“I want you,” she said, pausing for a much-needed breath. She undulated under him, trying to spark in him the same sense of urgency she felt. “It feels like I’ve wanted you forever,” she blurted out. Damn. Had she just said that? She couldn’t even blame her outburst on alcohol.
“I’ve wanted this from almost the first moment I met you,” he said, stroking her hair away from her face.
“What are you waiting for, Ryan? Make love to me.” Not having to look into those piercing ocean blue eyes made it easier to admit that she wanted him as much as he apparently wanted her.
“Condom?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“In the drawer,” she said, then regretted it. She strained against her temporary bonds.
“Wait
…” But she knew it was too late. She heard his surprised intake of breath and then listened to the crackle of cellophane as he unsealed the box and tore a packet from what was probably world’s longest single strip of condoms.
“My little Sophie has surprised me yet.” He covered her again, this time they were both naked and his hands and mouth were everywhere. Without sight, she couldn’t follow where one touch ended or another began. A single finger probed her slickness, and then he was there, full and hard
, pushing against her opening. She released her breath as he’d taught her, and let a wave of pleasure roll over her as he eased into her, inch by glorious inch. It was so hard to take all this pleasure and give nothing in return. She broke one of his rules and looped her bound wrists behind his neck. Ryan set a slow rocking rhythm that kept her on the edge of orgasm for what seemed like forever.
He grabbed her hips and she reflexively hooked her ankles around his waist, pushing her clit against the root of his cock. Each thrust was like a taste of heaven. He reached behind his head and unknotted and unwound the scarf binding her hands.
“Touch yourself for me,” Ryan demanded. “Make yourself come.”
Sophie was sure she turned as red as her hair. She’d never been an exhibitionist. Not really. Her bravado, her swaggering, and displays of courage were an act, pure and simple. It kept people from getting too close to the real her. First Ryan had seen her at her most vulnerable when she admitted to him that she was bad at sex. Then he’d seen her real hair color. He knew she was self-conscious about her large nipples. No matter how turned on she was, she didn’t think she could be this on display for him.
She gripped his shoulders hard, glad that she couldn’t see. “I don’t think I can do this, Ryan.” Couldn’t he just fuck her hard and fast with no remorse?
She slid a free hand down his chest, across his hard pecs, and tweaked a small male nipple. He groaned, involuntarily distracted, his rhythm broken momentarily.
“Please trust me on this, Sophie.”
Closing her eyes behind the scarf, she released his nipple and took her own between her thumb and finger, squeezing hard. The other hand she used to pinch the hard bud of her clit. The trio of sensations from her hands and his cock brought her to the edge again and again.
His breathing changed. “Are you close?” he asked. She could feel how close he was, how carefully he was holding himself back for her.
“Do it,” he whispered near her ear. “Do this for yourself.” And she did, touching herself in a way that she knew would bring her to climax, no longer self-conscious or worried about how she looked. It was glorious to be able to just feel. He rode her high and hard. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her insides clenching around his cock, milking his orgasm from him. He crushed her mouth again, their tongues dueling, both winning. He shouted his release into her, and she swallowed the breath
, taking in the essence of him.
He pulled off her scarf, tossing it carelessly on the nightstand. He kissed each eyelid gently as he cupped her face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated, quiet for a long moment. She thought she knew what he wanted to ask, so she blurted out what was on her mind.
“I’ve never used any of those condoms.”
Ryan looked confused for a time, then he smiled. “I know, Sophie.”
“I just bought them because it seemed like something a single girl should do.”
She was babbling to cover her nervousness. She felt very vulnerable to Ryan after what had just happened between them. There was very little about her that he didn’t know. It was both a comforting and scary feeling. It was like a homecoming and bungee jumping at the same time.
He eased from the bed, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, came back to bed, gathered her in his arms, and pulled the duvet over both of them.
“Thank you for trusting me. I only want to do what makes you feel good. I would never do anything to hurt you, ever,” he said fiercely.
“I know, Ryan. You’re just an honorable guy that way.” Her tone was light, but she was serious. He was turning out to be an honorable guy who was coincidentally giving her the best orgasms of her life. With Ryan warm and sexy and tucked in under the covers, her mind drifted to the other big issue in her life—the strike.
“Can I ask your advice on something?”
“Hmmm,” he said, getting more comfortable. Then he yawned. “Anything.”
Sophie started talking about the strike and Gregg’s request. When she didn’t get an answer on whether she should join the NegCom at the table in the morning, she looked over only to see his eyes were closed and his chest slowly moving up and down with deep, even breaths. She really liked Ryan, but sometimes he was just a typical man. Naked and satisfied, he was snoring lightly in her bed, oblivious to everything around him.
