from inside. Did I have the wrong apartment? Was he not alone? Before I could double check the address the door opened with Liam standing there in business casual attire.

“Claire! What took you so long? Did you get lost?” He smiled, gently taking my hand and guiding me into the foyer.

“I couldn’t choose whether I wanted to park by a Beamer or a Ferrari,” I teased. A deep chuckle came from behind me as Liam took my coat but it wasn’t his laugh. He wasn’t alone. Another man emerged from the kitchen with a beer in hand, dressed similarly to Liam.

“I’m sorry. Did I come at a bad time?” I asked, standing motionless as I assessed this new stranger. He was olive complexioned with light, golden hair. His body moved gracefully beneath the clothes he’d clearly purchased from the big and tall store and he easily stood at six and a half feet. He had a well-maintained physique and gentleness to his eyes. Deceptive. I knew he could break me.

“No, this is perfect. Claire, this is Andrew Lawson. He’s a co-worker of mine and a long time friend,” Liam said. I extended my hand to which Andrew gave a firm, lingering shake. “I invited him over to meet you,” Liam continued as he placed his palm on the small of my back. “I think you two would get along well.”

It was difficult not to feel awkward as Andrew proceeded to undress me with his eyes and Liam’s hand moved below my shirt.

“I’m not sure I follow,” I lied, “Are you trying to set me up with Andrew?” The men shared a familiar laugh.

“Not quite. Would you like a drink?” Liam asked as he guided me into the kitchen. Andrew remained in the foyer.

“Yes. Yes, I would like a drink. And an explanation,” I spat in a hurried whisper, hoping that Andrew couldn’t hear me. “What the Hell is going on?” The scotch that he poured glistened in the sunlight warning me that it was probably too early to drink. Advice I ignored as I downed the glass in one shot.

“Let me watch,” he said suddenly with a wanton groan. Slowly, he poured me another glass, extending his other hand to brush the hair off of my shoulder.