Chapter Four
Stacia
Call me crazy but I was starting to believe that Ian Zerlinger had a romantic side. It had been a little over a week since our first outing. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he had a packed schedule. The man had been from New York to D.C. to Chicago all within the last week, and there weren’t any signs of his slowing down. Which meant there weren’t any signs of me slowing down.
Though all of the travel and social engagements seemed like a bit much, when I arrived early for the flight that would take us from Chicago to Atlanta, I was surprised to see one of the tables had already been set up with my favorite spiked eggnog and the delicious holiday chocolates I’d gushed over a couple of days earlier.
I looked from the table to the cockpit. “You did this?” I asked the pilot who stood at the front of the plane.
He shrugged. “I was tipped handsomely to set it up for you.”
Smiling, I turned back to the table. I reached for the card, picked it up, and read it out loud.
“You’ve worked hard this week. Take the flight off. I won’t tell. See you soon.”
I laughed. Though I was something of an escort for Ian, I was technically still working all of these flights as well. However, ever since that first flight, Ian never traveled with a group and he’d become extremely lax about having me actually work while we were flying.
I sat down in one of the leather seats of the plane and picked up one of the chocolates that were shaped like a Christmas tree, taking a bite and finishing it off with a sip of my favorite spiked eggnog. I stopped myself from taking another chocolate, not wanting to get overly indulgent with the sweets. After all, I had another engagement that evening at the Atlanta Aquarium … with Ian of course.
A smile touched my lips as I thought about Ian. We hadn’t kissed since that night in New York, but it felt as though Ian had let his guard down a little more with each passing day. And for the record, so had I, confessing to him that it was my mother who I’d been looking for a message from on Thanksgiving Day. She’d only sent the one text. She did call a couple of days later just as we were landing in Washington D.C. to check in on me and ask me about my Christmas plans.
Family can be worse than shit friends, had been Ian’s response.
I stood from the table and cleared the eggnog and chocolates, replacing them with the spring water that Ian preferred drinking while flying, to prepare for our flight.
“I thought I said you weren’t working this flight.”
Startled, I turned a bit too quickly at the sound of Ian’s voice only to stumble forward a little. I was caught by a strong arm around my waist. Inhaling, I braced my arm against his shoulder.
“Sorry.”
“I’m not complaining,” he replied as he stared down into my face. Our lips were inches apart. His gaze lingered on my lips for another few seconds. Unfortunately, just when I thought he would kiss me, Woody, our pilot, interrupted.
“We’ll be ready to takeoff in about ten minutes.”
Clearing my throat, I took a step back and straightened out my dress. “Thank you, Woody.
“I’m going to check to make sure all of the food is stocked. I can serve it once we reach flying altitude,” I commented, readying myself to walk off. But I was stopped by Ian’s large hand around my wrist.
“I meant what I said. You’re not working this flight. We had a late engagement last night and you had to be up early this morning. You can rest on this two hour flight. We have another dinner to attend tonight.”
“Ian—”
“Sit,” he ordered.
“I’m paid to work.”
“Who’ll know if you don’t work? I won’t complain. Actually, I take that back, I will complain if you don’t sit and keep me company on this flight.”
I put my hand on my hip and angled my head to the side. “You sure do like blackmailing me.”
Shrugging, he gave a half smile. “Whatever it takes.”
I shook my head, smiling in spite of my desire to appear angry.
“How was the eggnog?” he questioned as soon as I sat down. He sat directly across from me.
“Tasty as usual.”
“It’s our first year selling spiked eggnog. So far the numbers are good. If it works, we’ll keep it as one of our seasonal offerings.”
“I think it’d do really well.”
Lifting his gaze from the paper in his hand, he gave me a lingering look.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked once we were in the air.
“If you’re ready for the answer.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Then fire away.”
“How come you’ve scheduled yourself for so many holiday engagements? You’ve expressed how much you don’t like this time of year, yet it seems you’ve been out and about at every holiday party in the nation so far.”
“Astute observation,” he stated after a long pause. “Simply put … work. Zerlinger Beer has struggled over the last few years due to changes in the market. Younger crowds want more personalized and diversity within their beers and spirits. This year, Zerlinger has kicked off a number of holiday flavors and spirits, as evidenced by the spiked eggnog you love so much. As the CEO, it is my job to ensure that these new endeavors are a success. That entails schmoozing with businessmen and restaurateurs around the country to get them to put our products on their menus.”
“Hm, makes sense I guess. But doesn’t it get tiring?”
“Nothing tiring about putting in a good day’s worth of work. Now I’ve got a question for you,” he responded, quickly turning the tables.
