Tuesday went by nice an easy. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Juan had visited his parents for dinner Monday night, and his sister, her husband and their two years old daughter had been there. She was pregnant again, the sister.
"I am so far behind," he bemoaned during our lunch.
"How?" I asked.
"My sister is one year younger than me, and she's got two kids soon and I barely have a girlfriend." He let the fork fall into the container for his lunch.
"Hey, chill," I said. "Enjoy life, enjoy city life."
He looked at me. "How are you doing that?" he asked.
I smiled. "Meet people, relax, and take night classes. Work." I said.
He shook his head. "Go for Spanish classes next."
"Next, that will be sometime after Christmas, I'm taking classes to be a certified advertisement developer, and not just graphic designer."
"How did you get the job as both if you're only one of the things?" he asked.
"I had a minor in product development," I said. "That can be used to many things."
"Christina?"
Trisha looked into the conference room, which was also our place for lunch.
"Yeah?" I asked.
She knitted her brow. "Your friend, Greene, has emailed you. Please answer before he calls again?"
"Seriously, what does he want?" I asked and fetched my phone from my pocket.
An email from A.E. Greene.
I opened it.
Dear Christina
The vernissage is rescheduled for tomorrow night. Do you want to go as my date?
A.E. Greene
Was that why he'd called Trisha? "Okay, thanks," I said to Trisha.
"What does he want?" Juan asked.
"Ask me if I want to accompany him for a vernissage," I said. I hesitated for what felt like forever.
"The graphics of the two of you in bed, is something I'd like to see," Juan said and took a bite.
"You've got issues," I remarked with a dry smile.
He laughed and gathered his things. "It was nice eating lunch together," he said. "Have a nice day."
I glowered at him. I gathered my things and went back to my desk.
I did, indeed, have a graphic project on something regarding sex.
I logged into my mail.
Dear Alexander
I recall you saying, that Saturday would be the last time? As your date? We are barely friends
Christina
His reply was almost instantaneous.
Christina
Do you have a minute now? Then we can discuss it in my office.
Greene
We were so formal. I stood and knocked on the door to Trisha's office.
She looked at me.
"I'll be five minutes," I said.
She nodded. "You're staying late," she stated.
I shut the door and went to the elevators.
The one left of me opened as I arrived.
I stepped into it, pushed the top floor and leaned back against the wall.
The receptionist, I'd learned her name was Sasha, looked up when I arrived.
She smiled. "You know the way." She said.
"Thanks," I replied. I went through the hall, open offices on both sides, and to his office. I knocked on his door and waited.
"Come in," he muttered.
I pushed the door open and entered his office.
He looked away from what he was doing on his laptop.
I shut the door behind me and went to his desk. I remained standing and looked at him.
"I know I said it was the last time, and if you don't want to go again, then last time was the last time." He said. "But I like having you there."
"I can't feel that," I said simply.
His eyebrows dived down and cast his blue eyes in shadows. I let my gaze wander to his clothes. Black suit, no tie, and the top button were open.
"Do you want to act my date?" he asked curtly.
"Date?" I asked.
He averted his gaze from the screen and looked at me. "My date, as you've acted my date the past three times."
"I guess I can," I said and sat down in one of the two comfortable chairs in front of his desk. "When is it?"
"It's staring at eight," he said. "I'll find..." he stopped himself. "I can find some clothes for you."
I smiled. "Okay," I acquiesced. "But I have to work Thursday and I don't work well on little or no sleep."
"I have a flat on Manhattan, we'll sleep there," he said and turned his attention back to his laptop.
I remained seated. "We sleep there?" I asked.
He tore his gaze from the screen and looked at me. "We can sleep there," he snapped at me.
"I only thought you lived in Jersey?"
He shook his head ever so slightly. "I primarily live on Manhattan, but I don't like letting everyone into my personal sphere."
"So when women have said yes to your proposal on sex, you bring them to Jersey?"
He narrowed his eyes when he looked at me. "Why are we always returning to that comment?" He snapped.
