Strapped (24 page)

“Shy?”

I let out a yelp.

“Taylor, you scared the bejesus out of me.” He is standing in the kitchen covered in sweat, drinking from a bottle of water.

“Likewise. The way you were just marching was something fierce, and we all know you must mean serious business to be up this early, sleepyhead.” My resolve melts from his playful tone.

“Sleep is good for your health. You should try it. Why are you up?”

“Woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Sure about being unsure?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Just insomnia I guess.”

“Did you take your meds?”

“I dozed off before I could. I don’t like taking them in the middle of the night, they mess me up the next day.”

“Is something bothering you?”

“No. I am fine.”

“I think you’re lying Taylor. I saw you in the gym, you look pissed.”

“You were watching me?”

“I woke up and you were gone. I was worried after you told me people are after you.”

“Shy, we’re safe here. And people aren’t after me. People have been after me in the past, and now I am cautious.” He walks up to me and presses his sweaty bare chest against my body. “Sometimes I just can’t sleep because of my issues. I don’t want you to worry about that though. The boxing helps me feel in control again.”

“Issues? You mean the night terrors.”

“Sometimes, but sometimes it’s just my anxiety.”

“Is there something that is making you feel more anxious than usual?” He stiffens.

“I want to make sure I don’t put you in harms way because of your association with me.”

“Taylor, I am fine. Like you said, that was all in the past. I’ll be careful now that I know about the risks. I promise. Unless there is something you’re not telling me?”

“Nope. I need to go shower and then I think I’ll head to work early so I can get back home early to you.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly. I don’t want to leave him alone. I want to be with him when he is having his bad moments, not just during the good times. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Shy, I am fine. I swear.”

With that, I go back to bed feeling the loneliest I can remember since the day I found the journal.

Chapter Twenty-Two

That afternoon, I get a message from Taylor, whose name I replaced yet again in my phone as a half-assed attempt to protect his identity.

Mr. Sexypants:

2323 State Street. 1:30. Wear the outfit in the garment bag in the guest closet please.

I Google the address and it is a regular residential building. It’s just after noon so I head to the closet to find the garment bag. Inside is a red lace bra, panties, garter and thigh-highs. A Post-it on the garment bag reads: “Shoes in the box below. Nothing over the outfit except your trench please.”

I open the box and there are sky-high patent leather red stilettos. Butterflies of excitement and anxiety flutter in my stomach. I can’t imagine wearing only this under my coat. The urge to deny his request flies over me for just a moment, but then the thought of the look on his face seeing me in the lingerie quickly erases the doubt. I apply the same red lipstick I wore to the interview. This time however, I let my hair out, wild and full of volume, just the way he likes it. I remember one last thing:

Shyla:

Pls do NOT send Harrison. I would die of embarrassment.

Mr. Sexypants:

Ok ;)

I pull up to the building. It is on a quiet dead end corner on the southernmost end of the downtown area, interspersed with other residential buildings and industrial warehouses. I get the closest available spot and walk to the front door, but it is locked. He didn’t give me an apartment number and there are dozens of buzzers to ring. As I stare at them nervously I feel someone’s presence behind me.

“Good lord Taylor. Do you always have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s just too easy. I can’t help it. Here, let me get that.” He pulls out a key that opens the front door.

“So can you tell me what we are doing here or is this a secret?”

“I own this building, that’s why I chose it. For what? You’ll see.” We hop into the elevator. He slides his key into a keyhole hits the top button on the 20th floor. He looks incredible for someone who got so little sleep the night before. His hair is slicked back, and he is wearing a perfectly tailored navy pinstripe suit with a light blue shirt. The top button is undone and he has forgone the tie, so he must not have any important meetings today. A warm flush radiates through his slightly olive complexion. His long lashes flicker up and down, reminding me of a butterfly calmly perched on a flower. His pout looks so soft, inviting me to kiss. I can’t help it. I want to be close to him. I felt so distant from him last night. I push him against the elevator wall and devour him. I can see his eyebrows rise, startled by my aggressiveness. He pulls down my trench, knowing what I am wearing underneath it. I hear the faint sound of the elevator door glide open. I try to pull away, thinking someone could be on the other side of the door, but he pulls me back towards him. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his hips. His lips taste like sex. While I am not fully aware of our surroundings, I see that the elevator doors open directly to a large apartment. The trench is still hanging off of my shoulders and he puts me down for a second and looks me up and down. He grins.

