The showings and catalogs of the Strickland collection were basically going to be rush jobs. I’d been at the office more than I’d been at home, appraising and overseeing cataloging. We had an auction date, which meant we had a deadline. Technically, that wasn’t even the deadline; the date of the first showing was the deadline, and we had that too. This would be one of those lots that we would be working on until the last minute before it went to auction. There was already a lot of buzz around it; people signing up to bid, proxy bidders, institutions looking for private sales.

The younger Strickland son was the easiest consignor I’d ever dealt with. A lot of people selling were still sort of attached to their stuff and were touchy about the valuation of different pieces and what their reserves were. Levi straight up didn’t care. He just wanted it sold.

It was hard to stop myself thinking about Levi since he had become the first association that came to me when I said or thought about the place I worked. The Strickland I thought about whenever it crossed my mind was him. I had to think of him professionally because we were dealing with his dad’s estate. I just wish he had made it easier for me to have to think about him so much.

I didn’t know who those lines had worked on in the past, but they were working on me now. I wanted him. I would jump at the sight of every guy with an appearance similar to his because he had basically promised that he would fuck me the next time he saw me, in as many words.

Work helped—if I concentrated on trying not to get fired. I couldn’t spend all my time ruminating about Levi Strickland making good on his threat, how much I wanted it and all the ways I had imagined it happening. Late nights became routine, clicking through online databases and reference documents trying to verify production dates and authenticate origins, so my estimates weren’t off.

I liked my work. It felt like work but in the way that was rewarding, not punishing. The long hours were part of the deal. So were the occasional weekends. I was camped out at my desk one night. I didn’t hear him coming but saw the shadow his body cast over my work and felt his presence after. I held my breath before I realized it wasn’t the heavy, domineering presence I had come to associate with the person I was anxious I would see if I looked up.

I did and saw Max Strickland smiling down at me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi, Mr. Strickland, how are you?” I said, wondering whether I should have stood up.

“Call me Max, please. Are you always in the office this late?” he asked.

“Your father’s collection is probably the biggest we’ve ever tackled,” I admitted to him.

“Can you take a break?”

“Is there something that needs to be done?” I asked. He raised a brown paper bag.

“I was getting dinner. You could stop to eat, couldn’t you?” he asked. He was getting dinner and somehow brought himself here instead of his home?

“How did you know I’d be working late?”

“Okay, you got me. I asked. I wanted to see you. Will you eat with me?” he asked.

“Depends on what’s in that bag,” I said smiling. I was hungry; I could eat.

“You like Italian food?” he asked. I did. He sat across from me, sliding over a takeout box full of gnocchi covered with a pesto sauce. I half expected him to pull wine out because I knew when I was being wooed.

Max Strickland, huh? If it was a competition between the two men, brother against brother, I wanted to say there was a clear winner, but the parameters on which I was judging had to be clearer.

Max was really nice. He had been nothing but since I had met him. He hadn’t propositioned me to come to bed with him and another woman. He hadn’t felt me up and kissed me. He hadn’t come to my house unannounced and nearly started a fight with my ex. He hadn’t done… anything, really.

Levi was forward and a little outrageous, but he’d made an impression. Was it a good one? It wasn’t a bad one. He stated very clearly what he wanted from me, even more clearly he stated his intention to collect the next time we saw each other.

Part of me hoped he would forget what he’d said and I don’t know, work things out with Debbie or whatever, but another part, the part that was probably going to get me into trouble, sort of wished the younger Strickland son was across the table from me right then over Max. This wasn’t a case of the nice guy finishing last. It was a case of there not really being a race at all.

Max, again, so nice. He asked about the auction house, about art. It was obviously not his area of interest, but he humored me. He talked about what he did, basically, the stuff that happened in those tall, glassy skyscrapers in the Financial District. I humored him. I learned that his father, despite his love of art didn’t really plan on making the auction house part of his larger Strickland art world takeover.

That was fine. Strickland’s wasn’t a small auction house. We got along just fine. His lot was deeply coveted. The publicity we had done for the upcoming auction had earned interest from organizations, museums and prominent private collectors. I had a feeling we wouldn’t end up with too many burned lots. I hoped so with all the work I’d had to put in.

He didn’t talk about his siblings at all as we talked. I had seen the way he was with his brother, so I wasn’t going to push for details of things that were not any of my business. He asked me for my phone number before he left and not having any reason to deny him; I let him have it.

Maybe he’d use it and announce himself before showing up. Maybe I should have given it to Levi, so he’d do the same. The Strickland men had a habit of popping up on me unexpected. Celeste, the single daughter, had a little more decorum; she called first.

I’d been expecting it. She had asked me to save a number of titles for her, and they were sitting in a box under my desk. She wanted classics, first editions and printings from the usual suspects; Plath, Woolf and company. Collected letters and journals too.

It was the day after Max’s nighttime visit. She’d said that she had a meeting with Clapsaddle and would see me after that. It was about four in the afternoon; people would start leaving soon. That didn’t matter; I was probably going to have another late night as it was. Strickland’s taxidermy had taken over the warehouse and guess who was the lucky girl who got to estimate the price tags?

I spotted Celeste walking up to me. I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. Long-sighted. I only needed them while reading. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want her to stand next to me because then it would be obvious which one of us had been leaving the office around ten every night. She was so gorgeous. She was dressed semi-casual, in a loose-fitting blouse and skirt. I stood to shake her hand, but she came around my desk to hug me again instead.

“I’m so glad I caught you before you left,” she said.

“I wasn’t in a hurry,” I said. “Would you like to see them?”

I reached under my desk and hauled the box up. It landed with a thud. She pulled it open and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. She pulled out a book and ran her hands over it reverently. I thought she’d crack it open and smell the pages—the natural next step.

