Killing The Sun: Part 1 Read online

  In contrast, the Montclair building feels like diving into a fresh, blue swimming pool—it must cost thousands to air-condition this building. I missed this place. I flash my badge at the concierge, but he knows me well; he saw me leave with Danny all the time. Our affair isn’t a secret, never has been—everyone knows I’m his girl.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Olsen.”

  I’m in a good mood so I wink at him.

  I take a Werther’s Original out of my purse and pop it in my mouth while I wait for the elevator. It arrives empty; the rush hour crowd already made it in. But no one cares if you’re late to work when your real job is fucking the boss and not balancing his books. I look down at my blouse and try to hike it up over my cleavage.

  As the door is closing, a polished shoe catches the edge and it dings back open. I raise my eyes from my chest and see the man of my dreams. Okay, not really—it’s not like I have a type or a dream guy; there’s only ever been Danny. But this guy is gorgeous and that’s just the beginning. He’s blond and built strong like a surfer or swimmer. His athleticism is visible through his crisp suit and I can feel the strength in his body just from standing close to him. He smells good even in this heat and he smiles at me. His smile is perfect. I feel chubby and like the clothing I’m dressed in has suddenly become cheap.

  “Hot,” he says, sort of under his breath.

  Yes, you are hot. Mind reader. That’s exactly what I was thinking.

  “Yup,” I say, nodding my head in agreement.

  He smiles again. Full lips, straight teeth, a bit of blond stubble on his chin. He’s so beautiful, I want to sit down with a bucket of popcorn and watch him do anything. Who is he, the plumber? IT trouble shooter, new hire from the temp agency? A consultant? A model? He’s got to be a model for a pamphlet shoot. I’ve never seen him here before. But whatever it is he does, I’ll watch him do it—even if it’s editing technical instructional videos or sleeping or cleaning the toilets. I’m a fan no matter what.

  “You work here?” he asks, nodding to my badge.

  “Yup, accounting,” I say, sounding like a wet blanket.

  “Never seen you here before,” he says.

  “Me neither.”

  I smile and cast my eyes down.

  I think he might be glowing, or maybe it’s just his sweat, but there’s something about him that is drawing me to him. I think it’s attraction. Maybe it’s lust. It’s, holy shit, whatever it is I’m a goner in under a minute.

  “What’s your name?” he says, leaning close to get a better look at my badge.

  “I’m Aimee,” I say, offering my hand to him.

  “Leif,” he says, accepting my hand.

  Oh God! If his hand is this good how about the rest of him?

  “What are you eating?” he asks with a tiny jerk of his chin.

  “Candy,” I say, feeling humiliated. “It’s too early, I know.” I’m resigned to the fact that I just turned off all the chemistry. He thinks I’m chubby and knows I eat candy at nine-thirty AM. I look down at the floor to avoid eye contact.

  “Is it good?” he asks. He takes a small step toward me.

  I look up in surprise, my mouth gaping slightly.

  Yeah, it’s good. It’s candy.

  With the agility of a cat walking the edge of a fence, he places his hand on my hip. My blazer is gathered there to provide the illusion of thin. He leans in toward my body, way past what’s usually considered personal space. His face looms so close that I hold my breath. I think my heart maybe even stops beating.

  Is he smelling my breath?

  Suddenly, his warm lips brush mine, just hovering there, sending a buzz of warmth across my skin. Then, with the slightest bit of quick suction and tongue, he steals the candy right out my mouth.

  My breath halts. My body is acutely aware of the spot where he’s still touching me. My skin prickles, my nipple puckers, because as he removes his hand, he grazes—ever so slightly—up my left side. My legs feel weak. I almost feel like I could cry; my emotions blindsided right along with the breath he’s stolen. This isn’t the way to treat strangers you just met in the elevator.

  “This is me,” he says as the elevator stops on the seventeenth floor. “Nice to meet you, Aimee,” he says and steps out of the elevator, sucking on my candy.

  What just happened?

