The Deep End

Chapter Three

‘This is a little like being the personal assistant to some high-maintenance celebrity,’ she teased from her perch on the edge of the conference table. ‘Must I really be at your beck and call at every moment of the day?’

It was her second weekend with Taureau, and like the first Grace arrived in the evening to find a bottle of wine on the conference table. The first had been red. She drank it, but couldn’t disguise her grimace. This weekend, now that he knew she loathed red wine, the Riesling had been left to chill in a dripping bucket of ice.

It was a funny little thing, like something most lovers did when they were separated by distance. In Grace’s case, she didn’t even know what he looked like or what he smelled like. She didn’t have the warmth of his arms to miss like she would any other lover who was away from her.

‘I don’t expect you to be at my beck and call,’ he said, and she could have sworn she caught a bit of sheepishness in his words. ‘I can give you something more mundane to do, if you’d like.’

‘I’m a little underdressed. Or maybe it’s overdressed.’

She gestured down her body with the hand that held her wine glass. This was not something he provided. The satiny red bustier, mesh panties and black stockings were from her closet. The matching red pumps were an impulse buy. Judging by the growl that came through the static when she slipped out of her raincoat earlier, Taureau approved.

A low laugh from the computer speakers, and she had to bite back the sudden burst of annoyance that went through her.

She didn’t know what his voice sounded like, not really. With the majority of people she came in contact with in this job, she did so via phone and email. It always gave her a turn when she finally came face to face with someone. The voice on the phone was never the same as the live one, just as a photograph could never truly capture how beautiful or ugly a person was.

The volatile feeling in the back of her throat went down hard, and she chased it with the wine.

That almost-smile appeared on the screen to accompany his laughter. ‘Actually, I was thinking I could send you on a little field trip.’

Instantly intrigued, Grace leaned forward.

‘Define field trip.’

A thrill went through her at the sight of his tongue touching the corner of his mouth. It was a quirk she was getting used to, revealing itself when he hit upon some dirty little task for her to complete. It was almost as good as those filthy phrases he dropped around her like bombs once she gave himself over to his demands.

‘A little drive through downtown. That’s all I’ll give you right now.’

‘You’re a cruel master, Jacques.’

‘That’s an interesting way of putting things.’

Grace found no words, and Taureau let his response hang there for her to chew on. She wondered what he was really like in the bedroom. His dominant streak was clear, but did he have rules he expected his lovers to adhere to, or would he simply use his body and his strength to push her around?

Though her mantra these days seemed to be ‘Yes, Mr Taureau’, she wasn’t sure how open she’d be to a demand to submit to any sort of ritual.

She set the glass aside and eased herself back onto her hands. Taureau tilted his head just slightly, enough for her to see the pucker on his mouth as she crossed one leg over the other.

‘You really like this little ensemble, don’t you?’ she said.

‘Very much.’

‘What is it about this that you like?’

‘Every inch, but since you’re clearly fishing I’ll indulge you.’

That struck her as funny. She tipped her head back as she laughed, and when there was only a little left to fizzle out she swallowed it and tried for a serious face. ‘Please, yes, indulge me.’

‘Your shoes,’ he said.

Grace stretched her foot out. ‘They are a little much, aren’t they?’

‘They’re perfect. I don’t care for those ones you wear with the straps across the foot, and the red really stands out.’ He leaned to the side, resting his chin on the edge of his chair. ‘I can image how they’d look if I had your legs draped over my shoulder, maybe one hanging off one foot. I could make a game of it – see how much I can make you squirm before the shoe drops.’

A sprite of mischief danced through her, tweaking a smile on her lips. ‘You know, it’s always about my weaknesses, what you could do to me. I wonder about your weaknesses and what I could do to you.’

‘Hold your horses, I’m getting there. Stand up for me.’

Though she rolled her eyes, her grin widened as she hopped off the edge of the table. Her laughter returned as he raised his hand and twirled his finger around, and she threw out her hands as she spun.

‘Stop. There. That’s my weakness.’

