slowly, then all at once.
It was late enough into the night—the apartment entirely quiet, except for the rhythmic pattern of knives being sharpened in the kitchen. Tessa gave herself a once-over in the bedroom mirror; glad she’d decided on six inch suede black— as was regular— tall, thin stilettos with straps that tied in interwoven stripes up to the sharp muscled shape of her calf. It drew the eye along a toned leg that was bare all the way up to the thigh through the slit of a gorgeous, perfectly emerald colored silk gown.
By contract, the personal chef she hired for the night should’ve headed home some hours ago. Time and time again however, he’d proven his professionalism by staying not until the last minute of what was agreed upon, but until it was all done and taken care of. The loft might’ve only hosted just two, but she’d proven to be quite the demanding client all by herself. She’d always been a well trained hostess, and a passionate one at that. Putting together something Gatsby-like from her lavish parties to the more intimate get-togethers; a level of taste inherited from her parents. There was a line crossed once you had so much money, it was as if there was nothing plausible left to spend it on. So wine and cheeseboards it was, live entertainment, senseless entertainment, new dresses, more canvas’, paint supplies, household decor and designer heels to debut on any given night. A diary of a born-millionaire bored, poking at any soft thing that might’ve surprised like a lottery ticket. Gambling—yet another recent passion, too; though she had always been responsible about it of course.
All her friends said the kitchen renovation was a waste: Italian marble counters, appliances made to order, collectible plates stored away never to be used. Despite her culture, her parents had never learned to cook and neither did she, but then again, she’d never had to. It’d always been a to-do on her massive list of things, and yet, often she found herself indisposed with other ( distractions ) plans that took up the majority of her time—regardless of the more lax scheduled nature of her commissions ( she’d been working on a massive mural for a very particularly difficult client as of late ) in comparison to Tom’s more packed one, she had been the farthest thing from quiescent. Her duties far surpassed the nature of just her occupation and flourished into every aspect of her life, especially the one they shared together: but, admittedly, Tessa always preferred to have things done her way and, though not always capable of such, Tom had become intelligent enough over the years to mostly know when to be smart and keep his mouth shut about it.
( In reality: she wondered if it was because he was often overworked as he had become a far cry from the young man that she had knew when they were a unit of four instead, cramped into an apartment that would’ve often been left a mess if not for her or Jay’s interventions or, additionally, too dangerous to simply maneuver around due to his well thought out yet derivative pranks; back then, he’d always mouthed off at her to get under her skin, pushed to get his way. Now he’d mostly leave her to her devices when it came to various decisions and, sometimes, she wondered if she missed that rebellious side to him, however frustrating. It at least promised intense sex; other times she wondered if it’d simply been real and true growth but then he’d say or do something so ridiculously asinine, immediately leaving her to abandon the thought. )
Despite it being their anniversary, Tom had been indisposed in his personal office until further notice. Still, Tessa’s patience had run thin and she fully intended to do something about it. Time wasn’t meant to be wasted and she’d always been overly efficient in her use of it; everyone had often remarked about the almost inhuman skill she had when it came to organization, brain quickly able to deduce what most urgently needed to be done to provide the best results. One thing about Tessa: she’d always come prepared.
“Are you slicing cucumbers or stabbing a man?” She asked as she stepped into the kitchen, poking light fun at the hired help but at his confused stare she remembered that he barely understood English, having been a top chef from his native Mexico. Then: “Lo siento. Puedes empezar a cocinar la comida. Me aseguraré de que estemos listos a tiempo.” as she walked over to pull two wine glasses from the upper cabinet, followed by a bottle of Sojourn Cabernet Sauvignon before heading in the direction of her fiancé’s office. “Gracias de nuevo.”
When she’d arrived at the closed door, she didn’t bother to knock, instead quietly sliding inside incase he might’ve been on a call; she was considerate like that… sometimes. Of course he had been sitting at his desk, so engrossed in his work that he had yet to look up. She’d fix that momentarily. Sauntering over to him like a predator would its prey, Tessa placed the glasses and bottle softly upon his desk; and when his eyes finally met her own hazel hues, she rewarded him with a tantalizing grin as she worked to uncork the bottle with a practiced ease.
They had always been antithetical, in sharp contrast or in conflict. In actuality, she was sometimes amazed that they had managed to make it this far. They had the tendency to either burn too hot or cold—and though Tessa’s structured nature often allowed her to sometimes be annoyed with his absence or, in many cases, lack of time management, she too had learned how to better win her battles. Pouring the wine into their cups, she maintained the répartie she tended to face Tom with when she was in a particular mood. Coy, friendly, semi-obedient— almost innocent. With a single bat of her lashes, she revealed the true deviance that lied mostly dormant beneath her coquettish facade. He’d seen it before. A wicked smirk painted her face as she positioned herself in front of him, sitting back along the antique mahogany wood desk she’d personally picked out, legs crossed in between his own. A few long seconds ticked passed with her eyes trained on his lips.
