Bonds of Attraction (Full Length Erotic Romance Novel) (18 page)

My despair didn’t remain for long. It soon
fell away to anger. Leon Christensen had given me his whole sob story, fucked
me, and then left. He left like last night was completely meaningless. I felt
the anger swell inside of me when I began to think that it probably was
meaningless for a person like Leon. Sex was something that was so easy for
Leon, it lacked any substantive value.

A name crept into my thoughts. Dominic. I had
sex with Dominic recently and it had meant nothing to me. He had even been nice
and offered for me to crash at his place. Was I really any different than Leon?

Last night had been different. Despite the
fear it brought up in me, it was the truth. Whether the sex was a physical
release or something deeper, Leon had bared a part of his soul to me. That had
to have meant something. But left in my empty apartment, I felt betrayed. I
felt like Leon had used me to get through the anniversary of his friend’s
death. How many other women had he sat next to, crying over his dead friend
until the conversation gave way to sex?

There was no way to know the answers to my
questions. This only angered me further; if Leon were here, we could resolve so
much. Instead, he had come and gone as he pleased. My home was my sanctuary and
he had treated it like a hotel.

After a while, my anger began to relent. Leon
hadn’t really done me any wrong. I had invited him to my home and it wasn’t as
if I had told him to make sure he didn’t leave before telling me. I knew it was
silly to feel that Leon had violated my code of not bringing a man home; I had
brought him here. He had no idea that I didn’t bring men home. Yet I still felt
angry.

I rode the wave of emotions all the way into
work. Even with the radio blasting, my mind screamed louder over the music. My
heart raced when I thought of my professional reputation. I felt anger over
Leon’s dismissal through his leaving. More than anything, I was hurt. I was
hurt, and there was nobody to blame but myself.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining
high in the sky without a single cloud to block it. The rain seemed a distant
memory. I drove to work with all the windows down and the warm wind blowing
through my hair. It felt wonderful, but did little to calm my nerves. I pulled
into the parking lot of the office, suddenly aware that my music was too loud
and there were no windows to shield the noise.

I walked into the office, sunglasses still
on. A headache throbbed behind my ears and I felt hungover despite not having
had a single sip of anything alcoholic the previous night.

“Good morning Miss Facet,” April said
pleasantly. She worked continuously on the computer before her, barely looking
at me when she spoke. “You have a ten-thirty with Charles Schreiber but he
called to change it to eleven. I told him that would be alright.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Eleven’s fine. When he
comes, you can send him right in.”

I looked around my office. One of the chairs
for my clients was pulled out before my desk. In an instant, I saw Leon sitting
there, his legs crossed, his face smug. A sly smile spreading across his lips.
Echoes of his voice filled the office.

I sat down at my desk and the memory of Leon
vanished. I turned on my computer and waited for it to boot up. Being in the
office had the calming effect that I had desperately wanted all morning. If I
had only known, I thought, I would have come here immediately. Fuck the shower
and the breakfast. I could have sat back in my desk and known that everything
was alright. Nothing was different.

I knew better. Something was different. I had
broken my own commandments. Client or not, there was something significant
about everything going on; Leon Christensen had gotten into my head.

“Hello, Miss Facet,” a man’s voice said. “I’m
sorry to disturb you, but your secretary said to just come in.”

Charles Schreiber stood in the doorway, a
tall man with a full head of black hair streaked with grey. He wore an
apologetic smile along with a well-tailored suit. For a man in his late
fifties, he looked great.

“Oh no, you’re not disturbing me at all,” I
said as I rose from the desk. I extended a hand and we shook. His grip was
firm, but not crushing. Charles maintained eye contact throughout the
handshake.

I thought of Leon’s sapphire eyes blazing
into mine. Locked in a different embrace, one where he was inside of me. Energy
flowed through us like we were plugged into each other. Even the memory sent my
hair standing on edge. Goosebumps flared over my skin and I felt my clothes
grow mildly uncomfortable.

“Please, sit,” I said, not skipping a beat.

