Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
What I would give to be a fly on the wall of my old friend’s office right now…
I finish my scotch, keeping one eye on the panel, but when it opens again, it isn’t my girl on the other side, it’s Twyla. She spots me and crooks a finger my way, playfully beckoning me to follow her.
I rise with a smile and cross the room.
“Beautiful, as always,” I murmur as we cheek kiss, a custom from Twyla’s native France that’s stuck with her long after her accent faded away.
“Thank you,” she says, pulling back with a wink. “And you look like you’ve been through the wringer. Come, tell Auntie T all your troubles.”
She turns and I follow her up the stairs. Her Italian leather pumps click lightly on the marble, their supple brown perfectly completing an outfit my ex-wife would have killed for.
Erica had a fashion addiction equaled only by her addiction to cheating with people I unknowingly passed on the street every day. After the debacle with the doorman, I hired a private investigator to see what else my wife had been up to while I was working too hard. Turns out she was also involved with the UPS man, one of her trainers at the gym, and the kid who cut deli meat at the upscale grocery store down the street.
When I told Twyla as much, she insisted I have my “meat” tested for diseases, refusing to tolerate the idea of me giving Erica everything she wanted in the divorce if my soon-to-be ex had saddled me with some exotic STD.
Luckily, my “meat” got the all-clear, and I emerged from my marriage without any lasting physical damage.
Emotionally, I’m not sure I can say the same.
I’ve told myself I’ve just been too busy at the office to get involved with anyone since my divorce, but deep down, I know fear is part of it, too. I’m afraid to open my heart, afraid of being deceived and betrayed all over again.
But I’m suddenly not afraid of running my hands over a woman’s velvet-covered curves in a dark corner…
As we step into Twyla’s office, I glance around, disappointed to find that we’re alone.
Where has Velvet gone and how can I ask without sounding like a creepy old man? The woman had to be at least fifteen years my junior, maybe more, but that look she shot my way makes me think she wasn’t bothered by our age difference.
“Another scotch?” Twyla asks as she crosses to the wet bar.
“No, thank you,” I say, taking a closer look at the décor now that it’s clear we’re alone. The office is what I’d expect from my old friend—elegant but provocative, with leather-bound books lining one wall and erotic art adorning another. The view of the East Village through the window behind her large desk reveals that the snow is still falling outside, swiftly covering the trail I left on my way here.
New York is a city that excels at keeping secrets in all seasons, but especially in winter. In the early darkness amid softly drifted snow, New York seems to whisper that it’s okay to loosen your hold on your self-control, to ease into the shadows and indulge the longings you’ve kept hidden through the glaring summer and wholesome fall.
“Just for me then,” Twyla says, settling behind her desk with a glass of amber liquid sloshing around one giant round piece of ice. “The great and prudish Anthony Pissarro finally graces my naughty establishment with his presence.” She swirls her drink with a grin. “Should I mark the occasion by naming a playroom after you? Perhaps commission a plaque for the men’s room?”
“Very funny.” I sink into the chair across from hers, the leather butter-soft against my back. “This is actually the least unexpected thing I’ve done in the past two hours.” I pull in a breath as I loosen my tie, my pulse picking up again as I speak the words aloud for the first time, “I quit my job.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I quit, effective immediately,” I repeat. “To be specific, I walked out in the middle of a board meeting and told my assistant to pack up my office because I wouldn’t be back.”
“Holy shit.” Twyla leans forward, drink abandoned as her perfectly manicured nails drum against her desk. “You finally lost it. I knew you would, sooner or later. You’re too tightly wound for things to end any other way.”
I exhale a tight laugh. “I’m not tightly wound, and I didn’t lose it.”
She arches a challenging brow.
I drag a hand through my hair. “I mean, I don’t think I did. The what-the-fuck-did-I-do is setting in now, but at the time…I was calm. It suddenly became clear to me that I was done with it. All of it. With private equity and board meetings and maximizing profits at all costs.” I sigh. “The game doesn’t feel worth playing anymore. That part of my life is over.” As I say the words, a certainty deep in my bones assures me they’re true. “Now, it’s time to figure out what comes next.”