  On his way out of the elevator, he looks so wholesome, his smile candid. He looks . . . I don’t know, so healthy and virile.

  “Bye,” I whisper, still stunned by everything about him.

  Is it because I’m used to sleeping with a man twice my age that makes this man seem like a superhero? No baggage, unfettered, his smile is easy. Ruddy cheeks, muscles poised to spring into action.

  Fuckable.

  Elevator guy might be the first man besides Danny I’ve had that thought about in years.

  I stand and stare straight ahead as the doors close, licking my lips that are still sweet from the candy he plucked from my mouth. When the elevator begins to ascend, I don’t even blink. When I finally exhale, I look down at my shirt again, then step off onto the eighteenth floor and wish I could take that whole ride over.

  The guy from the elevator dances in my head all morning. Finally lunch arrives; lunch is my escape time. I never eat in the building. Why not enjoy New York City if you’re going to live in it? I sometimes bring my lunch from home or grab it at a deli. What’s most important to me is to escape the office and breathe some real air, sit on a bench and watch people. I either go to one of the other atriums or outdoor seating areas if the weather is nice, or sometimes I walk to a church and eat my lunch on the stairs or a bench just outside.

  I’ve walked to Bryant Park or the 5th Avenue Library. I like to feel the bustle and move with the people. No fancy luncheons with Danny or steak house martinis; no cigar brunch for this lady. Maybe I just want to get away from him and all that he owns. I’m not his belonging, but being back in this building definitely makes me feel like I am.

  I haven’t stopped thinking about elevator guy all morning. What would it be like to have someone like him in my life? No other wives, no family waiting in the wings. No complications, just normal enjoyment of one another. A boyfriend, not a liability. Not a powermonger who lies and then punishes you with rough sex.

  I’m staring into space when the elevator arrives, daydreaming about lunch. I’ve only had coffee and candy for breakfast. My stomach is growling so much that I almost ate the dried out, rock hard bagels in the break room.

  The doors ding and open on seventeen. And guess who’s standing there in front of the elevator? He’s got his hands in his pockets; his tie has disappeared and a few buttons of his shirt are open. His hair looks disheveled, blond, longish and curling up at the ends, like he was running his fingers through it in frustration—either that or someone else was. And maybe not in frustration.

  I smile in embarrassment. I bet he came here to fuck someone. Maybe he’s a male escort. He certainly has the looks and the brazen sexuality. Whatever, I can’t judge. My work here is basically of the same nature.

  “Hey, it’s you again,” he says, sticking his foot out to catch the door before it closes.

  “It’s me,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Ride this one often?” He’s smiling and teasing me. In a better mood now that he’s leaving. Definitely an escort.

  “Every-fucking-day,” I say on an exhale. But truly, I wish I didn’t work here. I wish I could leave with you instead and we could forget about this place together. We’d go do something benign, like have coffee and waffles at a diner. You’d invite me to a movie and I’d tell you about horses. You’d even ask me if you could hold my hand. We’d be so normal, so run of the mill it would be boring. You know things are bad when boring sounds like a relief, like a welcome diversion.

  “What exactly do you do for Montclair? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Accounting,” I tell him, again fingering my ID card on the blue nylon cord. “I kn
ow, not very glamorous. I’m kind of behind the scenes. What about you? Do you work in the building?” I hope my digging isn’t too obvious.

  He smiles and his eyes crinkle up in the corners—like he’s sun-kissed and too much beach time has dried out his skin.

  “Believe me, I try to come here as little as possible,” he says, stress shadowing his face. He undoes another button and shakes his shirt like he’s trying to escape. The suit, the building, maybe the elevator with me. His unbuttoning reveals a shark tooth necklace on a simple black thread.

  “Surf?” I ask him, making a calculated guess. The little bit of chest that’s exposed is so very tan.

  “Hmmm,” he says, nodding, closing his eyes and grinning as if willing his mind away from this place. He loves the ocean. He loves the sun. Even the sand sticking between his toes on the beach. It’s obvious. He’s Poseidon. And skyscrapers in Manhattan take him out of his element.

