Chapter 4

• I moved through his office, dusting without trying to be sexy, steaming in my own thoughts, annoyed. He thought he was all that? Oh, I could do better. Maybe I’d push his bookcase a little, send the whole thing crashing to the ground, see how he liked that. What would he do then? If one destroyed book equaled one smoldering climax, what would a whole bookcase involve? I shuddered thinking about it.
• The phone rang. I glanced over towards it, catching Asher looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Or, no, he wouldn’t even be doing that. If he hadn’t glanced at me before when I was trying to act seductive, he wouldn’t now. I was imagining things.
• He reached for his phone and answered it. “Hello?”
• I absently listened to his side of the conversation while dusting, planning on finishing this and getting out of here.
• “Yes? No,” he said. “Are you sure? Is that why…?”
• He sounded confused, lost. I wanted… dammit! Despite my frustration with him, I wanted to go over to him and see if he was alright. Look at him, smile, become lost staring into his brilliant blue eyes, reaching a hand up to touch the hint of stubble growing on his cheek.
• “Yes,” he said to the person on the other end of the phone. “Yes, I’ll talk with her. We’ve discussed this before. Thank you.”
• He hung up the phone and went to sit on his chaise. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples with his fingers and frowned.
• I don’t know why, and I shouldn’t have done it, but I went over to him and put my hands on his shoulders. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and he looked up at me.
• “I need a massage,” he said.
• “I can if you’d like?” I offered, my voice meek. I wanted to impress him, but I didn’t know why. He was a jerk, and not worthy of my time. A man with money? Ha! Who cared. I had… knowledge of Charles Dickens.
• “That wasn’t a question,” he stated firmly. “It was an order.”
• I tensed up, wanted to grind my fingers into his shoulders and squeeze as hard as I could, but I didn’t. Instead, I gave him a light massage, erring on the side of softness, until he ordered me to do it harder. Oh, really? I intended to annoy him, to make him angry, but when I dug my fingers into his shoulder muscles, he only let out a content sigh and relaxed into the chaise.
• Honestly? What an asshole.
• “My wife is infertile,” he said, nonchalantly.
• “I’m sorry to hear that?” I replied. What do you say to someone when they tell you that? And, as unlikely as it was, I would have rather heard him say he was divorcing her. Was that a mean thought to think? Yes, but, then maybe…
• “We’ve talked about this possibility. Adoption is one choice. It’s admirable and respectable, but I’d rather not, and she doesn’t want to, either. I’d like the child to be at least a part of me, genetically.”
• Something, I heard some strange inflection in his voice that made me think about what he’d just said. “What about her?” I asked.
• He laughed. “She’s not interested in children at all. I imagine this will be a boon to her, not being able to conceive naturally. She’s fine with the idea of it, but the process bothers her. If she could, she’d rather have someone else carry the child to term so she didn’t have to.”
• “It’s possible,” I said, shrugging. My massage grew lighter as our conversation unfolded and my fingers eased away the kinks in his shoulder. “There’s egg donations, and you could have one fertilized with… with your…” I couldn’t bring myself to say “his seed” despite the fact I was currently standing behind him without any clothes on. It felt too… dirty? I don’t know.
• “True,” he said, scrunching up his brow, contemplating the idea. After a few seconds, he said, “I don’t know your name. You’re the temp they hired for the day, correct?”
• “Yes.” I gulped. The way he said it, the way the words just came out, indifferent, made the whole situation worse. He didn’t even know my name and yet he’d tossed me on his table like it was nothing? Done all of that to me, and… No, I shouldn’t think about that. “Jessika Fevrier.”
• “Fevrier?” he asked.
• “Yes, it’s French.” I spelled it out for him, since this was a common confusion and I’d learned to do it unthinking. “Pronounced Fev-ree-ay.” The fact that the cleaning manager had screwed it up earlier still frustrated me.
• “Yes,” he said. “French for February.”
• I frowned, but he didn’t notice. It did mean that, but he didn’t have to make it sound so ordinary and uninteresting.
• “A pleasure meeting you, Jessika.” He reached over his head and held out his hand for me to shake. Awkwardly, I took his hand in mine and shook it lightly. That seemed to satisfy him.
