"I don't want this to end," I whisper.
"It doesn't have to," he says, but I know it will. This magical weekend is almost over and all of reality is about to come flooding into the little bubble we've made with each other. He doesn't understand that I just want to stop time and stay here. Now. God I want to not deal with any of the shit that's going on anywhere else.
Or maybe he does understand, because he kisses me. It's slow and heated. Everything about this is slow and soft and deep. He touches me everywhere, using his hands to massage my entire body until I'm wet and gasping. But still, we don't speed through it. He rocks into me slowly, moving his hips just a little at a time until he's fully inside me. He takes my hands, pinning them to the bed under his.
Our mouths are together, and I feel like we're breathing each other in. Our bodies move together, never separating. His hips roll with mine, slow and steady, and the building of pleasure takes its time. From the pit of my stomach it flickers, spreading until I can feel it in every part of my body. We're not kissing now, instead I can see him. We're staring into each other's eyes, foreheads touching, and breath mingling.
We don't stop moving, and we don't speed up. The orgasm builds in me, and when I go over the edge it's not an explosion. It feels like I'm drowning, surrounded by pleasure as my body shudders under his.
It's only moments later that I see his pupils dilate, feel him come. I'm still coming, and I can't look away from him. I've never felt this close to any person before, and I know that I'll always remember this moment. We're not moving anymore, instead just being. We kiss, and at some point we fall asleep tangled in each other.
The first thing I feel is warmth. I open my eyes to see James's face close to mine, our bodies still pressed together. My heart lurches at the sight of him and the memory of last night. I think something may have changed for us in that moment, and I don't want to spoil it.
I don't want to face this morning. I want to stay in this bed forever. But I can't. I have to go. I start my new job today. With my father. My stomach roils at the thought, but I can't do what James said. I can't just walk away from my life and my family. I'm not strong enough to do that.
Slowly, I move out from underneath James's arm. I'm careful not to wake him. I brought some work clothes with me and I retrieve them now from my bag, along with my makeup, and then retreat into the bathroom for a shower. While imagining myself showing up at my father's office in pajamas with no makeup and terrible bed head gives me some pleasure, it will only make things harder for me in the end.
James is awake when I come out of the bathroom. He's sprawled across the bed, beautifully naked with an impressive hard-on. If I didn't have to go I would take advantage of it. I take a moment to call a cab from one of my apps.
His eyes travel up and down my body, taking in the suit and the makeup. "I thought you might change your mind," he says.
I sigh. "It's not that simple, James. You know that."
He pulls a pair of sweats on. "No, I don't know that. What happened to all the things we talked about? You can do this. You don't have to let your father hold your leash."
"Excuse me?" I turn on him, my cheeks going hot. "Hold my leash?"
I can see that he's gritting his teeth. "That's not what I meant-"
"No, it is. You mean that I'm my father's little puppet and I'll do whatever he says."
"No," James says, folding his arms across his chest, "that's not what I meant. I meant that what you do really has nothing to do with him. You don't have to choose this."
I shove the rest of my things into my suitcase. "I don't see any alternative. I have no means of my own. Maybe in a couple years after I have some real savings I can leave. There isn't a choice."
His voice is softer. "I thought, after last night … "
I finish zipping up the suitcase. "What? What did you think?"
"I-you felt it last night, didn't you?"
I can't pretend I don't know what he's talking about, no matter how upset I am right now. "Yeah, I did."
"And?" he asks.
"And … I don't have the words to describe it. It was perfect. But it doesn't change what's happening in my life."
The look on his face is suddenly desperate. "You can do this, Vera. I can help you with whatever you need. You can choose me."
I freeze, a shot of cold going through me. "Are you saying that if I go to work for my father, we're finished?"
His face hardens. "I don't know. I do know that working for your father is the last thing you want. Everything I've learned about you tells me that you're passionate-that you are fierce, and brilliant, and independent. But making this choice? Out of fear? It's going to eat away at you, and all of that passion will be crushed. Along with everything that makes you ‘you.' I don't know if I want to see that happen."
I feel hot tears behind my eyes but I blink them back. "I don't have a choice, James."
I take my suitcase to the front of the house, and I see the cab pull up outside. I don't want to leave. It feels too final, too real. But it will be okay. He'll be okay. I'll fix it later. We'll be okay. We have to be.
"Vera." I turn, finding James in the middle of the living room. There's no hint of a smile or softness on his face. I do see sadness though. "I know what it's like to not have any choices. You're choosing this."
Outside, I hear the cab driver honk their horn. I shake my head and leave the house before I can say anything else to make this worse.
17
Vera
My security photo is awful, but I suppose that's to be expected. I feel like I've been through every office in this building filling out paperwork and getting an ID. I have an office already set up for me and it's big for someone at my level. I suppose it's meant to be a peace offering of sorts, but I still hate it. I hate everything. I hate the suit that I'm wearing, and I hate the color of these walls. I hate how I left things with James this morning. I hate that my suitcase is sitting in the corner and I hate the note sitting on my desk. I hate that it's telling me to meet my father in his office at ten a.m.
I hate the fact that I'm here at all, and he's the cause. He's not in his office when I go, but he steps in right at ten. I have to control my glare.
"Good morning, Vera," he says, sounding for all the world as if this were a normal day. It strikes me that he never questioned whether I would be here. He assumed that I would make a fuss, but do what he said-and he was right. I think I might throw up.
"Good morning," I say, making a point of keeping my voice utterly neutral.
"Everything settled with your office and your pass?"
I clear my throat. "Yes, thank you."
"Good. We're going to meet some clients today. They want to show us the property they've bought and walk us through their preferences."
He leads the way out of his office, and I follow. We're met by my father's driver in a sleek black sedan. The thought of spending a car ride in awkward silence makes me cringe, but I get in the car. The driver takes us across L.A. toward the coast. Traffic is horrible, and about an hour later we pull up to an empty lot at the beach. The couple from dinner the other night is waiting for us. I don't remember their names.
My father greets them as Sharon and Alan. How did I miss their terrible names? They walk us across the property to where they want the house to sit. It's on the top of a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and I can't deny it's beautiful. Sharon describes in detail what she'd like, and as much as I find her annoying she has good architectural taste. We walk along the grounds to the north and she describes the kinds of grounds she wants.
Her ideas include a significant guesthouse and a tennis court, among other things. Eventually we reach some houses, smaller than the typical mansion. They don't seem to be abandoned, but Sharon and Alan keep walking. "Down here, there's a lovely little cove where I think a boat house would be just lovely," she says.
"How far does your property extend?"
"Oh, another few acres or so."
Setting aside how rich they must be to afford this much beachfront, the houses bother me. "Who lives here?" I ask as we walk by. My father clears his throat in warning, but I ignore him.
Sharon waves a hand. "Oh, doesn't matter. They sold the land years ago. Couldn't afford not to, I think. People who inherited some money and then lost it all, probably. I'm sure they had it coming. We'll evict them as soon as construction starts."
My mouth falls open, and in that moment, I know that I can't do it-I can't be a part of this-not just this project, but my father's company. These are the kind of people he deals with every day, and I don't want to do it. I want to help people who need it. I have no interest in people who think the poor had it coming.