Caught Up In Us Page 11

  He nodded, and lifted his computer bag, holding it above my legs.

  “Are you serious?”

  “If you want me to be serious.”

  I nodded my assent, and he laid his bag gently across my thighs. I glanced around. Museumgoers were preoccupied with still lifes and landscapes. I overheard snippets of conversations, but they were all static noise to me. All I could process were Bryan’s words, as he moved his mouth perilously close to my ear. “Pretend you’re reaching inside the bag, and instead slide your hand up your skirt.”

  I’d like to say I was nervous or cautious, but the truth was I was a live wire and I craved only one thing right now — touch. So I followed his order.

  “Are you touching yourself?”

  I nodded. I was afraid if I spoke I’d cry out.

  “Are you wet for me?”

  Another nod.

  “How much?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?”

  “Yes.”

  “One hundred.”

  He breathed out hard. “God, I want to taste you right now.”

  I flipped through my mental rolodex of bathroom locations in the Met. “Basement level. There’s a two-stall bathroom off in a far corner.”

  “Let’s go.”

  I adjusted my skirt as he stood up. I handed him his computer bag and he positioned it strategically as we walked quickly past seascapes and portraits, then Egyptian relics and stone horses, until we reached the white marble stairwell at one end of the wing. I turned down the steps to the basement level, and he followed, and soon I found the quiet bathroom. I opened the door first, and peered around. It was empty.

  “Coast is clear.” I pulled him inside, then into a stall. I shut the door and as I was sliding the lock in place, Bryan’s hands were in my hair, and his mouth was on my neck.

  Then he moved to my lips. “This is what I’m going to do to you.” He pressed his lips on mine gently, and slid his tongue across them, licking once, twice, three times in a lingering and hungry way, simulating what he planned to do next. My knees wobbled. I was aching for him to touch me. I’d never been so turned on in my life, let alone in a fantasy. He dropped down to his knees, lifted my skirt, and pulled down my panties. Within seconds, his mouth was on me, and I gasped. “Bryan.”

  Then I grabbed his hair, bringing him closer. I pressed my back against the wall, and gave in to the feeling of him tasting me for the first time. My god, he knew what to do with his tongue. He knew where I wanted him, and how to touch me in just the right way to send me spiraling. My hands dived into his hair as he explored me like a starving man, and I was the one thing that he needed. I’d never felt so desired; I’d never felt so wanted as when he placed his hands on the back of my thighs and brought me closer to his mouth. Then he made the sexiest sound, a breathy groan as he ran his tongue across me. It was enough to take me to the edge, knowing how turned on he was by doing this to me. I said his name as quietly as I could, but inside I was screaming out, feeling the sweet rhapsody across every square inch of my body, as if the world itself had been shattered into diamonds and starlight, brilliant and perfect as I stood there, awash in a dazzling sort of pleasure from the tips of my toes to the end of my hair.

  He rose, and planted a gentle kiss on my neck.

  “My turn,” I said, and he grinned in reply.

  I kneeled, unzipped his pants and tasted him for the first time. He groaned quietly and said my name as he ran his hands in my hair. I took him all the way into my throat, drinking in the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him as he grabbed hold of my hair and I moved my lips and tongue up and down. Soon, he inhaled sharply as he came.

  I stood up, and I was sure we both looked drunk and happy. He pulled me into a quick embrace and tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever known and I am totally —”

  The door opened with a loud creak. I placed a finger on my lips. He stopped speaking. Someone went into the stall next to us. When the stall door closed, I motioned for Bryan to sneak out. He left quickly, and I adjusted my clothes, left the stall, washed my hands, and walked out.

  I found him down the hall, and he had a goofy smile on his face. He started to reach for my hand, and I near about melted. Even after what we’d just done, the fact that he wanted to hold my hand meant so much to me. He didn’t though, remembering we had to be careful in public.

  “I am going to sleep well tonight,” he said.

  “Are you kidding? I’m going to sleep well.”

