Breaking The Rules

Hemi had to leave me the next morning for his meeting, but luckily, not too early. I packed again, because he’d told me he was taking me somewhere else tonight. And then I took a walk through San Francisco. 

It was barely chilly by New York standards, even though it was November. A fresh breeze made me glad of my coat and scarf, but the sky was blue, the scudding clouds white, and my spirits rose along with the wind. I walked down the hill, under the Lion Gate on Grant Street, and into Chinatown, where I bought Karen a short cotton robe with a huge embroidered Chinese character on the back that the shopkeeper told me meant “double happiness,” and bought myself two bars of sandalwood soap while I was at it. It might not be up to Hemi’s standard as far as dollars spent per item, but it made me happy. 

I ate dumplings from a tiny storefront, looked at barbecued ducks hanging by their necks and sidewalk displays of unidentifiable produce, watched elderly Chinese women haggling in Cantonese over them with equally insistent merchants, and then kept walking. Onto Telegraph Hill, up sidewalks so steep that they had ridges cut into them for steps, until I stood beneath Coit Tower, looked out over the city and the bay, gray today under a cloudy November sky, and felt...happy. Doubly happy.

I’d always wanted to go somewhere, to see something, and had known it was impossible. Now, in the space of a month, I’d been to both Paris and San Francisco. Maybe, just maybe, some dreams came true after all. Because Hemi had given me this, and I thought he guessed what it meant to me.

If only I could have given it to Karen, too. Hemi had been pretty...pretty adorable at the museum with Karen the weekend before, discussing physics and biology with her, smiling when she got snarky. He was always sweet to Karen, in fact, but of course, that didn’t mean anything other than that he had a soft side, and I already knew that. 

The thought of Karen distracted me for a minute. She’d insisted that she was “fine” when I’d called a while earlier, but she hadn’t sounded quite fine. The dance, or another headache? 

I’d find out more tomorrow, I decided. For now, I was in San Francisco, so I walked back down the hill, strolled down Columbus Avenue, heard a ding, and laughed out loud at a text from Hemi.

You do that to me & then you’re late? We play by my rules.

I texted back,

You think? Sometimes even a big shot has to wait for it. Five minutes.

And smiled again at how I was pushing his buttons. At being able to turn the tables on him a little, and how much I was enjoying it. Especially today.

I’d awoken this morning to find him still asleep. Lying on his back, the white sheet pushed all the way down to his waist, one muscular arm flung over his head. I loved to look at him, at the powerful sculpture that was his body, the fierce, proud lines of his warrior’s face. And now, for once, I could look my fill, because he was helpless. And that was quite a change.

The shower hadn’t been the end of it the night before. He’d seemed to have some point to make, and he’d taken his sweet time making it. He’d had me moaning, begging him to finish, to put me out of the delicious misery he’d kept me in for what had felt like hours, until every nerve in my body had been stimulated to its aching maximum, until I’d been shaking with need, panting with frustrated desire.

But that had been last night, and this was a whole new day, the first morning of the rest of my life, and I was a strong woman who needed to see just how far she could push a strong man. So I got out of bed, stole around to his side of it, and picked up the silk ties he’d used the night before. 

I paused all the same when I’d laid the tie gently over his outflung wrist. Could I really do this? Could I take the consequences?

Yes. I could. I could take anything he gave me. He’d never do anything to me I didn’t want, and I knew it. So I did it. I tied Hemi Te Mana to his own bed and had my wicked way with him, and I could have sworn he loved it. He certainly hadn’t complained, not after the first couple minutes.

When he’d finally gotten out of bed to get ready for his meeting with the Bombshells, I’d rolled over, laid on my stomach with my ankles crossed in the air and my chin propped on my hands, and said, “You know that was just to make sure you’re still thinking about me, right?”

He’d scowled down at me. “You’re pretty saucy for a girl who’s just asked to get schooled.” 

“Hmph.” I’d waggled my toes. “Promises, promises.” 

That had earned me a slap on the bottom that made me jump. “Call it a down payment,” he’d said, then walked into the bathroom, turned and grinned at me, and shut the door, and I’d laughed out loud. 

So, yes. Double happiness indeed. His hard side, and his soft side. I was very much afraid that I was beginning to love them both.

I was going to have to take a much harder line with Hope.

I set down my phone on the white tablecloth and wiped the smile off my face. She thought she could do whatever she wanted with me and get away with it, and that wasn’t going to work. 