“So hot. Come with me.”

I let the coat slide to the ground and he pulls me towards the balcony. My steps slow to a complete stop.

“No one can make out our faces up here, if they even notice us, but the rush will feel incredible. This neighborhood is really dead during the day.” I didn’t know he was an exhibitionist too.

My face is covered in worry.

“Trust me. If you don’t like it, we can stop, but just try.”

We step out on the balcony. The entire thing is made of concrete, even the barrier, so no one directly below could see us, but the building across the street can, and anyone down below at an angle could make out our top halves. There is a slight chill in the air and I feel my goosebumps rise. I lean my back against the barrier and watch Taylor rip off his jacket. He unbuttons just enough of his shirt to vigorously pull it off overhead. His abs ripple and contract with each breath, his firm erection nearly busting through his pants. He grabs me underneath my arms and picks me up, sitting me on the edge of the balcony. I flinch.

“Stay calm. I’ve got you. Wrap your legs around me.” I can hardly swallow or catch my breath. The stimulus of sitting on the edge of a 20th floor balcony coupled with the unbearable attraction to the man in front of me is more than this young heart can handle. He quickly undoes my bra. My instinct is to cover my breasts with my hands, but he gently pulls them to my side, kissing them and gently biting on the pale skin of my breasts. He works his way down my stomach and inner thigh. I can’t lean back as far I normally would, so instead I push my hips forward so that I am only half sitting on the barrier making it easier for Taylor to access me. Taylor has his hands on my hips keeping me secure. My lace panties are very thin, and so without removing them, Taylor runs his tongue on my clitoris. The underwear serves as a buffer between his tongue and me, allowing him to pleasure me longer without setting me over the top. Images of other men watching me, admiring my sexuality make me partly nervous, and partly stimulated. I feel like a fucking sex goddess in the sky.

“Turn around.” The excitement and nerves go up another level. Now I can see the world below and across from me. I can watch the people watching me. I see what seem like hundreds of windows across from me. Many shades are drawn. I can barely see a woman moving about in her kitchen, oblivious to what is occurring a hundred feet across from her. The occasional person walks by the street below, going through the motions. If they would just look up, they would see my dark brown hair and my breasts and the beautiful tall man behind me. He inserts himself. He runs his hand into my hair and grabs it tight at the roots. His other hand cups one of my breasts. My toes barely graze the floor because our height difference. He takes my hand and places it on my ass.

“Feel what I feel. Slap it.” I do. The softness of my own body turns me on. He puts his hand over mine and we both squeeze. I can feel him being turned on by this and it empowers me. I slap myself again. I squeeze a handful very hard. He takes his hand and rubs my clit as he bounces his hips off of my ass. He doesn’t thrust in and out, just maintains constant friction and before I know it, I can feel the rush building down below. My moans become louder and louder and he covers my mouth and nose. I don’t even try to breathe, I welcome the intensity as I come and come and come. Taylor’s not finished. He turns me around and pushes me down to the floor. His hard, throbbing cock begs for me to suck on him and I oblige, solidifying my powers as a sex goddess.

As usual, after our particularly kinky romps, I feel dirty and shy. I quietly grab my trench coat and see that I have a voice message. It is Chad from Rubix requesting I give him a ring. More nerves. I go to a quiet corner and call.

“Chad speaking.”

“Hi Chad. It’s Shyla Ball.”

“Hi Shyla! How are you?”

“Great.” If he only knew just how great. “And you?”

“Doing well. I am calling because I want to offer you the position. I think that your skills, but more importantly your personality and work ethic, will fit right into Rubix.”

“Wow. That is great to hear!”

We discuss salary requirements and other logistics. I do not accept immediately as a rule of thumb, but I tell Chad I will let him know within the next 24 hours.

I find Taylor on the balcony. My face must be glowing.

“You got the job didn’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Congrats! I had no doubt. Let’s head inside, this neighborhood has seen enough of us today. So did you accept?”

“Not yet, but I am going to,” I say as we walk through the vast open living space of the loft.

“So what do you think of this place?”

“It is incredible. Is this the penthouse?” The brick walls and old timber give the empty space a homey feeling.

“Yes. It was recently custom renovated.”

“It’s a dream.”

“It’s yours.”

The statement doesn’t quite register. “What? You mean you got this for yourself?”

“Well I hope I am welcome here, but I mean it’s yours. As in it belongs to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I am not sure how else to put it. I had this renovated for you. Almost all of the condos are sold, but I held onto this one for you as a celebratory gift for the new job.”

