Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (8 page)

Did he actually choose his shirt to coordinate with the flower arrangement in the lobby of my hotel?
I thought, and a case of nervous giggles threatened.
Get a hold of yourself, Sabrina.

“I understand we’ll be seeing quite a bit of you over the next few weeks,” he said, voice devoid of enthusiasm.  I wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or annoyed that I’d accepted the proposal. Maybe both.

“It looks that way,” I said.

He nodded and pulled out a thin leather binder and set it on the coffee table. “First, you’ll sign the agreement you discussed yesterday with Mr. Chambers, and then, we’ll review the monetary agreement with Mr. Carmichael. He’s expecting a phone call from us shortly.”

I nodded, “Where do I sign?”

Du Cheval opened the binder and pulled out a piece of paper. I scanned the document, finding no surprises. At the bottom, there was space for two signatures: Calvin Chambers and Sabrina Clarke. The space next to Calvin’s name was already signed, fresh ink staining the page. His C’s were large and loopy, with the rest of his name tightly wound together. Even his handwriting seemed fiery and incensed. Du Cheval offered me a pen, and I placed it to the paper for what I hoped was my final signature in this agreement. The ink bled through the page, finalizing the deal. When the contract was safely back in Du Cheval’s briefcase, he dialed Mr. Carmichael, setting the phone on the table between us on speaker.

“Jack Carmichael here,” he boomed through the speaker, his twang more pronounced than I remembered it.

“It’s Oliver Du Cheval. I’m sitting with Ms. Clarke with a fully signed contract.”

“Well, well, well, congratulations,” Mr. Carmichael lit up. “So I take it things went well Sabrina?”

“Good morning!” I answered. “It’s been lovely, thanks.”

Du Cheval interrupted our pleasantries. “Mr. Carmichael, the portion of the Playhouse’s fee has been released from escrow as of this morning. It will be guaranteed unless something prevents Sabrina from fulfilling her part of the contract Sabrina’s check will be released upon completion of the contract. And we already sent the part about three weeks in writing.”

“Nice,” Carmichael replied, and I could somehow hear
the smile through the phone.  “Let me know if there are any problems before the transaction is complete. Otherwise, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Enjoy yourself, Sabrina,” Carmichael added, before he hung up, and I imagined him sitting back in his chair and reaching for a cigar.

***

“Do you know what the plan is for today?” I asked Du Cheval nervously, buckling my seat belt.

The car jolted forward as Du Cheval shifted into second gear. “Mr. Chambers is working from home today, so we’ll be meeting him there. He’s in and out of conferences, but he’s made some time to join you at his pool.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised he has a pool, should I?” I murmured, more to myself than to Du Cheval.

“Mr. Chambers is an exceptional athlete as well as an ardent swimmer. When he grew interested in the sport he had an Olympic-sized indoor pool built so he could train regularly.”

“That’s a bit over the top,” I said. This man did nothing halfway. “And that’s where we’ll be today?”

”So far as I know,” he said.  “Do you have any objections, Ms. Clarke?”

“Well… no,” I said. “Except, I didn’t bring a swimsuit along today…”

“Mr. Chambers is a thorough man, Ms. Clarke.  He suggested we take a side trip to pick up some swimwear.  Are you familiar with the shops in the area?”

“Not at all,” I admitted. “Do you have any suggestions?”

For once, Oliver seemed to warm up a little. “How about the best swimwear designer in the city? Pesca Boutique is la crème de la crème.” Well, I should have realized the man loved to shop.

“Sounds lovely.”

He nodded and threw the car into third, roaring down the busy street. Within ten minutes, we were zipping into a small parking spot in front of a trendy store. Reaching in his wallet, he pulled out a black American Express card. “Have at it.”

“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked, thinking we might have a chance to bond over Gucci swimsuits.

“I have a phone call to make,” he answered. “I’ll be waiting right here. Take your time.”

***

I was in heaven, roaming through the racks of tiny bikini tops and even tinier bikini bottoms. “May I start a fitting room for you, ma’am?” a salesclerk offered, taking the small pile of swimwear I’d already accumulated.

“Yes, please,” I answered, giving her a grateful smile. “I have no idea how I’ll choose just one.”

“Then, don’t,” she said winking. “Treat yourself to a whole collection!”

When I walked out of the store, I had four new swimsuits in my bag. Du Cheval said Calvin trained in the pool daily; I needed more than one option.

Any goodwill I had built with Du Cheval before entering the store seemed to have waned.  I had tried to hurry, but I could tell by the look on Du Cheval’s face that I’d kept him waiting too long. He ignored me for the rest of the ride, focused on his phone calls, setting up Calvin’s schedule for the following week. Oh, well, Du Cheval didn’t
have
to like me. The only person whose opinion I valued at this point was Calvin.

***

When we arrived at the estate—no less impressive than it had been the day before—Du Cheval accompanied me inside, guiding me to the indoor pool.

“You can change in there,” he said, motioning to a door next to the entrance of the pool. “When you’re done, join Mr. Chambers in the pool.”

I ripped the tags off one of my new swimsuits and tied it on quickly. It was perfect, skimpy yet flattering.  The bandeau top provided just enough coverage, while the string bikini style bottoms showed off my slim hips.

Padding out of the changing room, I pushed through the large door leading to the pool. Du Cheval hadn’t been exaggerating with his Olympic-sized description—it was enormous, spanning almost the entire length of the room. Just as he’d described, a clear-glass ceiling covered the roof, filling the space with light. Sunrays bounced off the sparkling water, warming the room to a perfect temperature.

