Natalie
“Angela, you should have seen him,” I say into my phone forcefully. “It’s like he’s completely written me off.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nat,” she coos. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”
At this point in time, if it weren’t for Angela I’d be pulling my hair out. This is the first—and only time—I can say that I’m glad I relented on my stubbornness. If it hadn’t been for her last night and all of today, I would probably be a completely and total mess.
“You have no idea. I asked him to let me in and he completely balked the entire idea.”
For the last month, that’s all it seems to be between Keith and I—going back and forth with no answers in sight. It frustrates me to no end that he cannot simply relent and let me in. Yes, I know I’m asking things of him that I’m not doing myself. And it’s very hypocritical of me if I sit back and think about it. But, my problems aren’t putting the relationship at a standstill. Nothing that has happened in my past, is disrupting what we can have in the future.
I can imagine her shrugging her shoulder. “Maybe he isn’t ready. Have you asked him why he won’t let someone in?”
I stop at the crosswalk, looking both directions, before I proceed to cross. I start going over things in my mind, further confusing myself. Have I asked him about his troubles instead of demanding? The more I think about it, the more a sickness begins to grow inside my stomach. Now that I’m thinking about it, I can honestly conclude I haven’t asked him anything. The only thing I’ve been doing is trying to force his hand in telling me about what hang-ups he has. I’ve never truly stopped and tried to figure out who or what caused them.
“God!” I reply, groaning. “He probably thinks I’m such a nosey little bitch. The only thing I’ve demanded is if he’ll just let me in, not the cause of why he won’t.”
“Well, I know this is going out on a limb, but … have you tried letting him in first, then see where it goes from there?”
That is another thing I haven’t thought of. Maybe if he sees I’m ready to let him in on the pain I went through with Jake, he will be more susceptible to come forth with what’s plaguing him. It’s a shot in the dark, but it is something that holds merit. I have heard of plenty of people keeping things held inside because they weren’t comfortable with allowing them to be voiced. It’s as if they think they will be relayed as soft, ignorant, or something of that nature. Maybe if I come out first it will be easier for him to come out of his shell.
“Honestly?” I say, tilting my head to the side. “It never truly crossed my mind.”
God, I’m such a putz. This entire time he could just be waiting on me to trust him enough to let him in so he can return the favor.
“I’m glad I can be of service,” she giggles through the line, causing me to laugh as well. “Now, what are you doing right now, because I’m feeling some Mexican.”
A bright smile takes over my face. I’ve been such a bitch to her, never truly listening to her side of the story, and it’s as if she’s swept it under the rug to be forgotten. All the mean and hurtful things I’ve said to her; it’s like they don’t mean anything as long as it’s her and me against the world. What did I do to deserve a best friend like her, I’ll never know, but she’s on my side just like a true friend should be—something that I wasn’t to her when that shit went down between Jake and myself.
“Actually,” I huff. “I was wondering if we could burn up Mr. Assholes Amex card, because I have to get myself prepared for tomorrows charity event. If he wants me to go to something I obviously want no part of, then he’s going to pay.”
I hear something ruffling in the background, then comes the jingle of keys. “When and where, chicka?”
Laughing, I take off down the street toward one of my favorite stores to window shop at. I never knew until now that window shopping wouldn’t be the only thing I would do with this fabulous boutique. And if it ultimately hadn’t been for Keith, I would still be doing that. I guess that’s one thing I can thank him for. I can’t wait to try on all the dresses that I’ve drooled over for the past few years. Just to feel their silky material gracing my skin is going to be an orgasm waiting to happen.
“Dress Me Up,” I say with a smile, hearing her squeal in the background.
***
“Oh. My. God! I feel just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!” I roll my eyes at Angela’s jubilant scream as she switches and sways in her lilac colored evening gown.
Smirking, I glance over at her. “Just saying, you stole that from the movie, She’s All That. Also, you do realize Julia Roberts sold herself for three thousand dollars and she had to give it up to an old man with wrinkly balls because of it, right?”
It’s like time stopped, and all chatter ceased to be.
“What did you just say?” she questions, glaring over her shoulder at me.
If you haven’t figured it out by the crazy eyes she’s giving me, Angela absolutely loves doing movie references, and she’s a huge Richard Gere fan! Hell, I believe she would have his babies if she could. I, myself, I’m more of a Jensen Ackles fan. All his rugged, supernatural hotness. Hmm, I get shivers just thinking about him.
“You heard me,” I retort, smirking. “I said, Julia Roberts was a prostitute getting tea bagged with wrinkly old ball sacks.”
“Forgive her father for she has sinned,” she whispers arching her back in a jerk before straightening back up, looking toward the ceiling of the boutique. “You better watch your mouth, Nat! What if something were to happen to your perception of the male god you mentally fornicate with?”
Narrowing my eyes, I begin taking a lovely silk beige number off its wooden hanger. “You wouldn’t dare?”
Putting her hands on her hips, she regards me with a devilish expression. “Try me and find out.”
