Graham Westin stood before one of the floor to ceiling windows in his bedroom, staring moodily at the city spread out below him. Lights twinkled in the darkness, but no sound from outside could be heard. He lifted the crystal tumbler and took a healthy swig of 200 year old scotch. It slid down his throat, smooth, velvety warm, to burn pleasantly in his stomach. He looked at his reflection in the glass.
At 36, he was in better shape than most men his age. Working out was his way of relaxing. Firm, well defined muscles covered his frame, and his lightly tanned skin shone with a soft glow. He wore only a pair of loose fitting sweats, sitting low on his hips. His dark hair was trimmed neatly. He looked into his face, some of it lost in shadow. He knew he was good looking. Women had begun pursuing him at age 14, and they hadn't let up since. For all the good it did him. Sure, sex whenever he wanted it, but...his lips lifted in a bitter smile. Women couldn't be trusted, not once you'd had sex with them.
His gaze moved over the reflection of the room behind him. It was softly lit, by wall sconces and the dying fire in the fireplace. The candles on the mantle had long since sputtered out, just like his interest. Two club chairs of rich brown leather sat before the fire, a clear Lucite table sitting between them. A soft fleecy throw of light blue and beige stripes was tossed over the back of one of them. A large ottoman of matching leather sat before them, and on it rested the newspaper he'd been reading earlier that night. Along one wall sat a long, sleek mahogany dresser, it's simple, clean lines reflecting his tastes perfectly. It bore only a single wood chest of highly polished pine, centered under the large mirror, which held his few pieces of jewelry and his Rolex. A pedestal of marble stood between the side windows, holding a flowing sculpture carved from oak, it's smooth curves resembling dancing flames. The color scheme was masculine, but soft, giving the room a cool, relaxed feel, which was exactly what he'd asked the decorator for.
His eyes moved to the king sized bed against the far wall. A carved headboard of polished oak rose almost to the ceiling, it's lines again simple and clean. He stared at the naked woman sprawled across the mattress, one delicate foot hanging over the edge. He felt nothing, looking at her. The only desire he felt was for her to be gone. He'd barely been able to perform tonight, until he let his thoughts drift to someone else.
Silently cursing himself, he drew his gaze back to the city below. This was unacceptable. Where had this inappropriate and unwelcome desire come from? The woman he found himself thinking about more and more, the one who was now featured in his fantasies, was off limits.
"Come back to bed, baby," His gaze moved back to the woman. She had raised her head, bracing it on one hand. The other hand moved slowly down her torso, until she reached the tight curls at her center, and began to pleasure herself.
Graham fought the urge to turn and throw the tumbler he held. He reined in his temper, and felt the cold taking over. He was good at being cold. This ability had stood him well in business, and he needed it now. He couldn't do this anymore.
He turned from the window to face her. "I don't think so," he said quietly.
Something in his tone caught her attention, and her lascivious smile faltered, her hand stilled. "What?"
He gazed at her coldly. "It's time for you to leave, Gina."
She frowned. "What?" she asked again, confused.
"I want you to leave."
She stared at him in shock. "Leave?" Her voice was tentative, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.
"Yes, leave. Now" He remained motionless, his crystal blue eyes cold and flat as he looked at her.
She lowered the leg she'd cocked, and sat up. "What's wrong baby?"
"Nothing," he said. "I just want you to go."
"But...why?" She tilted her head as she looked at him, perplexed.
"Does it matter?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Then she shook her head. "Of course it matters! What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said again. "Just get out. I'm done with you."
Now anger suffused her face with color. "How dare you!" she raged, launching herself off the bed. She ran to him and slapped him hard. Her hand left a bright red mark on his cheek.
His hand caught her wrist in a punishing grasp. "Do that again, and you won't like the consequences," he growled, his voice low and menacing.
Gina swallowed, trembling. "I...I don't understand." Tears sprang to her beautiful hazel eyes, and caught in her thick lashes. She was an underwear model, and did very well at it. Her body was lush and perfect, her face delicate. She was as beautiful as he was handsome, and they'd made quite a stir whenever they went out in public. But she held no allure for him now.
"It was fun for a while, now it's over." Gina shivered at the coldness of his tone. This man wasn't the one she'd been dating for several months. This man was the one she'd been warned about, but hadn't personally seen before.
Graham released her wrist and turned away from her, raising the glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. Gina stared at him for a long moment, then turned away and gathered up her clothes in silence. Graham kept his back to her. At the door, she glared at him. "You bastard!" she hissed, and stormed out, slamming the door so hard a Monet fell off the wall.
Graham didn't move, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. He sighed, and took another long drink. Now what? He looked at the large clock on the wall. In two hours his personal assistant would be here.
Alyssa Roark, his personal assistant. He'd hired her right after she graduated from college, three years ago. She was smart, very intuitive and quick on her feet. She'd proven invaluable to him, and was worth every penny he paid her. Her brain alone was worth it, but it was also packaged very nicely. She was toned, with soft curves in all the right places. Her honey blond hair hung to her waist, though she usually kept it neatly contained for work. She had a very pretty face, with bright green eyes that shone with intelligence and wit. Her lips were full and luscious, and lately... with an angry growl, Graham realized he was getting hard just thinking about her.
Why, god damn it, why? he muttered to himself. Sure, he'd seen how lovely she was when he interviewed her, and many times since. But he wasn't worried about her appearance, not back then. It was her brain that mattered. She was too valuable to him now to risk losing her over a bit of sheet warming. And that's all it would be. He didn't do permanent relationships, certainly not marriage. So after the sex, what then? She'd leave, that's what, he told himself. And sex is so not worth losing her. So get the thought out of your damn head once and for all! Downing the rest of his drink, he went to shower.
Mrs. Martin, the housekeeper, met Alyssa in the foyer, telling her that Mr. Westin was on a call and would be down shortly. Thanking her, Alyssa went to her office, on the lower floor next to Graham's. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the lush gardens and the pool. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at her antique desk. Graham had allowed her to decorate and furnish her own office, at his expense, and he hadn't put a limit on it. It was a beautiful, restful space, in shades of peach and soft green, with light colored woods and crystal accent pieces. She loved it. She savored the coffee, wonderful as always. Only the best for Graham. But what the heck, he could afford it.
She checked the schedule, which included Graham's, hers and several other key people. Then she settled to work. Thirty minutes later, she heard Graham in his office next door. She waited for his summons.
He buzzed. "Alyssa?"
"Good morning," she said warmly, noting immediately that his tone was positively frigid this morning. Sighing internally, she grabbed her leather binder, a pen and her coffee cup after he said "Please come in", and clicked the intercom off.
She didn't offer another greeting when she went in, just closed the door behind her and settled herself in the comfortable chair in front of Graham's desk. He was angled away from her, typing something into his computer. After a minute, he faced her, but he didn't look at her. His eyes dropped to the schedule she'd printed up last night and left on his desk.
"Reschedule the meeting with Robinson. I'm not liking the way the stock is dropping. Let's give it a few days."