  We walked up the steps to the main floor, when I saw a flurry of quick movement in one of the gallery doorways. Bryan jerked his head, then tensed. That same curly-haired guy in the sunglasses was dashing off again.

  Bryan swore under his breath. “Be right back.”

  Then he was off on some sort of search. A few minutes later he returned, agitated. He rubbed a palm over his chin, what I’d come to recognize as his tell when he was stressed. “I think I know who that was. I’m not sure because he was gone when I looked around. But I think that was Wilco.”

  I flashed back to an hour ago when the same man looked at me on the steps. Then back to the other week when I’d bumped into him at NYU and written it off as a look-alike. Had he seen us go downstairs? Did he know where we were or what we were doing? Was Bryan the hypocrite he was ranting about on Facebook?

  “I think he’s following me,” Bryan said in between gritted teeth.

  I shook my head as fear snaked over me. “No. He’s following us.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  We have to lie low.

  Those were the last words Bryan said before he hailed a cab for me and sent me home. He didn’t call that night. Or the next night. When he did finally call, it was for two minutes. He told me he’d call me again soon.

  Soon.

  When I showed up at Made Here’s offices for my work, I spent most of the time with Nicole Blazer in design. She showed me the new line of tie clips with the gold tints I’d suggested, then remarked that she was going to get one for her partner. “She likes to wear the pants in the relationship. And the ties,” Nicole said, as we looked at the first set of clips spread out on the coffee table in her office. I felt a pang of jealousy for Nicole and her partner, simply because they weren’t a secret, because they were something. They were an un-secret.

  “Which one do you like?”

  “I love them all. But especially this one.” I chose a clip that shone with the gold of a sunset.

  “My favorite too! And Bryan loves that one as well,” Nicole said, then called out to Bryan who was walking by her office. “Kat has the best taste.”

  “She does,” he said, but there was nothing more to his words. No wink and a nod. No knowing look.

  “He’s just stressed about the…” Nicole let her voice trail off. No one seemed to want to say much about Wilco, but he was the undercurrent at Made Here these days. Wilco no longer worked here, but he managed to be omnipresent thanks to being unpredictable, and after a week of lying low it was pissing me off. I wanted to be on or I wanted to be off. I didn’t want this weird now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t middle ground. If we needed to lie low til the lawsuit was over, then we should just cool it completely.

  I looked briefly at Bryan as he walked away. I turned back to Nicole, and saw she’d followed my gaze.

  “Do you?” she asked, shifting her eyes down the hall. She didn’t have to finish the question for me to know what she meant. Do you like him?

  “No. Of course not. I mean, not like that.”

  She stood up and shut her door. “You’re blushing.”

  I put a hand on my cheek. Stupid red cheeks. I didn’t say anything.

  “Hey. It’s okay.”

  I shook my head, as if I could rid myself of all that wanting, hoping, falling. I picked up another tie clip and examined it as if it were a long-lost archaeological relic. “This one is nice too,” I added, doing my best to focus on everything except waiting for
Bryan.

  But that night, I was so tired of it all. Of waiting for a call. Of playing pretend. Of being so undefined. When Jill returned home from her performance of Les Mis, I was ready to slam my phone into the wall.

  “Hi.” It came out like a strangled mutter, as I burrowed into a corner of the couch with my laptop, and its open tabs of spreadsheets.

  “Why the long face, my little porcupine?”

  “Just busy.”

  “Lie.”

  “No. It’s true. I have to get ready for my trip, and I have exams, and I have —”

  Jill cut me off. “That’s all true, I’m sure. But I have a crazy hunch you’re a crabcake because you’re not getting your nightly action.”

  I threw a pillow at her. She dodged it artfully.

  “Do you have any idea how much that would have hurt?”

  “Hardly at all?”