• Moving from the chaise, standing, he looked me in the eyes. I hadn’t noticed before, our initial meeting not really being a great comparison for heights, but he was a good deal taller than me. Not towering over me like a giant, but when he stood next to me and looked down at me I felt smaller. Smaller but… safe? Protected? Odd, since he’d been so angry before, but he had a certain guardian type of air about him, too.
• He moved closer, put his hands around my waist, and brought his face almost even with mine. I wasn’t sure what I should do, so I lifted one arm up and put it around his neck while the other just hung there, loosely. My God, this was confusing. Were we going to… was he going to? He looked like he might kiss me. The smell of his cologne intoxicated me; jasmine with a hint of vanilla and a sensual, leathery musk undertone. My mouth opened slightly, preparing for his lips to touch mine.
• “Jessika,” he said. “I’m sorry about before. I’ll buy you a new shirt, you don’t have to worry about that.”
• “No,” I said, confused. “It’s fine. Really.”
• “I’m married and I feel like my behavior was out of line.”
• “No!” I said again. “It’s fine. I enjoyed it, I…”
• “You’re an attractive woman and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, too, but that wasn’t the point. I got carried away, and…”
• Argh! I wanted to press my lips against his, kiss him, make him want to pull me close and do it all over again, except the only thing I managed to do was say, “If you think I deserve more punishment then I accept that and you can do it again if you’d like.”
• “Oh, Jessika.” He laughed, but there was some undeniable twinkle in his eye. Or, I thought there was, but when I tried to figure it out, it was gone just as quick.
• And then he asked me, “I know this is sudden, but would you consider becoming an egg donor for me and my wife? I’ll need to discuss it with her first, but I believe she’ll accept the idea. You’ll need to carry the child, too, but I’ll make certain you’re comfortable. I can arrange for you to have suitable living quarters in my home for the duration of your pregnancy.”
• “There’s no need to donate,” I blurted out. “We can just have sex…” I realized what I’d said before I finished, and the words hung there, awkward.
• He stared at me for a brief moment, stared into me, and then he laughed again. Moving his hands away from my hips, he stepped away and walked to his office door.
• “I…” I said, trying to think of something to say. Something witty, or sexy, or funny, or intelligent, but I couldn’t manage any of those.
• “Are you busy tomorrow?” he asked. “Let’s arrange a lunch date. I’ll let you know what Beatrice thinks, and you can let me know if you’ll agree, too. Consider your answer ample repayment for the book, whether you agree or not. Those are my conditions. I won’t accept anything else.”
• And, he left.
• I stood there, stunned, staring at the door to his office. Did he just ask me out on a date? Not a real date, I guess, but…
• I scrambled to clean the rest of his office, completely forgetting about my clothes. When I finished, I retrieved my outfit and put it on as best I could, but the shirt was ruined. Before I could worry about it, someone knocked on the door, opened it a crack, and slipped a package through and onto the floor before closing the door again and leaving.
• Curious, I walked over to the package. On the top, written in a hasty scrawl, was a note that said, “Ms. Fevrier, courtesies of Asher Landseer.”
• I opened the package. Inside was the most beautiful silk chemise dress I’d ever seen. I held it up to get a better look, marveling at it. It was shorter than anything I usually wore, the skirt stopping at the middle of my thigh, but it was wonderful.
• I pinched the soft, silk fabric between my fingers and gawked at the lovely pattern colored into it; a cloudy sky on the left side, going from collarbone to hip, with a rich, red rose blooming up towards the right breast, and a deep green field from the waist down. A lighthearted but fashionable piece of clothing, the sort of thing I could wear to a casual spring ball(if I were ever invited to one). Had he really just replaced my cheap blouse with an expensive dress? When I turned it around to look at the back, two pieces of paper slipped out of the sleeve and fell to the ground.
• One was a receipt, with a price I thought couldn’t possibly be right. It was a beautiful dress, but was it really that pricey?
• The other was a personal note from Asher Landseer: “If you don’t like the dress, feel free to return it. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon. Meet me at The Simple Path. Reservations are under Asher Landseer. Don’t be late.”