"Because you never say anything," I countered. "Live with it," I stood. "Where do we meet tomorrow?" I asked.
He looked at me. "It is my Manhattan flat, so I'd like for Jazz to pick you up."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's private," he said.
"If it's private, why are you inviting me to that flat?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Can I have Jazz pick you up?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Yes," I said. "I'm off at five, so Jazz can pick me up from my flat."
"Can Jazz pick you up directly from work?" he asked.
"Don't you have work?" It wouldn't happen I was in his flat, all alone, when I'd never in my life been there and when we talked like... when we talked like we did which was more like non-talking.
"I'm working from home," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I can."
I smiled. "Okay, see you tomorrow." I said and went back through the hall and went down to my floor in the elevator.
I only just made it from work to class. I had dinner during the break, and I was positively beat when I was home.
The good news was that Trisha and I had made an amazing draft for an advertisement. Courtney had worked here for a bit longer than me, so she did more things on her own or with one of the others.
I woke up Wednesday with a feeling of being able to conquer the world. And that also included Alexander's lack of communication and controlling decisions.
What type of clothes would he find this time?
I got out of bed, showered and shaved my armpits and my legs. Just in case there wouldn't be sleeves. What did you wear for a vernissage anyways?
Now I had work, so I just dressed for that. That wasn't tricky, after all.
I came back to my bedroom after my shower, found nylons and a skirt from my closet. Shirt? I considered a shirt but I didn't want to. I grabbed a tank top and a loose fitting tunic on top.
I braided my hair, had breakfast standing and went to work.
Trisha and I worked all morning on the further development on that advertisement, before I, after lunch, went to work on the graphics on my computer.
At five I turned off the computer. Waved my goodbyes at Juan and Courtney, even though she didn't look like she wanted to acknowledge it.
The elevators were full, so it was ten past before I reached the reception.
Alexander was waiting, his arms crossed. He was frowning at everyone and everything, and his eyes were in shadows cast by his brows.
So I had apparently pissed him off or something. Again.
I went to him. "There was a line by the elevator," I explained. "Didn't you plan to work from home?"
"Planned," he said. "None of my middle managers knows how to do anything if I'm not here," he mumbled. "Come, Jazz is waiting outside."
I followed him out the reception.
He opened the door for me, and I got into the backseat. A moment later and he sat next to me.
I buckled my seat belt. "Did you have a nice day?" I asked.
"No," he said. It sounded as if he was reprimanding me. Or scolding me.
"Okay," I said. "If you were to elaborate?"
"Were?" he asked.
"If we are to have a conversation you have to contribute with something," I reminded him.
His eyes were in shadows.
He didn't wear a suit, which surprised me to an extent were I was ogling his clothing.
It was still dress pants, shirt and a vest. Vest? It was black pants, black vest and a blue shirt that matched his eyes.
"I can't have middle managers who can't put other people to work with simple things like accounts if I have to run a business this size," he said. It still sounded very negative, but that was something different.
"I guess it makes sense?" I said.
"So I fired two, and I have to find two new ones if I don't want to do all the work myself," he grunted.
"Are you a perfectionist?" I asked.
For some inexplicable reason that really got his attention. "I want the jobs to be done well," he said. "As well as the individual employee can manage. I'm only a perfectionist when it comes to relationships."
I smiled.
"What?" he asked.
"In relationships?"
He crossed his arms. "Cecilia left for a reason."
"Yeah, she did say I should break up before you became too controlling," I said.
His eyebrows dived down once more.
"By the way," I said. "I've talked with one you've had sex with."
His eyebrows shot up. "Do you want to go there?"
"Yes, actually," I said. "Do you find all your women using that sleazy line?"
He narrowed his eyes, but he was still looking at me. "Sleazy?"
"Sleazy," I confirmed.
His arms were still crossed.
"It's just not a nice way to..."
"If you going where I think you are, just stop," he said. "No, I don't always do it like that, but I don't want a relationship, and casual sex is easiest to create through sleazy lines, as you call it."
I smiled. "Casual sex?"
