anyway.
And then I began to see it as pretentious.
I get it. People like what they like, and, as the saying goes, there’s no accounting for taste. But Ian’s lifestyle wasn’t my taste. It wasn’t me.
I probably should have taken that more seriously from the beginning ….
. . . . .
I had met Ian at an art show about a year ago. He was there with a very glamorous looking woman who, in heels, was almost as tall as he was. Later, when I learned of Ian’s need for dominance and control, I found it odd that he would deign to even stand beside a woman who nearly matched his six-foot frame.
I guess maybe that was part of the reason that he was working the room so much, glad-handing and bac k-slapping the other invited guests, a social side of Ian I saw only that once in the entire time I knew him.
I wasn’t an invited guest. I was working. Rachel owned a catering business and one of her servers called in sick at the last minute. She called me, just to vent, and was worried about being understaffed. It was her first job with this client and she was understandably concerned about making the right impression. It was a Saturday night and I had nothing else planned, so I volunteered to help her out.
Ian caught my attention immediately. He’s a striking sight, and it starts with his eyes, a deep sea green with hints of blue. The color is so vivid you’d almost think he wears colored contacts, and that’s actually what I thought most of the night, but found out later that they’re all natural. They’re mesmerizing.
His dark hair is always cropped close around the sides and back, but the top is a little longer, thicker, parted to the left and styled forward somewhat. In the coming months, I would discover that he spent a great deal of time working on his hair each morning. Sometimes more than I did.
“I’m going to need two of those.” His first ever words to me, as he stopped to get wine off the tray I was holding. Trying to be funny, and I guess the effort was cute, even if the line wasn’t all that original.
I toyed with him: “One for you, one for your date?”
“Both for me.” But he only took one glass. He stood there, sipped, and then said, “You noticed me.” His gaze locked with mine and I don’t think I could have looked away if I had wanted to. Which I didn’t. “I’ve had my eye on you, as well,” he continued. “And she’s not really a date.”
“Not really a date?”
He took a drink of wine and shook his head. “She works for me, and I don’t do that sort of thing. I do what I can to avoid lawsuits, especially embarrassing ones.”
“That’s quite a bold stance, being against sexual harassment.” The sarcasm in my tone caused him to look at me and squint his eyes.
“I don’t have the same policy toward the help.”
The help! This guy was as blunt as they come.
Someone stopped next to me and took the last two glasses of wine from my tray.
“Looks like you missed out on your second one,” I said. “If you’d like, the help can go get more in the kitchen.”
I wasn’t angry with him. It was entertaining, I was enjoying the repartee, and by that time of the evening I’d become a little bored, so I thought I’d take advantage of the situation and amuse myself.
“More wine would be great,” he said, giving me an up-close look at his smile.
Making my way to the kitchen, I turned my head to look back at him and caught him staring at my ass.
I stopped.
His gaze moved up to make eye contact with me. There was something in the way he looked at me. Something that made me think of the ways the fictional alpha male characters I’d read about looked at the women they were pursuing. It wasn’t the first time I’d caught a guy looking me over, but it was the first time in my life a guy had looked at me that intently, almost possessively, as if he were claiming me with his stare.
I wasn’t sure how to react to it at first, but I liked the rush I felt as I
And then I began to see it as pretentious.
I get it. People like what they like, and, as the saying goes, there’s no accounting for taste. But Ian’s lifestyle wasn’t my taste. It wasn’t me.
I probably should have taken that more seriously from the beginning ….
. . . . .
I had met Ian at an art show about a year ago. He was there with a very glamorous looking woman who, in heels, was almost as tall as he was. Later, when I learned of Ian’s need for dominance and control, I found it odd that he would deign to even stand beside a woman who nearly matched his six-foot frame.
I guess maybe that was part of the reason that he was working the room so much, glad-handing and bac k-slapping the other invited guests, a social side of Ian I saw only that once in the entire time I knew him.
I wasn’t an invited guest. I was working. Rachel owned a catering business and one of her servers called in sick at the last minute. She called me, just to vent, and was worried about being understaffed. It was her first job with this client and she was understandably concerned about making the right impression. It was a Saturday night and I had nothing else planned, so I volunteered to help her out.
Ian caught my attention immediately. He’s a striking sight, and it starts with his eyes, a deep sea green with hints of blue. The color is so vivid you’d almost think he wears colored contacts, and that’s actually what I thought most of the night, but found out later that they’re all natural. They’re mesmerizing.
His dark hair is always cropped close around the sides and back, but the top is a little longer, thicker, parted to the left and styled forward somewhat. In the coming months, I would discover that he spent a great deal of time working on his hair each morning. Sometimes more than I did.
“I’m going to need two of those.” His first ever words to me, as he stopped to get wine off the tray I was holding. Trying to be funny, and I guess the effort was cute, even if the line wasn’t all that original.
I toyed with him: “One for you, one for your date?”
“Both for me.” But he only took one glass. He stood there, sipped, and then said, “You noticed me.” His gaze locked with mine and I don’t think I could have looked away if I had wanted to. Which I didn’t. “I’ve had my eye on you, as well,” he continued. “And she’s not really a date.”
“Not really a date?”
He took a drink of wine and shook his head. “She works for me, and I don’t do that sort of thing. I do what I can to avoid lawsuits, especially embarrassing ones.”
“That’s quite a bold stance, being against sexual harassment.” The sarcasm in my tone caused him to look at me and squint his eyes.
“I don’t have the same policy toward the help.”
The help! This guy was as blunt as they come.
Someone stopped next to me and took the last two glasses of wine from my tray.
“Looks like you missed out on your second one,” I said. “If you’d like, the help can go get more in the kitchen.”
I wasn’t angry with him. It was entertaining, I was enjoying the repartee, and by that time of the evening I’d become a little bored, so I thought I’d take advantage of the situation and amuse myself.
“More wine would be great,” he said, giving me an up-close look at his smile.
Making my way to the kitchen, I turned my head to look back at him and caught him staring at my ass.
I stopped.
His gaze moved up to make eye contact with me. There was something in the way he looked at me. Something that made me think of the ways the fictional alpha male characters I’d read about looked at the women they were pursuing. It wasn’t the first time I’d caught a guy looking me over, but it was the first time in my life a guy had looked at me that intently, almost possessively, as if he were claiming me with his stare.
I wasn’t sure how to react to it at first, but I liked the rush I felt as I
Similar Books
