Page 17 of Choosing the right Man

I tighten my grip on the brush, forcing myself to focus. I sweep bold strokes along her stomach, my hands steady as my mind races with thoughts of the woman I truly crave. The brush trails upward, circling her breasts, then moving down along her thighs, but it all feels mechanical... meaningless.

By the time my piece is finished, a stunning display of abstract color is coating her body like silk. I’m still numb. I feel nothing for my art, and nothing for this woman I’ve just panted, making her chest rapidly rise and fall.

“We’re done,” I murmur as I step back, my voice hollow.

The photographer enters, camera in hand, and immediately gets to work. Flash after flash illuminates the studio, but I’m already away from here in my mind, retreating to the only place that matters, to the image of Chloe, naked and painted beneath me.

The photography session ends quickly. The model reaches for me, her painted fingers brushing along my wrist. I step back, pulling away, my skin recoiling at the wrongness of her touch against me.

“You need to help me clean up,” she whispers, her voice husky, her lips curving into a knowing grin.

“Not tonight,” I tell her, my voice devoid of emotion. She gives me a confused glance. I turn to my trusted employee. “Escort her out.” Then, without another glance, I turn on my heel and leave the room.

By the time I reach my private bathroom, I’m already unfastening my belt, my arousal pressing painfully against my zipper. The cold tile beneath my feet grounds me, but it does nothing to quench the fire raging inside my body.

The shower roars to life, steam curling around me as I step inside, my head falling back against the cool marble. My hand wraps around my length, and I groan, my need unbearable. Chloe has done this to me.

I think of her, of her lips, her skin, her scent. I think of the way she looks at me when she thinks I don’t notice, the way her breath hitches in my presence. She will be mine. I need to make her see that.

I stroke myself harder, the water cascading down my shoulders, my body tensing as the fantasy of her sucking my cock overtakes me. I imagine her beneath me, whispering my name. I hear her moan as I finally make us one. My release crashes over me like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming, my groans echoing against the shower walls.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. I need the real thing. Soon, I’ll have her — no matter how long it takes. Until then, I’m left doing this because no other woman will do.

Chapter Thirteen

Chloe

I’ve been at my new job for a week without any further problems. I haven’t seen Mason again since our weekend adventure that left me more confused than ever before. This is a good thing; it’s for the best. If I’m attracted to him, the smartest thing I can do is to stay far away. It might be the coward’s way, but whatever works, works, and I’m okay with calling myself a chicken. I’d rather be this than a cheater or someone who can’t be trusted.

My relationship may not be perfect, but I’m committed to Paul, and have promised to love him in good times and in bad. Paul may be distant now, but he isn’t a bad man. He isn’t abusive, doesn’t treat me poorly, doesn’t put me down. He takes care of me, provides for us, and has a kind word to say to every stranger on the street. He’s a good man. Many women would be honored to have him. I shouldn’t look for faults. We can fix our relationship if we both try. But are we willing to try anymore? I shake my head at this thought.

We’re part of a generation that doesn’t think much of others. It’s all about ourselves and ourownneeds, trying to get as much as we can for as little effort as possible. I don’t know if this iswhere we’re heading, but I can’t give up this easily can I? Doesn’t that make me no better than these people I complain about? At the same time, though, we did chat the other night and it doesn’t seem Paul wants to fix things either. It’s so damn complicated. What if it boils down that we just aren’t attracted to each other anymore? I think it might be the friendship that’s holding us together at this point, and that’s just not enough for us to remain a couple for the rest of our lives.

At four in the afternoon, my phone buzzes. Not a lot of calls come to my line. I’m the most junior associate here, and this means I mostly do the grunt work. I don’t mind. I like it, in fact. It’s nice to be unseen as much as possible. I can go through my day, get my work done, and leave it all behind when I go home.

I don’t want to work in a position that consumes me. I know some people live for their work, but work is just a way to earn a paycheck for me. I don’t want it to devour me. What will I have at the end of the day if I have nothing but my job?

Paul’s addicted to his work. He puts in eighty hours a week. He puts it above our relationship. He’s promised me many times over he’ll slow down, but he’s yet to make good on his promise. I vow I’ll never allow this to happen to me. If my life is so unfulfilled that all I have is work, I must be doing something wrong.

This is a lesson I learned from my dad. He lives a simple life. And he’s happy. I love how happy he is. He doesn’t ask for much and doesn’t want much. There were times I hated this about him, but the older I get the more I realize he’s had it right all along.

I pick up the phone, and it’s Jenny. “Hi, Chloe. We have a late-night meeting, so plan on eating here,” she says, her voice cheery.

I inwardly groan. I was thinking about how nice it will be to escape work on time and forget all about everything. Andnow I have my first late night meeting. I’ve worked late before, but that’s been my choice so I can catch up to the rest of the employees who have already put in their time.

I really can’t complain about a single thing this place has asked of me. It isn’t as if they ask me to do too much. If I’m being truly honest with myself I’d admit that I’ve only worked late because I’ve wanted to avoid going home, and wanted to learn as much as possible here. I honestly do want to have balance in my life, though.

“Okay, where are we meeting?” I ask while wondering why they want me here. I haven’t been with them long enough to know enough to contribute to a meeting. I’m more of a data entry person. Maybe this will change the longer I’m here, but for now, I’m mostly on my own.

“It will be in the blue room,” she says.

I tell her I’ll be there and hang up. I turn to Betty, who’s been Mr. Alexander’s personal assistant for a long time. She worked for him when he was in California, then moved here with him.

“What do I need to take to the meeting?” I ask.

“Today is for you to learn,” she explains. “We normally have these sessions a couple of times a month. Sometimes they go quickly, and sometimes they go pretty late. If it’s too late, Mr. Alexander will let us take a day off or work a half day. He’s more than a fair boss,” she assures me.

I decide to take my notebook and a pen. A lot of people will have their computers, preferring to type things out, but I take pretty good shorthand, and I don’t like to interrupt speakers with the sound of clicking keys. With too many computers in a room, the noise can get overwhelming.

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