“All work and no play makes you a very dull boy, Mr. Warren,” Her smile grew a bit brighter as she eyed him longer— a brief hint of her true self, and an equally curtailed allusion to how amusing she found her own game. All in good fun.
Thomas Warren, for all of his preposterousness, had always been far more intelligent than he let on; the success of Velocity had caused him to soar to new heights—to push himself ( literally and figuratively ) and become a man, but he was only timely happy. It came in bouts, always off of some great news, or off of a grandiose night. It had become Tessa’s talent overtime to draw it out of him without a prompt: the right wine, the right words, the harsher ones in an attempt to better him, the right shade of lingerie. Tom loved his view, and she was entirely devoted to hers.
Tessa uncrossed her legs then, à la Basic Instinct, the silk further sliding up her thigh. “So I’m going to do you a generous favor and help you set your mind to more… entertaining endeavours,” Grounding both heels on the floor, she slid forward just enough from her perch to impose seriousness. Everything she did always had a reasoning behind it. Her armor of seduction was always ready at the offense in case her interruption of his work was ill-received, eyes trained intently on Tom’s for a long beat. “I know by now you have to be hungry.” Double entendre; it helped when she made it seem as if he actually had a choice in the matter. He didn’t.
Tom’s endless pursuit for things to do was often mistook for a passionate or determined work ethic. Well-aware of such misconceptions, he allowed them to persist so long as the pros outweighed the cons. His business had been making steady profits for months, and even that was a modest outlook considering the increase of demand he had been fielding. More to do, less time to waste. Less time to be alone or in the company of others who asked too personal questions. Left to his own devices, Tom’s social calendar would be in shambles if not for the handful of companions he had who knew better. His former part-business/partner part-roommate, Jay, for one. Safely impartial, as always: Jay’s quiet and sensible code of conduct was one Tom never shied from, so long as he was not responsible for casting the first line of communication.
Jay – responsible, selfless, and compassionate – chronic memorizer of all his friends’ phone numbers, birthdays, and childhood pets’ names, had been radio silent today. Although neither would ever address as much, for the same reason neither uttered the secondary name on the brewery’s contract. Granted, Tom had also failed to disclose its significance in his traditional slapdash handling of special occasions, much like he improvised his plans on any given day. He was still adjusting to annually honoring a day of commitment himself, taking it in his stride as if it was not a completely bewildering and nerve-racking reality to have somehow co-created. And for Tom, adjustment looked like overwhelming himself to the point of exhaustion. The more trivial details to process, the better. Enter: contracting several interstate launches and budgeting pop-ups, scouring questionably qualified resumes, and browsing commercial properties ad nauseam. Hunched over his desk, Tom worked consistently and meticulously for no valid reason other than to occupy as many consecutive hours as possible. Call it an interest in meeting profit margins or expanding the business at a steady rate which could not afford more than handful of hours of rest – all were placeholders to a far less ambitious truth: functioning in overdrive had become a habit. There was no enjoyment to be found in the navigating and delegating of tasks, despite his magnetism to such. Tom’s hunger for distraction and opportunity had begun to take on a bitter flavor, yet his limits remained unidentified until outward sources forced him to resurface.
Tom would not have been able to pinpoint the exact time he disappeared behind the door of his false sanctuary, only that now shadows existed where they had not before. Rubbing a hand across his face in an effort to quell the bleariness of too long spent staring at a screen, it slowly dawned on him what awaited beyond the confines of his desk. Tom could only adequately pretend not to notice the inevitable moment when the silhouette lithely navigating the apartment finally broached his designated workspace; could selectively ignore the fragrant scent of expensive taste ( he’d long ago forsaken trying to pronounce any of those intricate vials ), avert his stare from the perfectly manicured glint that clung like residue to polished composure, and refuse to acknowledge the lure inherently presented by the warmth emanating from the space Tessa had formally arrived to claim. There persisted a misleading softness to the sophisticated aura she possessed, daring his focus to latch onto her terms. Had he not been under the heady spell of another when they had first met, he might have fallen into her trap as most fools would be inclined to do. Nonetheless, even knowing better – having sooner chosen resistance, insult, and jokes over submission – he could not deny the merit of the hypnotizing qualities Tessa so skillfully spun and wove over his eyes, successfully rendering him subdued rather than antagonistic. Without distraction, pinned beneath Tessa’s spotlight, it was impossible to think of any(one)thing else. Although not in a totally romanticized sense – for if Tom had learned anything over the years it was that her actions were anything but subtle or coincidental in favour of exuding effortless confidence at every turn. Moreover, it inspired the type of alertness as if she had a dagger at his jugular whilst her other hand leisurely explored on its way to casually lay claim to his heart, elegantly slipping between his ribs to collect it without a hair falling out of place. He’d let it happen time and time again, even liked it. Sometimes ( forever unadmittedly ) far more than he wanted to.
