The Voice in the Dark Ch. 04

I know he is right, but I am still too pissed off to really think straight. I sigh and pick up my bag in an attempt to begin my weekend well and not allow anything else to spoil the atmosphere. I am already wiped out this week after having said my goodbyes to Neil as my boss, and now I am just dying to get home and lie down on my bed. I want this week to be over.

I breathe slowly and deeply and resolve to put away my anger for now. "I'm going to go home now, and I hope that by next week you will be too busy to see me. I don't want to know any more about it. We had our fun, that's it."

Smith then looks at me bewildered, and he suddenly says:

"We haven't done anything, Jess. Okay, I played with your mind a little, but I didn't intend for you to get into trouble, and I can't help every little way you will react. I haven't done anything you didn't want me to do."

It's that last part that scares me the most, and I want more than anything to just crawl into a hole and never come out for fear of what that means. I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to hear that amazing voice speak those magic words. I only want to make him happy. I only want to please him. But I know it will hurt me in the long run and warning signs are going off in my head.

"That's all very well. But I am not interested in becoming the plaything of a man who won't even remember my name in the morning. I didn't suffer a traumatic breakup with one man to fall into the same trap with someone else. And besides, I am your employee. There's a line that goes with that."

Smith's expression becomes even more troubled than before and he runs his hands through his hair. Almost like he wants to tear it out.

I take that as my cue to leave and walk out of the room before he can say another word. I hope I can just make it out of the building in time before rush hour starts. I take out my phone to text my mum to confirm tomorrow afternoon's arrangements for lunch before they head back to the UK. Lucy and I have met up with my mum and Steve every evening this week and it felt good to get some much-needed stability in my life again. Yes, we have a long way to go but we are building a solid foundation to begin to rebuild our relationship.

I press the ground floor button and my head is just about to sink back against the mirrored wall when the door is held open, and I am once again forced to stare into that gorgeous, and infuriating, face.

"Jess. Wait. Please, can we go somewhere? Tonight? I really think we need to talk... but as us. Not two strangers. Please?"

I want more than anything to give in, and my god it is hard to resist. I know it would be a thousand times safer for me to just walk away and forget I ever met him.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Mr.Johnson. We would be crossing a serious boundary. Plus, I am not in the best of places right now."

"Jess, I promise. I mean you no harm. I just want to talk as equals now. I want to explain some things. Can you meet me later, at the bar? Eight o'clock?"

His proximity in the lift is messing with my head and my rational side is slowly sinking into the background. I just can't seem to resist this man, no matter how much I want to.

I look at the floor at his beautifully polished leather shoes and allow myself to bask in his presence. The one that makes me feel safe, despite knowing all too well that I am anything but. And I slowly nod my head in agreement.

"Jess. I need you to use your words. Look me in the eyes."

He tilts my chin up with his fingers and my eyes lock with his. I want more than anything to just sink powerless into his arms and do whatever he wants.

"Will you come tonight to meet me, Jess?"

I sigh deeply before I say: "Yes."

The spell is then broken as the elevator door slides open and he leaves me standing there but not before saying, or at least I think he says:

"Good Girl."

I press my back against the wall of the elevator and the power of his eyes, voice and words bring back memories that I haven't really been able to examine before. Like they have happened somewhere before, but my mind just can't seem to focus on it for long enough to make any sense of it.

And the strange thing about that is: I don't really care if it makes sense or not.

I arrive at exactly eight o'clock, at the all too familiar haunt and I really try as hard as I can to fool myself into thinking this is a good idea.

I check my watch just to make sure I am on time, and I adjust the lovely white silk shirt I put on in preparation for the evening along with elegant Palazzo pants. I clutch my handbag tighter to me as I try to stop my hands from shaking. I cross one ankle over the other and my nude court shoes are a stark contrast to the deep mauve of the carpet.

I check my face in my phone's camera and make sure that my lipstick isn't smudged or my hair out of place. I told myself that I wouldn't make too much of an effort for this guy while running home and getting dolled up and I cringe inwardly.