“No! Absolutely not, Taylor. This is outrageous!”

“Please don’t fight me on this.”

“Taylor, I have my apartment and plus there is a lease on that thing.”

“It’s taken care of.”

I put my face in my hands in total exasperation.

“It’s just not right!”

“What is so wrong about this?”

“I can’t explain it. People just can’t accept gifts of this size from people.”

“So because of some stupid societal rule we can’t give each other big gifts?” He puts his finger up as if to silence me. “Before you go on, know this. I give what I want to give, and no amount of bitching about it is going to change that. Do what you want with this, but it’s yours.”

His statement takes the proud wind out of my sails and I let out an audible sigh. “Thank you.”

“I kind of thought that we could stay here most weeknights to have a faster commute to the office when I need to go in. That is, if you’ll have me over.”

“I’d like that.”

“Let’s go furniture shopping this weekend.”

“Okay, but somewhere normal humans go.”

“You can’t furnish a place like this with Ikea. We’ll work something out. You can pay me back with blow jobs if you feel so awful about accepting things from me. They are worth their weight in gold.”

I shove him. “Taylor! You can’t weigh a blow job!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

I call Chad later that day to let him know that I am accepting the job offer and agree to start the following Monday. That weekend, Taylor and I agree to go to a local furniture store that sells vintage inspired, reasonably priced furniture. I also insist that I pay for the furniture. Of course, the vast majority of the money in my bank account is from Taylor, so it doesn’t take much convincing. The loft itself is more than I could hope for: reclaimed timber and hardwood floors, high ceilings and restored windows. The building is an old tannery and the rooms are huge. The living room is so large I had trouble deciding on how to arrange the space. I created a Pinterest board for inspiration and shared it with Taylor. He humored me as much he could, but soon confessed that he always uses an interior designer for furnishing and the only reason he did not in this case is because he knew that I would want to put my own touch on the place.

I settle on a slate grey velveteen sectional with very clean lines and deep seating -- the kind of couch you could just sink into. Canvas cream curtains adorn the tall windows. A reclaimed vintage teak table adorns the dining area. Pops of color in the form of throws and pillows pepper the furniture. The space is light, clean and simple, so different from the scattered stream of consciousness that now decorates my mind.

I find myself lying alone in my living room during my last jobless night. The place doesn’t feel like it’s mine, but that could change. Taylor is trying to give me space so that I will claim ownership. He insisted that I spend this night in the condo alone. I really wanted him to stay, but he thought I should get used to the idea of this place being mine and not just a loaner from him. The penthouse is lovely, my views of the city from my rooftop deck and balconies are priceless, but this all feels like an extension of Taylor. I didn’t earn this no matter how he tries to spin it. His arguments as to why I should accept his gifts without question are compelling and appeal to the basest part of me that wants to accumulate material possessions, but sitting here alone; it still doesn’t feel right. I don’t deserve any of this. The place is in my name, but if things between us came to an end, would I, could I, stay here?

A text:

Mr. Sexypants:

I really regret going home. OX

Things have been feeling strangely normal this weekend. Whatever was bothering him has subsided, at least temporarily. Besides the occasional exhibitionism and doling out of inappropriately large presents, I feel like we are a regular couple. The darkroom hasn’t been visited since my first time a few days ago, and Taylor made it clear to me I would have to initiate. I plan to give it another go, but my meekness about initiating that level of kinkiness has delayed me.

Shyla:

Same here. Your idea to leave me here alone was dumb, but I’ll let it slide. Nite. OX.

As I brush my teeth in my master bath, I hear my phone alert me to a new text. I grin wondering what Taylor has to say to me.

I was right about you.

As I stare at the message the apartment goes from cozy to arctic. The silence of the huge loft rings in my ears. This is the first time one of these mysterious texts scares me. The name calling in the past seemed like it could have been accidentally sent to the wrong person, but this statement feels personal. While vague, it stings right to the heart of what I am feeling. If this person thinks I am a gold digger, sitting in this loft is evidence to support his or her thesis. If this is a wrong number, I have to resolve it now.

Shyla:

You must have the wrong person. I do not know who you are. Pls stop messaging.

Unknown:

I have the right person.

Shyla:

Who are you?