Grace placed her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder at the screen. ‘My ass?’

‘I can see through those panties,’ he went on. ‘I like that they cover you completely, but I can slip my hand inside and play with you, and you can watch my fingers moving.’

‘Do you want to watch my fingers now?’ she asked, plucking the lace ruffle at her hip bones.

‘No. You like hearing me talk, so I’m going to give you what you want.’

A shiver ran through her, but she didn’t bother to suppress it. ‘Go on, then.’

‘Do women know how inviting garters are?’ He spoke as though to himself. ‘They set off the same compulsion one gets when someone places a wrapped parcel in front of them at Christmas. It would be so easy to tug and tear, but isn’t it better to savour the unwrapping? Try to get those flimsy little panties over those bits of metal without snagging them, playing with the garters and watching your face when I give them a little snap.’

She ran her hand down and over, following the curve of her ass, and slipped her fingers under the garter. Though tempted to do just what he had described and let it snap back against her skin, she simply gave it a tug.

‘Stockings worn all on their own are always a nice touch,’ he went on. ‘Isn’t it funny how those things that are supposed to be practical make a man feel like an animal? I want to see you in nothing else when I have you in bed.’

Grace leaned back against the table and held on, desperate to do something far more wicked with her fingers than press them against the surface. ‘I want … I want … always what you want …’

‘What you want,’ he said with a sharp bite. ‘Not just me, you want it too. I know you. I’ve watched you. You perform, and what you wear, like this, turns you on as much as dirty talk. Try and deny that you wouldn’t want to be spread out, hands holding the flushed insides of your thighs apart. Tell me that seeing the contrast of the black stockings framing your pussy while you’re being fucked doesn’t turn you into a firecracker.’

Keeping her gaze low, she pressed her tongue to her upper lip and enjoyed the heat that filled every part of her. Once the fluttering in her head abated and the fever in her blood became a simmer, Grace was left with the suggestion perched on the end of her tongue.

She had no choice but to let it leap. Even though her throat burned with the need to swallow it back, she was powerless, and so she said, ‘We don’t have to talk about it any longer, you know. If that’s what you want, you can have it.’

For a few moments there was nothing left but her limbs taut with nervousness as she stared at the floor and the slight crackle coming from the computer speakers. Regret nipped her, but she bullied that thing with the sharp teeth back into whatever fathomless void it had come from.

It had been said, and it needed to be said, even if it was a mistake.

What came next was a guttural sound: Taureau clearing his throat, followed by his quiet words.

‘If you’re done with your wine, I think it’s about time to go.’

The electricity leapt from her body and left her feeling small and cold. She pressed her lips together as her regret squirmed, victorious, and she pushed away from the table.

‘Shall I call a cab?’ she asked, reaching for the coat she had tossed over a chair in her eagerness to show off her lingerie.

‘Use the service, but get the phone and the headset first.’

She didn’t say anything to him as she disconnected the computer and turned off the projector. Only after she had washed the glass in Caroway’s sink and tucked the bottle in his credenza did Taureau call her back, this time on the phone.

She quickly tucked the headset into her ear and answered the call, then slipped the phone into her pocket. ‘Where am I going?’

Taureau was quiet for a moment. ‘If you’re not in the mood …’

‘No, I’m fine.’

Her answer came out more as a retort. She had a sour feeling like she was heading out into the town in the midst of a lover’s spat. It made her feel foolish, and as she buttoned up to conceal every inch of the naughtiness underneath she filled her lungs and expelled it. She pulled her hair free of the collar.

‘Where are you taking me, Mr Taureau?’

He gave another pause, not as long as the first, and then he cited an address not far from the Taureau-Werner building. She called the car and was assured it would be there shortly.

‘Is this the executive condo?’ she asked as she headed for the lobby.

‘No, it’s mine.’

‘But you don’t live there?’

‘The last time I was there you were still in university.’

She wanted to probe deeper, to ask about the blank slate between his very tumultuous young adulthood and his present closeted existence, but she was still feeling the sting of his first rejection and didn’t care to receive a second.