Lucy wanted to know who I was going to see looking like that, and although I didn't elaborate, I could tell that she knew. I told her that I was going on a date, and I am thankful she didn't push for further information.

I am also glad that Lucy took the night off to spend it with Ricardo, and really take stock of the situation between them. I know it's not guaranteed that they will work out, but Lucy really deserves someone to make her feel loved and appreciated. Whether that be with Ricardo or someone else.

I am shaking with nerves and I check my watch again as I try to dampen down my irritation at him being late. I know he's rich, and he's taking over a big media empire within his powerful family, but surely that doesn't give him the right to waste my time? I sip my gin and lemonade carefully, allowing the alcohol to relax me. I decide to give him another five minutes before I walk out and never think of him ever again.

I look around the room, and my eyes latch onto the spot where I always find him. Why didn't I notice him before?

He's looking every bit as handsome, if a bit rough around the edges. It's like the stress he is going through is making him neglect his usual pristine appearance. < i Or is it that I have only ever seen him at his best moments? i> The thought makes me sad.

I take myself over to the armchair near the fireplace, opposite the enigma of a man who has been on my mind for a long time. He's staring at his hands and his dark brown eyes are lost in thought. Like he's a million miles away from help or understanding.

"Smith. Are you okay? What is it you want to talk about?"

Why I chose to call him that I don't know, but it seems to have the desired effect as he stands up and kisses me on the cheek before he signals to the waiter at the bar for another round and before I know it, a fresh gin and lemonade is on the table between us alongside his glass of what looks like bourbon, or possibly whisky.

"Jess, my beauty. Come and sit down." His tone is soft, seductive and powerful, and I am beginning to feel that I won't need any more alcohol as simply looking into those eyes is enough to make me forget myself.

"Smith. You know that this isn't a date, right? I came to hear what you have to say that you couldn't in the office."

I am aware that I may not be sending the correct signals about that considering my appearance, but I want to think that dressing for the occasion can at least give me confidence. Plus, I don't think what I am wearing now is anywhere near as revealing as the other times I have met him here. And anyway, it seems to be having the desired effect as he looks at me with heat in his gaze and he moves an inch closer to the edge of his chair, leaning his forearms on his knees and clapping his hands together. He seems to be putting all of his focus on this moment between us and I can't deny that his gaze gives me butterflies despite my annoyance and confusion over his behaviour. In fact, it's quickly becoming swallowed with the need to make him comfortable, to make sure that nothing else can occupy his attention at this moment in time.

I smooth my hair back off my face and really try to ignore the feeling of heat on my neck and chest but I know it's only a matter of time before the tell tale stain of red makes its way into my face. Something that is always noticeable with me when I like a guy. And this man is just something else.

"I want to get to know you properly, Jess. You're a very beautiful and interesting woman. Surely you must know the effect you have on people? Your boss especially couldn't take his eyes off you. Neil, was it?"

I smile at the thought of Neil, and I want to laugh at the irony of Smith's words but I simply nod my head and decide instead to move the conversation onto something resembling a point.

"Why did you want to meet me here, Mr.Johnson? You must have a lot to deal with now that you're taking over."

It's like speaking his real name out loud has broken the spell, and he leans back in his chair with his hand under his chin and his eyes are once again trained on the fireplace. Almost like he can no longer hear me. I feel a twang of disappointment and I inch closer to the edge of my chair and speak in a soft, calming voice.

"I just want to know how the man I want to fuck into the middle of next week somehow ends up being my boss. Surely you must think this is weird?"

Jack Johnson looks back over at me and his face softens in sympathy. I can tell that he doesn't know what to say. It has come as a shock to him as much as it has to me.

"I won't deny, it was strange to see you in my office when I was all but convinced that I would never see you again. It often felt like I was dreaming when I talked to you here the last couple of times. You turning up looking like a goddess in that dress a week or so ago really made my night. In fact, I had some very naughty thoughts about you as you crossed the room to me."

