A Taste of Utopia (16 page)

We enter the elevator. Seth pushes the sixty-six button. The car ascends. He glances at me and his eyes become inquiring. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing,” I reply, with an exaggerated gleeful tone to my voice.

“Really? You look upset.”

“Oh, um, no. Not really. Elevators. It makes me a little jittery,” I lie.

“I see.” He doesn’t appear convinced but doesn’t push further.

“This is us,” he says, clasping my hands again.

We exit the elevator, and he guides me to the last door down the hall. A small plaque on the door reads.
His Secret.
The name is familiar, but it takes me a moment to remember where it’s from. Finally, I recall Chloe and other girls salivating over pictures of two men clad in white underwear in an advertisement for the brand. Currently,
His Secret
is the most expensive and exclusive line of male intimate apparel.

“You work for this company?”

He nods with a small smile and pushes the door open. Inside, we cross a spacious lobby. A receptionist greets us from behind a glass table. “Good morning, Seth. Good morning, miss.” He flashes his perfectly pearly teeth at me. And I mumble a greeting.

He’s immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, and I swear he appears to have just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. His brown eyes exam me briefly, but don’t give away any emotion.

“Good morning, Fernando. Is Zach in yet?”

“No, but he called to say he’ll be in after lunch. I prepared all the documents requiring your signature for Japan’s campaign. It’s over on your desk.”

“Anything else requiring my attention? I’ll be unavailable for the next two weeks,” Seth says, all business-like.

“In fact, we need your approval for the New York advertisement. So I called Max and had him send the proofs. They’re also on your desk.”

“Thank you,” Seth says.

Two doors are located on either side of the Fernando’s desk. Seth guides me to the one on the left.

He pushes it open and ushers me in.

I’m not surprised when I see the clean and sterile interior of the office. Besides the rich brown desk and shelves, the room is sleek, clean, and modern. Huge windows allow the daylight to brighten the room and offer a privileged view of the strip.

“Make yourself comfortable, I just need a few minutes,” Seth says, sitting behind the massive desk. “If you want something to drink, help yourself.” He points to a small fridge tucked in the corner. I wonder what healthy stuff he has stocked in it.

“Thank you. And take all the time you need. I’m going to call Chloe.”

In a far corner of the office, near a window with a magnificent view of the strip, I call Chloe. She is livid when I tell her I’ll be spending the week with Seth.

“You barely know this guy,” she argues.

“That’s why I need to spend time with him. Imagine introducing him to my family without knowing anything about him. My parents would know right away that something’s off.”

“God, Lottie. I’m so freaking worried about you, and all this. Why did I ever take you here, or to Neptune? Or encourage you to have sex with a stranger? I’m the worst kind of friend. The worst.”

“Please stop acting like this is something awful and that I’m your responsibility. Jesus, it’s not like Seth is a psycho or something. I’m at his office right now; you’re not going to believe what he does for a living.”

“He took you to his office?” she screams. “He has one? What kind of office would that be? And you’re okay with that?”

“How do you suppose I’m going to get to know him? Of course I’m okay with coming to his office.” Her overreaction irritates me. “And it’s the only kind of office there is. The kind that someone sits behind a desk and does work at. Jeez, Chloe, chill out. I’m a big girl.”

“Sorry. I got carried away.”

“Anyway, remember that line of male intimate apparel called
His Secret?
”

“Yes.”

“That’s where he works. Can you believe it?”

“Small world, I suppose,” she says with less enthusiasm than I anticipated.

We chat for another few minutes and then hang up. Her demeanor is worrisome, but I file it away to think about later.

After I disconnect the call, I wander through the office. First, I approach the windows and admire the strip. The view is fantastic.

A panel of black and white pictures hanging on a wall attracts me. I’ve seen the photos before. They’re in magazines, on billboards along the highway, on posters at the mall, and glued to the sides of buses. It’s the trademark of the company. Pictures of men wearing undergarments, naked torsos, always omitting the model’s face. Some of the shots display the back of the model’s head or a face under a blur. The anonymity of the models is alluring. A brilliant marketing strategy for a brand calling itself “His Secret.”