Perched on the edge of the pool was Calvin—his wet, dark hair pushed back out of his face as he adjusted a pair of goggles, droplets of water glittering on his broad chest. , “Sabrina,” he said to me as I approached. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the fogged glass goggles, and I wondered whether he was noticing my nearly naked body. I wished I had grabbed a robe from the locker.
Just go with it,
I thought.
Be confident!

“This is some pool you’ve got,” I said, looking around the room.

“Welcome. Sit down; relax. I have only a few laps left,” he said, nodding his head toward a cluster of lounge chairs at the head of the pool. “I’m almost done with this set of drills. They’re short but intense.”

I watched him stand and shake the excess water from his skin, preparing for a dive. His body was in pristine condition, toned and defined. As he stood, his muscles flexed, showing off his muscular legs and chiseled abs. I swallowed hard, taking it all in. I meant to sit down as he instructed, but I was rooted to the ceramic floor, woozy from his bronzed skin.

Instead of diving into the pool, he changed direction and moved toward me.  Somehow he was even more overwhelming than yesterday…
Maybe the lack of clothes
…
Sabrina, get it together!
I thought. . When he neared, he brushed his lips against my cheek, and my knees almost buckled. “Come on, you,” he said, steering me to a lounge chair with a fluffy white towel spread across the foot. “Sit.”

The gesture had been intimate, but at the same time cool, promising.
There’s so much more than this,
it said.
Don’t you want to find out what?

Feeling slightly faint, I gazed up at him woozily. I hadn’t expected to feel such a strong attraction to him, and it threw me. As a dancer, I had seen my fair share of men in revealing attire.
Apparently attractive men become altogether more mesmerizing when you plan to have sex with them,
I mused.
Then again, there
was
something about Calvin.  I had a feeling I’d have reacted to him this way no matter what.

“Hungry?” he asked, studying me as I spread the towel. “A server will be by shortly. Order anything you want. The kitchen can make anything.”

“Thanks, but I’m OK. A little thirsty, maybe, but I had a big breakfast,” I lied.

“If you say so,” he said. “I’ll be done in ten, and then we can talk.”

He returned to the edge of the pool and dove in, body in a perfect arch, slipping quietly into the depths of the pool. I sat up in the chair, watching as he swam from edge to edge, pulling himself through the water with long, formidable strokes. His muscles rippled under the surface, straining to increase speed and precision.

If he swam like this every day, it was no wonder he had such an amazing body. I’d never known anyone who swam competitively, and I was engrossed in the intensity, the power with which he propelled himself forward. He looked in complete control—calm, focused, graceful, as his arms and legs worked in unison. It reminded me of dance, raw power turned into an art.  My thoughts turned once again to what sex would be like with a man like this when…

“Miss?” A meek voice startled me.. I looked up and saw a young woman dressed in a white polo shirt and matching, recently pressed pants holding a serving tray.
How long had she been standing there?
Long enough to catch me gawking like a schoolgirl, I’m sure.

“May I bring you something to eat?” she asked with a small, kind smile. “The kitchen can make you anything you’d like,” she said, repeating Calvin’s words.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, “But no. Maybe just a Diet Coke. With lemon.”

“Absolutely. Coming right up, Ms. Clarke.” She smiled at me sweetly and scurried away, white shoes squeaking across the floor.

***

I pretended to be reading a magazine as he lifted himself out of the water, shaking the water from his hair. With lowered eyes, I watched as he toweled off himself. His swim trunks hung low on his waist, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away, following the soft trail of hair from his belly button to the waistline of his trunks and moving south…
I wrenched my eyes back to an article about Katy Perry’s latest breakup, heat warming my cheeks.

“Do you swim?” Calvin asked as he took a seat in the lounge chair next to mine.

“In the summer, all the time,” I said. “But only for fun. It’s brutally hot in Dallas, sticky and suffocating. My parents belong to a country club, so my sister and I spent most of our summers splashing in the pool there.”

“How old’s your sister?”

“She’s two years older than I am. Just turned twenty-two. Danielle’s my parents’ pride and joy,” I said wearily. ‘Do you have any siblings?”.

His answer was a succinct. “No,” and he kept his eyes on the pool.

I clearly hit a tender subject, so I went another way. “Can you tell me a little more about what you do? All I know is that it has to do with hedge funds.” A safe, amicable topic, I was sure. And something to get my mind off his bare skin.

Calvin turned back toward me, his face more welcoming. “What do you want to know?”

“I know you play in the financial markets. But how do you do what you do exactly?” I hoped I didn’t sound like the world’s biggest idiot. I should have spent last night researching Chambers Funds instead of being sucked into a
Friends
marathon.

He pushed his dark hair back from his forehead. “I
specialize in stock and currency speculation. Big trades.”

“You advise people how to invest their money?” I asked.

“No. I’m in business only for myself.”

“That makes sense. My Dad invested millions in 2000 when one of these so called fat cats offered a no loss investment plan to him. Of course, he lost millions. In hindsight, it makes complete sense, most of these so called financial advisors are salesmen and are not much better at timing the market. I think most smart people invest for themselves and those financial advisors are just there to sell you things, not look out for your best interests.”

“I didn’t know you had a background in finance.”

“No, I—” My eyes drifted to his lips. God, even the shape of his mouth was hypnotizing me. I wanted to hear what he said, but I couldn’t ignore the distraction.

“I often work from home but
I’m constantly watching,” I heard him say, then watched as he pointed to a large flat screen on the side of the wall. “It’s a private network, so I can monitor even the tiniest fluctuations in the market.” The television was filled with stock tickers and myriad charts I noticed changed from moment to moment.

“But, I gotta say, you are right on as far as the institutions go. I can’t even count how much money I made betting against them. Maybe after this is all over, you can take a few finance courses and get a real job with me.”