‘You seem to know a lot about me,’ she said as she pressed the call button for the elevator. ‘I’d hate to make an enemy out of you.’

‘I only know what I can find on paper,’ he said, and Grace caught the sound of glass clinking against glass.

It was these little things that made her froth with curiosity on the inside. Where was he? What was in the blackness beyond where he sat day after day? He could have lived in that supposed compound in Saguenay or in a trailer park in Australia. She wouldn’t know the difference.

‘Tell me what I don’t know,’ he said, followed by another clink. ‘Tell me your story.’

She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that let loose. Even when she clapped her hand over her face to stave off another she failed, and dissolved into hysterical giggles as she waited for the elevator.

‘I’m sorry, but that sounds like a first-date question.’

‘Humour me,’ he said, and his inability to conceal his own laughter inspired another fit in her.

‘I can’t. It’s just so silly.’

The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. She leaned against the wall and, as her stomach flopped with the descent, her laughter died to a chuckle and her jaw ached from it.

‘Are you still there?’ she asked as she stepped onto the street.

He didn’t answer. It seemed as though the elevator ride had cut them off, and Grace prepared to disconnect. Her finger was on the narrow button on the face of the headset when he answered.

‘I’m here.’

He spoke barely above a whisper, and she lost her breath at the thought of having offended him with her fit.

But then, softly: ‘You have a beautiful laugh, you know.’

She was grateful that she was free of the Taureau-Werner building and his cameras. For him to see her face at that moment would have killed her. His gentle, admiring tone touched her deeply and spread warmth into every part of her body. She faltered down the steps and the buzzing city before she slowed down.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and lowered her gaze even though the one she wanted to hide from was miles away.

‘Please, tell me about yourself.’

‘Did you compliment me to butter me up into talking?’ she teased, but a little part of her believed the nasty little suspicion.

‘No, I didn’t.’

The sincerity in his voice won her over, and as she stepped to the curb to wait for the car she relented.

‘What do you want to know about?’

‘Who were you when you were growing up?’

It seemed like a poignant question, given the origins of the man who posed it. If she were to pose the same question to him and if he were to be honest with her, the picture he would paint would no doubt be filled with shadows.

She tucked herself deeper into the coat. ‘Nothing exciting has ever happened to me. I grew up with just me and my mom, mostly. When I was really small we lived with my grandmother. It was her house. She smoked like a chimney, as they say, and after she died my mom tried to scrub the nicotine off the walls. Have you ever tried to get rid of fifty years of smoking from a wall? Eventually she gave up and just painted the house a combination of yellows, browns and oranges.’

She laughed, rocking on her feet, as the scene before her eyes transformed into the tiny ginger room she’d grown up in. ‘God, do I ever hate the colour orange. I won’t wear it. I won’t even wear pantyhose that are too close to orange.’

‘I prefer the nude stockings with the black garters.’ He spoke so low the traffic drowned him out, but his voice was a frequency embedded in her brain. Even if he had whispered and she hadn’t caught a word, she’d still feel his sentiment in her blood.

‘I wasn’t dirt poor or anything,’ she went on, ‘Though we probably would have been homeless if my grandmother hadn’t left us the house. My mom – man, could she burn through a line of credit. There were always bill collectors on the phone. She only got out of debt when I moved out and she sold the house. She married an American about ten years ago and they live in Florida.’

‘No siblings?’

‘Not growing up. Tony, my stepfather, has a son and a daughter.’

‘Then you’re all alone in the world.’

So many people had said the same thing to Grace, and their condescending tone was always like sandpaper on her nerves. Like their first meeting in the boardroom, there was none of that in Taureau’s observation. No, there was kinship to be found in there.

‘I can tell you’re uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I’d bet money you’re even twitchy.’

‘I’m not,’ she lied. It wasn’t that his asking about her past made her ‘twitchy’, but answering made her uncomfortable. She’d had a good upbringing. Taureau’s eventual spiral into drug use suggested to her that he hadn’t.