Tessa was gifted in that even draped in the finest silk, satin, or thousand thread count Egyptian cotton – she was still somehow, impossibly, delivered sharply to the senses. Not alike the crass protrusion of an obvious weapon or detonator, but the imperceptible contact of a butterfly needle or electric current – dangerous and nearly deadly for its hidden precision. Able to infiltrate to a close enough level unsuspiciously that it was already too late once the situation’s strings-attached accoutrements were fully realised. To that effect, without any intention to react to the slinky overtones attached to Tessa’s presence, Tom was bleakly aware of his body’s involuntary betrayal: a chemical cocktail of equal doses caution and interest. Knowing she now shared the room with him automatically shifted his posture; the lazy slope of his spine suddenly having motive to hold him upright, his breathing deeper; clearing the drowsy haze which had clouded the sky-blue of his eyes, no longer scanning the same sentence for the umpteenth times without retention, his peripherals avidly clocking her every step. Try as he might to feign oblivious or even forgetful of her timely intrusion, Tom had never excelled at multi-tasking.
Alas, Tom was human. Vulnerable, heavily flawed, susceptible to impulsivity, and curious to a fault. Not to mention, the wine signified a much-anticipated punctuation mark of finality to the eternal workday which piqued his focus almost as much as its provisional sommelier. For a moment, Tom kept his eyes lowered beneath his brow, watching her hands ( mostly – as it was impossible to notice her hands without noting the lavish green tones behind them, which naturally shifted to noticing how the colour clung to her waist, how the measure of glossy material between the flare of her hips and upper thighs could surely be bundled away in two fistfuls… ). A self-indulgent beat later, he devoted a look towards her face; a litmus test against the nature of her visit. The connotations attached to an evening built around their anniversary was destined it to be the harbinger of pleasure or pain, yet it was too early to tell which would dominate the other.
Still amidst ejecting his mind from pixelated figures and imagery, Tom’s expression occupied uncharacteristically neutral territory, momentarily unguarded and boyish as his eyes searched hers. A faint line of concentration creased between his brow, mirroring the slight purse of his lips, only to dissolve of tension once he registered her expression. There she was. Whether Tom holed himself away from minutes, hours, or days, the reprieve of Tessa’s shining beacon of grandeur was never a dull sight to see – for better or for worse. On this occasion, the mood being set certainly appeared for the better. An enticing liveliness chorused beneath her features, singing out to him as a siren’s song might, in that refrained yet visible way that often made him wonder if he was bearing witness to some exposure of her true purpose or if she had already pre-planned every pathway his deviant thoughts would investigate anyways. The familiar thread invitingly tempted his engagement, which abruptly felt all too available to provide in abundance. Fortunately ( arguably ), for every ten steps she strutted ahead of him, he had anchors of trouble with tethers designed to lasso her impeccable progress. Usually.
Perhaps it was the oppressive knowledge it was an anniversary, and that “good behavior” ought to take precedence, or the manner of his energy being in reserve, but the urge to orchestrate some inflammatory self-sabotage lay temporarily dormant. He luxuriated in the pleasant change of scenery, or at least as obstinately as he was able to portray with Tessa less than an arm’s reach away in a dress that was already delightfully seared into memory. If he were anyone else, with anyone else, he might have been able to verbalize the beautiful compliment which he, instead, urgently dismissed from his mind. In his current rendition, where words of praise frequently failed, he knew only that he was better at showing her.
Glancing back ahead of him, Tom’s fingertips aimlessly skimmed over laptop’s keys until a long line of gibberish stared back at him. He resisted all temptation to receive Tessa in full until it was physically impossible to turn a willing blind eye. Easing back into his chair as she crossed his point of view, Tom’s fingertips gradually slid from his worktop, trading plastic keys for woodgrain then, finally, the briefest brush of silk before he opened his grasp to the air once more and settled his hands in a loose clasp over his abdomen. Anything to keep still. He humored her comment with a faint smirk, progressively breathing life back into his narrowly focused demeanor, shedding that unnaturally stiff outer layer; a transient persona solely suited for office work. “Look who’s talking. You enjoy playing dress-up all day, sweetheart?” Though a throwaway line devoid of malice to begin with, barely a bluff made through teeth, Tom’s eyeline disclosed much more as his gaze roguishly dipped back down between them, clocking every new vantage point as it arose. Tessa had sufficiently gained his total attention for more reasons than one. Mind and body acting in opposition, he was not immune to as many of her charms as he preferred, especially cornered. Testing the authenticity of her temperament, Tom’s eyes trained upwards to meet hers once more. “And here you are, bearing more riddles than solutions.”