Conceding, I hold my hands up. Because, I’m sorry, nothing is about to happen to my future husband. Just no way in hell. “Alright, you win. Richard Gere did not have wrinkly, old, grapefruit sized nuts, and Julia Roberts wasn’t a prostitute—even though she was—that didn’t take money—even though, she did—for sexual interactions between the both of them.”
Releasing a breath of exasperation, she finishes zipping herself and smooths out the material clinging to her shapely five foot even form. “Okay, one, you totally just bombed them—again. And two, how fucking hot do I look?”
“The hottest!” I squeal, gathering my skirts.
Stepping up onto the platform that’s surrounded on three sides by nothing but mirrors, my eyes come to rest on the dress that… does not go with me. Sweet Jesus! I look like one of those seventy-year-old sweet church going women that did not learn shoulder pads went out of style in the mid-nineties.
“Son of a carpet muncher, look at this atrocity, Ang?” I hear her snicker in jest.
“It’s not that bad, Nat.” Clearly it is, because the heifer just burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
Slowly turning away from the mirrors, I bring my eyes to her. If she doesn’t see I’m practically committing fashion suicide right now, then we really need to get her eyes checked. Why the hell do they still have dresses like this for sale in a high-end boutique in New York? Are they trying to chase away their business?
I look back at myself again, cringing. “Whatever your say, but I’m not getting this one. It looks like the nineties tried—and was not successful—in making a comeback.”
Stepping off the platform, I begin making my way toward the dressing area, only to be stopped by the sound of my phone ringing inside of my bag. Gathering my skirts, I race off to it. Digging through my bag, I finally locate it, and to my complete and utter dismay I find it’s only my boss ringing me. It takes everything in my not to throw my phone across the room. I don’t know about anyone else, but I will sincerely take great pleasure in destroying my phone.
Instead, I’m a fool that answers her phone instead of doing what I really want to do.
“Yes, Mr. Shaw?”
“You need to come back to the office. Now.”
Wow, no hello. No, how are you and your fine self today? No, will you fuck me, date me, do everything with me? Fucker.
“I believe I’m doing what you requested I do earlier. You know, spending your money so I do not make a complete ass out of you tomorrow night.”
“Don’t worry about that, Ms. Bennett.” The tone of his voice has me in alert. There’s only very few times he lets this type of urgency slip into it, and that’s when he’s stressing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling a knot start to form in the pit of my stomach.
“Nothing,” he answers too fast. “I just want you back at the office to go over something.”
Over what? When I left, there was nothing to go over. I made sure of that before leaving and coming on this suicide mission. He’s completely free until Monday morning, where he has an appointment to set Mr. Johnson up with his financial portfolio.
“For god sakes! Don’t lie to me! Now I asked you a question and I expect an answer.” I never thought my mouth would ever override my ass.
“You will watch the way you speak to me!” he booms fiercely, the level and tone of his voice taking me off guard. “We may have fucked, but that does not give you permission to speak to me as if I am your equal. I am nowhere near equal with you, so don’t you forget your place. You will show me the proper respect I deserve, and get your ass back to this office at once, or don’t even bother returning. Do I make myself clear?”
I stay silent for a moment. At this point, I’m speechless. Keith has never spoken to me like this before. Even when we were intimate and I pushed his buttons, he never raised his voice to me. In the back of my mind a tingle of warning starts to push its way to the forefront of my mind.
“Natalie, I said, do I make myself clear?” he reiterates, his tone no less harsh than moments before.
Nonetheless, it snaps me out of my frozen state. “Yes, I understand quite well, Sir.”
Before I can even grasp what all just went down, I hear the dial tone meet my ears. Taking the phone from the side of my head, I stare down at the screen that signals he’s disconnected the call. I want to be pissed off that he has the audacity to order me around, but I can’t find the gumption to back it up. For the first time, Keith is right, and it’s not just me saying that either. I have been getting a little mouthy with him since we started messing around—as if I can push him as far as I want to and he won’t do anything about it. And I should have known when that all stopped, it wouldn’t be the same; that everything would change.
“Who was that?”
Turning toward Angela, I give her a weak smile. “That was Satan. He wants his minion to come back to hell.”
“Well, I heard his side of the conversation all the way over there. Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” she asks, confusion lighting her features. “The Natalie I know would go in there, cuss him up one side and down the other, before walking out and finding a new job. You’ve never dealt with a man telling you what to do. Hell, that’s the reason jackass forced booze down my throat and took me against my will. You are so headstrong you stood up to him on every turn and didn’t take any of his shit. Why are you taking this guy’s crap?”
That’s a good question. Why am I taking his shit? For so long I’ve been on my own, doing what I want to do without answering to anyone. Now, after taking that job from Keith, I’ve been doing what he’s ordered me to do. Yes, I’ve gotten a little crazy with my mouth a time or two, but even then, it was all in jest. Keith and I both knew I was playing around. So, why now? Why play the superior card? It just doesn’t make any sense.
Unless…
Holy shit! Did he just call me from his cell phone?