No response comes and I anxiously look through every closet and crevice in the home to make sure I am alone. I want to call Taylor because he makes me feel safe, but I resist the urge. I want to take care of this myself. Who else can I talk to? The fleeting thought to call Rick passes, but it is inappropriate to insist on his help right now. Kristin. She’ll know what to do and I already told her about the condo, so I won’t have to explain that part to her.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with this shit, but something weird has been happening that I haven’t told anyone but it’s starting to freak me out.”

“Tell me!”

“Someone has been sending me threatening...well not threatening, but insulting text messages.”

“What are they saying?”

“Well, stuff like calling me a whore, a gold digger. The creepy thing was tonight, as I am sitting here alone, I got a text saying they were right about me. It’s as if they know about the gift from Taylor, at least that’s how I took it.”

“You don’t think it’s Rick, do you?”

“No! He would never do that. That is why I am at a loss. The thing is, Taylor has mentioned people have gone after him in the past because of his money. They have tried to steal from him, but this doesn’t feel like that. It feels personal.”

“Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Shyla!”

“Listen. Do not say anything to him. He has had a lot on his mind and unless I know this is really something, I don’t want to tell him. He’ll get me guards or something and I am not ready for that. What else can I do?”

“Save all of the messages. You never know when we’ll need them. Maybe you should look into hiring a PI. I have an older cousin who does PI work. He used to be a detective. I can talk to him and see if he can find out who is doing all of this.”

“Okay, that sounds like a plan.”

“Do you want me to come over? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

“I feel like a five-year-old saying this, but yes. Only if you want to though!”

“We can have some fun and get your mind off of this. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. See you soon!”

***

It’s my first day at the office. I am immediately greeted by Chad, who takes me around to introduce everyone. I finally meet Laura, a portly woman with wire-rimmed glasses and short chestnut hair, whose child is feeling much better. He takes me to one of the break rooms where they set up a welcome breakfast of fruit, muffins, and bagels. The office attire is quite casual and while I am sure everyone works hard, the general atmosphere is laid back. There are very few offices as most of the work is done in open space to foster a collaborative environment. People appear very happy to work here. Chad shaved his face since the last time I saw him and I am now able to see his features more clearly. His baby face is on full display and he really is adorable.

Although I am hired to be the assistant director, I will work as a senior designer for the first four weeks to get a grasp on procedures. In addition, I will join Chad in meetings and help him with some of his day to day tasks so I can ease into the team management role. My first day is spent as most are, filling in paperwork, learning my way around the office, setting up my workspace and getting caught up on the first project I will be designing. I nearly hit the floor when I find out who the first client is: Bella’s Intimates.

Chad explains: “This is a very high-end lingerie boutique.”
Don’t I know it.
“She wants to redesign her website and all the accompanying marketing materials. This is a straightforward project and I thought you and Tonya could work on it together. You would lead the project. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great. It’s right up my ally. Frou-frou and lacy.” My personal experience with this place could come in handy.

Chad invites me to lunch at the cafeteria on the lower level of the building. Over salads, we briefly discuss work, but move into getting to know each other better. He is so easy to talk to; I don’t feel like he is my boss at all. He tells me about his dog, Stacy, who is the love of his life. He recently broke up with his girlfriend and I assured him that I knew what he was going through.

“So do you have a dog to make you feel better about being alone like I do?”

“Oh, no, a dog would be nice, but I am actually seeing someone.” Does that sound bad from the outside looking in? Here I am telling Chad about my longterm relationship recently ending and I am already in a new one.

“Lucky you,” he says sincerely.

“I definitely wasn’t looking for it. It fell in my lap. More like I fell into his. I spilled coffee on his suit at a coffee shop.”

“Sounds like a scene out of a romantic comedy. If he was able to look past that, he must be a keeper.”

“Time will tell.”

I get a text. My throat dries, a new conditioned response to texts thanks to my personal harasser. It’s Taylor. Thank god.

“Speak of the devil. He just texted me.” I make sure not to mention his name as I don’t want to reveal quite yet to Chad that I am seeing my former boss.

Mr. Sexypants:

Let’s grab dinner right after work doll. Your fav?

Shyla:

Not in the mood, let’s try another place.

My response was a white lie. I met that Eric guy at my favorite spot and want to buy a little time before Taylor and I go there again, just in case. After work, I freshen up and go to a little sushi place to meet Taylor who is running about 10 minutes late. I grab a table for us and order some wine to tide me over. I thumb through my phone to occupy the time.

“Well, what are the odds!”

