minimum step, not the maximum, and that you always keep in mind that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
He nodded, trying to match her seriousness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made any reference to my enjoyment level. It was unprofessional. I’ve never been a paid escort before, so you’ll have to forgive me. I’ll do better in the future.”
He could tell she wasn’t sure if he was mocking her, and for a moment he thought she might really let into him, but she didn’t. She just uncrossed her arms and went to the coffee table, where she got her phone from her purse. “Feel free to put your things away. This couch opens up into a bed, so you can plan accordingly.” Then she started punching in a phone number.
He took her at her word and unpacked. He’d brought a wide selection of clothes, from city casual to black-tie, not knowing what kind of events he’d be expected to attend. When he stashed his night kit in the bathroom, he thought it prudent to keep the condoms tucked away with his razor and shaving cream.
When all was stashed, he poured himself a soda from the bar, got his notes from his briefcase and sat down at the corner desk.
He listened to Jessica for a few minutes while he pretended to read. And while the conversation about overtime for models didn’t interest him in the least, the way she carried herself did.
Glen had been very accurate when he’d described her as a powerhouse. She conducted business from a position of strength and confidence, and even though he only heard her side of the negotiations, he could tell she was going to get her way. There was no doubt in her mind, and it was only a matter of time before she’d convinced the model’s rep of the same thing.
Good. His instincts had been right on. This wasn’t a woman who was going to get all shy and giggly when he asked her about clitoral stimulation. He studied his notes, scanning the outline he’d made the night before. It wasn’t complete, but he figured the dialogue would suggest other topics and tangents.
He wished they could start right now. Looking at her again, leaning back against the satin chair, her auburn hair shimmering against the white background, her skirt mid-thigh, her ankles crossed, he wondered what he would ask her first. He’d led with the most obvious question of all, at least in his notes. “What do you want from a man?” But now that seemed the wrong approach. Because if he asked her something like that, she’d give him a quick answer, undoubtedly correct, but limited in thought and perspective. By the time he got to that question, he wanted her to have lived with him for a while, with the concepts he was exploring. He wanted an answer that was as complex as the woman before him, nothing less.
So what would start the dialogue? He was hoping that her answers would provoke and startle him, get him thinking in new arenas.
He’d read all the books that were currently in vogue, but none of them had given him precisely what he was looking for.
When he’d been in the few relationships that had lasted any time at all, there had been something illusive, something “other” about the women he cared for. Something that had doomed them, he was convinced, from the start.
His father had clearly understood his mother, because they had been like two sides of the same coin. They had a shared language, reserved only for the two of them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought of asking his dad about his secret while he’d had the chance. Not that he hadn’t talked to other married men, but they’d all said pretty much the same thing: listen to her. Put her first. Don’t try to solve all her problems, just pay attention and only make suggestions when asked. Which was all fine and good, but it didn’t get to the essential mystery. At least not for him.
It had occurred to him that while he might be bright as hell when it came to computer software and basic research, maybe the missing ingredient was in him, not in the information he was lacking. But this experiment was designed to bring that flaw to the fore, should that be the case. He wouldn’t be pleased to know it, but at least he’d stop trying so damn hard.
No, this was worthwhile, and he couldn’t do anything to muck it up. Jessica had all the qualities of a perfect research subject, and he was privileged to have the opportunity.
So the best thing to do was forget about any libidinous side trips. This was a field study; no fraternizing with the natives.
“Just to warn you,” Jessica said, standing and putting her phone back in her purse. “My assistant is on her way up. I’ll introduce you, but she won’t need any convincing. Okay?”
“Right. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”
“That’s fine. We’re going to be a while, though, so if you have something else you want to do.”
“Nope. As long as I’m not in the way.”
She headed for the bar and got herself a soda, loading up her glass with ice. “I don’t think you will be, but please don’t take offense if I ask you to take a walk or something. This is all new to me, too.”
“No problem.”
She sipped some soda, then got a tan leather briefcase from the bedroom before she settled once more on the white chair. A moment later, she was taking notes, and had forgotten him.
He watched her for a long time as she worked. He liked her hands, the way they were so small, but so definite in their every move. Her nails, while polished a nearly flesh-colored pink, were short and serviceable. Like everything about her, they were meant to do the job, not to interfere. Unlike so many women he’d known, she wasn’t constantly flipping back her hair, or tossing it aside. Although her rich auburn locks were smooth and silky, and moved along with her head, there were no strays in her eyes, or on her cheeks.
Her makeup was like that, too. Subdued. Practical. He knew a little about that, having lived with Tamara. She’d always gone for extravagant makeup, the darker, the more dramatic, the better. But that was very high maintenance, whereas Jessica looked as if she could get out of the bathroom in ten minutes. Of course, he could be wrong. Maybe looking that natural took hours, but he doubted it. She had things to accomplish, none of which would happen until she was on her way.
What made her so driven? He wanted to know everything about her background. Only child? That would be his guess. That or eldest. But he’d bank on only. Successful father, someone to live up to. She probably didn’t have a lot of friends, as those were distractions, too. No pets. Okay, maybe fish, but then no. He doubted she’d want to worry about anything like that.
The only other woman he’d known well that was as driven had been Kathleen Butler, an arbitrage banker he’d met at Mulloney’s one night. They’d played pool, and although he was decent, she’d kicked his ass every game. Then she’d taken him to her apartment where they’d had really kinky sex. She’d wanted to be dominated, tied up. Owned. He’d gone along with it, and in fact had enjoyed himself a lot, but he hadn’t called her again. The domination thing was fun for a night, but not a steady diet.
He wondered if Jessica would be like that. In charge totally when it came to work, and wanting none of that in bed. The idea appealed, but maybe that’s because anything to do with sex and Jessica appealed.
He jotted down some notes about it, fully intending to ask her.
By the time he’d finished, there was a knock at the door, and Jessica opened it to reveal another redhead. This one was younger by several years, just out of college, he guessed. She was pretty, with a quirky little mouth and enormous eyes. The look she gave him was all wonder and curiosity, but it didn’t compare to the look she gave her boss.
He stood up for the introductions. Marla shook his hand, but her gaze was still on Jessica. Talk about dumbfounded. Okay, so what Glen had said was true-Jessica didn’t date. Or at the very least she kept her private life private.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, remembering his manners. Even though it wasn’t Owen, he was still supposed to be the dutiful boyfriend.
“Sure,” Marla said. “I think I need one.”
“Soda? Wine?”
“Soda, please. Wine later. Work and all. I can’t afford to get all woogy.”
“Woogy?”
She nodded. “All alcohol brain. There’s so much going on. Tomorrow there are the makeovers, and then all the models and stuff. Busy, busy.”
“So I heard. You must be excited.”
