The massive “O” shaped silver building that sits in a lush green area of Century City is designed by the legendary architect I.M. Pei himself. At dawn, the first beams of ginger orange daylight flood the empty center of the building and radiate the entire structure; awakening it from its evening slumber.
Chaste raced up to the building that crisp, sunny February morning in her newly leased two door Fiat. She maneuvered her car around the gaudy, late model Mercedes and Porsches double parked in the semicircle driveway.
“Hello !...Peoople!” she yelled.
Seeing a precious open spot, she parked near the curb and checked her phone. It read 9:15.
“Shit” she thought. “Late again.”
Chaste was almost always late to work. Not that it really mattered, since the partners at her law firm usually made their way in at noon after a morning round of golf. Still, she wanted to keep up appearances and not lose the job that she had slaved three long years at law school to get.
Fixing her hair in the rearview mirror, she simultaneously wound up her shade of red lipstick and applied it deftly. Not completely accustomed to her new car, she opened the small driver’s side door slowly, swung her legs out and touched the ground with her four inch black heels. As she rose to her feet, she felt slightly embarrassed as her skirt slid up above her voluptuous white thighs. Quickly shaking her bottom and adjusting herself, she found herself staring at the valet, who was standing at attention sporting a boyish wide grin.
“Good morning Miss Hartley” he said excitedly.
Across town in Manhattan Beach, Logan rubbed his bare toned chest and poured out his first cup of morning coffee. Running his hand through his messy hazelnut hair and letting out a yawn, he entered his wood floored living room overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He paused to take an extra long look at the skyline. Today was a precious day. A rare day. One that he could enjoy at home before having to jet off to his next professional volleyball tournament in Hawaii.
Placing his cup down on the curved glass end table, Logan noticed two women roaming the beach in the distance. One of them was wearing a red bikini and had a curved posterior – a devastating combination. Aroused, he slid his hand down his blue satin Quiksilver board shorts and started to please himself. But the thought ran through his mind that it might be better to have the real thing. After all, it had been a full week and a half since he last had been with the waitress in Denver.
Reaching for his phone, Logan cycled through the endless list of names stored in his iPhone blackbook. “Hmmm no, no, no” he thought as he did a quick mental profile of the few women he could actually remember. He then landed on a name that intrigued him.
Chaste Hartley
It sounded demure, professional. Sitting down on his white leather couch, Logan ran a quick Google search and pulled up a webpage that read:
“Chaste Hartley– Legal Clerk – Meyers, Guthrie, Murphy LLC.”
He scrolled down with his thumb and read her brief resume before coming to a small picture. An innocent looking blonde girl with slightly cherub cheeks and emerald green eyes stared back at him.
Sitting down on his white leather couch with phone in hand, Logan ran highlight reels in his mind to see where he had met Chaste. She definitely wasn’t the typical girl he’d see at the bars near his volleyball tournaments. After about thirty seconds of staring at Chaste’s picture, he remembered. It was the way her head was innocently tilted to the right side.
They met years ago when he helped coach a summer volleyball clinic at UCLA. After finishing one of the late afternoon classes, he bumped into her as she finished her workout at the campus gym near by. She was young and had no idea who he was. In fact, during their brief conversation, she mentioned that she had
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