“Will Adeline be there? I need to speak with her, and I’d rather not wait until Monday.”
Vera’s smile is tight and her expression is cold, but she responds quickly. “Oh, yes. I made sure to invite her.” The smile that passes her expression is vindictive, and I worry perhaps Adeline has more enemies than just Mark, but I will see her tonight and the tightness in my chest releases with this knowledge.
Chapter 8
“We’re having our Q1 dinner tonight at Architectural Artifacts. You’re expected to attend.” And as Vera starts to move away, I stop her quickly.
“Is this for the design group or the whole firm?” She stops.
Looking back with her trademark sneer of hatred, she responds. “It’s the whole firm. Frankly, I have no idea why an intern should come; it’s not as if you bring any real benefit to this place.”
Without another glance, she turns to leave, and I spend the next fifteen minutes trying to find Bridget. I’m a bundle of nerves at the prospect of spending the evening with the better part of the firm, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to dress for such an occasion. Finally discovering Bridget has left for the day for an appointment, I hesitantly approach Vera’s office, hating I’ll have to speak with her intentionally.
I knock on her door and wait for a response. “What!” Good, at least she’s in her normal Vera-bitch mood.
I peek my head in and she glares. “How should I dress tonight?”
She lets out an overly exaggerated sigh of exasperation before responding. “Jesus, Adeline. Can’t you even dress yourself? Any old dress will do.” She smirks a completely sarcastic and cruel smile at me, and I slink off.
Jordan hasn’t come to find me or contacted me since depositing me at the curb in front of our building, and I have no idea how to feel. He was furious when Mark was grilling me and challenging my every design decision, but at the same time, my design was rejected. He must be upset. I’ve made a fool of us both, and while I have no doubt Mark’s rejection of my design had more to do with my rejection of him, I’m still responsible. I’m inexperienced, green as Jordan made clear, but my time here is limited, and I’m rated brutally. This one rejection could seriously affect my credit for this internship, and that would be a devastation I’m not sure I can endure.
Jordan will no doubt be at this dinner, and I’m torn between wanting to see him and fear of seeing him, but it’s been made clear I am expected to go, so whether I’m prepared to deal with the fallout of this afternoon or not I’m just going to have to suck it up. Vera’s given me no real time to prepare, which leaves me to my own devices as far as what to wear, but at least it’s just a dress—any old dress as Vera clarified.
I choose a fitted dress that falls a few inches above my knee. It’s a midnight blue and strapless. I pair it with silver strappy sandals and hope the weather stays warm enough to get me through the evening. When I hop the ‘L,’ my appearance gets more than a few attentive stares, and as I’m finally let off near enough to my destination, I’m relieved to be away from the crowd. I’m too dressed for the ‘L’ crowd or to be walking the street alone at seven thirty in the evening, but as I enter Architectural Artifacts I realize however overdressed I was for the ‘L,’ I’m in no way dressed for Foster’s. That bitch! Evening gowns and black-tie tuxedos as far as the eye can see greet me upon my entrance, as do the curious eyes of most of Foster’s employees. They look me over, judging and dismissing me as I stand by mortified. Not one woman is dressed in anything that doesn’t sweep the floor, and here I am in a short dress. Fuck!
It takes no time at all for me to run into Jordan, and when I do he looks me over from twenty or so feet away. He stares uncomfortably. He’s noticed how poorly dressed I am for the occasion, and as his brow furrows when he finishes looking me over, he swallows over a lump in his throat. Moments later, Vera stumbles up to him and places a hand on his arm. She is smiling adoringly, and she is very obviously drunk. She looks nothing like her normal cruel and cold self. She’s flirting, and she’s doing it well. She is dressed in a long, flowing, rusty-brown satin gown. Her hair is back in a chignon at the nape of her neck, and her bangs are swept perfectly to the side. She’s nearly as tall as Jordan, and as I watch them, wanting to look away, I can’t help but think they look perfect together. She’s just as harshly beautiful as he is. I managed nothing more than curling my long, boring locks into loose spirals, and while I pinned the hair around my face back with multiple jeweled pins, it’s hardly dressy and sophisticated—very much like my dress. I may look cute, but I sure as hell don’t look beautiful like the pristine couple in front of me.
Jordan looks to Vera, and I take the opportunity to disappear in quick retreat. I spend the majority of the evening hiding in a side hallway, coming out only for wine. When Bridget finds me, she drags me from my hiding spot and pulls me to the bar. While it’s a lie, she gushes about my dress and does her best to make me feel like something other than a fish out of water. When people dance as the music begins to play, I count the minutes until I can safely make a run for it without being rude. I don’t want to be here. I’m embarrassed and still recovering from the mortification of my meeting with Mark earlier in the day, and every time a new person eyes my poor choice of a dress, ridiculing me with their gaze, my resolve fades.
When at last I’ve put in enough of a presence to leave, I’m caught off guard when a hand touches my elbow. I’m standing at the bar sipping my third glass of wine. Bridget left me to dance with a nerdy-looking man named Charles from the accounting department, leaving me awkward and uncomfortable once again, and as warm fingers enclose my elbow in a gentle grip, I turn to find Jordan looking at me. He is beautiful, and I’m once again drawn to his mouth. His lips are parted as his tongue grazes over his bottom lip while he stares at me.
When I drag my gaze back to his, he demands, “Dance.” He watches me coolly as a warm shudder runs through me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” It’s all I can manage to say. Truth be told, I want to dance with him, I want his hands on me again, but keeping my distance is the only way to protect myself from him right now. I have no idea what he is thinking about our meeting gone to hell earlier in the day, and not knowing has me vulnerable and terrified.
But leaning to the side of my face, he whispers in my ear. “Really? My cock has been inside your body, and you think a dance is inappropriate?” Now my body is on fire, and the fear before has suddenly become a surging warmth, leaving me trembling and gasping for breath, but he’s not finished. “My tongue has tasted the most intimate part of your body, but a dance is too much to ask? Do I need to remind you your blood has been all over my groin?” Of course he doesn’t, but he is intent on reminding me of our every last intimate touch, and as he tugs on my elbow toward the dance floor, I set my drink on the bar and obediently follow.
His hand moves from its warm grip on my elbow to trail an equally warm path to my lower back. His other hand enfolds mine. My hand finds his bicep and the strength of his well-defined muscles through his tuxedo jacket. Jordan moves us slowly through the crowd and people part away from us. I’m sure this is how he lives his life, people constantly stepping out of his way as he moves easily through the world. His eyes stay on me as we move together, and his hand remains at the small of my back, inching just marginally lower as the orchestral piece moves along slowly. He says nothing to me, but continues to watch. The intensity of his eyes is incredible, and it brings memories flooding back—his body, his large and rigid arousal, his desire, his pounding force that so painfully took my body, and I’m left desperate for escape as the song winds to an end. I’ve enjoyed the past week, working with him, but he can also be a complete asshole, and even if he can be kind and touch gently, he has the power to destroy me. He’s done it once, using my humiliation to strike back at my challenge of him, and I won’t put myself in that position—least of all now that I’ve given him a reason to be angry with my pathetic performance earlier today. But he’s not angry, and as he apologizes quietly for Mark’s behavior, his eyes full of sincerity, I melt.