Deceived - Part 1 New York (7 page)

In a huff I said, “Those
will be going in the trash now,” and I crumpled them up in one
hand. I buried them in the kitchen trash can, pushing them far down
into the can as if the act itself would hide the dirty little
secret which they held.

As I returned to the living
room, Patrick was fishing his necktie out of the prawns of the fake
potted palm near the door. He turned to me and said, “If you have
plans for Friday, cancel them. You are coming with me to an art
showing.”

I blinked in bewilderment,
my mind racing through my schedule.

Friday? Friday?

What was I doing
Friday?
Wait! I don’t care what I am doing
Friday. I want to be with Patrick.

My confusion obviously
showed on my face and he furrowed his brow for a moment, as he
opened the door to leave. He paused in the door frame and grinned
saying, “A good of friend of mine is having an exhibit. I’ll pick
you up.“ With his hand on the door knob poised to pull it shut, he
leaned in and gave me one last quick kiss on the lips. “Be ready at
seven...” And I stood there bemused, staring at the closed
apartment door, Cirque du Soleil doing flips in my stomach
wondering, “What have I gotten myself into?”

I turned around and the
panoramic scene of the living room, with clothes still flung
recklessly about, met my eyes. As I began cleaning up, picking up
my sweater, skirt and shoes, I reached for my purse, perched askew
on the edge of the table and fished out my cell phone.
Damn!
It’s probably
dead. In my fervent hunger-lust for Patrick I had forgotten to put
it on the charger.

OMG!
Five missed calls and a gazillion texts from Elyse! I
scrolled up the missed calls list and hit the reply button for
Elyse, bracing myself for what would come next.

“
My God Chloe, are you
alive? Where’ve you been? “My friend shot out a rapid fire hail of
questions. “Can’t you send a girl a text?”

“
I’m sorry. I know. I know.
I’m bad.” I was dying to tell all.

“
I was sooo bad... And it
was sooo good!” I played with the words to heighten her curiosity
even more. She didn’t need to put the screws to my thumbs. I sang
like a choirboy, spilling my guts about the previous night’s
events, my voice squeaking with excitement as I gleefully divulged
the delights of Patrick. A glance at the clock and I realized I
still had to shower and get ready for work and much to Elyse’s
chagrin, I had to cut her short. She pressed me for all the dirt,
but I just couldn’t bring myself to reveal the horrid details of
the dark washroom incident with the Baroness. So I begged off with
the excuse that I had to catch the bus soon and ended the
call.

I literally twirled and
danced my way into the shower to get ready, girlish giggles
bubbling up to my lips; a silly tune playing in my head to the beat
of the “conga line” song,
“I-got-Pat-rick-Col-ins. I-got-Pat-rick-Col-ins.”

I mused at how I would
nonchalantly saunter into the office today, keeping a poker face in
front of the gawking office hens who would be hulking over me like
vultures, and waiting for some tell-tale sign of happiness or joy.
Some of my female co-workers were ruthless gossips seeking to live
vicariously through the escapades of others. It gave me a creepy
voyeuristic feeling, being someone else’s entertainment. They must
like to watch.
Yuk!

But truth be told, my mind
was twisting and turning with more important things. There would be
various scenarios I would have to encounter while working with
Patrick in the office. How was I going to handle it?
Cool as a cucumber Chloe, cool as a
cucumber.
I couldn’t allow my actions to
reveal the steeping sexual tension building up between
us.

Argh! Sleeping with the
boss Chloe, sleeping with the boss.

My mother’s voice was
chirping in my head. I wrinkled my forehead into a frown. That
voice was always such a killjoy. Where’s the mute button for the
mother voice when you need it?

Dreamy sweet Patrick. My
heartbeat quickened every time I thought of his kisses and now,
after a night in his arms, I had more fuel to the fire my steamy
daydreams of surrender. Surely I would be a mess at work until the
art exhibit on Friday.

