Page 20 of Pride and Protest
“I’m sorry...” Dorsey was having so much trouble following the strand of Jennifer’s conversation. “What are we talking about?”
“Liza,” she muttered, but when Dorsey broke eye contact again, she huffed. “Oh, never mind.”
“Liza, yes, she looks different today. Maybe it’s the hair, or I think the cold brought out a little sparkle in her eyes. She obviously cares for her sister. It’s actually quite—”
“Oh,” Jennifer interrupted. Her voice had taken on a high-pitched tenor that made Dorsey wince. “Here’s the food.” She jerked open the glass door holding various refrigerated items. Jennifer scooped up a few Caesar chicken wraps in cellophane while Dorsey grabbed cookies and bottled water. “And the baskets are here! See, I told you I knew where they were.”
“Her birthday,” he mumbled, flicking through the icebreaker texts his baby sister sent him from time to time. “That’s lame.” He shook his head. There had to be something he could say to get her bright eyes on him again.
They made their way back to the elevator. Jennifer punched the up arrow impatiently.
Liza bounced on a balance ball office chair in a man named Kenyon’s cubicle. Was this what her sister wanted—to be seated across from Ken in accounts receivable in a gray box all her life? What made people run toward these awful choices?
As the hours passed, Liza had taken to secretly watering down her sister’s drinks. In fact, she was pouring water in a half-filled champagne glass in the office break room when Dorsey, materializing from what must have been thin air, opened the refrigerator next to her.
Besides the fact that he wore ridiculous suspenders, his style was impeccable. She knew a well-tailored trouser when she saw one. Even his shoes looked hand-stitched by some arthritic cobbler in Italy. He seemed to have a bit of an outsider energy to counter his straitlaced clothing choices. His hair was the ultimate puzzle—for a man keen on structure and order, why would he keep his hair long? He was all rigidity and cultivation, but in that hair Liza could see flashes of lupine opulence that spoke of a man not fully domesticated. He had taken off his jacket, and his hands in his pockets exposed the curve of his buttocks and thighs. How had she not noticed the snug fit of his trousers before? Now it was all she could look at.
Without a word, he placed a bottle of Ariel Brut Cuvée nonalcoholic champagne on the counter.
How did he know what I was looking for?
Unless he had been watching her sneaky little substitutions. Unless he had been watchingher. The thought of it excited her more than it should have. She grabbed for the neck of the bottle, but Dorsey’s hand had not yet left it. They touched for a split second, and his eyes rocketed to hers. She was positively pinned in place. His touch was icy. The pads of his fingers grazed her knuckles and stayed a beat too long. Still, without a word, Dorsey tore his eyes away. She wished she had read something there, but he was inscrutable. He walked away toward thecubicles, and she watched his form retreat. Why had she been holding her breath?
She took the Brut and, with hands shaking, filled her sister’s glass.Deep breath, and with a plastered-on smile, she called out, “We’re not done partying yet.” She walked back into the office space, holding the cups in her hands.
Janae smiled and whispered in her sister’s ear, “I feel so happy for the first time in a long time!”
Liza squeezed her sister’s arm. “You deserve it. Enjoy.” She handed her sister the cup, and they made silly party faces for a rapid succession of selfies. A few minutes later, her sister sat with David in an uncomfortable-looking office chair. It looked more like conceptual art than an actual functional chair. Liza left them to their privacy and turned down through a darkened hallway.Is this place just cubicles as far as the eye can see?She pushed open a door and gasped at the view. With the lights out, the world outside sparkled. The capital was lit up around her, and the weather coupled with the full moon had turned her bustling political town into a quaint village covered in a blanket of glittering snow. It looked like she was being shaken around in a snow globe as the flakes and wind whirled against the window.
A deep voice from across the room jolted Liza. “You found my office.”
She turned to find Dorsey staring at her with those unnerving dark eyes. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop.” She was surprised. This was not the largest office on the floor, or the flashiest. There was a smooth dark-wood demilune desk with a pony-skin upholstered armchair that begged you to sit. He had a vintage apothecary cabinet installed on the wall with tiny undecipherable words written on the drawers. On an adjacent desk, there was a bronze statue of galloping ponies.
This probably wasn’t even his primary office, but Liza imagined it must have taken thousands to outfit it to his specifications. On the other side of the small office was a floor-to-ceiling window. It seemed to Liza that Dorsey’s taste leaned toward the supple and sumptuous—another surprise. What did this austere man know of sensual pleasures—the feel of leather and lace and feathers, the smell of freshly ground coffee, the taste of deep red wine? What could he know about feeling first, then thinking?
What his office lacked in space, it made up for in location. It was the best spot positioned to see the entire cubicle space. It also had the best view of the city. She turned her back to him and admired the impressive vista again.
“I didn’t take you for the corporate espionage type,” Dorsey said, crossing the small room. He looked at the light but did not turn it on, gazing instead at the view as well. He stepped closer to the window—closer to her, until his spicy, woody cologne snaked around her.
Is that a joke?
“Thank you for finding the... that bottle,” Liza said, still facing the window. She didn’t dare turn. Why did she bring that up? Now she was thinking of the icy pads of his fingers on her warm skin. Thankfully, he didn’t respond. But his silence was neither rude nor oppressive. She saw his arm rise over her shoulder as he placed his palm on the window. Suddenly, she could feel the heat of his body directly behind her. She didn’t even want to take a full breath for fear that her back and his chest would touch. Her breath tightened. She would hyperventilate if he got one inch closer.
Dorsey pointed to a spot in the distance. “Do you see that church over there?” His voice was slightly above a whisper.
Liza nodded.
“My father was born there. My grandparents were on a tripto talk to President Eisenhower. They got into an accident and had to stop at the church.”
“Wow, on a casual trip to see the president, huh?” Liza teased. She wondered if those same church steps had held many less fortunate 1950s babies.
“Babies are so helpless.” Dorsey sighed. “You know they’re all just one poor decision away from being left on those same church steps.”
Liza spun to look up at him, ready to tell him she had thought the same thing. Or maybe ask him about his own adoption.Had he been left at his mother’s door?But she had underestimated how close he stood behind her. The wide collar of her shirt had gotten caught on the jagged metal clip of his suspenders, and her cheap snaps gave up the fight. Her fitted flannel shirt unsnapped nearly down to the navel, exposing the tops of her breasts as they fought with the old, too-tight bra. The cheapness of the bra and the holes in the lace and her view of his Ferragamo shoes irrationally made Liza want to cry.From this day forward, no skimping on underthings.She took a deep breath and heard a sharp exhale in response as her breasts brushed against his chest. Dorsey tried to turn around, but her shirt was still stuck to his suspenders and Liza lurched after him. He reached for the fraying collar but thought better of it and held his hands high.
“Don’t breathe.” He growled. Liza held her breath without question and attempted to pull her shirt out of the metal clip of his suspenders. Why would a man this rich wear suspenders this raggedy?Something about her jarring movements angered Dorsey, because he steadied her shoulders and gritted his teeth like he was defusing a bomb.
“May I?” he clipped out. Liza nodded, and his enormous hands slid carefully around the collar. Liza was hyperaware of themillimeters between his knuckles and her semi-exposed breast, and she watched every micromovement. She willed her nipples to stay flat. But she could already feel gooseflesh spreading over the tops of her breasts. When she took an involuntary breath, Dorsey’s thumb trembled, and his Adam’s apple bobbed like a boiling egg.