Good thing she didn’t need hours of cuddling. She was learning that trusting a man didn’t have to mean giving over all her power. She knew that she needed to trust herself more too. She’d gone with her gut with Ryan against her better judgment, and that was working out fine. A sex buddy without commitment was just what she had needed to boost her confidence in the bedroom.
She needed that boost in her professional life as well. If she were
more assertive, maybe she could have it all. She just needed to go after what she wanted. And what she wanted now, what she believed in with all her heart, was that the union was at a crucial turning point in history. They needed to win all the concessions they could from the studios at whatever cost. As long as what they went about it in a fair way.
Intellectually, she knew that she would not become a carbon copy of her money and image
-obsessed parents if she admitted she was related to them. It was time to get her emotions on board. The union’s goals were important to her, and if she had to trade on her good name to get her friends and colleagues what they deserved, then so be it. She tiptoed out of the room, careful not to disturb Ryan, and grabbed her cell. Watching Sasha chase a chipmunk across the backyard, she dialed Gregg’s number.
Ryan was bone weary. Working from dawn to dusk then slipping over to Sophie’s for a not-so-quick romp had been a bad idea for his health. His unshaven face, wrinkled shirt, and bloodshot eyes were not a pretty sight. Co-workers who had never seen him less than impeccable were taking the opportunity to poke fun at the obvious addition of a woman, or a really bad recreational drug habit, to his life.
They were back at the same mile
-long conference table. The studio lawyers and producers’ representatives sat along the window side making last minute decisions. The other side of the table was empty save for thick negotiation packets placed on the leather placemats before each chair. Negotiating postures set, they took a ten-minute break. It was nine fifty and the union negotiating committee was scheduled to be here promptly at ten
a.m.
Ryan was staring out at the ocean when Mitchell Riley sauntered up to him. He groaned inwardly.
“Hey, man, you must be gettin’ some the way you rolled in here this morning,” Mitch said, waggling his eyebrows.
Ryan smiled slightly, but didn’t answer. His relationship with Sophie was not for public consumption.
Mitchell punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Is she a sexy brunette like that last girl you went out with? Josie something…” he said, snapping his fingers trying to remember.
“No, she’s a redhead, actually.” Ryan could have kicked himself for rising to the bait. Mitch was like a terrier, though, and wouldn’t let go until you gave him a little something.
“Feisty, huh? That’s a change. You bringing her to happy hour next week?” Every month or so, the lawyers in his department, and sometimes their significant others, got together for wine and tapas at a local bar. Practicing law, even in a place as big as this, was a solitary activity. The get-togethers gave them an off-the-clock opportunity to socialize and relax together. Their department head, the assistant general counsel, was always there. The parties weren’t exactly mandatory, but no one missed more than one or two a year.
“Maybe. I’ll be sure to ask Sophie.”
“Sophie, huh? That’s gotta be a pretty unique name.”
“I guess
…” Ryan said, not following Mitch.
“I’m just sayin’, man. I was looking at the list of NegCom members and there was a Sophie Reid on there. I hear she’s connected
—father and uncle are judges. Uncle’s on the NLRB. She may wipe the floor—”
Ryan was back at his chair in a shot, flipping through the thick stack. Finding the right page, he ran his finger down the names until he saw it in black and white. Sophie Reid. He didn’t have time to think or figure out what to do because as soon as he dropped the papers back on the table with a resounding thunk, the union negotiators entered. He saw her red-gold hair, pulled into a severe ponytail, before she saw him. Life slowed like it did on television before the inevitable collision scene. He knew the moment she looked up and saw him. She lost her composure for just a moment, her eyes distrustful, where last night there had been faith.
Ryan’s input at the meeting was negligible. Mitch
might have been a lot of things—a loudmouth, annoying, nosy, pushy jerk—but he was an excellent lawyer. Once Mitch realized that Ryan was down for the count, he picked up the slack for the both of them.
Instead of taking notes, he
spent much of the first two hours staring at Sophie. Who could have tricked her into coming here? She was an honest person and a straight shooter. She, of all people, would never trade on her family name for gain. More than any other woman he had ever met, she understood the value of standing on her own and earning everything she had the old fashioned way, with hard work and perseverance. She’d proven that a person could do well even in the face of adversity, and he was immensely proud of her, loved her for those qualities he held so dear.
Both sides were progressing on a number of issues. But they were still at loggerheads on the issue of studio and producer contributions to the union’s retirement fund when the moderator called for a ten-minute break. A group of people immediately surrounded Sophie
, including a man who touched her far too often and too intimately for Ryan’s taste and a couple of women he’d seen at the negotiating table during other meetings. They finally broke their animated discussion and he was able to pull her aside to snatch a few seconds with her.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, probably too harshly. “And who is that guy with his hands all over you?”