“He had a couple of copies of Tender is the Night, so I gave you the signed first printing,” I said.

“Thank you so much,” she said gratefully. “I feel like I need to put these under glass when I get home. How could I ever repay you? Can I buy you a drink or something? Are you heading out soon?”

“It’s my job. Just take them home and don’t dog-ear the pages,” I said.

“I’d still like to say thank you somehow,” she said. “I don’t have to fly back home for a while. At least let me buy you lunch or something,” she said.

“You know where to find me,” I said smiling. She thanked me some more before she left with the box. Hadn’t all the Strickland kids been raised in the same household? How’d they end up so different? I turned my attention back to my desk. Back to the trenches. Could I count on Max coincidentally coming by the office with takeout again? I probably had pizza pockets in the freezer. I got lost in my work; when my eyes stopped being able to read it would be time to leave.

I don’t know how much time passed before I felt it. I knew it wasn’t Max that time. The air around me seemed to warm slightly. I felt like when I looked up; I would find someone staring at me. I didn’t know the name of the cologne he wore, nor did I hear him walking up to my desk. When I looked up, he was looking down at me. How long had he been there? I pulled my glasses off so I could see him in focus.

Just a shirt and slacks. He shouldn’t have looked so sexy in the outfit every other man in the office probably had on. I didn’t want to say anything to him, but even if I did, what would it have been? The last words he said to me when we were together came back to me, loud like he was repeating them now.

Was he here to collect? I had thought about it, the thoughts coming unbidden when I was at work, at home, when I was trying not to think about them. The possible reality of it coming to fruition was suddenly scary. He wasn’t saying anything. His presence was loud, but he was silent. I tried to break the tension.

“I just saw your sister,” I said uselessly.

“We came together,” he said.

“She left earlier.”

“I didn’t come here to ask if you’d seen her,” he said. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving. What did I say the last time we saw each other?”

I remembered what he had said. He did too apparently. I swallowed and looked up at him.

“I can’t leave, I’m working.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. I’m not picky.” He leaned forward, resting his palms on my desk. “It’s six o’clock, nearly nobody else is around.”

“There are security cameras everywhere.”

“You live ten minutes away. It’s here, or it’s your house,” he growled.

“Levi… Mr. Strickland, I can’t.” Even I didn’t believe myself when I said it. I was just embarrassed. I could leave. Most people had.

“You can. You want to. Choose. I don’t care about the cameras.”

I cared. I didn’t have to tell him my address because he already knew it. He had a car. He drove behind me. I mechanically walked up to my apartment when we got to my building. Was that how it was going to be? Mechanical and cold? Silent and transactional? Again, he didn’t say anything, meaning I didn’t either. I had no idea what to fill the silence with.

He walked into my house, and I paused at the door to lock it.

“Turn around,” he said. I turned from the door to face him. He was about five paces away. He closed them, walking up to me. His hand brushed over my cheek and cupped my face so I would look up at him. I zeroed in on his lips. I wanted to kiss him again. His kiss had nearly taken me out. I wanted to feel him like that again, raw and open.

He suddenly turned my body, so I was facing the door and pushed me into it. He pulled my skirt up around my hips and smacked my ass, making me gasp. He did it again, and again, four times. I braced myself for another blow but instead felt his hand roughly move my panties out of the way before the thick tip of his cock pressed against my lips.

“You’re so wet,” he growled. I was. I could feel my moisture flowing over my lips now that my panties weren’t there to stop it. His cock disappeared, and I heard the obvious sound of a foil packet being ripped open before I felt it again. “Hands on the door,” he instructed. “Don’t fucking move them, understand?”

“Yes,” I said breathily. His hand ran gently over my sore ass cheek.

“Yes, what?” he growled.

“Yes, sir.”

His cock pushed into me fast and smooth. He held my hips so my ass stuck out and my back arched so he could fuck me. He went hard and fast, stretching against my walls so tight it was nearly painful. Any bigger and it would be. My face was against the door. I shut my eyes feeling him deep.

My abdomen felt tight. I fought to keep my hands where he’d instructed me to. I wanted to see his face, be able to touch him. One arm was bracing his weight against the door. I wanted to touch his hand, see if he would link his fingers through mine if I did. It was torturous having him this close and not being able to feel him under my fingers.

He slowed down, and I felt his breath on my neck. Fuck it. I reached for the hand he had on my hip and covered it with mine. He stopped thrusting and pulled out of me suddenly, spinning me around.

His eyes blazed with anger.

“Where did I fucking tell you to keep your hands?” he demanded. I swallowed. I didn’t know whether he wanted an answer or whether it was rhetorical. He stripped the condom off his dick, dropping it on the floor.

“Suck.”

“Wh-what?”

“On your knees. Suck my cock.”

I fucked up. He was mad at me. I kept eye contact with him as I sunk down. His face was a hard mask. His eyes were intense. I felt regret, suddenly. I didn’t want him to be mad at me. I didn’t want him to regret me. I closed my lips around the head and slowly sucked. I used my hand to wrap around the base and jerk it while I licked the leaking slit. I could do this. I could do this well. I could make it up to him. He groaned and fisted my hair, pulling it so it stung my scalp, pulling me in to take him deeper. I felt him hit my throat and tried not to gag.

I let go of his cock and cupped his balls, squeezing. He held my head steady as he fucked my mouth. I relaxed my throat. I didn’t want him to stop again. I didn’t want to make him mad, more than he already was. One thrust caught me by surprise, making me choke and my eyes water. He pulled out, but I followed his movement, not letting him. He didn’t warn me when he came. I felt him fill my mouth, groaning. I did something I had never done with anyone else. I swallowed.

“Good girl,” I heard him say quietly. He helped me to my feet before he kissed me chastely and let himself out.