The problem was, she was just too hard to resist. She’d looked so mischievous, so pleased with herself this morning, and I hadn’t had the heart to tell her no. That was why I’d allowed it, after that first stunned moment when I’d awoken to find her tying my right wrist to the bed, and had discovered that she’d already tied the left. 

To tell the truth, after I’d got over my initial discomfort, it had felt pretty bloody good. She wasn’t an expert yet, but she was definitely showing promise. And then there was that payback I knew she was waiting for, which would be all the sweeter now. That would be happening tonight, and that wasn’t a bad thought at all. 

So I’d indulge her a bit more. No harm in that. This was her introduction to sex, after all. And if my brain shied away from the thought of her going on to somebody else...well, I’d never been much chop at sharing. Time enough to think about that later, when we were ready to move on.

I was standing up, then, because I’d seen her at the entrance. Having a word with the hostess, then catching sight of me, her smile blooming, her face seeming, as always, lit from within. And something happening in my chest that I didn’t want to examine too closely. 

She reached the table, pulled my head down, and gave me a quick, soft kiss on the mouth. “Hi.” She smiled into my eyes. “Did you miss me? Because I missed you. Never mind. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know.”

She sat, and I sat with her and tried to keep up. “Pardon?”

“You were with the Brunette Bombshells. By the way—please tell me they’re not twins.”

“Sorry. They’re twins. Pretty good businesswomen as well.” 

“You just hold that thought, buddy,” she said, and I had to smile again. 

Once we’d placed our orders, she asked, “So the meeting went all right, then? Are you all done?”

“All done,” I promised. “Rest of the weekend’s yours. And I have some news for you. Some news you’ll like.”

“Really? Me personally?” She sat up a little straighter. “Tell.”

“They’ve got a lingerie company, the sisters. Shades of V.”

“Ooh. Nice. So that was research in Paris. I should have known you were multitasking. And you’re going to take it over, right?”

“Shh. Secret.” Which I shouldn’t be telling her, yet I was doing it anyway. She’d got me too relaxed. “But, yeh. I am, assuming it all goes to plan. But they’ve got some conditions they’d like me to agree to, and, mm, I’m thinking I may. Not really enforceable, but...I think I may agree all the same.” I pulled out my tablet, scrolled through, and handed it to her. “Their latest campaign. What d’you reckon?”

“Oh.” She was smiling, scrolling through the shots. “Oh, yes. I like it.”

 “Thought you might. So what do you think the conditions are?” 

“That you have to keep using models with different body types,” she said promptly. “Oh, Hemi. What a good idea. And I think women will buy more. I really do. It’s...it’s insulting to think we’re all the same. Women aren’t stupid. We want the models to be beautiful, sure, to have beautiful bodies, but aren’t there all kinds of beautiful bodies? Like...like men. Like you. You’re big, and I love that, in case I haven’t mentioned it.”

“No,” I said gravely. “I don’t think you have. But cheers for that. It’ll be something to cling to.”

She stuck out her tongue at me. Yes, she did, and I laughed. “But, say...Nathan,” she went on. “He’s great-looking, too. The guy I was with that night, my coworker? Different body type, not nearly as...as bulky as you, but would I like to see both of you model underwear? Sure I would.”

My mouth may have opened for a moment, and I snapped it shut and said, “Not the best way to make your point.”

 She ignored that completely. “And lots of other guys, who are maybe in between you two. As long as they have nice muscles and good faces, why do they all have to look the same? They don’t. Women can appreciate them all. So why do female models have to all be tall and skinny with big breasts? Especially if that’s supposed to appeal to the customers. To other women. And those really skeletal women, the ones you used in Paris? They aren’t even that beautiful. If you guys think they’re aspirational, you’re wrong. I don’t want to look like that. I don’t think many healthy women do.”

“Good,” I said, doing my best not to think about all the blokes Hope would like to see modeling underwear. She’d gone from 0 to 60 in a few weeks flat, seemed to me, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. “Because I don’t want you to look like that, either. And you’ll notice my restraint. How I’m not telling you how many women I’d enjoy seeing in their lingerie.”

“Well, because I already know how many you have seen,” she said. “Not like that’s news to me.” 

She seemed totally unaffected by that idea, and I couldn’t have said why that bothered me so much. I didn’t tolerate clingy women. I preferred them detached, wanted them to know the ropes and understand the rules as well as I did. They didn’t complicate my life, and I didn’t complicate theirs. An arrangement that worked perfectly well for both of us. Here Hope was doing exactly what I wanted, and it was driving me mad. 

