On Saturday I walked most of the way to Alexander's flat because I wanted to. He would probably glower at me if he knew, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
I pressed the doorbell and Jazz came.
"Miss Kierkegaard," he said with his kind American accent.
I smiled.
"This way," he said and led me to the elevator. For the first time I rode it alone.
We waited in silence.
I stepped in before he sent me up.
And when I arrived at the top floor he was waiting beside the elevator. I was not meant to understand that.
"Miss Kierkegaard," Jazz announced when I exited the elevator. Jazz entered the elevator and went somewhere.
I went into the living room.
Alexander was sitting on the white couch and looked up at me. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," I said. Now we didn't appear to talk about anything at all, it seemed that much weirder that I kept coming back. What was it about him I just couldn't let go of? I spent too much time with him, when I obviously was tired of his commanding statements and lacking ability to communicate.
It wasn't just for the clothes I kept coming back.
Alexander put his computer on the coffee table and stood. He walked around the couch and stopped before me. It was a completely normal distance between us, not too far between and not too close.
"There won't be any cameras, so Elias won't be here," Alexander stated.
"I can do my own hair," I said.
Alexander nodded. "We'll leave at five," he said and sat back down on the couch.
"Fine," I said and went to the room I'd been to the previous times.
I went into the room, shut and locked the door and unzipped the clothing bag. It was a cocktail dress. With lace on the top and on small, short sleeves. It was very dark blue or dark purple.
I zipped the bag and sat down on the bed and looked at the sterile room. This room just wasn't... it was empty. Cold. I got it was only a guest bedroom, but just something in some color? A throw pillow or a blanket or something?
I grabbed the underwear from the bag and went into the bathroom.
Now I'd walked I wanted to wash off the sweat.
I wasn't washing my hair, that just took way too long.
I adjusted the water, without turning it on, undressed and stepped into the shower. I turned on the water and let the warm water cascade over me, easing any tense muscles. I shut off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried off.
The underwear was lace. Black lace.
I put it on and pulled on my cardigan before entering the room. There were nylons which I rolled up my legs. Or so I thought they were.
It was thigh highs. And they came complete with a garter belt. I'd never tried that before.
I put it on, got the nylons and the garter belt to cooperate and pulled the dress over my head. It was a weird feeling to wear thigh highs when I'd never done it before.
I was glad I wasn't on my period now.
I brushed my hair, using the hair brush provided. Now I didn't possess the same skill as Elias did, but I could make French braid on myself. I considered that something.
My makeup was kept to a minimum.
And that was it. He still withheld me from putting on my shoes by myself.
I sat down on the dress and crossed my legs. The dress didn't reveal the nylons were thigh high. Good.
I stood. Time to face Alexander?
I went into the living room where he was still sitting with his computer. Okay, he'd changed his clothes, but that was it? He wore a charcoal grey suit.
He looked up when I entered. "It's the last time tonight," he said.
"Okay." What was I supposed to say?
He stood and found shoes for me. Opposite the last few times he didn't help me into them. He gave me the shoes and sat back down on the couch. Had he tried to get me to sleep with him before?
I put the shoes down and stepped into them. They were dark, more or less the same color as the dress.
I wasn't wearing any jewelry, but it was fine.
My earrings were small stones for when I went to work, and they went perfectly with the dress.
I sat down on the couch and looked at the fake fireplace.
We sat like that for half an hour before he closed his laptop and looked at me. "It won't be late," he said. "Sleep in the guest room."
"Don't dictate what I should and shouldn't do," I said and looked at him. "You're old enough to ask."
He stood and put his computer in another room. "We're leaving," he ordered when he reentered the living room.
I slowly shook my head and stood.
We waited at the elevator and went down in complete silence.
Jazz opened the door for me, and Alexander got in next to me.
This was surreal. And I hadn't brought a clutch today either.
I crossed my arms and stared out the window.
All the way to Newark, where this would happen.
Alexander put his hand on my back when we went in, and talked to some of the trophy wives some of the men had. If it was a woman who ran the entire thing, the man was talking to other men too.
