trade magazines online at the same time. Suddenly I’m staring at Winona’s resume. How did that happen? My subconscious must have looked it up when I was talking on the phone.
I go to close it, then hesitate. I skimmed it superficially before, looking for weapons to use against her, but I want to know more. There’s a voyeuristic thrill in scrolling through her personal information, peeking at her secrets as if I’m looking through her panty drawer.
Panty drawer…my mind had to go there, didn’t it? Does she wear lacy underwear…or maybe simple cotton underthings?
Suddenly I’m as hard as a rock. This isn’t the first time she’s made me hard, either. I’ve had more than one shower session where I imagined her in the back of my limousine, panting underneath me, her eyes glazed with desire.
Other times, I imagine myself arguing with her. Yes, I actually come up with pithy zingers and picture myself slinging them at her as I walk by her on the street. I summon up the memory of the blaze that sparks in her eyes when I’ve done something to aggravate her, then I imagine what she’d say in response. And this is a woman I barely know. How weird is that?
Funny thing. I never once had a sex fantasy about Sloane. Sloane was just…there. And after a few weeks of dating, we started having sex. It was pretty good. I mean, it was sex, after all. But Sloane never invaded my thoughts at the oddest moments. And I sure as heck never had imaginary arguments with her.
My eyes drift back to the resume. Winona is twenty-five. She went to the Fashion Institute of Technology for three semesters. Then she dropped out in the middle of her sophomore year. There was a year of no employment at all, followed by a year of working part time at a pharmacy in Peach Pit, Georgia. Finally she came back to New York, and she’s bounced from job to job. She’s waitressed, bartended, worked at a dog grooming salon, been a kindergarten teacher’s assistant, and is currently working at a temp agency. I make a note to check with FIT to see why she left. It won’t be public information, but I have my ways.
I keep scrolling. Address – I know that. References – she has a lot of them. Popular girl. I’ll do some digging. Maybe I’ll unearth some deep, dark secret that will give me the excuse I need to terminate her employment. The thought gives me a sharp twinge, but I glance at my dad’s portrait again and nod to myself. Eyes on the prize, son. Hudson’s always comes first. I’m doing the right thing.
My mind drifts back to that laminated bookmark list that she dropped on the street.
Considerate. Loves Dogs. Walks old ladies across the street. Loves me no matter what I look like. What the hell is that all about? It’s a list of attributes that are so not me that it’s actually laughable. I mean, I’m not saying I’d push an old lady out of my way as I crossed the street, but to actually stop and slowly…painstakingly…walk a senior citizen from one sidewalk to the other? I have an actual job, and I keep thousands of people employed, as well as funding several charities and a hospital wing. I don’t have time to pal around with old ladies. I could imagine paying someone else to walk the old lady across the street, but–
Hell. There is no old lady. I’m actually letting Winona’s plastic bookmark put me on the defensive.
I glance at my iPad and groan aloud. I’d earmarked fifteen minutes for reading a report from WGSN, the leading trend forecasters, and I’ve spent seven and a half of those minutes thinking about Winona. Yep. She’s pure liability, and her days are numbered.
A loud, shrill voice from outside my office jabs me like a cattle prod. Sloane.
“I’m telling you, he’s expecting me!”
My secretary Doreen’s voice rises in volume. “And I’m telling you, he’s not in right now, and if he was expecting you, he’d have told me.”
If I’d been expecting Sloane, I’d have packed an emergency parachute and gone out the window. I can’t believe I used to think of her as restful to the point of being dull. Our breakup sure energized her – but not in a good way.
I glance impatiently at the computer screen, then tap on my keyboard, making Winona’s resume vanish. Just like she will, the first decent excuse