  “Exactly. It would have hardly hurt at all,” she said as she plunked herself on the couch and wrapped an arm around me. “I was going to give you a hug, but that’s cheesy, and besides you need this instead.” She promptly wrapped me in a wrestling chokehold, and pretended to pin me down. “You know I have two older brothers so I know every wrestling move under the sun. Now, spill. Why hasn’t Hottie McCufflinks called you in a week?”

  “His ex-business partner is following us,” I managed to say while trapped under Jill’s powerful arm. I wished my roommate didn’t work out so much. She was toned and tough.

  She let go right away and sat up straight. “Seriously?”

  I nodded.

  “That sucks. Why? You guys don’t even do anything in public.”

  “I know.” I sighed, then gave her the update on the scrutiny Made Here was under thanks to Kramer Wilco’s inability to keep his hands off a minor.

  “Let’s kneecap him,” Jill said.

  “I wish. I mean, not really. Then again, maybe it’s the universe telling me to stay away from Bryan, right? It’s been nothing but obstacles with him from day one. Maybe this is the latest sign. Besides, if the universe intends for us to be together, then it’ll happen when we’re not in this weird mentor-protege thing. Maybe I should shut it down for him right now.”

  Jill rolled her eyes and huffed. “I don’t believe in signs. I believe in words, and action, and doing. And what you’re doing is sitting and waiting and that is one hundred percent unacceptable. Even if he has to lie low because of lawsuits or whatnot, and even if you have to play it safe, you are not allowed to mope.” She grabbed my phone, slid open the battery pack, and took out the battery.

  My eyes widened. “Jill!”

  She dropped the phone carcass on the couch, ran down the hall to her bedroom, then skipped into the living room five seconds later. I stood up, hands on my hips. “What did you do?”

  “It’s hidden, and I’ll let you have it back when you prove yourself worthy. For now, you’re going out with me.”

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my room, then looked me up and down. “Put on some boots, grab a scarf, and let’s go.”

  I pretended to be annoyed, but inside I was smiling. I was even happier when we wound up at the best twenty-four diner in Manhattan and ordered chocolate milkshakes and French fries and I didn’t have to check my phone once.

  Jill grabbed the bill. As she was about to pay, I spotted an increasingly familiar face. But not a welcome one. Instinctively, I ducked, as beads of panic prickled across my skin.

  “That’s him,” I whispered shakily. My stomach twisted, and I felt exposed. I was finding I didn’t enjoy being followed one bit. “Wilco.”

  “The guy with the curly hair and long coat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s creepy. I’m going to go talk to him.”

  I looked up again, but stayed low in the booth, as if that would protect me from the line of fire. The trouble was, I had no idea what Wilco was capable of. Was he just trying to keep tabs on me? Or did he have other, less savory, notions in mind? “No. Jill, don’t.”

  “We need to disarm him.”

  I tried to grab her arm, but Jill rose quickly and walked over to Bryan’s former business partner. Wilco stood at the cash register, waiting for the hostess to seat him. I watched them carefully from the back of the booth. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but at one point Wilco held up his hands as if he were surrendering, then pushed them back into his pockets. It looked like he was touching something. Jill batted her eyes and said something that made him blush. Then she gave a flirty wave as he walked out.

  Jill returned to the table. She didn’t seem rattled, but she was a good actress. She knew how to channel and conjure emotions. Meanwhile, I was a wreck and alarms were going off every minute inside me.

  “What did you do?”

  “I pretended I thought he was cute.”

  “Eww. How did you do that?”

  “I basically said, ‘Hey, I feel as if I’ve seen you around a lot.’ And then asked him a bunch of questions about himself, where he lived, as if I was into him. I think it threw him off. Because if you’re following people around, the last thing you want is someone to notice you, right?”

  “Sure,” I said, but my skin was still crawling with worry, and then there was this drumbeat inside me. A reminder. That all the signs were pointing to Bryan and me being impossible. I had to stop being foolish, and start being wise.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I left for class the next morning still surrounded by the sense that there were unwanted eyes on me. I jumped when I saw a black town car at the curb. Bryan’s driver was waiting by the door.