“Good,” I said, trying to remember what we’d been talking about. “It’s an experiment, but what’s life without risk, eh.”

“And if the experiment works?”

“Then maybe I’ll look into making some other changes as well. If it looks like it could be profitable, if we could position it well.”

“Body positive,” she suggested. “Socially conscious.”

“That’s it. And anyway,” I found myself saying, “I’m Maori. The women I grew up with are tall. Strong. Curvy. ‘Body positive’ works for me. It’s why I’m a designer. Women’s shapes are beautiful. I enjoy...decorating them. So why not show that?”

“Mm.” She had a faraway look in her eyes now. “You know what would be awesome?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“A campaign where you used lots of Polynesian models. Men and women. I don’t mean all,” she hastened to add. “Just lots. You could spin it with that idea. Cultural relevance to you personally. Maori themes, or just Pacific themes. Very cool. Women love it when it gets personal. Plus body positivity. Part of the campaign, and beyond it, too.”

I’d stopped with my sandwich halfway to my mouth, and she said hastily, “It was just an idea. Just a concept. I’m just a publicity assistant, I know. It’s only if you can use it.”

“No,” I said slowly. “No. But what if...”

“What if what?” she prompted when I didn’t go on.

I shook my head, unable to explain the rush that had just swamped my brain, exactly like being tumbled in a wave. The creative thunderbolt that hit you now and again. If you were lucky.

“Just a thought,” I said. “An idea about...a line.” Woven flax and carved wood, the sea and the bush. Vibrant blues and greens, deep browns and reds. Color and texture and pattern. 

“Hemi,” she said. “Did I just...did you just get inspired? Really? Did that just happen? Does that happen? Like that? Like...suddenly?”

I smiled at her. “You did. You saw it. Because you had an idea first, didn’t you. And it was a good one. It’ll pay off. It’ll work.” Somehow, I knew it. All of it.

“Because it’s all about the bottom line,” she said, her own smile teasing. “Because you’re nothing but a cold, hard businessman.”

“Yes.”

She was still smiling at me. And then she reached across the table, put her hand on my cheek, and said, “You’re a good man, you know that?”

The corner of my mouth jerked at that. “No. I’m not.”

“Hemi.” The smile was gone, and she wasn’t looking like a kitten now. She was looking like a woman. “Why do you think you can’t be both? Because I think you can. I think you are. Why don’t you believe it? Who told you that? Who made you feel like you weren’t good enough? That you weren’t...lovable, or capable of...of good things? Because they were wrong.”

I knew I’d stiffened, and I couldn’t help it. “Nobody. Are you finished?”

No. She wasn’t.

“You know,” she said, “I told you about my mother. I’d tell you more if you asked, even though I don’t want to. I don’t enjoy going there, but I would, for you. But you’ve never told me anything. I think you had bad parents, and a good grandfather, and that’s all I...not even what I know. What I think. So what happened? What’s your sad story? I told you mine. How about telling me yours?”

“Hope. Drop it.” I wanted to push back from the table, to walk out. I wanted to move, so instead, I forced myself into stillness. Into discipline. “This isn’t a subject I discuss.” 

Why did women always have to push, to poke and prod at the painful things, to try to open the wound? It had all hurt enough the first time around. I didn’t see any point in letting it hurt me again. 

“You’ve helped me so much, though.” Once again, she was begging, making herself vulnerable, and she didn’t even care. “With Karen, especially. Why can’t I help you? Couldn’t we…can’t we even talk?”

“No.” I knew my voice was too harsh, could see her wince at it, and I couldn’t help it. “We can’t. I told you. I don’t do that. I don’t do relationships.”

I stood, and after a moment, she did as well. “I’ll take you over the Golden Gate Bridge,” I said, trying to wrestle my emotions back under control. This was why I didn’t let them out. It was too hard to put them back. “As that was what you wanted.” 

I turned to go, but Hope said, “Just a minute. I’ll meet you up at the front,” grabbed her purse and shopping bag, and headed toward the back of the restaurant.

I ran a hand over my hair and sighed. I’d softened too much, let her think it was more than it was, and look what had come of it. All I’d done was upset her, and probably hurt her as well. And upset myself, come to that, which I couldn’t afford. I should’ve kept it at sex. That, I knew how to deal with. 

From now on, I’d take care to do just that. If I didn’t promise anything, she wouldn’t be disappointed when I couldn’t deliver it.