I stand near a picture of two men standing on a beach wearing boxer briefs. One of them is looking directly at the camera. However, his face is swallowed by shadows. I immediately know who he is. I would recognize that body in the dark. It’s Seth. The other model looks like Zach, but I could be wrong.

I look at Seth. A crease settles between his brows as he scribbles his signature on the papers.

“Seth, is this you?”

He glances my way and replies, “Uh-hm. When we first started the company, Zach and I modeled to save money.” He grins. “It turned out the images had a phenomenal marketing acceptance.” He shrugs and points his pen to the picture I’m standing in front of. “That’s from our first campaign in Spain. When we launched
His Secret
in Europe,” he tells me, and his eyes drop to what appears to be more pictures for advertisement.

“Wow. This is freaking cool.”

“What?”

“It’s like I’ve known you forever. You do know that girls swoon all over the pictures of
His Secret,
right?” I can’t believe it.

“That’s the idea.” He winks at me. And that’s when it hits me. My husband is not only the most perfect male specimen I have ever met, but he’s also one of the brains and the bodies behind
His Secret.

I turn back to the panel of pictures and continue to scrutinize them, trying to wrap my mind around the discovery. And the more I think, the more I realize that the discrepancy between us is greater than I had first believed. What on earth could a guy like Seth find in a girl like me?

There has to be a loophole. I question his motivations, his mental sanity, and his intentions.

My head spins as I try to understand it all. It’s been a little over twenty-four hours since my twenty-first birthday, since I was a single virgin, but it seems like a million years have passed.

Sleek hands slide against my waist, startling me.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Seth whispers against my ear, his teeth scraping the shell. “I just realized we could christen my desk,” he says as his lips trail down my neck. He bites me there. Hard.

A moan leaves my parted lips. Involuntarily, my back presses against the length of him, seeking the firm edges of his erection. My head falls back on his chest, and my legs are wobbling.

He says, “I want to eat your sweet pussy and watch you come apart over my desk.”

Then he takes me to the desk and does just that.

After three orgasms, one in his mouth and two with him inside me, I bask in the glow of post-desk copulation. Lying on the small couch with our legs tangled and rumpled clothes in a disarray over the floor, I ask, “You said you wanted to christen the desk. You mean with me?” I can’t help but ask. In the heart of my heart, I hope he meant what I think he meant.

“Yes with you. But also, the first time I have sex on my desk.”

“Is it a new desk?” I ask.

“No.”

“You mean you never, ever, had sex on your desk before?”

“No. Never. You’re the first person I’ve had sex with in my office.”

“Oh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I mean. It would only make sense. You have a healthy sexual appetite. So it would be a routine affair to um, eh, have . . . you know what I mean.” All guys have sex in their offices.

“No. What do you mean?”

“Are you being purposefully obtuse?” I ask in a mocking, indignant tone.

“Maybe.” His fingers glide over my ribcage until he cups my breast. “Fine. I just want to hear you say it. It’s so cute when you talk about sex and get all flustered.”

I feel my cheeks burn.

“I bet you’re blushing right now,” he says.

“Am not,” I declare.

He bends his head and glances at my cheeks as I try to bury them into his bare chest. He laughs, and his chest rumbles under my hidden face.

“I thought so,” he says smugly. “And to be clear on answering your question, you are the first woman I’ve had a relationship with in my adult life. Consequently, you’re the first girl I’ve ever brought here.”

I’m stunned into silence by his revelation. It makes no sense. Why would a guy like him not have tons of girls? Is he bisexual? Maybe he’s using the term “relationship” loosely, applying it to women only. When in truth, he’s had relationships with other men. According to an article I read recently, it’s a common practice nowadays.

I sit up, and my eyes fix on him. “Seth, don’t take this the wrong way, but why would a guy like you, who doesn’t do relationships, just suddenly decide to marry a girl like me?” I snap my fingers. “Just like that?”

He sits up too. The muscles on his shoulders are taut.

“What do you mean a guy like me and a girl like you?”

I stand up, scoop my dress off the floor and yank it on.

