Her Every Fantasy

When that same idiot had shown all the signs of being a complete and utter bastard much like my father, I’d tried to warn her. She’d lied to my face, demonstrating that the woman I’d thought I knew and trusted was just a figment of my imagination.

What the hell had Dan given her that I couldn’t?

You know exactly what! She never made it a secret.

I smothered the voice in my head and rose from the desk. What the hell did it matter now? She’d broken a trust that had probably been only one-sided to begin with, all so she could chase some stupid dream of happily-ever-after. A dream I’d tried to tell her was a figment of her imagination.

And, like me, she’d been left with a pile of ashes. Only problem was, our friendship had been sacrificed in those flames too. Worse thing was, even after all that, a part of me had yearned to reach out, to ease the pain she must’ve been feeling during her acrimonious divorce.

Or perhaps I was projecting…

Whatever. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, made my way to the door and dismissed Tandy for the evening.

Downstairs, I slid behind the wheel of my Ferrari and lost myself for a moment in the smooth throb of the engine.

All too soon I was pulling up to The Sylph.

Normally this was the moment I took a minute or three to look up at the building I’d poured my heart and soul into. The steel and blue-green smoked glass masterpiece that had taken two long years, singular focus and some deep, untapped desire to leave something beautiful, something memorable behind.

Without looking I knew the structure in the pleasing shape of a slender woman’s torso, half turned, perhaps to view her lover over her shoulder, would be gleaming beautifully against the dying rays of the setting sun. That soon lights from within and those reflected from surrounding buildings across the bay would bathe it in a stunning silhouette that drew awed gasps.

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