His words send a shiver up my spine and my pussy clenches in excitement. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying. <i Surely, I shouldn't be having these thoughts about my boss. i> Then again, the boundary was crossed almost before I knew it, and it makes me feel surprisingly brave and confident. Usually seeing this man, hearing his voice or being near him robs me of the power of rational thought, and the ability to speak without stuttering.

I sit up straight and look him directly in his eyes.

"Did you know? About me? About who I was?" I ask, despite already knowing the answer.

He meets my gaze and says firmly, "No Jess. I didn't know. And I am pretty confident you didn't know who I was until today. Smith is the name I use when I just want to be anonymous, lame as it sounds, but when you're someone like me..." He trails off momentarily, perhaps only now becoming aware of how self-aggrandizing that sentence was.

"It's okay. Maybe I was looking for an ulterior motive when there wasn't one. I just wasn't convinced that someone of your wealth and power wouldn't know some information about me."

Then I remember I only ever gave him my first name too. Even if he did make a few smart guesses about what I told him, he'd have to be pretty determined to find out what he needed to know. Maybe he thought it wouldn't go any further, until we ran into each other again. Funny how the mind clutches at straws when it has no real explanation about something, only for the simplest solution to completely trip us up. I sit back in my chair, reeling at his words and I want more than anything to ask more questions but sometimes, there really isn't a satisfactory answer.

He looks at me momentarily with sympathy, and then says:

"I asked you here because I wanted to look at you in the cold light of day. So I could see if my memories of you compared to the real thing."

"And?" I say, expectantly

"Oh. Absolutely not. You're an incredible sight. And you have been right under my nose this whole time." He smiles at those words, and my stomach tightens in anticipation.

"Well. I would also never have guessed in a million years that my boss would end up being the person whom I have dreamed about for weeks. Especially in my lonely moments."

His ears seem to prick up at this, and I feel myself blushing bright red again. I didn't intend for it to come out that way, but it's like all that I have been holding myself back from saying is coming to the surface and I don't have any power to stop it.

"Tell me, Jess. What do you think about in those moments?"

I take a deep, steadying breath and allow myself to say something completely unedited for the first time in ages.

"I think about how much I enjoy hearing your voice. How calm and soothing it is when it all gets too much to bear. I think about how safe your voice makes me feel, despite not knowing you all that well. I think about how much I want to sink to my knees and do anything you ask of me, if only you would keep talking. I want to feel you on top of me. Inside me. I want to always have your voice in my head."

It all comes out in such a rush that my head swims and I have to give myself a few moments to catch my breath. I feel like I have run a marathon, and yet my body is alive, almost craving to move, when before it was run down and exhausted. I wonder if I have been my own worst enemy in this, and I feel like I deserve a moment to just get out of my head, and be reckless for once.

"You're a very good girl, Jess. You are a woman with deep, complex needs, and you know yourself enough to fulfil those needs. I am very glad to be the person you share this side of yourself with."

I reach for my drink to get a quick swig of Dutch courage, and I see his strong capable hand reach out toward the table and wrap his fingers around the whisky tumbler. I watch in fascination as he brings it up to his lips and drinks deeply from the glass. His throat sets to work and he opens his mouth a little wider as he tips his head back to savour it.

I suddenly remember a line from the film, <i The Philadelphia Story i>, where James Stewart described whisky as a 'Slap on the back,' and I suppose that it must be true as he closes his eyes and gives a grunt of distaste as the liquid travels down his throat. It must be in the burning stage before it settles into a soft glowing warmth in your stomach. He puts his head forward, almost to between his knees and it's the first time he has taken his gaze off of mine this evening, giving me a brief respite.

When he looks up again, his eyes are a little less focused but his body is a lot more relaxed than it was just a few moments ago. I don't know if this is the place where he can really allow himself to relax, or if the alcohol is also making him brave but he suddenly says:

"I have not stopped thinking about you since we met, Jess. I have driven myself crazy in sleepless nights thinking about you, and there are moments where thinking of your beautiful face and body as I touch myself has been the only thing to give me relief... until the next morning. When I wake up aching for you again."