Charles Schreiber looked nothing like Leon,
thankfully. Wrinkles lined the corners of his lips from decades of smiles. His
hair was perfectly trimmed, and although he probably had shaven only a few
hours ago, the faintest hint of a beard was forming on his cheeks. Dark brown
eyes looked at me from across my desk, and I breathed an inaudible sigh of
relief that they weren’t blue.

“So, Mr. Schreiber,” I said. “It’s been about
two weeks since we’ve last met. Tell me, how is your match with Miss Hoover
going?”

Charles’s face lit up. His lips smiled
involuntarily before he even began to speak. I could see the excitement rise in
him right when I mentioned his match’s name. I wrote down in my notepad that
the reaction was immediate, a great sign.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Absolutely wonderful.
Rebecca is amazing. We really get along and we’re even different enough that
it’s always exciting. I know I’m probably jumping the gun on what I’m about to
say, but I’m already thinking that this is moving towards something long-term.
And I know it won’t be exciting like this forever, but I’m just as excited
about that.”

When Charles Schreiber talked about his
match, Rebecca Hoover, he looked ten years younger. He even spoke like a
seventeen year old boy who had just fallen in love.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” I said. It was
the truth. It was a welcome reprieve to escape from my own thoughts of Leon.
Watching Charles light up like a kid on Christmas morning eased my tension. I
already felt like I was back in my element.

“The chemistry was instant. Like BOOM!”
Charles exclaimed, clapping his hands together in a loud clap. We shared a
brief laugh before he continued. “It really was. After the first date, I knew
that I had to see this woman again.”

I remembered my meeting with Charles after
the first date. That had been the last time we had met. He had been excited
then, sure, but his excitement was contained. He had been almost guarded about
being too optimistic.

“She’s very interesting. I can see myself
wanting to get to know her,” Charles had said, his voice calm. It was the
reservations of a man who knew better than to get overly excited too fast. But
I had sensed that sparks were flying. “Rebecca is definitely unique.”

Rebecca Hoover was Charles’s senior by one
year. She had kept herself well-maintained, much like Charles, and could easily
have passed for a woman in her early forties. Her beauty was the kind that
could easily attract men in their early twenties, but she had been clear about
the kind of man she wanted.

“I’m not looking for a young man. I want a
man my age. I don’t want some walking hard-on looking for some cougar or
something. I’m interested only in a partner, a real partner,” Rebecca had said.

I liked her instantly. When she spoke, she
spoke directly and made eye contact. Her posture was excellent, yet she always
seemed to look comfortable. I saw a woman that I could look up to.

Rebecca Hoover was a college professor. She
held two PhDs, one in molecular biology and another in mathematics. Unlike most
academics, however, she was rich. Rebecca had explained to me that she owned
more patents than she had birthdays, and when she explained what they were in,
I had no reference for the words she spoke to me. Apparently this brought in a
fortune for her annually.

Talking to Rebecca had been a humbling
experience. I had always considered myself to be a highly intelligent and
driven woman; compared to Rebecca Hoover, I was neither of those things. Rather
than be discouraged, I felt inspired. Despite my admiration, I quickly realized
that Rebecca was going to be extremely difficult to match.

Many of the men that I took on as clients
were very rich. Most of them had advanced degrees, but the majority of them
were in business. These men were great at making money and understanding how to
operate a business, but it was clear that Rebecca was an intellectual
powerhouse. Most men would cower before her. As she intimidated most men,
hence, she had come to me.

It had been a month before Charles contacted
me. He was a hedge fund owner. He dealt with highly complex mathematical
calculations on a daily basis, taking a personal interest in running the hedge
fund himself. Prior to owning a hedge fund, he acquired a PhD in mathematics
from Yale and subsequently taught there before leaving to pursue his fortune in
finance.

Upon hearing of Yale, I immediately thought
of Rebecca. One of her PhDs was from Yale. Charles, while much more reserved
with his intelligence, was clearly brilliant. Yet I knew that this would not be
enough to secure a match.

