I'd followed him from job to job as he moved within the design industry. We had met a few years ago at W. G, Simmonds, a medium sized interiors firm in New York City and he was just getting started as a designer/salesman for contract interiors. I thought he was a bit pompous and too flamboyant, less than likely to succeed, but our boss had placed him between the two heavy hitters in our company which was an indication of faith in his abilities.
We met at the office cooler soon enough and chatted about the city and things we enjoyed doing. He was very tall and good looking in an aristocratic sort of way and that annoyed me. It annoyed me that he didn't fit my description of the kind of man I thought I liked and yet I found him attractive and was intrigued by him. I tried to throw my sex in his face to get a reaction and yet he was entirely aloof and that made me mad. Every time I said anything remotely sexual he would talk about his wife and about how much he was enjoying married life...the dick.
Still, he was pretty smart and perhaps the only person in the office who could keep up with me and I found him highly intriguing. Within a couple of months I found he was always looking over my work, popping into my space and making an observation here and there and my work definitely improved. He was a natural and had an eye for design and a way of thinking that no one else in the company seemed to have, and when he decided to leave and move on to another company, he took all his clients and me along for the ride.
I'd often looked in the mirror and questioned my own refection. Everything about me was plain...nothing particularly special. As a matter of fact I only saw flaws. Five foot six so not tall enough, skinny as hell and with a small bust, a little bit of a mustache which I bleached weekly, dark roots in my blonde colored hair. I was pretty fit and I knew how to dress, and now that I sat opposite him I could dress to torture him and try to get a reaction. For this reason, I never wore underwear and would face in his direction and constantly cross and re-cross my legs. He would just roll his eyes and look elsewhere, but I caught him looking many times while he was on the phone.
His wife came to visit one day and I knew I would hate her before we'd even met. Then, there she was...tall, slender with a huge upright bust, creamy girl next door complexion, and English. Not only English, but from Oxford and seemingly a royal. Damn...she was everything I was not, educated to a Ph.D., patrician, equestrian, cultured in a way that intimidated any American, and with a voice so charming that few could focus on her words, the music of her speech leaving you stunned and feeling insignificant. Trouble was, as much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn't. She was Mary fuckin' Poppins and had the situation not been what it was, I'd of been in love with that woman, she was so delightful. Delightful...doubt anyone would ever describe me that way.
Christian and I were now part of a team and we worked together long hours, he in the field and me in the office. This day though, he said he would be taking me to meet clients and introducing me around town. I dressed to the nines and wore my highest heels and a short flowy dress, unbuttoned a sufficient number of buttons and wore my most effective push-up bra. We met at the drawing table and laid out some floor plans so he could point out the things which needed to be discussed in front of the people at Chanel. I bent low over the drawings and looked up enough times to notice he was constantly looking in my blouse. Hmmm...the unbuttoned top was catching his eye...good.
"Felicity?"
"Yes Christian."
"Do you think you could button your blouse a bit? You'll be somewhat of a distraction at the client's office lookin the way you do."
Okay...he was looking, but not lusting. Damn it. He was seeing me as a liability. He'd have to pay for that.
We went about our rounds and it was hot this July day. I was barely okay with it but Chris was suit and tie and I knew he was suffering the heat. Forget taking the subway anywhere. It would kill us, so we cabbed from place to place and he had removed his jacket and folded it in his lap in the taxis, the AC in each car hardly enough to make life breathable. His shirt was getting drenched.
I'd been working with him for quite some time now but had never seen him in the field and was blown away by the manner in which he was received by the clients. He wasn't a salesman at Chanel, he was their consultant. Even the architect and designers...people of high repute, deferred to him and sought his opinions and advice. He turned to me several times and asked that I explain fine points and details of "our work" and I was stunned at how he had elevated me from an assistant to a professional in front of some of the most important people in the NY fashion world. I'd never felt valued before and now, here I was, handing out my business card to the likes of Ralph Lauren, Karl Lagerfeld, and Giorgio Armani. My God...I was somebody!
I loved him for that. Before becoming his assistant I was an office hack, now I was a design consultant and had been introduced as Chris' stand-in should he be away or otherwise occupied. Would I be able to serve and please his clients in his absence? He was putting a lot of faith in me and that felt terrific.
We spent the entire day in the field and our last stop was an installation. We walked the floor, filled with electricians, tin knockers, HVAC, and painters taping and spackling walls. It was brutally hot and I could see that Chris was flagging. "Come on...let's go," I said.
We stepped into the street and down the block was one of those shirt stores that advertised 5 shirts for $100.00. We stepped in and I bought him a blue cotton dress shirt.
"God Felicity, do I look that bad?"
"Honey, you could wring out a cup of sweat from what you are wearing. Come on, let's get you fixed up."
We taxied to my apartment, a block from the office, and I told him to take a shower and stay in cool water for a bit. He smiled and the gratitude was written clearly across his face. With him in the bathroom I ran around quickly and tidied up my space, collecting undies and bras strewn about. Then I stopped and decided to leave some of my lingerie lying about.
Why should I go out of my way to cover up who I am...my style.
He came out of the shower wrapped in a towel around his waist and I blanched. Shit...never considered he'd have a good body beneath the suit and tie. Damn, he's hot. Men with minds often distract a gal's attention to what may reside beneath the wrapping and I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Let's see...broad shoulders, magnificent arms, nearly hairless chest, abs, and a belly button that was long and deep, drawing my attention to the shadows within. Oh my God...look at the trace of hair leading down to the towel. Shit...the fuck has me losin' it. Damn.
He walked around the living room, smiling that I'd hung his suit on a hanger, then started looking at the book titles on the shelves. "Hey Felicity, we read some of the same stuff," He said as he looked about. As I came out of my dream state I noticed his back for the first time concentrating on skin instead of structure.
"Shit Chris, you're back is completely blotched. Hang on, I've got something for that."
I returned with an anti-fungal crème from the medicine chest.
"Here, hold still a sec."
I applied the salve and swept my fingers over the raised red pattern. He had definitely suffered from the heat, poor guy. Suits and ties in this heat, sheesh.
God...I'm touching his skin. I'm rubbing this into his skin!