The dinner was served, and Alexander grabbed my hand beneath the table.
I had no idea what we were doing.
I mean, seen from a distance we talked a little bit and I was supposed to be his date for these things? But except that? We didn't talk and he really wanted to tell me what I should and shouldn't do. Maybe I acted like I was five years old when he told me to come without asking nicely, but it was implicitly in the things he did. He was the one to decide. End of story.
The dessert was a delicate cake with a scoop of ice cream. The plate was ice cold so the ice wasn't melting.
I pulled at my hand, and Alexander let go without looking at me. It was official, I had no clue whatsoever about what we were doing. And if it wasn't because I somehow liked him a little, then I hadn't been here. And I wouldn't have looked back either. I just didn't feel like I could do that.
What was wrong with me? It was official now. I was mad. The man had tried to take me to bed by simply asking me in a very direct manner, and now I was here, pretending to be his date? Yeah, I was, maybe, if I was honest with myself, a teeny tiny bit attracted to him, but that didn't have to mean I was into him.
The dessert was good, and the chocolate in the cake just what I wanted the most. I sat next to a trophy wife. She said so herself, that she didn't do anything. She also added that she'd chosen that herself. And that she was pregnant on top of it. Her dream was to look after children.
I talked more with her that night than I'd spoken to Alexander in the entire time we'd known one another. And it didn't matter whether his indecent comment was counted in or left out.
I discreetly wiped my mouth and leaned back against the backrest of the chair.
"Have you thought about names?" I asked. She was that pregnant that you could see it on her.
She smiled. "A little," she said.
Alexander's fingertips grazed my wrist and slid down to my hand, which he gently pulled to his lap. Was I five years old and pulled my hand back?
Yes, I was five years old.
Just as gently as he'd done it, I pulled my hand out of his.
"Do you have names for both genders?"
"No," she said. "We won't know if it's a boy or a girl, as long as the baby is fine. And we're pretty much set on the girl's names so we're halfway there."
I smiled.
Alexander hand was on my chair. Not that it suggested anything sexual, but he could feel me. Very discreet.
I might be five years old, but I wasn't childish enough to pull my chair further towards the pregnant trophy wife whose name I'd forgotten.
"Excuse me," she said and stood.
Yes, she went to the bathroom all the time because the baby was, apparently, pressing on her bladder. What did I know? I'd never been pregnant, and I wasn't either.
Alexander's hand disappeared from the chair and his fingertips found my wrist again.
I pulled my arm away from him and looked at him.
He fisted his hand. I could feel it against my thigh before he withdrew his arm.
It appeared as if it required everything for him to turn his face and look at me. His blue eyes were in shadows from his brows.
"Why are you pulling your hand out of mine?" he asked quietly.
"Why are you taking my hand?" I countered.
He knitted his brow which only had him look ever madder.
As a pissed off teenager he turned his back to me and straight out ignored me.
How old was he? If he'd said he'd do it for the show then I'd let him do it. If it was only holding hands, I didn't mind too much. And if he just wanted to hold my hand? I had said I wouldn't be involved sexually with him, so I wouldn't mind holding his hand, even if he just wanted to. That he did this, denied talking to me? Yes, I became five years old.
The pregnant trophy wife came back.
She briefly glanced at Alexander's charcoal gray suit. The back of it. "Is he okay?" She asked. "I've never seen him with a girl before."
I looked at Alexander's back. "What do I know?" I asked quietly. "He's probably talking business.
She smiled. "Yeah, probably," she said. "How did you meet?"
No one had asked like that before. "He owns the building I work in, so in the elevators and the reception." I said.
"How sweet," she said.
Half an hour turned into an hour, and Alexander remained sitting with his back towards me. It felt, very literally, as if gave me a cold shoulder. Also, I hadn't bought a cardigan or shirt if it was cold. That didn't make this situation any warmed. Did I do this? Did I throw down the gauntlet so he could pick it up if he wanted to? It was, somehow, a relief we weren't together. Then I wouldn't take it as personally.