“
Liz, I need a huge favor.
Can you help me?” I whimpered.

Elyse looked up from her
desk with curiousness and surprise.
“Why
are you still here Chloe? Don’t you have an art exhibit to get
ready for?”

“
I do, I do, but that
stupid jerk Jeff from the accounting manager’s office, who
obviously hates me, just ordered me to type up twenty pages of
notes and he wants them today.” I exclaimed desperately. I was
holding out the stack of papers that he had just handed me, giving
Elyse the most begging facial expression that I could possibly
manage.

“
Any chance you could...” I
pleaded.

“
Give me those papers you
little crybaby,” Elyse offered.

“
Thank you sweetie, thank
you sooooo much”, I uttered delightfully and quickly forked over
the papers before she could have a change of heart.

“
Yea, yea. You owe me one,
Chloe,“ she yelled as I dashed out towards the
elevators.

I ran to the curb to hail a
cab. No bus tonight for me. I was a woman on a mission and I had to
hightail it home to get gorgeous for my hunk, Patrick. The day had
passed tortuously slowly, watching the clock and counting down,
first the hours, then the minutes, until finally, I could turn my
thoughts with abandon, to being with Patrick, the handsome, rich
and successful fine specimen of man.

The anticipation of the
night’s events to come sent my blood rushing through my veins.
Adrenalin flooding my central nervous system made my stomach feels
like it had been left on the highest crest of the roller coaster at
Magic Mountain. My nerves popped like firecrackers, as random
memories of our erotic night together created a sentient mosaic in
my mind. His lips, his deep set eyes, his curly dark hair, his
gentle touch, his....man parts.
Whew!
Mamma mia!
What was I going to do with
this man? And what about that ink stain, the Baroness?

Piss on her. Tonight I’m
gonna par-tay.

As soon as the cab reached
my place, I shifted into high gear and dashed up to my apartment.
Luckily, I had already planned what to wear the night before so I
wouldn't waste time getting dressed. I’d put together a hot, sexy
outfit with a short black skirt, knee high spike heeled black
boots, and a two layered black top with peek-a-boo fabric that
allowed the under layer to be seen through the sheer top layer. The
bottom layer covered everything necessary, but the sheer fabric on
top allowed just enough light through it to see the skin beneath. I
accentuated the black top with some shiny silver jewelry, nothing
too trendy, something with a little sophistication; after all, I
was going to an art exhibit in New York City.

I made my eyes up in smoky
shades of blue gray. My eyes were one of my best feature, or so I’d
been told, green, with little flecks of brown. Bending over at the
waist I brushed my hair upside down to give it some lift. I was
lucky to have long straight hair that usually cooperated into
whatever style went with my outfit. Tonight I decided to leave it
loose and flowing, so that it would swish in a tantalizing way for
Patrick to see as I walk across the room, a prompt eliciting ideas
of what he could do with me later.

Tonight would be a test. I
wanted to see if this would develop into something serious, or if a
fun office affair was all he desired? Had I correctly read the
messages in his eyes when we made love?

The muscles in my stomach
contracted and rolled in response to the thought of him thrusting
hard inside me. I wiggled a little as I sat on my make-up stool
pressing my legs together to hold that delicious urge for
later.

I had just put the final
touches on my ensemble when I heard the lobby buzzer. He was
downstairs. My blood pressure spiked and I blew out a short breath
in an attempt to relieve my nerves. I was as skittish as a cat on a
hot tin roof. I buzzed him up and in an instant he was smiling at
me in my doorway.

“
Come in” I said
breathlessly. “I hope I look okay? I'm not over dressed for this,
am I?”

“
Yes, way overdressed,” he
teased. “Hmm. Let's see. “

Lifting the tip of my scarf
between his forefinger and thumb, he gave a long languid look down
my body and holding the end of the scarf up he said, “Everything
but this..... Take it all off. Naked and a scarf will do.” he
smirked with a grin and gave me a soft sweet kiss on the
lips.