  “Hi. Bryan Leighton sent me for you.”

  I had half a mind to say thanks, but no thanks. But I was so glad to see him, and relieved too to avoid the streets with their easy opportunities for Wilco to track me. I slid into the backseat only to find I was alone. “Excuse me. Where’s Bryan?”

  “He asked me to drive you wherever you need for the next few days.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  I rooted around in my bag for my phone. This situation was veering too close to my college ex-boyfriend Michael, and I wasn’t someone who craved danger like a drug. But my phone was nowhere in sight. Then I remembered Jill had dismantled it, and I’d somehow gotten so used to the few hours of being phone-less that I hadn’t even looked for it this morning.

  The driver took me to class and I expected him to drop me off curbside. Instead, he stepped out of the car, scanned the street in each direction and then placed a hand on my back and led me into the building, as if he were a secret agent on my security detail.

  “What the heck is going on?”

  “Just getting you safely to class, Ms. Harper.”

  “Is there a reason I wouldn’t get safely to class?” I asked, even though I had a feeling the answer was the man in the diner last night. Jill’s strategy to disarm Wilco by flirting hadn’t quite rattled the guy as she’d hoped.

  “I’ll be here when class ends,” the driver replied and that was clearly all the information I was getting.

  Sure enough, the driver was waiting inside the lobby of the business school building in the early afternoon. I started walking towards the main door, but he gestured down the hallway, wrapped a hand around my elbow, and guided me to a back door that led to the building’s rarely used service exit. There, the car was waiting.

  “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on with the cloak and dagger?”

  “Just following orders,” he said, as he started the car.

  “Fine. Then can you take me uptown?” I gave him the address of a cafe where I was meeting Claire, and he drove me there, standing guard outside as I Claire and I sipped hot chocolate and I tried to pretend my day hadn’t been turned upside down with covert affairs.

  “I want a full report when you return from Paris,” Claire said. “I’ll be out of the country for a week. I convinced my husband to take me away on a technology-free trip to Tahit
i.”

  “That’s funny because I spent the whole day without my phone. My roommate hid it from me.”

  “And see! You still made it to our appointment on time. Maybe we don’t need to be tethered to our phones as much as we think.”

  But I was missing my phone because I had no idea what was going on. When it was time to head home I settled into the safety of the leather seat of the town car, closed my eyes and tried desperately to let go of the caged-in day, to forget about the run-in last night. Then, as we idled in the stalled Park Avenue traffic, I heard the driver’s phone ring. My ears pricked as he answered.

  “Hello?”

  In his pause, I could make out the gravelly sound of the other voice. Nicole Blazer.

  “Yes?”

  A pause.

  “She’s with me right now.”

  Another pause, and a strange fear ricocheted through my body.

  “I’ll bring her now.”

  He ended the call and looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Nicole says Bryan has been asking for you.”

  *****

  Nicole placed a gentle hand on my arm. “His hand is pretty banged up, and it looks like he might have broken one of the bones in it.

  “What on earth happened?”

  Nicole held open the pristinely painted white door that led into the foyer of Bryan’s four-story brownstone on Sixtieth and Park. “We were meeting with Wilco’s attorneys this afternoon to review the wrongful termination suit and attempt to settle. We were all there, and it was going fine, and Bryan stepped out for a minute, then walked back in, and Wilco blew a gasket. Stood up, sucker punched him in the gut, jammed him in the back, and smashed his hand into the table.”

  My eyes widened with shock. “Oh my god. That’s awful.”

  She nodded. “His attorneys were totally freaked out. It all happened so quickly, and they didn’t even know what to do. The security guard at the office rushed in and restrained Wilco, and when the police came a few minutes later, they found a knife in his coat pocket.”

  I rewound back the diner. To the way he’d touched the inside of his pocket. He’d seemed so unhinged. “I saw him last night. He followed me to a diner. I think he had the knife then too.” I placed my hand on my mouth. A tear slid down my cheek.