Page 8 of Untether

They’re not hot-pants, more’s the pity. They’re—I dunno—tailored work shorts that hit around mid-thigh when she’s standing. City shorts, maybe? But they ride up when she takes her seat and crosses one long leg elegantly over the other.

She’s spectacular.

I’ve brushed shoulders with celebrities plenty of times. Partied with models and actors, even fucked a few. But Aida Russell differs from them. She’s a face—and body—that belongs squarely in the respectable milieu of the evening news.

It never occurred to me, until Gen said her name, that she belonged here.

At Alchemy.

Aida may be wearing fuck-me shorts in fuck-me red with fuck-me heels, but she’s clearly channelling her waist-up vibe. This woman is in business mode. Her armour’s on, guns blazing. I knew it the second she gave me her best don’t-fuck-with-me handshake. The one I bet she reserves for the sleaziest or the most arrogant politicians.

She surveys me now, setting her wineglass down before she speaks.

‘The premise is to showcase the sexual identity crisis hitting women in their forties and fifties,’ she says. ‘It’s a horrible combination of divorce rates peaking when kids go off to college, perimenopause, and this societal failure to not only value these women but toseeus. We’re an invisible stratum of society. And that’s not right.’

Someone would have to be legally blind to find the smoke show that is Aida Russell invisible, but I keep my mouth shut.

‘Agreed,’ Gen murmurs.

I take a sip of my rosé as I await what is surely more detail. Because the picture she’s painted so far is as dry as it is problematic. Nevertheless, I want to hear more. I want to be privy to whatever her brilliant brain is concocting, and I want to keep listening to her talking in that sexy, regionless American accent she’s got. Her delivery is the clipped eloquence of a skilled orator, but there’s a hint of huskiness to her voice that has driven many a red-blooded British male crazy—in a good way.

‘My proposal is to tackle each of these problems, one by one,’ she says. She’s using her hand to gesticulate. Her movements are tight. Controlled. ‘We can bring in experts, and I can talk to what I believe the issues are.’

Gen clears her throat tactfully, and I turn to look at her, because right now I’m so lost that I may have wandered into the wrong meeting.

‘When we met up, back in June,’ she begins delicately, ‘you were pretty pissed off, and rightly so. You sold me a concept, and while all the issues you’ve raised just now are incredibly worthwhile, your elevator pitch back then was far more simple.’

She pauses, but Aida stays silent. She reaches for her wineglass again, molten eyes wide. She’s a deer caught in the headlights, and my heart goes out to her. She’s supposed to walk in here and spill her sexual vulnerabilities and desires to a random guy she’s never met, in broad daylight? That’s shit for her.

‘You told me,’ Gen continues softly, ‘that you’d had years and years of totally crap marital sex, and you weren’t going to stand there and take it while your husband buggered off with some young trollop—not your words—and that youwanted to show the world that women like you weren’t damaged goods.’

She leans forward, and I can tell she’s about to deliver the mic-drop moment. Fuck, I love Gen when she gets like this.

‘You told me you wanted to experience really great sex, and you wanted to use the power of your platform to show other woman that they have value. That they’re not damaged goods. And I for one thought that was fan-fucking-tastic.’

I haven’t taken my eyes off Aida. She’s clutching her wineglass like it’s a security blanket. But she nods at Gen’s words.

‘Yeah,’ she says slowly. ‘You’re right. I did. And that’s what I want—that’s what should be at the centre of all that. I don’t want to tell people how it should be. I want toshowthem. I know that’s by far the most powerful part of my whole plan for this thing. I want to show them in a way that’s aspirational and thought-provoking and super inspiring. I know some women will get on board—they’ll appreciate what I’m trying to achieve. And I know others will judge me and slut-shame me the whole way through.’

She pauses dramatically, and I’m reminded of quite how adept she is at holding an audience. ‘And then I want those judgy ones to turn off their TV at the end,’ she says drily, ‘and be like “luckybitch”.’

That earns her a guffaw from me.

‘God, I would love that,’ Gen says, shaking her head.

Aida turns her attention to me. ‘I’ll be honest, though. I have lists of sexperts to feature, but the actual, you know, sex part is very, very unclear in my mind. And I’m so far out of my comfort zone right now that I’m losing my mind. I don’tthink I’ve ever been so under-prepared for a meeting in my life. I—’

I hold up a hand to stop her before she gets a chance to beat herself up any further.

‘Aida. If I may. Of course it’s weird for you. I completely get that.’ I pause, trying to find the right words. ‘And this isn’t the right format to discuss that, because of course you don’t feel remotely comfortable discussing this stuff in a meeting environment.’

I smile at her, and I hope it comes across as sincere. Open. ‘If I’m going to have any value for you in this entire process, you’ll have to learn to trust me. And, for that to happen, we’ll have to get to know each other a lot better.’

She nods curtly, but she looks relieved. ‘Yes. I agree.’

‘Excellent,’ I say. ‘In that case, we’re going to need a date. Somewhere dark and fun and sexy. And we’ll need some cocktails.’

6

---