  His throaty noise and his smile pour warmth all over me, melting away apprehension. Just about as good as soft butter trying not to cave under the heat of a microwave oven.

  “Yeah.” He nods again, his eyes a million miles away when they open. “Paddle board, wake, skim, boogie. All of it. As often as I can.”

  “Water sign?” I ask. I like reading this guy. Like he’s a riddle placed on the elevator for me to solve in two minutes before we hit the lobby and part ways.

  He smiles at me again, this time really looking, studying my face.

  “Air sign?” he asks and laughs as he says it. His laugh dances all over me, tickling my skin.

  The elevator doors open into the sun-filled lobby. Montclair’s atrium is glass. In fact, the whole first floor is glass. It’s all very Danny.

  It will be hot and humid outside. I’ll melt in my blazer.

  “This is us,” he says as he gestures for me to exit first.

  “I can’t believe you stole my candy without even knowing me.”

  “Impulse control,” he says, smiling at me, not really moving. “It isn’t my strong suit.”

  “It’s not very careful. You don’t know me. I could have been sick, herpetic, summer cold, anything really.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets and the movement pulls open his suit jacket. He looks at me with those faraway eyes. But there’s a heat source there and that same warmth touches me on the outside, on the inside, everywhere.

  “Suppose you’re right. Are you?”

  “Nope. But you didn’t know that.”

  “I’d say it was well worth the risk. I’m not worried about it.” He shrugs.

  I take my blazer off and adjust my bag over my shoulder. He walks away from me without turning around, essentially walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets.

  “See you ’round,” I say, trying not to make it sound like a question.

  “Not here,” he says, finally turning his back to me. His hand lifts out of his pocket and he raises it in a wave without looking back at me.

  “Nice to meet you, Aimee. Thank you for the candy!”

  I measure my steps through the lobby and temper the urge to run after him. You seem normal and happy and so very sexy. What do you say, elevator man? Want to run away with me to the ocean and make a go at it before it’s too late for me? Things are all kinds of fucked up in my life and I would love some normalcy.

  I don’t want to be stuck in a forever with Danny.

  Wade is at the deli when I stop in to get beer. We both work nine to five but I don’t know how he makes it down from Columbia in the same amount of time it takes me to walk home from Montclair. He told me he bikes. To Morningside Heights? My neighbor is crazy.

  “Want to go halves on a six pack?” he asks me, looking tired.

  “You can buy them in singles. Where are you from?” I ask him, surprised at his deli greenhorn status.

  “California,” he says, eyeing my snacks.

  I’ve got M&Ms and a brownie, popcorn and chips.

  “Don’t judge,” I say, grabbing a Coke out of the deli refrigerator.

  “Not judging,” Wade says. “But I hope you have groceries.”

  “What do you think these are?”

  Wade throws his hands up in mock defense. “Hey, I’m just teasing you. Everything okay?”

  “Crap day, Wade. Crap boyfriend. I’m having second thoughts about coming back.”

  “I could listen, if you’d like. I’ve got really good listening ears.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that like?” I say. I hand the deli guy a twenty and he hands me back a small pile of change.

  “Youngest child. Three older sisters.”

  “Oh, you were the baby.”

  Wade smirks and holds the door open for me and we take a few steps to our building.

  “Want to chat tonight or do you need some decompressing time?”

  I tip my head back until it touches the wall. I close my eyes and let out a long exhale. Riding in the elevator with Wade is much less exhilarating than riding with elevator guy. But Wade is my friend; he’s the most normal person in my life.

  “Give me five to shower and bring the beer,” I say without opening my eyes.

  I pull off little pieces of the brownie with my fingers and nibble them in between swigs of beer. I wonder what Danny would do if he were to show up and find me curled up in my pajamas on the couch drinking with Wade. I really don’t care. I need company and I’m miserable because deep down I think I know that Danny isn’t ever leaving his family, not that I ever assumed he would. I don’t even know what I’d do if he did. It would complicate things. I’m so confused and maybe it’s just stubbornness and not love that makes me think I should try to stay with him longer. Maybe I’m just greedy.