“Well, I can’t say I’m an open book but I’ll answer any question you have within reason,” I hedged.
He nodded. “Why do you wear wigs?”
I gasped and my hand flew to my head. Had my wig shifted, showing my hair?
“It’s on fine. I just wondered why you wear them.”
I swallowed, feeling embarrassed. No man had ever asked me about my hair before, at least, not so bluntly.
“It’s for work,” I answered.
Ian tilted his head to the side. “How so?”
I shrugged. “We’re supposed to appear polished and professional at all times. The wigs I wear allow me to do that, at least by our company’s standard,” I answered, wondering how he even knew I was wearing a wig. Not to toot my own horn, but after seven years of wearing wigs and weaves for work, I knew how to lay a closure down so that no one would know it wasn’t my actual hair. Now here Ian was calling me out.
“No need to feel embarrassed. I was just wondering.”
“How am I not supposed to feel embarrassed? You just called me out.”
“What does your real hair look like?” he asked as if he couldn’t care less about my feeling incredulous.
“Why?”
“I want to know what you really look like.”
Another answer that stole all of my gusto. He wanted to know more about me for whatever reason.
“It’s cut short and dyed blonde.” That was why I didn’t wear it out at work. While there was no official requirement for length of hair, we were supposed to present a certain image. Longer hair in either curls or pulled back, presented that look, or so was the message I’d gotten from my employer.
“Wear it tonight to our dinner.”
My eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“Yes, I think you do.”
“I would like for you to wear your own hair to our dinner tonight in Atlanta.”
“And if I say no, will you threaten to complain to my boss about me?”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Do I seem like the type that would—”
“Yes, absolutely.”
A sound I’d never heard before moved up his vocal chords and spilled out of his mouth. He was actually laughing, a hearty laugh at that. “You’re right, I am that type. But no, if you choose not to skip the wig tonight I will not complain to your employer. The choice is yours.”
“You’re actually leaving a decision up to me?”
“When have I ever …” He trailed off as I lifted an eyebrow and stared at him as if to ask if he was serious. “Touché.”
“I’ll think about it,” was the only answer I gave. Flying from city to city, and even accompanying Ian to his many events and dinner outings was one thing, but doing so while wearing my natural hair made all this seem a little more real for some reason.
****
Ian
Stunning. That was the only word that crossed my mind when Stacia emerged from behind her hotel room’s door. She was dressed in a red pants suit that was accompanied by a pair of snakeskin, six-inch heels. But to top it all off, her hair was … hers. Just as she’d explained on the plane, her natural curls were cut short and dyed blonde with just a touch of her dark brown roots showing. It looked amazing on her, and suddenly I got angry for not having ever seen her like this before.
“You’ll wear your natural hair from here on out.”
“Well hello to you, too.” She smiled.
“Hello,” I answered, holding my arm out to her. When she wrapped her arm in mine, I covered the hand she had on my arm with my hand. “Is this one of the outfits my assistant sent over?”
Stacia shook her head. “No. The dress she sent actually had a tear in it so I had to improvise. I actually had this suit packed. I could’ve chosen another dress back at my apartment, but someone insisted I stay in the hotel tonight instead of my actual place of residence.”
“Made no sense for you to go all the way to your place, and then have to make your way back here for tonight’s dinner which is right across the street.”
“It could’ve saved you money.”
I shrugged. “A hotel room for one night isn’t breaking my bank account.”
I pressed the button for the elevator and held my arm against the door when it opened, giving Stacia room to enter first. I was also able to take her in from behind. She looked absolutely ravishing.
“Tonight we’re dining with James Acosta and his wife, Rosa, correct?”
I nodded. “James is the CEO of one of the bottling companies Zerlinger works with. Given that we are looking to expand our market, we will be needing to streamline our bottling and packaging processes. We’ll be discussing whether or not we can come to an agreement on price.”
“And what if you can’t?”
“Zerlinger will have to go another route,” I answered smoothly. I doubted that would happen. James wanted our business as much as we wanted to keep his. This dinner should be nothing more than a formality and a way to come to an amicable agreement on price.
Instead of using the car service that was to chauffeur me around for my stay in Atlanta, we opted to walk the short distance to the French restaurant where we met up with James and his wife, Rosa. As I suspected, the business conversation went relatively smoothly. However, James did try to play hardball for a second. But when I swiftly informed him of the many other offers we had on the table from other bottling and packaging companies, he let his hardline go.
“That seems to have gone well,” Stacia commented as we exited the restaurant two hours after entering.
“I suppose.”
“You suppose? You two shook hands and agreed.”
