Part 11 (2/2)
”But how does that work?” I ask, another million questions working their way into my mind. Where? When? Why?
”Well, I won't lie. It's a little complex.”
I wonder if they've done this before, if we're just another notch on their fancy, expensive bed post.
”You've done this before? You do this a lot?”
His smile is warm, and he puts his hand on my knee again. ”No...not a lot, but yes...we've done this before...twice.”
I feel his hand on me. And I almost forget this might be the most horrible idea ever conceived.
”And what happened with those couples?” I ask him. The whole thing suddenly seems very sordid.
”I'm sorry,” he says, his voice soft. ”I've scared you.”
”Yes...I'm a little scared,” I admit. ”Honestly, Weston...I don't know what to think.”
”I understand. The concept is completely unfamiliar to you.”
I sit motionless, speechless and stare into his striking eyes. I truly don't know what to think.
”We don't take these arrangements lightly, Mirella.” His gaze soft-finally, he's making eye contact. ”They must be approached with caution, and rules and agreements must be in place. Thorough discussion is absolutely necessary.”
My eyes are a little lazy as I listen to his smooth voice. I don't think I've ever been so turned on by a conversation. In fact, I'm positive of it. It seems my whole body is throbbing, hanging on to his every word.
Gabe was right. He wants to f.u.c.k me. Most men would stick their hands under my skirt and whisper a few dirty words in my ear. But Weston Hanson is not ”most men.” He's a strange one.
And unfortunately...s.e.xy as h.e.l.l.
I start to think about the logistics of this whole thing, and suddenly, my questions become more concrete. ”Where would we do this? Do we all go out together and split up? At your house?”
He smiles. He seems slightly amused by my questions. His smile irks me-these are legitimate, serious questions.
He scratches his brow. ”Well, first, we would schedule individual dates. You would contact my a.s.sistant Kathryn, coordinate and schedule a convenient time. She knows Bridget's and my schedule inside out.”
What?
”Are you kidding me? This is not a dentist appointment, Weston,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
”I'm very well aware of that, Mirella,” he says, his eyes downcast. It seems I'm making this harder than he antic.i.p.ated.
”Kathryn is quite efficient at what she does. She'll coordinate and schedule our dates. The meetings will take place in the city...if we...uh...go ahead with the exchange,” he adds quickly, fl.u.s.tered.
Why does he call them ”meetings”? Call them what they are, I want to scream-hook-ups, booty calls...whatever.
”Both Bridget and I keep suites in the city.”
How convenient. They both have their own private little s.h.a.g pads...how quaint. I'm not sure if my disdain is obvious, but I kind of hope it is.
”When scheduling our meetings, Kathryn will take into account our individual schedules, our respective family plans, as well as your menstrual cycle.”
My jaw drops. I want to scream.
He did not just say that.
I take a breath and reach for my briefcase. I get up to leave but he stills me with his hand.
”Mirella,” he says softly. ”Please let me finish. Let me go through this with you. And then you can decide.”
His eyes. His beautiful eyes do me in every time. I don't think he realizes the power he has over me.
I stay seated. ”Well, I bet that part wasn't in the job description when Kathryn first applied for the position,” I joke, the sarcasm evident in my voice.
”No, it wasn't. But she's great at it. She's very discreet.”
”Don't you think it would be less weird if we just all went out and let the chips fall where they may? Play it by ear?”
He sighs. He doesn't seem to agree. ”I know it may seem a little strange to you,” he admits. ”We could very well go the traditional route...all go to a club together, get drunk, seduce each other, and we'd probably all end up in each other's beds,” he adds, a smile curving at the edge of his mouth. ”I think that's how most people do it.”
Yes, that's how normal people do it.
”But that's not my style,” he says plainly, he eyes fixed on me. ”I don't like chaos, I don't like uncertainty. I don't like the unexpected. I feel in control when I can foresee the course of circ.u.mstances and specific regulations are in place.”
Are we still talking about s.e.x?
Part of me hopes so.
And part of me is absolutely horrified.
”Don't you get jealous?” I ask. This question has been on my mind since he uttered the words ”open marriage.”
He shakes his head, his mouth a hard line. ”No,” he says matter-of-factly. ”We don't.”
I stare at him, speechless.
”If you think you might be jealous, this kind of arrangement is completely unsuited to you,” he adds, his words clipped.
”I see,” I say, looking down at my pencil skirt, and wondering if I could do that...not be jealous.
”This is about s.e.x, Mirella. There's no room for emotional attachment in these arrangements.”
I lift my gaze to his and study him for a few seconds. Yes, I can see how this would be easy for him-he's so rigid, pragmatic, distant and cold...almost inhuman.
”The sole purpose of this agreement is mutual s.e.xual gratification,” he says plainly.
His words are so business-like, like he's in a board meeting, going over the yearly profit predictions.
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