“That
guy
—Gregg—asked me to be on the committee, and I thought it was the least I could do,” she said.
“Sophie, you have to know that they’re using you. It’s not your expertise they want you here for,” he whispered when he realized others on the committee were watching them with interest. “Unions can’t be trusted blindly.”
The moderator cleared his throat and a few people shuffled back to their seats, closed their cell phones, and put PDAs in pockets.
“What do you mean? I know exactly why I’m here, Ryan,” she said, starting to sound exasperated.
He obviously wasn’t explaining himself well. He had to communicate to her that the union was using her in the worst way. She would be devastated when she found out, but he knew he’d be there for any fallout.
He lowered his voice still more, and she had to lean in closer to hear him. “Before the meeting, your
friends
over there circulated information about your dad and uncle.” Her eyes widened, and he was relieved she finally got it. “I’m sorry that you had to hear it this way—”
She cut him off. “I know
that
, Ryan. It was the least I could do.”
The flush of anger rose high on his cheekbones. How could she come on
his turf, wielding all sorts of influence, but fail to mention it to him? He was about to quiz her on those exact issues of openness and trust, but the moderator firmly requested that everyone return to their seats for another negotiating session.
Ryan
was in top form this time around. He argued, yelled, and pressed the position of his clients, the movie studios, until the union backed down on certain issues. The committee argued long into the night. Ryan did not get another chance to talk to Sophie alone. Union members crowded around her during every break.
The committee had made a tentative agreement on every issue but one. Ryan insisted they take one last break so they could bring in coffee and some food. Then, fortified, they could get to the final issue. He
might not be able to talk to Sophie, but he thought of one way to get her attention. He pulled out his Blackberry and sent her a text message.
“Is someone looking after Sasha today?”
When the phone buzzed in her hand, she pulled away from the group and flipped open the top. She read the message and slid her gray eyes over to him, the expression in them unreadable. But she texted him back.
“My neighbors have her at their house.”
He sent her one more message.
“Can I come over later?”
“Fine,”
she replied.
Satisfied with the response, he shoved the
Blackberry into his pocket.
Sasha was in good hands, and he’d be at her place later. No matter how misguided her motives, he would be able to forgive her after he explained where she’d gone wrong. He knew she’d see it his way, and then they could get on with carving out some kind of relationship. If the union and studios were able to reach a deal tonight, he probably wouldn’t be back at the negotiating table, with this union
for years at least, until this contract expired.
During the long break, opposing sides exchanged pleasantries, and some of the hairdressers shared tales of the biggest stars, making everyone laugh and putting everybody in a jovial mood. The shot of caffeine no doubt helped the mood as well. The group returned to the table refreshed.
The moderator cleared his throat. He used a laser pointer to draw everyone’s attention to the blackboard mounted at the far end of the conference room.
“We’ve reached a tentative agreement on the first six points on the board,” he said, highlighting each with the red light of the pointer. The last and only issue we need to address are AMPTP residual payments to the health and pension funds.
“Ryan, why don’t you go first?” the moderator said. “What is AMPTP’s position?”
He cleared his throat, deliberately averting
his eyes from Sophie. He pointedly looked at everyone else around the room.
“Look, the pension and health benefits that I.A.T.S.E. union members enjoy are better than most Americans’. Local
706 members can qualify for comprehensive benefits for themselves and their families with less than two months of full time work. Health costs are skyrocketing across the board. We’ll do our part to shoulder those increases, but ask that union members share in that burden.
“Our
direct and residual contributions to the union’s retirement fund average six hundred million a year, and this amount climbs annually. Employees add zero. Currently there is no standard for payments based upon new media content. The future of Internet content is too speculative for us to agree to a framework of contribution. We’d like to defer it three years until the next contract. Thank you.”
Mitch gave Ryan a surreptitious thumbs up sign. The moderator looked over to the other side of the table. Ryan hoped his jaw did not drop when Sophie began to speak. She’d been quiet during all of the early hours of the negotiation.
“My name is Sophie Reid and I’m a makeup artist and a union member,” she started. Obviously not used to public speaking, she cleared her throat, and nervously looked down at the prepared statement. “Like many other union members, I make a living exclusively from work on television shows, movies and commercials. I live in Southern California, one of the most expensive areas of the country. I stay here because my family is here and because I love my job.
“In the last few years, costs have skyrocketed. Housing has increased over 200 percent, and health care costs are not far behind. The costs of food, gas, and other necessities have increased in tandem.
“We’re only asking for our fair share of the millions of dollars producers and studios make as a result of our work. That means payment for footage, no matter where it’s used. That also means increased payments for healthcare and retirement so union members don’t have to shoulder the cost. We don’t want to go bankrupt now from sudden catastrophic illness or later from an under-funded retirement. Thank you.”