“First rule of business, don’t believe shit until you get it in writing. He could have a change of heart between now and the time he arrives home. A handshake doesn’t mean diddly these days.”
“I get that, but I choose to remain optimistic. You’ll get your deal and your company will get what it needs. I’m sure of it.”
I paused just as we were about to cross the street. Encircling my hand around her elbow, I turned her to face me. “How are you so sure?”
She shrugged bashfully. “I’ve seen you work over the last week. The businessmen and women you interact with respect you. There’s an air of confidence you project without really even trying to.”
And just like that my lips were on hers for the second time. I’d wanted to do this a lot sooner but I’d held back. But I was done with all of that now. Stacia’s lips parted, giving me the opportunity to taste her fully. My hands went to her waist, pulling her to me. A small moan escaped her lips, sending chills down my spine. Just when I went to deepen the kiss, she pulled back.
“Are you doing anything else tonight?” she asked, breathless.
I shook my head.
“Can I show you around my city?”
I nodded, ready to be led wherever she wanted to go. Generally, I wasn’t this easy going, but she seemed to bring that side out in me.
“We’ll have to catch an Uber.”
“Or we can use my town car. Where’re we going?” I asked so I could inform the driver.
“Atlanta Botanical Gardens. They have the most amazing light show this time of year.”
“Then that’s where we’re headed.” The excitement in her eyes when she mentioned the gardens was enough to get me excited which wasn’t an easy feat.
Forty minutes later, thanks to Atlanta traffic, we were entering the gardens. As soon as we walked in, the shimmering blue lights lining the trees and various plants welcomed us.
“They keep the gardens open later this time of year so we can get the full view of the lights contrasting against the dark sky. I come in here at least once a week when I’m home. Twice a week if it’s during the holidays,” Stacia explained as we began strolling down one of the winding pathways in the gardens. “Want a cup of cider?” she asked.
I wrinkled my forehead in confusion for a brief moment before realizing we were approaching a cart where one of the employees of the gardens was selling warm apple cider.
Before I could even answer, Stacia was handing me a hot cup of the sweet drink.
“Mmm,” she moaned after taking a sip.
My stomach tensed at the sound and the sight of the pleasure that filled her face.
“My mother loved taking me to botanical gardens when I was young, especially when it was lit up like this.”
“Did you grow up in Atlanta?”
She shook her head. “Connecticut. We sometimes would take the train into New York. When she could afford it. Which wasn’t often. Not when I was younger anyway. Then she got married and could afford to take me more often but she got too busy.”
“How so?”
Stacia shrugged, her eyes darting to something over my shoulder. “She had my younger brother and had to be the homemaker for her husband.”
“Your stepfather?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you can call him that. Anyway, since then, I’ve always loved holiday lights and decorations. I mean, nothing compares to the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center, but—”
“I was there once.”
Stacia turned to me, eyes reflecting the lights around us. “Yeah? When?”
“I must’ve been twelve. I wasn’t at the actual lighting. More like, my father had a business dinner that he dragged my brother and I to.” I recalled sneaking looks out the hotel room’s window, trying to get glimpses of the tree. My father, naturally, was more attuned to what was happening in regards to the business at hand than to the tree outside the window. I remembered wanting nothing more than to go outside and watch the ice skaters around the tree. But that was for people who had time to sit and watch silly shit like that.
“Waste of time,” I blurted out.
Stacia’s breath hitched as I looked down at her. “No it wasn’t. I can tell by the expression on your—”
“Hey, there’s mistletoe!”
I turned to see a young boy, about ten years old, pointing to just above where Stacia and I were standing.
“Mommy, look!” he yelled, looking over his shoulder, back to the woman behind him. “They’re standing under the mistletoe.”
I glanced upwards. “So we are … again.” I peered down at Stacia, who was now biting her plump bottom lip. Before I knew it, I was running my tongue along that same lip. A tiny moan escaped her lips. Her mouth widened and I slipped my tongue inside, making contact with hers. Not for the first time, everything seemed to slow down and the world made sense in a way that it never had before. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pulled her closer into me. The kiss never seemed to dull, but like the lights surrounding us, only seemed to pull us both in deeper with each passing second.
“Let’s leave them be,” a hushed whisper sounded.
It caused Stacia to pull back, much to my chagrin. “W-we shouldn’t do this h-here.” Her voice was so breathless and needy my cock sprang to life from just the sound of it.
“Then where should we do this?” I questioned as I lowered, whispering in ear, because we were definitely doing this. Though, it went against anything I’d been taught before, there was no way I was walking away from what was happening at that particular moment.
“My apartment isn’t too far from here.”
“Show me,” I ordered, gripping her hand in mine for her to lead the way.