He briefly looked out the window before directing his gaze at my face. "I don't want to be in a relationship, Christina." He said softly.
"I'm not saying anything," I said. It was such a rarity for him to actually use my name. It took me a bit by surprise whenever he actually did it.
"Yes, you imply causal sex is a bad thing."
I looked at him. "I'm not implying," I said. "But causal sex does not appeal to me. Not even if it's with you."
He was really tense when he had his arms crossed. "If you keep doing this, I won't have any self-esteem by the time we reach my flat," he muttered.
I put my head to one side. "Is there anything wrong with your self-esteem?"
"Usually, no," he said. "But when you spell it out like that, how little you might like my lifestyle which I've lived by the last few years? That stings a bit."
"Poor thing," I said compassionate. "It'll all be okay, I promise."
He narrowed his eyes and glowered at me.
Jazz drove into the garage beneath a building, and I looked out the window.
He parked the car, and it was very quiet.
I unbuckled and got out of the car by myself.
Alexander got out and shut the door.
I walked around the car to him.
"You were staring at my clothes," he stated.
"Not now." I said.
"No, in the car."
"It just surprised me you're not wearing a suit," I said. "I haven't seen you anything else, well, except gym clothes, but those don't count."
He led me to the elevator and pressed the button.
A woman in a suit and heels stood next to us. She had her BlackBerry in hand and read something on the screen, her brows furrowed.
The elevator announced its arrival with a pling.
The woman looked up, walked into the elevator, and we followed.
She pressed the button for the nineteenth floor and looked expectantly at Alexander.
"I've got a pin," he said coolly.
She returned her attention to her Blackberry. Apparently unmoved by his cold manner.
The elevator stopped on the nineteenth floor.
The woman exited, and Alexander punched in his pin.
"You sounded so cold," I said and leaned back against the wall.
"She wants me to use my sleazy lines on her, but I don't want to," he said.
"Say it?"
"I've already done so," he said. "More than once, and she doesn't get the hint."
I nodded.
The elevator reached a stop, and the doors opened. It was a hall or spacious entrance. Was I in some Fifty Shades novel? Yes, I'd read them because they were hyped.
A hall with something like marble on the floor. There was a small table along the wall and a painting I couldn't quite pinpoint. It was too abstract. But something about it caught my eye, so it served its purpose?
Alexander put a hand on my back, and I followed him into the dining room. It was like his flat in Jersey. Just as white, the same amount of glass, and just as many straight lines and no knick-knack. No hygge.
The kitchen wasn't quite as white, given the countertop was wood. That softened everything in the room. Even the bar counter was wood. That made a tremendous difference.
The dining room had a white couch, which was the biggest difference. There was a dining table, glass, with black chairs, and all the cabinets and shelves were white.
"There's a lot of white," I said.
Alexander looked at me. "You can see if it's dirty," he stated.
"That you can." I agreed.
He led me through the dining room and into the living room. The corner sofa was huge. It was charcoal gray fabric, it looked like, and that even though it was very dark. The coffee table was see-through glass.
There was a big carpet beneath the coffee table. It was neutral colors, but it gave the room some life. Fake fireplace and a giant TV.
"It's more homely," I said.
Alexander smiled when I looked at him.
Something about him smiling? He hadn't wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled, but it was close. Or maybe it was because I so rarely saw him smiling? It was crazy how much younger it had him appear. And so many times more attractive.
"There isn't as much here as in your flat," he said.
"Now my flat is also a lot smaller than this," I said and gazed around his living room. He had a view of Manhattan, but because he was in the penthouse, I assumed, it wouldn't be an issue people looking into his home.
He was still looking at me when I looked at him again. "Does it bother you to go with me?"
"No," I said. "I just don't understand why you keep inviting me when all my questions seem to bother you, and when I don't just go with you bossing me around."
He put his hands in his pants pockets. "I enjoy your company," he said.
I nodded slowly.
"Do you want dinner?" He asked.
"You've stated you don't cook," I reminded him.
He walked around me and back to the kitchen.