Yeah I tried to make myself believe that, but it didn't go well, if I had to be honest.
I kept the conversation with miss trophy wife going. Say what you want, she was fun to talk to. And she was my age. The exact class that I was and everything. She'd also been to college. I'd never thought about how nice it was to talk about all that.
Alexander had his back towards me.
Sweet lord.
I hit his elbow with my fingertips and had them graze his arm until I reached his hand. His hand was warm, and he closed his fingers around mine. Not that he turned towards me, but I suppose this was some sort of start?
It felt like a huge relief he didn't shove me away. Then I don't think I would've tried again.
He put his free hand over mine and looked at me. Even though his eyes weren't cast in shadows by his brows, they were cold. "Are you cold?" he asked.
"Maybe a little," I admitted.
My trophy wife next to me must have noticed Alexander turned towards me, she didn't say a word.
Alexander let go of my hand and shrugged out of his jacked. Did he seriously just do that?
I wasn't gawking but I felt like my eyes were huge. What was he doing? No one in this room would as much as consider taking off their jackets. And Alexander draped the jacket around my shoulders even though we weren't a couple, even by a long shot.
He took my hand between both of his and let go of turning away from me.
I was confused. Where did this come from? A minute ago he'd given me a cold shoulder I'd also had cold fingers. And he hadn't hinted at wanting to help me against the cold as he did now. And his jacked smelled phenomenal.
The trophy wife had a shawl draped around her shoulders. "We have to go home soon," she said and put her hand on her growing stomach. "Sleep means the world."
I smiled.
Her man stood. He wasn't seventy, then her pregnant had probably confused me a bit. He was in his late thirties or early forties. It looked like. They said their farewells and Alexander had my hand between both of his again.
I drank a little water with my free hand.
"Do you want to go back?" Alexander asked quietly.
"If you've finished here," I said.
There was still something very cold about his gaze, but he'd defrosted a bit since I reached over and put my hand in his.
"I am," he said. He stood and pulled the chair out for me. We said our farewells and Alexander put his arm around my waist when we had to leave. I was still wearing his jacket.
"Do you want your jacket back?" I asked.
"Not before we get back to my flat," he said. "I don't want you getting sick."
I smiled and pulled the jacket tighter around me.
Jazz walked before us and had the car up and running when we reached it.
Alexander opened my door and I got in.
He walked around the car and got in next to me. "I know what you're wearing beneath that dress," he said quietly and put on his seatbelt.
I looked at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked. I'd put on my seatbelt.
Jazz pulled into traffic.
Alexander could only look that innocent after a statement like that.
"I am not interested," I said.
"Are you a virgin?" he asked.
"It's none of your business," I said. I wasn't a virgin, but he didn't need to know that. It was my problem and had nothing to with him.
He smirked.
"Forget it," I said. "You are way too controlling for me to even consider the possibility."
That got his full attention and gone was all traces of the smirk.
I leaned back against the headrest. "It's just a fact," I said quietly.
He looked out the window.
I looked out the window. My own face stared back at me and I could just barely see Alexander, who, it appeared, looked down at his hands.
"Why did you take my hand?" I asked and looked at him. "We don't talk."
He looked at me. Something was on his face but I didn't understand it. "I am controlling, dominating if you will," he said. "And I want perfection, especially in my private life."
"That doesn't explain why you took my hand?"
He didn't look away and it surprised me his brows didn't dive down to put his eyes in the shades. "We're not dating," he said simply.
"I know," I said. What happened for this? Now we were talking.
"Cecilia called me a walking paradox," he said. "I'm clingy and I was scared she was cheating on me and I didn't trust that what we had was anything," he said. "That you held my hand? I guess it's my way of showing I'm in a relationship with someone."
"And all the extra information?" I asked. I wasn't sure why I had to know that.
He met my gaze. "I like bringing you when I'm going to things."
I couldn't help but smile. "You have a funny way of showing it," I said.
He looked at his hands.
"I don't mind going," I said. "But I'd enjoy it a lot more if we talked just the teeniest tiny bit." I said.
