AntonTovaras
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 8, 2012
- Posts
- 380
Nicolas Williams finishes his notes and leaves the office late, nobody else on the floor but the cleaners. He greets them by name, and they smile and wave at him. They are used to seeing him here, and he makes a point to be friendly. So many of his colleagues see the cleaning crew as beneath them, worthless, somehow subhuman. They may not be rich, but what they do is essential, and Nicolas always treated them with respect. Some of his colleagues wondered why his office always seemed a little fresher and nicer, but he never told them his secret.
He was a lawyer at one of the city's bigger firms, handling corporate accounts and well on his way to making partner at the age of thirty. Of course, that was only because his work was his life. He seldom left the office before midnight. He rarely saw his family, just an hour outside of the city, and his last girlfriend – well, he wasn't quite sure when she had left. He had been too busy to notice. He missed her, sometimes, but not as much as he should.
She had been perfect for him on paper, beautiful, intelligent, charming and almost as driven as he was, but from the start, she had tried to control every facet of their relationship, until it was very like being at work, vying for power and control, more adversarial than affectionate. The worst of it was that he'd have given her everything she wanted if she hadn't tried to force him to. He didn't do well sharing power, he knew that now. He just had to find someone who understood that.
He rode the elevator down to the building's lobby, and walked across, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous, empty space. He waved to the security guard at the desk and pushed out the revolving doors into a sharp, cold night. He turned up the collar of his overcoat against the wind that the steel and glass skyscrapers sharpened to a razor edge. He walked down the empty street.
His apartment was only a half dozen blocks away, and even on a bitterly cold night like this, he liked to walk. It was one of his few opportunities to breath real air, and he listened to the sounds of the city, sirens and car alarms echoing from far away, trains rumbling underfoot and the general hum of life and movement. The neighborhood was safe enough, for the most part, and there was a bar halfway home where he stopped to warm up and drink a scotch.
There were women there. More than one eyed him, and as he sipped his drink he dismissed them. Men called women like that easy, but they were only easy to get into bed. They would be good for an hour or so, but then they'd still be there, and they'd want something he couldn't give them. They'd want him to like them. It would turn ugly, and he'd have more trouble getting rid of them than he had getting them in the first place. He brushed off the first to approach him, and finished his drink quickly before she or one of her flock took a second run at him.
He left money on the bar and made sure the bartender saw before he stood up, but he paused for a moment when the speakers played the opening notes of Ella Fitzgerald singing “Dream a Little Dream” Almost worth staying for, he thought, but he could hear it at home, without being interrupted. He went back out into the night, and the wind early stripped his overcoat off him before he turned his back to it and buttoned up.
When he reached his building, the doorman was standing just inside the door, his cheeks and ears red from the cold. He jumped when Nicolas knocked, but smiled when he saw who it was. He opened the door, and they traded greetings. Nicolas wasn't the kind of man who would complain that the overnight doorman was getting warm, though he knew some of his neighbors would. He walked across the lobby to the mailboxes, skimmed through the mail quickly and threw it away. Nothing worth keeping.
He pushed the button for the elevator, and as the door slid open, he heard the howl of wind from the street as the front door opened again. He stepped onto the elevator and turned to look.
The woman coming towards him was breathtaking. Absolutely beautiful. He couldn't help but stare as she walked across the lobby. The elevator door started to close, but he caught it with his hand, holding it for her. He gave a polite smile and stepped all the way into the elevator as she reached it.
“What floor?” he asked, as he hit the button for the top floor, where he lived. He punched the button for her floor, and leaned against the wall of the box as it started up, admiring her.
“Pardon me for saying so,” he said, “but you are gorgeous.” His voice was a soft baritone, but he spoke lightly, playfully. He gives her a wicked grin and lets his eyes take her in, slowly and shamelessly.
Just as the elevator slows, reaching her floor, he leans close.
“I think I'm going to make you mine.” His voice is soft but serious, sure. It is a promise.
“Dream of me,” he says, as the door slides open. His voice is playful again.
He was a lawyer at one of the city's bigger firms, handling corporate accounts and well on his way to making partner at the age of thirty. Of course, that was only because his work was his life. He seldom left the office before midnight. He rarely saw his family, just an hour outside of the city, and his last girlfriend – well, he wasn't quite sure when she had left. He had been too busy to notice. He missed her, sometimes, but not as much as he should.
She had been perfect for him on paper, beautiful, intelligent, charming and almost as driven as he was, but from the start, she had tried to control every facet of their relationship, until it was very like being at work, vying for power and control, more adversarial than affectionate. The worst of it was that he'd have given her everything she wanted if she hadn't tried to force him to. He didn't do well sharing power, he knew that now. He just had to find someone who understood that.
He rode the elevator down to the building's lobby, and walked across, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous, empty space. He waved to the security guard at the desk and pushed out the revolving doors into a sharp, cold night. He turned up the collar of his overcoat against the wind that the steel and glass skyscrapers sharpened to a razor edge. He walked down the empty street.
His apartment was only a half dozen blocks away, and even on a bitterly cold night like this, he liked to walk. It was one of his few opportunities to breath real air, and he listened to the sounds of the city, sirens and car alarms echoing from far away, trains rumbling underfoot and the general hum of life and movement. The neighborhood was safe enough, for the most part, and there was a bar halfway home where he stopped to warm up and drink a scotch.
There were women there. More than one eyed him, and as he sipped his drink he dismissed them. Men called women like that easy, but they were only easy to get into bed. They would be good for an hour or so, but then they'd still be there, and they'd want something he couldn't give them. They'd want him to like them. It would turn ugly, and he'd have more trouble getting rid of them than he had getting them in the first place. He brushed off the first to approach him, and finished his drink quickly before she or one of her flock took a second run at him.
He left money on the bar and made sure the bartender saw before he stood up, but he paused for a moment when the speakers played the opening notes of Ella Fitzgerald singing “Dream a Little Dream” Almost worth staying for, he thought, but he could hear it at home, without being interrupted. He went back out into the night, and the wind early stripped his overcoat off him before he turned his back to it and buttoned up.
When he reached his building, the doorman was standing just inside the door, his cheeks and ears red from the cold. He jumped when Nicolas knocked, but smiled when he saw who it was. He opened the door, and they traded greetings. Nicolas wasn't the kind of man who would complain that the overnight doorman was getting warm, though he knew some of his neighbors would. He walked across the lobby to the mailboxes, skimmed through the mail quickly and threw it away. Nothing worth keeping.
He pushed the button for the elevator, and as the door slid open, he heard the howl of wind from the street as the front door opened again. He stepped onto the elevator and turned to look.
The woman coming towards him was breathtaking. Absolutely beautiful. He couldn't help but stare as she walked across the lobby. The elevator door started to close, but he caught it with his hand, holding it for her. He gave a polite smile and stepped all the way into the elevator as she reached it.
“What floor?” he asked, as he hit the button for the top floor, where he lived. He punched the button for her floor, and leaned against the wall of the box as it started up, admiring her.
“Pardon me for saying so,” he said, “but you are gorgeous.” His voice was a soft baritone, but he spoke lightly, playfully. He gives her a wicked grin and lets his eyes take her in, slowly and shamelessly.
Just as the elevator slows, reaching her floor, he leans close.
“I think I'm going to make you mine.” His voice is soft but serious, sure. It is a promise.
“Dream of me,” he says, as the door slides open. His voice is playful again.