I looked out the windows one last time before following him.
"My housekeeper has made something I can heat," he said when I reached the kitchen.
"What has she cooked?" I asked.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a pan, followed by a bowl. A black bowl.
He put the pan on the stove and turned it on.
He put the bowl on the bar, and put water in another pan which he also put on the stove.
"It looks like Bolognese," he said. "Tomato sauce with meatballs. And spaghetti."
"Do you know how to boil spaghetti?"
He looked at me. "Yes," he said.
I sat down by the bar. "I can't wait to taste it." The black bowl contained a salad with apples.
He found plates and cutlery and put it on the table so we were seated next to one another. He checked the water and the tomato sauce before opening a cupboard revealing glasses.
"Wine?" he asked.
I shook my head no. "No thank you." I said.
He grabbed two water glasses and put them on the table. "What would you like to drink?" he asked.
"Just water," I answered.
He found water, one sparkling and one still, and put them on the table.
This felt so much like home, even though this part of the flat seemed cold and uninhabited.
"Do you have guests often?" I asked.
He stirred the tomato sauce with meatball. "No." he said. "I work too much."
I smiled. "If you have started a business the size of A.E. Greene, it does require time."
He looked at me. "I'm not much of a talker."
"I've figured that much." I said simply.
He went to the fridge and grabbed fresh pasta. He closed the fridge and tore the package open.
"Even though you aren't much of a talker, you must have friends," I said.
He looked at me. "I never said I didn't," he said with a crooked smile.
I unscrewed my bottled water, without sparkles, and poured a little into the glass before me. "Have you close friends?" I asked.
He stirred the sauce. "I have close friends, but I don't tell them everything."
"Your parents?" I asked.
He looked back at me. "It's more or less the same."
"Isn't it lonely to keep everything to yourself?" I asked. What had happened since we talked now?
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't." he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He dumped the fresh pasta into the boiling water â I didn't know if it boiled or not, but it was a qualified guess. "I'm seeing a therapist," he said. "He knows everything."
Wow. "I hadn't guessed that."
Alexander rolled his shoulder back.
We were still in our work clothes. And he was still wearing the vest.
"I mentioned my issues regarding relationships," he said simply and threw out the plastic package.
Should I dig more into that now?
"Do you have any siblings?" I asked.
"Two older brothers," he said.
"What are they doing?"
"Marcus, the oldest of the three of us, is a construction architect. He lives in New York, the state not the town. Damien is a doctor."
"What kind of doctor?" I asked.
Alexander looked at me. "Surgeon."
"Wow," I said. "How old are they? Do they have family or something?"
He turned his attention back to cooking dinner. "Marcus is thirty-five," he said. "He's married and has three children. The oldest is five."
"So you're uncle?" I asked.
He nodded. "Damien is thirty-three, he got married last summer and she's pregnant now."
Wow. "Impressive," I said. "Are you close with your brothers?"
He nodded without commenting.
"Do my questions bother you?"
He looked at me. "Surprisingly, no," he said.
I smiled.
"Can I grill you?"
"Since when did you start asking?" I asked.
"Since it's personal stuff," he said and stirred in the spaghetti.
I could agree with that one.
"Any siblings?" he asked and emptied the pan with spaghetti for water.
"No," I said.
He put the pan on the table and got the other pan. "So you are an only child," he stated. "Was it planned?"
I followed him while he sat down next to me. "Yes and no," I said.
"Elaborate."
I took a deep, calming breath. "Please, make it sound like a question," I said quietly. "It makes me want to answer it more than now."
"Do you want to elaborate?" he asked and served spaghetti to himself.
"I didn't think you ate carbs."
He looked at me. "I'm staying fit, I'm not competing against anyone."
I smiled.
"Do you want to elaborate?" he repeated.
I reached for the spaghetti. "If they would have had more children, there would've been a maximum of four years between us, and they couldn't," I said. "So in some way it was planned, but on the other side, they would've wanted a second child."
He pushed the pan with sauce and meatballs towards me and reached over to get the salad.