It's almost like I can feel the same burning sensation in my stomach that is spreading through him. I want more than anything to listen to him talk forever. Nothing else seems important when he is talking. It's a heady feeling, something almost unworldly.

I pick up my drink and slowly sip it but not really needing it as I already feel quite drunk without it. I never break eye contact with him. I just can't. And I find our conversation flows naturally, like it always has.

The next time we look up, I find we have been talking for nearly two hours, and we haven't felt the need to drink anything more. I am surprised at how little we have noticed the large numbers of people coming in on a Friday night, in a popular bar in a big city like New York. Somehow it doesn't feel important. But in the end, we decide a change of scenery is best, and we leave. It feels like I am walking on a cloud beside him through crowds of people. He pulls me close and wraps an arm around my waist and I notice that people seem to move aside as we walk through the busy streets. >i Do they know who he is? i>

Then I realise, I am on one of those really rich, posh streets. I believe it's <i Fifth Avenue i>. Although I am no stranger to living spaces reserved only for the super wealthy, this is something else.

"You can leave anytime. Remember that, Jess."

I nod, suddenly feeling like my head is emerging from the fog that has surrounded me for hours. The panic rises in my chest and I reach into my bag for my phone. I text Lucy to let her know that I am okay, and then do the same for my mum. His grip on me suddenly doesn't seem quite so reassuring as it did before, and I really try to ignore that feeling as we make our way up to the top of his building.

The apartment is large, modern and absolutely a masculine space. Its colour palette is grey, brown and navy with a stunning vista from the floor to ceiling windows over the city. The furniture is picked out with careful attention to detail, but there's nothing to suggest that there has ever been a female partner. Not even his mum could have left a favourite knick knack here.

He takes off his jacket, and makes his way to the large window. He stares into the distance, and it's like I am no longer there. I feel myself begin to shiver, like I am suffering withdrawal symptoms, and I don't like it. I want to move closer to him again, if only to feel like I am not about to collapse. I remove my heels and put down my bag before I make my way closer to him, but I stop short.

He suddenly slumps into the chair by the window, and his head falls between his knees as if bracing himself. His hands cover his face in an attempt to stop himself from panicking but his breathing is getting faster as his shoulders hunch up. My heart aches with pain as I can see him in a very similar position to how I was months ago.

It's like the world is collapsing around him, and I can't even begin to help him.

<i Jack Johnson. My 'Smith' i>

I find the difference between the two men jarring. Smith was poised, calm and seductive under the soft purple lights of the bar, and those dark brown eyes could always make me melt.

Jack Johnson is a man who has the responsibility of a huge multi company empire on his shoulders at a time when he is just figuring out who he is. His eyes are bloodshot with dark circles underneath from the lack of sleep, and he is slowly getting thinner under the beautifully cut three-piece suit. He clenches his jaw and looks like he just wants to crawl into a hole somewhere, never to be seen again.

I kneel beside him and remove his hands from his face so I can look into his eyes, and he doesn't stop me. We look at each other, and we can finally begin to see each other as a real person.

"You don't have to be afraid. I know none of this is your choice, but you don't have to feel like the world is closing in around you. You just have to allow yourself to make mistakes, and then learn from them. Even you aren't perfect.'

"Jess, I... I don't know what to do now. I haven't ever been trained for this, and it's super obvious that my dad is doing it as a last resort. He needs the spare to just pick up where the heir was always meant to be. Jameson always knows what to do, and I just don't."

I remember hearing the story of how Jameson left the company for an unknown reason, and can't stop myself from asking.

"Why did he leave, Jack? What did he do?"

Jack's expression becomes suddenly even more miserable. I can tell he doesn't want to discuss it, but he doesn't have any fight left in him. It's like he can't bear to hold anything back anymore.