“
Seriously, you look divine
and just as beautiful as always Chloe.”

Placing his hands on my
arms, he pulled me into his chest where I could smell his wonderful
delicious man smells. I reeled, weak in the knees, so many bees
buzzing around inside my head, a momentary lapse of consciousness
and spontaneously my head fell back a little and my lips parted. I
opened my eyes to his intense, burning stare; those eyes, those
steel-blue eyes, windows to the soul, wreaking havoc on my
psyche.

Cupping my face in both of
his hands, he poured his passion on my mouth with unchaste desire.
My lips vibrating with nerve pulsations, I met his advances,
returning his kisses with matched intensity. Tugging, teasing,
sucking, our rhythms matching, we danced this heady dance for what
seemed like an eternity. Like a rock skipping across the surface of
a pond, a thought came glancing across my subconscious. We had an
event to attend and placing the palms of my hands on his chest I
coyly pushed back, putting a little space between us.

“
Down boy.” I said
playfully. “If we continue like this we’ll never make it to your
friend’s gallery.”

“
You are just so delicious.
I can’t keep my hands off of you.” he murmured running the back of
his hand down my cheek.

Grabbing my coat, he
whirled me away to his sporty Jag which he had parked on the
street, floors below. It was uncanny how this guy had a knack for
catching a parking space.

As we drove to the art
gallery we chatted lightly about art and the various galleries in
the city. I couldn’t help but stare at his dashing profile. I
cocked my head to one side and a little forward in order to study
his expressions as he talked. It occurred to me that this might be
a good time to question him about his past. After all, I really
didn’t know much about him. I knew he was confident, persistent, a
hard-charger, but what about his past? I did know that he graduated
from Columbia University but I mused, does he have his success
today because of a well-connected family? Or did he work against
all odds to climb his way to the top? I liked the later of two
scenarios. I preferred to think of him as a self-made man and not
the recipient of favors owed to his father.

And what about his private
life; his love life? He’s 38, not married, has a sister and niece,
but no kids of his own and no girlfriend, or any such relationship
of which I am aware.
Humph!
I snorted.
No
relationship that I know of.
Everyone has
skeletons in their closets. Before our conversation allowed a
proper opening for my questions, we had arrived at the art gallery.
A little disappointed that I missed my opportunity to know more
about Patrick, I was bolstered by the chance to finally meet
someone who had known him for years. Patrick had told me that the
gallery was one of several that his lifelong friend, Ryan Barrick,
had started. Tonight, I wanted to pick Ryan’s brain for any
insights into the mysterious background of Patrick
Collins.

We parked the car, and he
came around to open the door extending his hand the ever gentleman.
The automatic reaction was a telltale sign of good manners
instilled by his upbringing.

“
You look good stepping out
of a Jaguar Miss Swanson. It suits you well,” he said in a low
voice pulling me close as I stepped out so his lips brushed my ear
and I melted a little on the inside.

Patrick had told me on the
way over that there would be light hors-d'oeuvres at the showing
tonight and I assumed there would also be spirits of some sort, to
loosen the tongues of all whom I would blithely interrogate,
Patrick to be included. And with a quick kiss on the lips he
ushered me into the red brick building on the lower east side of
the city.

The minute we walked
through the doors I was taken aback at the sight that unfolded
before my eyes. I paused in my tracks.... “Whoa!”

Patrick chuckled at my
reactions and playfully jested, “Oh, did I forget to mention that
this is an erotic art showing?”

“
Yeeaa... you forgot to
mention that detail.” I retorted with a pitch in my voice that made
yea a two-syllable word and taking my hand he pulled me out of my
bewilderment.

“
Come on,” he chuckled.
“You must meet Ryan. We knew each other in college you
know.”

“
Of
course. Columbia, correct?” I replied.
Ah, an opening. Let the inquisition begin.