"Like now?" he asked and looked at me.
"Yes," I said.
Alexander's brows dived down and put his eyes in shadows. "As personal each time?"
I smiled. "Probably not that personal, no." I said.
His brows returned to their right place. "Sleep in my flat," he said. "Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?"
I stared at him. "So you are dominating or controlling, whichever word you prefer," I said. "But try to consider your choice of word. It's way easier to have a conversation if you don't just demand I do things."
He looked at me. "Do you mean that?"
"You just said you're controlling."
"It's not something I'm thinking about," he said. "I just am that way."
"Then please be so kind when you talk to me. If you ask me something I'd be happier to say yes compared to if you just state I have to do something."
He worked his jaw back and forth. "Will you sleep in my flat tonight?" he asked.
"Yes, I'd like that very much," I said. "The bed in the guest room is pretty comfortable."
He looked out the window.
This would probably go well. Whatever 'this' was.
Jazz entered the garage, parked the car and got out.
I unbuckled and got out of the car.
Alexander walked next to me and we waited for the elevator together.
Jazz was standing behind us.
The elevator arrived with a pling and we stepped into it. Alexander punched in the code and Jazz disappeared from view.
I looked at Alexander. "Are you mad?" I asked.
"No," he said clipped.
Great.
"Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?" he asked.
"It's fine," I said.
"That wasn't what I asked," he said.
I looked at him. "'It's fine' is a reply as to whether I need it." I said.
"But do you want to?"
I shook my head no. "No thank you." I said.
He didn't say another word the rest of the ride.
"Goodnight," I said and went to the guest bedroom.
There wasn't a reply and I locked the door while changing the dress, garter belt and nylon's out with my own underwear and t-shirt.
I unlocked the door, brushed my teeth and got into bed.
Alexander was just a mouthful. And when it came to him and nudity I just didn't trust... me? I didn't want to have sex with him, but he was attractive to the point where I would go with it if he had his hands on me. Beneath my clothes. I tried to erase the thought from my head.
Sunday morning was rainy. I'd never pulled the curtains so now I could lie in bed and look at the gray weather from the bed. It was fine.
Somewhere, if I had to guess, my guess was that Alexander lived here, away from Manhattan, so that he could see the Skyline without being surrounded by the crowds. That was why I'd moved to Manhattan. To be one with the crowd.
I stretched and sat. I got hold of my phone. It was one minute past eight. I could live with that.
I got out of bed and put on socks and jeans. I pulled on my sweatshirt and put my hair in a messy bun so it wasn't in my face.
Time to face Alexander. That should be fun.
I went down the hall and into the kitchen.
It was empty.
And there was a pile of pancakes in the lukewarm oven. Where was he, then?
I looked around the living room.
White furniture, glass and straight lines. I was scared to spill something here. What if I left a dent?
A door opened and Alexander stepped into the kitchen. He wore gym clothes. Sweatpants, a loose fitting t-shirt and was breathing heavily.
It didn't appear as if he'd noticed me.
"Morning," I said.
He stopped and looked at me. "Morning," he mumbled and walked through the living room. He opened a door and disappeared through it.
He had problems with communication. I was just thinking it. But okay, we weren't even friends. Close, maybe, but even that would require more communication.
I went to the couch and sat down.
His phone was on the coffee table, it was blinking.
The curious part of me wanted to reach out and check if it was an email. While the rational part of me let it be. I crossed my arms and looked into the fake flames.
The apartment was quiet with the fake flames, and Alexander returned seven minutes later.
Shaved, with wet hair and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.
"Do you want breakfast?" he asked without stopping in his stride.
"Uhm, yes please," I said.
"Then get into the kitchen." He said.
I looked at him, and he smiled at me.
"Okay," I said and stood. It wasn't an order. It was more, like, logic. Or so I tried to make myself believe.
I slipped onto the barstool and watched Alexander make the table, found juice, tea and coffee and put the pile of lukewarm pancakes on the table.
"When did you wake to make that pile?" I asked.
He put fruit, freshly sliced, on the table and sat down next to me. "I woke early," he said simply and slid a pancake onto his plate.
