stopped
her. “Why in such a hurry this morning, Ms. Simpson?”
Suzanne reeled at the use of her last name as panic stuck in her throat and slight
remembrances of the night before started playing in her head. Memories of a familiar
face danced before her.
Sitting up in the middle of the sheet-strewn king-sized bed was a naked, handsome
Jeff Davidson. Everything about him was seductive and suggestive, everything except
his face. His expression was cruel, and his leering smile betrayed his anger as he
ogled Suzanne and threw his head back, laughing derisively. His words were sarcastic
as he flung them in her direction. “You know, I never would have believed it, but
you’re a pretty good lay. There is some hot stuff underneath all that frigid ice.”
Suzanne felt sick to her stomach. She vaguely remembered a familiar face, a soft
voice, strong arms. She turned to flee the room, afraid she would throw up, but the
door was locked. She desperately fumbled with the handle. In those few moments, Jeff
leaped from the bed, pressed his hand against the door, positioned his naked body
between her and her escape, and arrogantly glared down at her.
“Not so fast, Ms. Simpson. I’m not about to let you leave yet. We have a lot to talk
about.”
Drawing deeply from a sense of control and strength she possessed when she was not
drinking, Suzanne replied in the voice she used as his superior. “We don’t have a
thing to talk about.” As she spoke, she tried to keep her eyes from wandering the
length of his naked form.
Jeff laughed a nasty laugh. “Why, Ms. Simpson, don’t tell me you’re interested in
seconds. Or let me see, is it about fifths or sixths?”
Nausea took hold of her. Out of control and frightened, Suzanne’s stomach began to
roll as realization of what had happened began to sink in. Now she had done it. She
had gone too far. I’ll get through this . . . I can do it. I just have to keep my
head.
Turning to face him, she gathered her strength. “We both had too much to drink last
night, Jeff. We made a mistake, but we’re both adults. We can pretend this never
happened.” A knot lodged in her throat as she turned to the door.
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Jeff said angrily. “I thought you might be interested
in seeing what great pictures you take.”
“Pictures? What pictures?” Suzanne placed her hand over her mouth. She was going
to throw up, she knew it—right here on his rug and all over his naked form. Her stomach
was going to turn inside out and leave all of its contents splattered all over his
body. As she subtly gulped in air to keep her stomach from unloading its liquid contents,
she tried to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, yet somewhere in
the cavern of her mind, she knew. Oh yes, she knew.
Walking to his dresser, Jeff held up a stack of pictures. “I think we have a lot
to talk about.” One by one he showed her Polaroid photos of herself in naked, sickening
poses. She was really drunk last night. She didn’t remember much, but tiny pieces
of her memory flickered in and out of her consciousness—their naked bodies, the sex,
the release. But she didn’t remember anything explicit that would separate last night
from all the other times.
Ashamed and scared, she fought for composure as Jeff gloated. Jeff Davidson was the
type of man who worked to get his opponents into vulnerable positions, then basked
in their defeat. During sales calls, she had watched him in action, so she knew the
viciousness underneath that smile. Even though her mind was still blurred from the
alcohol and her blazing headache, she was beginning to understand the situation into
which she had so blindly stepped.
In business, Jeff kept his maliciousness covered with a veneer of charm and manners,
but Suzanne knew it was a very thin covering. As her alcoholic blur was quickly burning
away from the panic that was surfacing within her, Suzanne’s sharp mind came quickly
to the surface.
her. “Why in such a hurry this morning, Ms. Simpson?”
Suzanne reeled at the use of her last name as panic stuck in her throat and slight
remembrances of the night before started playing in her head. Memories of a familiar
face danced before her.
Sitting up in the middle of the sheet-strewn king-sized bed was a naked, handsome
Jeff Davidson. Everything about him was seductive and suggestive, everything except
his face. His expression was cruel, and his leering smile betrayed his anger as he
ogled Suzanne and threw his head back, laughing derisively. His words were sarcastic
as he flung them in her direction. “You know, I never would have believed it, but
you’re a pretty good lay. There is some hot stuff underneath all that frigid ice.”
Suzanne felt sick to her stomach. She vaguely remembered a familiar face, a soft
voice, strong arms. She turned to flee the room, afraid she would throw up, but the
door was locked. She desperately fumbled with the handle. In those few moments, Jeff
leaped from the bed, pressed his hand against the door, positioned his naked body
between her and her escape, and arrogantly glared down at her.
“Not so fast, Ms. Simpson. I’m not about to let you leave yet. We have a lot to talk
about.”
Drawing deeply from a sense of control and strength she possessed when she was not
drinking, Suzanne replied in the voice she used as his superior. “We don’t have a
thing to talk about.” As she spoke, she tried to keep her eyes from wandering the
length of his naked form.
Jeff laughed a nasty laugh. “Why, Ms. Simpson, don’t tell me you’re interested in
seconds. Or let me see, is it about fifths or sixths?”
Nausea took hold of her. Out of control and frightened, Suzanne’s stomach began to
roll as realization of what had happened began to sink in. Now she had done it. She
had gone too far. I’ll get through this . . . I can do it. I just have to keep my
head.
Turning to face him, she gathered her strength. “We both had too much to drink last
night, Jeff. We made a mistake, but we’re both adults. We can pretend this never
happened.” A knot lodged in her throat as she turned to the door.
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Jeff said angrily. “I thought you might be interested
in seeing what great pictures you take.”
“Pictures? What pictures?” Suzanne placed her hand over her mouth. She was going
to throw up, she knew it—right here on his rug and all over his naked form. Her stomach
was going to turn inside out and leave all of its contents splattered all over his
body. As she subtly gulped in air to keep her stomach from unloading its liquid contents,
she tried to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, yet somewhere in
the cavern of her mind, she knew. Oh yes, she knew.
Walking to his dresser, Jeff held up a stack of pictures. “I think we have a lot
to talk about.” One by one he showed her Polaroid photos of herself in naked, sickening
poses. She was really drunk last night. She didn’t remember much, but tiny pieces
of her memory flickered in and out of her consciousness—their naked bodies, the sex,
the release. But she didn’t remember anything explicit that would separate last night
from all the other times.
Ashamed and scared, she fought for composure as Jeff gloated. Jeff Davidson was the
type of man who worked to get his opponents into vulnerable positions, then basked
in their defeat. During sales calls, she had watched him in action, so she knew the
viciousness underneath that smile. Even though her mind was still blurred from the
alcohol and her blazing headache, she was beginning to understand the situation into
which she had so blindly stepped.
In business, Jeff kept his maliciousness covered with a veneer of charm and manners,
but Suzanne knew it was a very thin covering. As her alcoholic blur was quickly burning
away from the panic that was surfacing within her, Suzanne’s sharp mind came quickly
to the surface.
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