It took five hours, but by the end of it, the attorneys were sold. They shook hands, and Daniel caught Edgar’s approving nod as he gathered his drawings. This was a major, prestige deal, one worth millions. Daniel had been privy to the competition’s approach, seen sketches, which were damn good. But they were too modern, too forward thinking for the stodgy attorneys. Bressler et al were from the old school, like the company Daniel worked for. Like his father. They liked the status quo, and that’s just what Daniel had given them. So what if it wasn’t exciting, so what if he’d had to force himself to think like an old man when he’d drawn up the designs.
These men in their wool suits would be shocked if they knew what Daniel did in his spare time. That he created fantasies; futuristic buildings. His passion, one he kept close to the vest, was science fiction. He’d discovered Frank Frazetta years ago when he’d started hiding paperback fantasy books under his bed. Then it was H. R. Giger and hundreds of other visionary artists who blew away all the old concepts about what things could be. Whenever he was upset or bored he would take to his drawings, letting his imagination run wild. But that was all behind closed doors. What he did in the real world was design buildings that looked like other buildings. Old buildings.
He was alone in the conference room. His portfolio was zipped, the table littered with unused notepads, empty coffee cups, carafes half-full of ice water. He wondered why he didn’t feel more elated. It was a big deal, what he’d done. A raise wouldn’t be out of the question. His partnership was coming into focus. And yet, he couldn’t muster so much as a satisfied grin.
Tired, that’s all. He hadn’t slept well. Hardly at all. Tonight, after the gym, he’d crash early. By tomorrow he’d be himself again.
He went out, toward his office. The receptionist, Jill, smiled broadly and gave him two thumbs up. He answered her with a nod and felt guilty that it wasn’t more. She was a nice woman, and she was always there to assist whenever he needed her. But his mind was already back at the Chelsea apartment. Not on a good night’s sleep though. His jacket. He’d left it at Margot’s. He should get it after work. Simple, really. No big deal. She’d be tired, too. He wouldn’t stick around.
He wouldn’t even think about those other two rings or where they were hidden on that incredible body.
To: The Gang at Eve’s Apple
From: Margot
Sub: HOLY MOLY!
Dear Everybody,
I’m at work. Chaos reins and hellhounds abound, but I don’t care. I have to write this because I can’t stop thinking about it. Him. Daniel.
I mentioned we had a new guy move in to the building, right? Well, he came to the weekly dinner last night, and OMG!!! He’s GORGEOUS. Seriously. Heart stoppingly. I mean it. He’s beyond the beyond. Okay, so he’s clueless about what to wear or how to wear it, but the potential is there. I feel like Michelangelo when he saw the marble that would become David. All I have to do is strip away the parts that aren’t truly Daniel.
But even more important than his makeover possibilities, I liked him. Yeah, that way. There was this…thing between us. Sparks. Magic. Heat. I kept wanting to lick him all over. It was overwhelming. He talks. He has a sense of humor. He’s artistic. Well, he’s an architect, so I’m assuming there, but I think so. And he wanted…more. Me, I supposed. Which is…
Anyway. I’m hereby throwing my hat in the ring. (Maybe we should change that to throwing our panties into the ring.) Daniel is officially my Man To Do. I wish it could be more, but I have serious doubts.
He’s not Jewish. Which, as you know, isn’t a requirement, but Daniel is so not. He’s so conservative. But curious. I just hope he’s not overwhelmed by it all. I mean, I live in ethnic-alternate-lifestyle land. He comes from a world of white bread and mayo. I have the feeling his parents would expire on the spot if he should bring me to meet them. But, I digress. He’s a man to do. I’m just hoping he’s a man to do a LOT.
I need to get back to work. I’m doing onion rings, and I smell like I’ve been deep-fried. I’ll keep you posted.
Love and smooches,
Margot
5
DANIEL THREW HIS JACKET on the back of the couch and walked straight to the kitchen. It was almost eight, and he’d thought he’d never get out of the office. Edgar had wanted to talk about the new building. And talk. All Daniel had wanted to do was go home.
Tired, that’s all. He pulled a beer out of the fridge, popped the top, but stopped short of drinking. He would just go up and get the jacket he’d left at Margot’s. No big deal. She was probably just as tired as he was, and like him, she would want to make it an early, easy night. He wouldn’t bother her. Except to get the jacket, of course. Just that.
He put the beer down on the counter and went toward the door. She might not even be home. She had that TV commercial and all, which probably kept her busy until late.
The whole way up the stairs he debated turning around. Until he actually knocked, he wasn’t completely sure he would. But then the door opened, and there was Margot, and she broke into a smile that made him feel like the king of the world.
“You’re just on time,” she said, stepping back so he could walk inside.
“For what?”
“Dinner.”
“Oh, no.” He watched as she shut the door, his gaze meandering down the silky orange tunic that covered her curves. It was tighter across her breasts, just enough for him to get a teasing image of their shape. “My jacket.”
“Is right over there,” she said, pointing to an ottoman at the far end of the room.
Things had changed since last night. There were big pillows on the floor next to the low teak coffee table. There was a big ceramic pitcher on the table with a raised picture of an Egyptian cat. There were two plates, two bowls, two napkins, both in gold rings, two wine-glasses. “You’re expecting someone.”
Margot came to his side. “Sit down. It’s almost ready.”
He turned to face her.
She smiled serenely, nodding twice. “On the pillow,” she said. Then she pointed to the cushion closest to the couch.
He didn’t understand, which, it seemed, was par for the course with Margot. He sat, awkwardly, trying to fold his legs underneath the table, his shoes getting in the way.
By the time he was settled, Margot had disappeared into the kitchen. He looked again at the table. She’d set it for two, but she couldn’t have known he was coming over. Could she?
She came back, her skirt flowing, her long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that hung down her back. There was a flower, the same orange as her dress, behind her right ear. Her lips looked smooth and creamy, although he wasn’t sure if she had lipstick on, or if they were dewy from her tongue’s ministrations. His throat felt dry and he was glad to see the wine bottle in her hand.
She showed him the label, but he didn’t even glance at it. He didn’t look at his glass when she poured, either. He just kept staring at her mouth.
Her smile brought him back from wherever he’d been, and he gave himself a mental shake. “I’m…”
“What?” she asked, moving to the other side of the table. She picked up the pitcher, brought it to her face and took a long, closed-eyes breath. Then she leaned across the table. “Put your hands over the bowl,” she said in a smoky whisper that went straight to his groin.
He obeyed mindlessly, his gaze captured not by her mouth but by the sight of her breasts. The tops, to be precise, revealed as the silk of her dress fell open and he was allowed a forbidden glimpse. They were