"Did you sleep okay?" I asked.
"Same as ever," he said.
"That wasn't what I asked," I said and smiled. Just to throw the words back at him, he had thrown at me the night before.
"I slept fine, you?" he asked.
I nodded. "I slept fine, and that bed is so very comfortable."
He ran his fingers through his hair and dived into his food.
"Where were you?" I asked and took food.
"Out running," he said.
I put on my pancake. I took the cutlery and cut off a piece. "These pancakes are good."
He smiled. "It's the only food I know how to make." He said.
"How do you prepare food then?" I asked. I poured juice and tea. It was repeated information, only know I had the nerve to actually ask.
He scratched his jaw. "There is someone coming to cook. Unless I'm eating out."
"Doesn't it ever get boring? Never to eat, like, truly home cooked meals?" I asked.
He was still looking at me. "I don't know anything else."
"How about before you moved in here?" I asked and gestured towards the kitchen.
"I lived off of salad and chicken. I can manage to prepare that."
I smiled. "Sure?" I teased.
Even though his eyes were cast in shadow's by his brows, there was a hint of a smile on his face.
"How big is this flat even?" I asked.
"Two floors," he said. "Downstairs is primarily for Jazz and my housekeeper."
"You have a housekeeper?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes?"
"So you don't do anything related to keeping the flat?" I asked.
"No?" he said slowly.
"Wow," I said. That was so far from my world.
"This floor is my private," he said.
"How big is it?"
He mentioned a big number in square feet.
"That means nothing to me," I said.
"Big," he replied and smiled.
"I'd already guessed that," I said.
He returned his attention to his pancakes.
"What was last night about?"
"Acquisition of another company," he said.
"What is it your company does? What's it even called?" I asked.
"The company is called A.E. Greene," he said. "Public limited company, and we are working with commercials and working with different things many different places."
"Working with different things? So you're doing more than just commercials?"
He nodded.
"Such as?" I asked.
"Helping other companies economically," he said. "That yesterday was an acquisition of another, smaller company, which we can optimize, take advantage of the profit or sell it to the highest bidder in shares so we'll get the most out of it."
"When did you start?" I asked.
He turned his chair so he was facing me. "I started my company when I was twenty-two and still in college."
"How?" I asked.
"It was simple," I said. "I found it so simple and I needed something to do. My parents had the needed money and chose to help me start my company, as long as I paid them back, obviously."
"Twenty-two? And how old are you now?" I asked.
"Twenty-nine," he said. "How old are you?" He asked. It sounded as if this as the first time he'd ever considered he could ask.
"Twenty-three," I said. "I turn twenty-four in November."
He blinked as the only response.
"What was the starting point?" I asked.
"My company?" he asked.
I nodded and had more pancake.
"I started doing the accounts for my mother's company, that was as soon as I'd completed the courses at college that taught me how," he said and looked at his plate. "Then, when I turned twenty-two, I had developed a campaign for the help she needed and I thought, if I can do this I want my name on it."
I smiled. "Your campaign became a success?" I asked.
"It wasn't until the second one," he said. "But after that, yes."
"What's the most interesting? Marketing or the numbers behind?"
"Both," he said. "I can't draw and I'm probably better to see through the slogan and have an idea about whether or not it will work."
"That's pretty cool," I said. And amazing he just talked. "When did it go from being a small company and then to the size it has today?" I asked. Seven years weren't that long.
He smirked, just not arrogant.
It turned into a long story. And one I kept asking questions about. And it was half past eleven before I was allowed to take the metro back to Manhattan. He had ordered Jazz to get the car, but it was possible to make him back down on that decision. After ten minutes of discussion.
I walked up the stairs to my flat, unlocked the door and locked it when I'd entered.
For the first time we'd talked â agreed, it was mostly about his company â but we'd talked. And we had plans to meet again.
That... I actually wanted to meet him again.
When he turned down the cold attitude and the controlling comments, he was a nice guy.
I read what I had to read for Tuesday and fell asleep on the couch.