Page 17 of The Boardroom: Kirk
Chapter 11-Marissa
It’s Christmas night and everyone has gone home. The house smells like sugar and pine and cleaning supplies. I don’t know why everyone talks of Christmas Eve like it’s the quietest night of the year, because it’s really not—it’s always filled with anticipation and quiet excitement. It’s the night of Christmas itself, when everything winds down to a halt, that is the true silent night. Not a creature stirring.
Except me.
I don’t know what I’m doing up, sitting at the base of the Christmas tree and watching the lights make a rainbow pattern across the wall. I’m drowsy from ham and too many cookies, and this odd feeling I’ve had in the pit of my stomach all day.
This feeling like a member of the family, a part of myself, was absent.
I knew exactly who he was.
I am walking on air.
There is no better feeling to a woman than walking into a room of people and having them desperately hope that you’ll join their family. There really isn’t. Kirk’s family had melted like butter in my presence, and admittedly, I was feeling pretty good about it. I felt pretty, and loved, and secure, and like I wanted to take a chance.
“It’s still early,” I say, practically twirling my way over to Kirk’s car. “Why don’t you come over? We can catch up without the old ladies crowding around us.”
Kirk looks surprised, and stammers as he opens the passenger door of the Jaguar for me. “Sure, uh,” he stammers. “Why not?”
I grin as Kirk slides in next to me and turns on the heat and the radio. The radio is playing Christmas carols, and I smile excitedly. I’m warm from the blanket at Kirk’s parent’s house, the snuggling, all of the excitement, and maybe a bit of the punch. I’m warm from the sensation of half of the Atkins cousins undressing me constantly with their eyes, and Kirk’s positive responses to my advances. All of the positive attention and Christmas warmth is going to my head, and I kind of like it. I stretch out my legs in front of me and feel the expensive stretch of the leather seat under my hands.
I’m feeling extremely sexy.
I turn to Kirk and watch him drive through the Winter streets towards my apartment. He looks stunning, his jawline sharp against the glare of the headlights in traffic, his eyes staring intensely ahead. I wanted him to look at me with that intensity, to focus that energy on me and me alone.
“We’re here,” I say after a few minutes, and Kirk pulls into a space outside my apartment complex.
Kirk holds the door for me again and helps me out of the car, being the gentleman that he is. I can feel the sculpted muscle of his arms from under his coat, and I shiver…from the cold or the anticipation of possibly getting closer, I wouldn’t really know.
I wonder what exactly Kirk is thinking as we take the elevator up towards my apartment. He’s clearly no idiot, and must have noticed how much I was coming on to him earlier. If he really was following me up here, with that smile plastered on his face, did he assume I was going to take it further? Is that what he wanted?
Had heforgivenme?
I nervously turn the key into the door and push it open, reaching up to turn on the light. Kirk evaluates the room with his sharp eyes, never missing a beat. It almost makes me nervous.
“It’s nice,” he says, taking off his coat. “It’s very you.”
I wonder exactly what he means by this…I mean, how much of me does he really know anymore?
My apartment has a look that a nice person would view as minimalist, and a slightly more particular person would simply label as cheap. It’s a small apartment, for being expensive as the rent is, but I wanted to be as close to work as possible, and this was the best I could afford with my budget. There’s one big central area, with a kitchen off to the side, and a bedroom with a bathroom. I haven’t lived here long enough to really let my personality show in the space…the walls are still mostly bare. I have a few bookshelves up, most of them displaying knickknacks, old inherited vases and photographs that tell the story of my life in disjointed pieces. The plain, white and brown Ikea furniture is accented with some fuzzy blankets I picked out, giving the place a cozier feel than it would have otherwise. It’s not much, but for now, it’s my home.
“Sit down,” I tell Kirk, motioning to the couch in front of the television. “Can I make you some tea?”
“Sure,” Kirk says, sitting down. “Green, if you have it.”
“Coming right up,” I say, turning the kettle on. It would have been sexier to offer him some red wine but hey, you can’t be too obvious.
I look over at Kirk sitting on my couch as I wait for the tea to steep. I wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to go about this, but I knew I wanted to do it.God, did I want to do it.
I return to the couch with the two mugs of tea steaming in my hand and place them in front of Kirk. He’s been occupying himself with a page from theNew York Timesthat had been left on the coffee table, one that, I realize with some embarrassment, was probably at least two weeks old. He looks smart, like a young professor with his argyle sweater, glasses, and dark jeans—the kind of professor girls would fantasize about having an illicit affair with.
I sit down on the couch close by him and take off my over the knee boots, leaving me in my tan sweater dress and thin black tights. I stretch out, feigning a yawn and making sure he sees my legs and my curves showing from underneath my sweater dress.
“I liked being your girlfriend this evening,” I say, and I see Kirk’s eyes light up with pleasant surprise.
“Really?” he says, grinning, and takes a sip of tea. “I thought you did a superb job of it, if I do say so myself.” His eyes are locked on mine with deliberate intensity.
“Well, I’m good at a lot of things,” I say, and I almost chide myself for being so forward, but then Kirk scooches closer and lays one of his large hands on the top of my thigh, and I nearly gasp.