I dumped meatballs and tomato sauce on my spaghetti and pushed it further into the bar. The salad came next.
"What are your parents doing?" I asked.
"Mom's a layer," he said. "Dad's a doctor. How about your parents?"
I swallowed the lump I had in my throat. Still. "Dad is a CEO," I said. "In his own company. Mom was a designer."
"Was?" Alexander asked.
I put down my cutlery and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. "She's dead." I said.
"I'm sorry to hear," he said. "How?"
I had goosebumps all over and shook my head no without much movement.
He reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Did you go to college here or in Denmark?"
"Here," I said. "I mean, in the US, not in New York."
"Then where?" He asked.
I picked up my cutlery again and looked at him. "Be surprised," I said. "Tennessee."
"What?" he asked. "You don't have any accent."
I shook my head. "The English I'd learned in Denmark didn't fit with the accent, so I didn't change my accent? Though it is more American."
"Aha," he said.
I sliced a meatball in half and swirled spaghetti around the fork before eating it. "Where did you go to college?"
"Harvard," he said. "I got a scholarship, but I didn't accept it because mom and dad would pay and there were others who needed it more than I did."
"Generous."
"No," he said and shook his head.
"But it is?" I said. "You gave up a scholarship. College isn't cheap, and that even though your parents pay."
He looked at me. "I didn't need it," he said. "It's only generous if I had to work my ass off next to my classes to pay for school. Otherwise it's just the most obvious choice."
"For you maybe," I said.
"Did you get a scholarship?"
I shook my head no. "Dad earned more than enough, so I didn't have to pay."
He looked at his food. "I'm adopted," he said and directed his gaze at me.
Even though everyone grew up one day, I still found it weird that the grown man next to me was adopted. "When?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"Were you happy about it?"
"Am, Christina," he said. "I am happy about it."
I nodded. "Are your brothers adopted too?"
He nodded. "Mom can't have children, so they wanted to adopt."
I smiled. "It's a nice thought."
He looked at me, his blue eyes so blue. "My biological father died before I can remember meeting him."
I nodded. This was a heavy conversation.
He scratched his jaw. "Marcus wants me to look after the brats this Saturday." He said.
I smiled. "Where are you going with that?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Do you want to come over? And help me out?"
"You can't do it on your own?" I asked.
He turned on the bar chair, facing me. "Probably," he said. "But I'm not super good with little kids."
"And because I'm a woman I'm good with little kids?"
"No," he said. "Not necessarily, but another set of hands won't hurt. None of my friends, who are men, would want to do it."
I smiled. "How old are the two others?"
"Kids?"
I nodded and ate a piece of apple.
"One and three."
I looked at my food. "Can I think about it?"
His eyebrows dived down and put his blue eyes in shadows. "Yes."
"This is really good," I said and looked at the food.
"I'll pass it on."
I smiled. "It's also very well heated."
He shook his head without commenting.
I had eaten all I'd taken while we'd talked. "It was really good."
He actually smiled.
"When do we have to leave?"
"A quarter to eight," he said. "Jazz'll drive us."
I nodded.
"I'll show you where your clothes are," he said and continued eating.
I smiled. "Is this flat bigger than the one in Jersey?" I asked.
"A little," he said. "But mostly because there's an upper floor."
"What's up there?"
Guest bedroom," he said. "A big lounge for relaxation."
"What's on this floor, then?"
"Bedroom, living room, dining room, kitchen, hall and a conference room for security. There is a flat for Jazz on the other floor. He asked for that. And that's about it."
I nodded. "That's crazy big."
He slid down the chair. "Come," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"Follow me," he said and walked through the living room.
"Say it nicely," I muttered and followed him into the living room. There were stairs, I just hadn't noticed before because of the view.
He walked up them, led me through a bit, open living space and into a room. It was white and light blue. Pale blue.
"It's very light," I remarked.
"I prefer it light," he said and opened the closet.
"Do you prefer it, when I'm wearing a dress?" I asked.
He looked at me as if he'd committed a very serious crime.
