He wasn’t going down without a fight. That much was obvious by his choice of clothing. When we had spent that week together and even in the pictures I’d seen of Joel, he always looked super casual, very comfortable—oftentimes wearing board shorts and a tank top. He looked like a California surfer boy, except buffer. But now, the man who sat in front of me was anything but surfer boy. This was CEO extraordinaire. This was Edward Trevaunt’s son. He looked every bit the multi-millionaire he was.
I busied my mouth, sucking back water like a warthog at a watering hole, all while drinking in the sight of the man in front of me. Joel wore a light blue and green striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying those forearms that were almost as big as my calves. A quick glance at his watch told me he was wearing the price of my Honda on his wrist. And then I remembered his tan pants and the way they hugged his thighs and the quick glimpse of his ass I’d captured before he led me to our seat. How am I supposed to make it through this meal? Especially knowing what is under all of these clothes? I had watched that video at least ten times from the time I opened my mail that day to the weekend; I thought my computer would explode if I pressed play one more time.
“Blaire?”
“Yes? Yes. I’m sorry, did you say something?” I shook my head, trying to shake off the litany of thoughts starting to run rampant—most of them involving some variation of the video. I felt my cheeks flame and my ears grow hot with embarrassment.
“You were staring.”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t mind, but did you want to look at the menu before the waiter comes back around?”
“Sure.”
Joel mentioned me staring at him, but that didn’t stop him from doing the same as I opened the menu to reaffirm what I wanted. Ernesto’s was my go-to spot if I wanted Mexican food, so I was definitely familiar with the menu, but being around Joel made me flustered, and I needed something to do with my jittery hands.
“Are you ready to order?”
I put the menu back on the table and there stood a short man with charcoal colored hair and brown skin tanned red—a product of the Vegas sun—looking down at me, waiting for an answer. With a reassuring look from Joel, I answered yes and we both proceeded to give our orders: enchiladas for me and steak fajitas for him. The man gave an enthusiastic nod to each of our orders, and moments after he left, another woman came by to set down chips and salsa in the center of the table.
I didn’t wait for Joel to speak before I took a couple chips from the bowl. I didn’t know what made me so nervous, aside from the obvious, but I didn’t want to be the one to start. Maybe whatever he had to say would be quick and we’d sit in silence for the remainder of the lunch. Maybe after a few minutes of talking we’d realize that this was pointless and we both would be eager to leave without making it past chips and salsa.
The truth was, this was more like a date than I wanted it to be. At least to my nerves it was. I was obsessing about what to say, who would speak first, what I wore to work that day—all of the symptoms of a date were there, despite how much I tried convincing my mind that this would be the last time I would see him, especially in a non-work related context.
“Thank you for having lunch with me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to come—”
“Yeah, you sure haven’t made it easy.”
“You didn’t like the flowers? Or the singing telegram? OK, how about the video?” His smile spread like poison and just as mischievous. After spending the last ten minutes trying to shake my head of that video, there he was bringing it up again. Not only that, but he was wearing the smile that I imagined while watching the video. Though I couldn’t see his face, I felt those eyes on me, undressing me with a look. It was a look I’d seen before. It spoke of sinister desire and a fiery passion I’d become far too familiar with. Those eyes were deceptive, though—deep pools of green that pulled me in, intrigued me with their mystery, and captured me like a fly caught in a web. There was no escaping Joel, not when he looked at me like that.
“Was that from you?” I said trying to gain some ground, anything to cut the hold Joel had over me. He knew I watched that video, knew that I knew it was him, and worse, knew that I watched it until the very last minute when the screen went black while my heart was still racing from the orgasm that swept through my body like a tornado. The video still didn’t have anything on Joel. Nothing did.
“Cute. So tell me, how many times did you watch it? It couldn’t have been only once. I watched the video after I made it; there’s no way it was only once.”
“Joel, do you want to get to the reason why we’re here?”
“Blaire, I’m sorry—”
“You’ve said that already, in every imaginable way. In ways I didn’t even think one could say sorry.”
“I know, but you didn’t give me a chance to tell you…it’s not true, you know. I would never do that. I don’t know if that’s the real reason why you won’t see me, but I would never do that to a woman. I’m a make-love-not-war kind of guy. You have to know that. You believe me, don’t you?” He looked like a man who was desperate for someone, anyone to be on his side. I could understand. He was an only child, now orphaned. Sure, he was an adult, but I’m sure he was having a really rough time what with everything that was going on—not including his legal problems.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I believe you? Because that still doesn’t change anything. Not the case or our situation.”
“Yes. It would. Even if you never saw me again, if I paid her off, or lost to her in court—whatever. I want you to know the truth.”
“Why does it even matter what I think? You don’t even know me, Joel. You have plenty of other things to worry about right now.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I know it was only supposed to be a night, but don’t you see? We were supposed to be stuck together in that storm. You and I. I thought it was going to be a disaster, but it turned out to be the best week I’ve had in a long time. Do you know what my life has been like this last month?”
“I—no, I can’t imagine.”
“It’s been a fucking nightmare. I never thought I’d be the guy to hide out in my house.”
“Why have you been hiding? Why don’t you just face her? If what you say is true, why don’t you say it?”
“Do you know what people see when they see me? They see a man three times as big as Lara. They think I do steroids, which would explain how I could lose it like that. They see a spoiled little rich kid who probably got everything he ever asked for and didn’t have to work for anything. Even if I was never accused of doing something as fucking awful as hitting a woman, there would always be those people who hate me. That want to see me fail. That want to knock me down a peg or two, just so that I could know what their struggles are like. I’m only one person, Blaire. How am I supposed to go against that?”
“The night we met—”
“Wasn’t supposed to happen. I had been cooped up for weeks, and I felt like I was going stir crazy. I had to get out, even if for a little bit. And then I saw you…”
The waiter chose the perfect opportunity to bring our food. He set our plates down, clouds of steam still billowing from Joel’s fajitas. After we assured him everything looked good, he left us alone again—to continue our conversation. I didn’t know what I expected from my lunch with Joel, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t complete honesty and sincere words. Maybe a lot of sexual innuendo and sly smirks, pretty much anything to get me to the nearest hotel for a quickie. Not that the idea crossed my mind or anything. With the waiter gone, Joel didn’t miss a beat immersing us back in the conversation we had prior to our food arriving.