  I guess I can’t stand to lose six years of my life. Wade is talking about his family and I find myself wishing I had his life.

  “I really hope that’s not your dinner,” Wade says as I drag another brownie crumb to my lips.

  “Suicide by diet,” I say, and tear open my bag of chips.

  “If he’s that bad, kick him to the curb. You deserve to be happy. You’re a nice girl, Aimee. Any guy that gets to date you would be a lucky bastard.”

  “I’m not kissing you again, Wade, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I smile when I say it because we both know I’m flirting a little. I would probably kiss him right now if he were inclined.

  “I’m here to support you, not take advantage.”

  It’s such a simple thing to say really, and very reasonable. I love what Wade said and it makes me immediately trust him. Not that I didn’t trust him before. But the sentiment makes me realize that he’s truly a good guy. So two beers later I tell him my entire story. Start to finish. I don’t even gloss over or leave out any of the ugly parts. Ugly parts being my brothers and my dear old dad’s remains showing up in a fire pit.

  Wade is a good listener. In fact, he’s better than me. I’m boring myself with my own story and I just want it to be over so I can go to sleep. It’s not that it isn’t salacious or entertaining or filled with story-worthy drama. It’s just that it’s my story, it’s my life and it shouldn’t sound so sad. I’ve been happy with Danny, we’ve been in love, I’ve been living the life, right? So when I tell it, why do I feel empty? Average. Why do I wish I were the word that best described my relationship? I give it all up, even down to the very last detail, including how rough he’s been with me since I came back to him and how he ditched our dinner plans tonight for God knows what stupid reason. I need Wade to understand that for six years, this wasn’t an affair.

  Wade stretches his arm and readjusts his legs on the couch. He looks at me sincerely but offers no comment.

  “Okay, Wade. Judge! Now’s the time to judge. Tell me what you really think. Tell me I’m an asshole.”

  “You? Aimee, I wasn’t going to say that. He’s the asshole. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.”

  “But he loves me. More than anyone ever has. That I know.”

  “I�
�d say he loves himself and he thinks you’re a piece of property.” Wade locks his fingers together behind his head and cradles it.

  Just then my phone buzzes and I pick it up to see the text.

  I love you, Sunshine. Sweet dreams. Wish I were there in your bed.

  I toss the phone at Wade and he brings it up to his face to read. His brow furrows when he sees it and he tosses it back to me. He’s not impressed.

  “You can spend every night with your girlfriend when you’re not married. If you’re asking my advice, I’d say dump him. Get on with your own life.”

  Wade stands and stretches his arms above his head. I feel like the bad girl. Like I revealed all of myself and there was nothing good to see. I’m not a homewrecker or a cheater. I look stupid because I stay. A willing victim.

  “You wouldn’t have asked me to kiss you the other night if things were good. It’s fine that you came back here—but in my opinion, you’ve got to start living your own life. Maybe start with a new job.”

  I tell Wade about elevator man; I must be in the mood for purging. His brow wrinkles a little and for a moment I’d say he looks concerned but the expression is quickly replaced with a more neutral one. I prefer concerned Wade. I need concerned Wade.

  “Sounds promising, Aim. Why don’t you do one of those lost connection things?”

  I bunch my nose up and shake my head. “Didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would look at them.”

  Wade stretches some more and heads toward the entry, where he left his shoes when he came in. I follow him out there and offer pleasantries, afraid that I’ve frightened away my new friend.

  “What about you, Wade? Is your love life perfect? Seems like the rest of you is.”

  He smiles sheepishly when I say it and gives me a quizzical look, like he’s both flattered and confused because I’m sending him mixed messages.

  “Divorced. That’s a whole other story for another day. Thanks for the snacks, Aimee. You are officially my favorite neighbor.”

  “I’m the only one you know.” I wink at him before I close the door.