Ryan shook his head, amazed that Sophie was involved with these people.
He looked directly at her when he spoke. “Wouldn’t you rather have this residual money in your pocket? History is fraught with unions squandering pension money. If the union members have the dollars in their pocket, then you all can invest it responsibly, like workers in many other industries do with their 401k plans.”
Gregg broke in. “Mr. Becker, I resent your implication. Our union is not enriching itself at the expense of its members.”
Ryan shuffled through the stack before him before brandishing the offending document. “Then why has the union pension underperformed in the stock market for the last five years? Sophie or anyone could do better investing in a garden variety index fund.”
“Every fund manager has good years and bad years,” Gregg countered.
“That may be true, Mr. Mackins, but if you have many more bad years, you’ll be back in our pocket looking for us to make up the difference.”
“
I
wouldn’t ask you or anyone for money,” Sophie said. “Fluctuating stock performances shouldn’t scare us. The benefits of being in the union far outweigh the detriments.”
“That’s your sense of entitlement speaking.”
The look she gave him could have frozen water. “We’re not asking for a handout. We’re asking for our fair share of what we earn for you. Without us, you would have actors on screen looking as bad as their tabloid photos. Who would watch your shows then? It’s difficult to believe a twenty-five-year-old with bad acne is a super popular sixteen-year-old teenager without good hair and makeup.”
Voices rose and sparks flew
—Sophie’s and Ryan’s two of the loudest. AMPTP members argued that union members wanted benefits in a climate where employers offered these benefits to fewer and fewer workers. Local 706 members thought the producers and studios were money hungry, trying to keep the proceeds of an exploding DVD and Internet market to themselves.
Once she got into the groove, Sophie argued no less vociferously than her union cohorts. Sparked by anger, or competition, Ryan did the same. An hour in, the moderator blew a whistle, startling everyone into silence.
“I don’t know what exactly is going on here, but you’re arguing, even though you’re only a few dollars apart. Please choose one person from your group to speak. And in my opinion as your moderator, that person should not be Sophie Reid nor Ryan Becker.”
Sophie turned as red as her hair. Ryan glared at the moderator, but a stiff hand on his arm from Mitch helped him keep his mouth shut. And the moderator was right
—after he and Sophie got out of the discussion, the group was able to hash out a tentative agreement on the final points within half an hour.
“After the respective representatives take the agreements back to their members for a vote, we’ll agree to meet back here in five days
and set a date for a tentative signing ceremony,” the moderator said. He closed by thanking each member of the committee, personally shaking each and every person’s hand.
Everyone looked as exhausted as Ryan felt, and despite his simmering anger, he wanted nothing more than to spend the last few hours of the night with his arms around Sophie. When he caught up with her in the parking lot, though, she had other ideas.
“I’m going home, Ryan. Alone.” Clearly, she was still angry. They were on the ground floor of the indoor parking lot. She pointed the key fob at her yellow car. The doors unlocked with an electronic beep.
“I think we should talk,” he said. Then, noticing the others around them walking to their cars, he lowered his voice. “But not here.”
“I’m not going to your house and you’re not coming to mine, so if you have something to say, this is your chance.” She tapped her foot impatiently.
“Fine,” he said, walking to his car, their public discussion over.
She wasn’t surprised when he pulled up behind her in her driveway. She ignored him, walked into the house, and greeted the dog who was sleepy but excited. She could have told Ryan he wasn’t wanted. She could have locked the door. But she wanted him to follow.
Sophie let Sasha out back, and Ryan was waiting for her, sans tie but otherwise still very buttoned up in his navy pinstripe suit, when she came back to the house. He stood leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, breathing hard. Despite the anger radiating from him, he was still sexier than he had any right to be. And she wanted to smack herself upside the head for even thinking about how attractive he was in the present mood. She wanted to kiss him or kick him, or both, as feelings battled within her. But lashing out was easier than admitting to her feelings for him.
“You’ve been lying to me since Big Bear,” she said, her voice quiet.
“I told you we were on the verge of a strike. The bigger question is why didn’t
you
tell me you were on NegCom?” he asked, not altering his wide-legged stance.
“I did tell you, Ryan. It’s not my fault that you passed out when I was talking to you last night and didn’t hear me.”
He ignored her admission. “They were using you. I can’t believe you participated in something so unethical.”
“Unethical?” she said, her voice rising. “I did no such thing. I’m a union member. I had the same right as anyone to be there tonight.”
“Oh, you were the player to be named later?” he said. “They used the implicit threat of your family connections to browbeat the AMPTP into submission.”
“I’m supposed to believe that the reputation of my little old daddy and uncle bullied a forty billion dollar industry into submission.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, and propped her hands on her hips,
chafing in her severe charcoal pants. “Please, Ryan, tell me something plausible.”