I walked to the closet and grabbed the hanger with the dress bag. "I assume no answer is a yes in this situation," I said and unzipped the bag.
The dress was claret-colored. It was a cocktail dress like Saturday night. It had short sleeves, it wasn't low-cut, and it had a skirt.
He was still quiet.
I turned to face him. "I don't mind wearing a dress," I said.
"You'll get pants," he said.
"No," I said.
He blew out a controlled portion of air. "Do you have to argue about everything?"
"No," I said. "I like dresses, I like skirts."
"But?" He asked.
"But I'm only asking because I've worn a dress these past three times," I said. I had guessed he would find a dress for this occasion as well.
His eyebrows dived down and put his eyes in shadows.
"You have to learn to ask me," I said. "If you're not trying to dictate what I should and shouldn't do, you're very pleasant to be around."
He turned on his heel and left.
He quietly shut the door on the way out.
I went to the bathroom, briefly showered before putting on the new and fancy lingerie. It had the same color as the dress. There were a garter belt and thigh highs again. The shoes weren't there.
I pulled the dress over my head.
I felt sexy wearing it. Not because it was low-cut or had a miniskirt â it wasn't low-cut and it didn't have a miniskirt. But because I felt comfortable in it. Super comfortable. It flattered what I had and made me appear a bit older than my actual age.
I put my hair up a little so it didn't cover my face and twirled the rest so it was wavier.
The makeup was understated. It was just neutral. That was the only thing I knew.
I gathered my clothes and went back through the living space and down the stairs.
Alexander sat on the couch, staring out the window. He wore a black suit.
I went to the couch and hesitated a bit before passing him. I sat down next to him.
"It wasn't my intention to piss you off," I said.
He looked at me. "Would you have preferred pants?"
"No," I said. "But the choice is nice to have."
He knitted his brows and looked out the window again.
I glanced out the window. We were reflected in the glass because it was dark outside.
"What time is it?" I asked.
He looked at his wrist watch. "A quarter past seven," he said. He looked at me. "Do you want to come on Saturday?"
"Could I think about it?" I asked.
His eyebrows dived down.
I stretched my legs before me. "If I'm coming over on Saturday, you're not giving me anything for it," I warned.
He looked at me, his eyebrows back in their right position. "I'm only giving you the clothes because I know you won't have the time or money to by the clothes at my will," he said.
"You know nothing about my money," I said.
"You wouldn't spend them on clothes you're only wearing once."
"No," I said.
He smiled and stood. "Stay."
I raised both eyebrows.
"Please stay? I'll be back in a second," he said and left.
I would flip out if he wanted to dictate what I should and shouldn't do.
He returned with a shoebox and squatted down before me. The shoes were black. They reminded a bit about the heels I had in my desk drawer at the office. Only but, this was a different brand. A more expensive one.
With a gentleness that surprised me, he secured the straps around my ankles and stood.
I looked at him when he stood.
He grabbed the box and put it on the couch. "Come," he said and left.
Sweet Jesus! I leaned back against the couch, my hands beneath my head.
If he wasn't about to comment on that, I wasn't going anywhere.
It was different if we really knew one another. Then he could, once in a while, make a 'come' without me demanding him to explain himself.
He came back in my field of vision. "Come." He said.
I crossed my legs, even though I was lying in a weird position.
He worked his jaw back and forth. "We have to go," he said.
"Okay," I said and got up.
He looked like he was about to give me a reprimand for not listening the first time.
I stood and he led the way back to the elevator.
He put his jacket around my shoulders, and the elevator arrived with a loud pling.
I went in and he followed.
He pushed the button for the parking garage and leaned back against the wall.
"What type of art?" I asked.
"A mix of abstract and not abstract," Alexander said briefly.
I nodded.
The ride down was in deep silence.
Jazz waited by the car. He opened the door for me and shut it when I was inside.
Alexander got in next to me.
I buckled up, he buckled up and Jazz started the car.
The silence felt like a blanket. A big, heavy, woolen, dark blanket.