All the confusing thoughts and feelings of the last several hours tumble around in my mind. I pace the length of the office, stop in front of the panel of pictures and draw a deep breath in the hopes of gaining the courage to say what’s been bugging me.

“Come on, I don’t have to spell it out to you.” I turn to face him. “Look at me. Look at this.” I wave my hand to the panel. “There is an enormous, ginormous difference between the two of us.”

Seth leaps from the couch, and with two long strides, he is towering over me. “Listen—”

“Don’t. Please let me speak,” I say, meeting his gaze. “It doesn’t make any sense. Look at you. You were the most gorgeous guy in that nightclub, and you set your eyes on me? Heck, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What would a man like you find attractive in a girl like me? If that’s not mind-boggling enough, you’re obviously wealthy and successful. You can snap your fingers and have your pick of any girl you want. What did you see in me? You say you’ve never had a girlfriend. Why? I need some answers here, Seth.”

He pauses.

God, the planes of his bared chest are extremely distracting. I force my eyes to look away.

Seth seems to be organizing his thoughts. If he’s completely honest with me, why does he have to deliberate so much on how to answer?

He rakes both hands through his hair and lets out an exasperated breath of air. “First of all, I didn’t set my eyes on you at the club. This is important. I want you to know this. I set my eyes on you in the lobby of that hotel. It will sound cheesy, but the moment I saw you standing at the front desk, I felt a pull . . . Shit, this is corny as hell.” He goes to the fridge and comes back holding a Fiji water. “It took a lot of restraint not to walk to you and make a fool of myself, not to mention to come across as some wacko stalker.” He opens the bottle and takes a long pull of the water. “When I got to the club, regret was eating at me. It had been years since I felt that attracted to someone, and I just let the opportunity to approach you escape. Then I saw you again. And it felt like I had been given another shot at meeting you. Carpe fucking diem.”

I’m sure my mouth is agape as I listen to his explanation.

He puts the bottle on a nearby table and stands in front of me, his hands cup my face and his voice is passionate when he adds, “And let me tell you, I don’t know what you mean by referring to yourself the way you do. You’re gorgeous.”

He traces his thumb over my lips. “Regarding my lack of relationships, I’ll only tell you this: I’ve been with my share of women. More than most guys my age. I fucked them. All of them. I had a good time, yes. But it all amounted to a string of superficial sex. Until I found you. Please believe me.”

He draws his brows. His voice is low and pleading. I see that’s all he is going to share with me today. His explanation is simplistic but convincing. However, although it sounds like he was truthful, it also looks like he’s purposefully omitting something.

“I know this is too soon, too much. I’m not professing my undying love here. But there is something between the two of us that demands to be explored.”

And there I have it: flipping insta-lust relationship.

I lower my eyes. This is all wrong. Seth will realize that we are as opposite as day and night. He’ll want out. And I’ll never recover.

“Lottie, look at me,” he demands. “I’m not sure of what this is, where it’s going to lead us. God, I should tell you to run for the hills, to get the hell away from me. But I won’t. I can’t. I believe we didn’t come across each other by accident. Since the first minute I spent with you, all I could think about is burying myself in you. It’s as if I dreamt of you my entire life. And now I get to touch that dream.”

He grabs my hands and places them at the center of his chest. His gaze holds me captive. “Can you feel it? Can you feel my heart beating? Because ever since I saw you under that constellation, I have felt every fucking beat of my heart. And it’s good to feel alive again. To feel my body pulsing with life. It’s like I existed all these years with the beating of my heart suspended. Then you came along and startled it into motion. And this is screwed up, I’m more fucked up than you can ever imagine. And to drag you into my world is selfish and all shades of wrong. But I can’t fucking walk away. Unless you don’t feel the same. God, I’ll take whatever you feel. Even if it’s just a sparkle. I’ll flame it to life. Because, damn me, if I let go of whatever is happening between us.”

I have so much to say. But his words reverberate through my body, reaching the deepest part of my soul. For the life of me, I won’t confess I feel the same, even though I do. But I couldn’t turn away even if I tried. Furthermore, I will no longer question my reasoning. Or his sanity.