One: people really need to stop coming up on me without warning. What ever happened to a gentle tap on the shoulder? Two: oh fuck, it’s Eric.

“Wow! Hi!” No reason to get nervous. He knows you have a boyfriend and Taylor doesn’t even remember him.
Then why is it that I have a sinking feeling in my stomach?

“So how are you doing, new friend?” He motions to the empty seat across from me and I nod. He sits in Taylor’s seat.

“Great! I got the job.”

“Congrats! Let me get your next drink. Are you alone?”

“That’s fine, really. Taylor is coming in a few.”

“I’ll keep you company until he comes.”

“Sure...are you grabbing dinner?”

“Take out at the bar, then I spotted you. It must be fate!”

“Well, busy day at work today securing people?”

“The usual. Can’t complain. So did Taylor remember me?”

“What makes you so sure I asked?”

“Usually an honest person feels the need to somehow confess when they meet someone of the opposite sex that they have a connection with.”

The boldness of his statement leaves me blank for a moment.

“He doesn’t remember you,” I say stoically. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to defend Taylor’s honor, maybe because what he just said was true.

“I figured. It was a long time ago. Usually people remember meeting him, not the other way around.” That statement reminds me of my task at the Russian gala.

My eyes catch Taylor’s tall figure in a black fitted suit on the other side of the glass entry. I wave my hand in the air to get his attention and smile, trying to set an amicable tone for the introduction. His facial expression changes from neutrality to curiosity when he sees someone seated across from me. My wave incites Eric to turn and look in Taylor’s direction.

Taylor stops dead in his tracks. His face goes pale, his eyes and nostrils flare and then he marches towards me. What the hell is going on?

Eric stands. “Taylor, so good to see you!”

Taylor doesn’t even acknowledge him. He looks directly at me. “Let’s go Shy.”

“Taylor, what is going on here?” My eyes dart to Eric, who is coolly smiling.

“Shy, this is not the place. Just come.”

He grabs my elbow and I pull away and put my hand out towards him.
“Okay...okay!” People are beginning to watch the scene unfold. I grab my things and rifle through my wallet to leave cash for the waiter.

“Don’t worry Shyla. I’ve got it,” Eric says in a low, sympathetic voice.

Taylor turns to acknowledge him for the first time. “Like hell you do.” He pulls out a one hundred dollar bill from his wallet and throws it on the table.

Our waiter comes back over to and makes the mistake of placing a hand on Taylor as he asks if there is a problem. Taylor aggressively swats his hand off of him, triggering audible gasps from other restaurant goers.

“Let’s go,” he says firmly and storms out of the restaurant.

As we walk away, I mouth that I am so sorry to Eric. He nods in acknowledgment.

Once we hit the sidewalk I erupt. “What the hell was that Taylor? What is wrong with you? I was just talking to him, we bumped into each other again and I was going to introduce you two. Nothing was going on!”

“Shy, you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Wha-What? You don’t get to determine that. I am not a child.”

“Let’s just get in the car.”

“No, absolutely not. That was so uncalled for. You made a huge scene. You don’t own me. I am not a child. I can talk to anyone I want.”

He begins to chuckle. “You think this is about jealousy? Like I said, you don’t know him.”

“And you do? You said you didn’t know anyone named Eric when I asked.”

“I didn’t think that was the Eric you were talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me!”

“This is not the place for this.”

“Oh and the restaurant was? You could have simply asked me aside like a normal person instead of humiliating me. I am not getting in the car with you. I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Please just get inside.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell that was all about.” He hesitates. I turn my back to him and tromp away boiling with anger and humiliation.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. Just please get in the car.”

We get in the car and I slam the door as hard as I can. Taylor looks at me with disapproval from the corner of his eye.

“So tell me now.”

He takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to drag you into this Shy.”

I shake my head and attempt to open the car door which is now locked. “Harrison, unlock please.” I see his eyes dart to Taylor in the rearview mirror. “Harrison, unlock it now!”

He does and I dash out of the vehicle. I hear Taylor’s footsteps behind me. “Shyla!”

I turn to face him. “I can’t do this anymore. You can’t just act however you want and keep the reasons away from me. That just doesn’t cut it. I know you think I am some fragile doll that can’t handle the truth, but I can. I have been through some shit in my life too.”

“It’s not you who I think can’t handle it. It’s me.”

“You have to move forward. You are stuck. I can’t be with parts of you. What if I shut you out of entire parts of my life? This is the only way you have a chance of getting better.”