“Did you know that she can cook? Rebecca is
not only the smartest woman, no, the smartest person, I have ever met, but
she’s a demon in the kitchen. And she only cooks with vegetables! That woman is
a certifiable genius,” Charles said.

Rebecca Hoover was an avid practitioner of
yoga. For the past twenty years, she had lived as a vegan and ran every day.
She read more books in a month than I thought possible and didn’t own a
television, although she loved to go out to the movies. Red wine was her
absolute favorite dinner drink and she made sure to have at least one glass a
day.

“I swear, if she keeps cooking half as good
as she has, I’ll never want for meat again.”

Charles ran every day of his life. While not
a vegan, he avoided meat more often than not out of concern for his own health.
He had one son who was in law school in New York City and their relationship
was good. He liked a strong beer but he didn’t indulge often over fear of
getting a gut like his dad has. When I asked him about his favorite television
shows, he struggled to remember shows that he watched as a boy; he didn’t own a
television either. The library in his house, he told me, was the entire
basement level.

“You’ve really done an excellent job. I can’t
thank you enough.”

I wondered where Leon was; I couldn’t help
it. While Charles stared me with gratitude all over his face, my mind drifted
right back to my problems. Hearing about his new budding romance filled me with
both happiness and sadness. Why couldn’t I be so lucky?

The reason was clear. I wasn’t looking for
romance. Charles and Rebecca had come to me specifically for romance. It was
easy to find romance when you’ve hired someone to do all the legwork for you.
Yet I didn’t begrudge either of them.

“Trust me, you’ve thanked me plenty every
time you’ve paid me,” I said smiling. It was an old joke that worked every
time. The client always laughed and I shared in with a smaller laugh. Charles
was no exception.

“Still, I never would have tried something
like this if it weren’t for Dean’s referral,” Charles said. Dean Atkins was a
younger business associate of Charles. He had been a client of mine two years
ago. He was married now and expecting his first child. “You really lived up to
my expectations. It’s no surprise you’re such a successful matchmaker.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was grateful for his
kind words, but I couldn’t agree less. Yes, I was great at matching other
people together. But what did it say about me that I couldn’t even handle my
own personal life? I was in the business of love and meanwhile my own romantic
encounters were one night stands and career damaging hook-ups with clients.

I smiled at Charles. I quickly looked down at
my cellphone and hoped for the thousandth time that it would light up with a
phone call or text from Leon. Even an email would be better than nothing at
this point.

“I have to ask you a question,” Charles said.

“Of course.”

“How did you come to match Rebecca and I? I
mean, how did you manage to find her?”

I smiled wider. The truth was that I hadn’t
found Rebecca at all; I had found Charles. There were a few men who might have
been a possible match, but there were always hold-outs. Either the men seemed
intellectually inferior to the point that it would pose a problem, or they were
looking for a less driven woman.

Charles was seeking a woman who could be his
equal. A woman who wanted to be a kept wife, a trophy at home cooking meals and
cleaning the house did not appeal to him at all. I remembered our interview
well.

“I need a woman that can challenge me. And I
mean in a lot of ways. I’m not a young man anymore, I’m not talking about sex,”
Charles said. When he said it, there was no shame or awkwardness in his voice
like so many of the other men who had spoken to me about anything related to
sex. “I want a partner who is going to make me think. I need someone who has
their own life, their own desires, their own interests, but can share them with
me. I just want someone that I want to spend time with and share my life with.”

Charles romanticism stuck out immediately. I
wrote furiously even as my old tape recorder rolled on. I was trying to remain
impartial, but as Charles went on and on, I became more excited that I had
found Rebecca a match.

I remembered how I had felt when Marilyn had
walked in my office and presented herself to me. She too had seemed a perfect
match, but now it was clear that something nefarious had taken place. Despite
all of that, I had not known she was trying to get back into Leon’s life.
Whether I sensed it or not, mistrust was not the only feeling I had. Unlike the
excitement I felt towards Rebecca and Charles becoming a match, I had felt
dread towards the idea of Marilyn and Leon together.