16
Gatsby is so close to me. I want to rip off his clothes. I want him to have his way with me. But Stacey, the flight attendant, is back with dessert. We’re having strawberry cheesecake made with real strawberries and delicious organic cream from grass-fed, free range cows.
The gorgeous cheesecake is presented to me on a plate monogrammed with the initials GTW.
Gatsby Tristan Wild.
Gatsby Tristan Wild, the owner of this private plane, and my one and only one-night stand.
Gatsby Tristan Wild is also the guy I met in Yosemite National Park after I had spent days alone in the wild without seeing another soul.
But I’m forgetting something. Oh yeah, Gatsby Tristan Wild is also my boss.
It’s our first date. I thought it was just going to be dinner, but he decided to take me to Yellowstone on his private plane for the weekend.
The trip is an apology. It’s supposed to make up for his lies. It’s his way of showing me how sorry he is.
I try not to be impressed. I’m trying to stay cool. I don’t want to forgive him just because of all of this. But I know that I would’ve forgiven him even if he had just given me flowers.
Glancing over at Gatsby staring out of the window, I again see the hiker who I initially fell for deep in the woods, under the bright starry sky and away from all this civilization.
He has kind eyes and a relaxed demeanor. His tan skin compliments the hair that’s falling into his face. It’s a little longer than customary for a man who makes his living wearing a $ 3,000 suit, but that’s what makes me want him even more.
Gatsby’s breathing is steady. I wonder what he is thinking about. He brings his fingers to his nose and inhales as if he’s smelling an aromatic perfume. He gives me a wink.
My cheeks get flush. He had just given me one of the most intense and pleasurable orgasms of my life. It drew me closer to him than I thought was possible, making me want him even more.
Well, tonight, I will turn the tables. Tonight, as soon as the plane lands, I will make it about him. I will make him want me as much he has made me want him. I promise this to myself.
Hundreds of contradictory thoughts swirl around in my head. Is this whole relationship appropriate? It’s like I’m sleeping my way to the top. Except that I’m not. I had already slept with him when I thought he was just a white water rafting instructor. It was he who hired me for this job without revealing that he’s actually the CEO of this company.
Still, Gatsby is my boss. He hired me when I couldn’t find a job anywhere else. But after this weekend, he will go back to being my boss. He will go back to his glass office on the 67th floor of Wild International, and he will go back to dealing with the upcoming IPO offering that his pharmaceutical company is going through.
And I will go back to being his assistant. Or rather, an assistant in his office, since technically my boss is the indifferent Ms. Greaves. First name unknown. She’s technically his personal assistant/secretary/everything else. And I just work for her.
A startling thought suddenly pops into my head. What if I lose my job?
Don’t worry about it, I say to myself. It doesn’t really matter because I shouldn’t even have this job in the first place, given that I never applied for it! Were it not for Gatsby, I wouldn’t even be working there!
What would Ms. Greaves think if she ever found out about Gatsby and me? Who the hell cares what she would think? Who is she to judge me, anyway?
Gatsby leans closer to me. I can feel his breath on my face. He smells of mint and whiskey. He reaches down to the table and picks up the ornate silver spoon. The daintiness of the spoon makes his strong hand appear even more powerful. His fingers are long, but not delicate at all. He might not work with them for a living, but he works out, and his hands show it.
With one swift motion, Gatsby breaks through the masterpiece that is this cheesecake and lifts the spoon up to my mouth.
“Open wide,” he whispers. He places the cheesecake carefully onto my tongue, and I let it melt in my mouth. The aroma of real strawberries and the coolness of the cheesecake consume my senses, and I lay back in the recliner and disappear into another world.
Gatsby takes a bite and looks out the window.
“We’re landing soon.”
It is dark when we land, but through the lights of the runway, I can still make out the thick forests that surround us on all sides. The wilderness is so thick that it takes my breath away. It’s a different park and a completely different ecosystem than the one in which we met. But it reminds me of the first time we met anyway. It is in this kind of wilderness that I had first laid my eyes on this man who changed my life so much in only a few brief weeks.
Gatsby helps me out of the plane by holding my hand and doesn’t let go until we get to the lodge.
“Mr. Wild,” a pleasant young man greets, waving to us as soon as we step over the threshold.
Gatsby walks directly to him while I take a moment to take everything in.
The lodge is made of thick, whole pine trees, and the ceiling is at least twenty feet high, if not higher. It is pitch black outside, but there are windows lining one whole side of the lodge, looking over the wilderness outside.
I am relieved that the décor inside isn’t lined with busts of taxidermic animals. There is just one ominous chandelier made of antlers. At each point of the antler, there is a large lit candle. The candles bathe the room in soothing candlelight and put me at ease.
Gatsby makes small talk with the front desk attendant while I continue to explore. I have been to Yellowstone before, a long time ago, on a high school trip. But we stayed in a Motel 6 about twenty miles away from the entrance. I had no idea this place even existed.
Gatsby waves me over and leads me down one of the hallways on the other side of the enormous stone fireplace. We walk to the end of the rustic hallway to two double doors.
“This is our suite.”
When he opens the door, I am greeted by another gigantic fireplace made of rounded stones. The fireplace extends all the way up to the ceiling, which is made of exposed beams. The suite is elegant and five-star yet comfy in design. Somehow, this unusually refined style manages to evoke feelings of solace and tranquility.
“In the brochure, they call it rustic elegance,” Gatsby says. “What do you think?”
I don’t know what to think. I stand in awe. The suite is made of multiple rooms, each grander than the last. The grandeur does not come from expensive chandeliers and wide open spaces and modern design like it does in Los Angeles. Here, grandeur is evoked by simplicity.
“Rustic elegance is probably appropriate.” I nod. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“All the walls were created from dead standing trees, and the fireplace was built of locally quarried stones, which were found on the property. They are local in the truest sense; they weren’t even brought over from a neighboring county.”
I walk over to the fireplace and run my fingers over the smooth gray and tan stones that make up the fireplace. They have been polished and arranged so that the colors and sizes compliment their neighbors. There aren’t too many gray stones on one side. Instead, the gray and tan stones intertwine to make up a delightful tapestry.
“I love how organic they look,” I say. “It’s almost as if they were alive and moving.”
Gatsby smiles and puts his hand over mine. We run both of our hands together over the stones.
“It’s like they are taking on lives of their own,” he says and moves my hair off my neck. When he kneels down to me, his hair tickles my ears. I feel his breath on my neck and his lips on my shoulder. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment.
When I open them again, my gaze turns toward the floor-to-ceiling window. Millions of stars surround the full moon, and the path towards the suite is lit up. I spot something in the shadows near the pine trees.
“What’s that?” I whisper, pulling away from Gatsby.
“Oh c’mon.” He reaches for me, annoyed. But I run toward the window.
“It’s a buffalo! It’s an actual buffalo right outside the window,” I whisper. And then I see the other two.