5. PAUL

As I stepped through the doorway that Jack held open for me, there was something in the way his dark eyes lingered on mine that sent a little jolt up my spine. Did I imagine it? Was there a hint of something more in his eyes?

The thought lingered at the back of my mind as we made our way back up to our office. As we rode in the elevator, our conversation seemed to falter. There was this feeling. I could hardly explain it. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an undercurrent of some connection between us, that perhaps there had not been before.

Standing there in the brief moments we were ascending through the building, I watched him in the not-quite-mirrored metal doors of the elevator. Jack’s reflection faced me, as if he were watching me, my body, my shape. He was not – I knew he wasn’t – but it felt like he was, and I enjoyed the possibility.

The possibility of what? Of his desire, his hunger?

There was such a magnetic pull to him. I allowed myself to entertain the possibility of something between us, if only for fleeting seconds. What would it be like, I wondered, to be wrapped in his big, masculine arms, to feel his lips against mine, the weight of his larger, more muscular body on top of mine?

It was a thought that both excited and terrified me, not least because I had only ever dreamed of being made love to by a man – a man like Jack, in fact. But the touch of another man was something utterly mysterious to me. I had had sex with women before, and it had been wonderful, but that touch – a man’s touch, a man’s body, a man’s weight – the idea of it was quite electric.

“Do you have any thoughts about approaches?” he asked.

I had been so deep in my thoughts that I was hardly listening. I turned to look at him. He was gazing at me very directly.

“What’s that, Jack?”

He paused for a moment, then smiled.

“Do you have any thoughts about approaches to getting the London office up to speed?”

I scrambled for something – anything – to say:

“I guess turn up and speak to people, see what they don’t get, what they are worried about. Just be open and honest.”

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s be open and honest.” Then he laughed. “That’s always a good thing, right?”

“So I hear!”

We reached our floor. The elevator bell dinged, and the door opened. We were back at work.

***

As we returned to Harry’s office, a familiar rhythm of productivity enveloped us. We went through projects, appointments, and initial priorities. Jack was insanely focused, chopping through work like it was nothing. He was happy making decisions quickly and decisively and then moving on to the next thing, and the next thing.

His attention was wholly devoted to whatever was at hand until the task reached completion. Then again: move on. There was something so capable and intelligent about him, the way he handled himself, the way he worked.

It felt inspiring. It was really impressive finally to see him up close, this guy who had built this world in which we all worked.

Throughout the day, there were minor interruptions – emails that needed answering, a few impromptu heads around the door – and he took it all in good part. He was never sharp with people who tapped the door and asked him for two minutes, even when he said he did not have time right now.

“I am with Paul…I am giving the whole day to Paul,” he declared at one point to someone who looked a bit sheepish but then grinned and raised his hands. “Go on, two minutes!”

Time seemed to blur as we delved deeper into the project’s intricacies. Hours slipped by unnoticed. The sunlight from the glass wall shifted its position, but we kept on working until, at one point, Jack stretched his arms up like he was pulling out his muscles at the gym. He let out a great, deep roar.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I am ravenous.”

I nodded.

“I could eat.”

“What time is it?”

The clock on the wall read 2:45 p.m. Only then did we realize how late it had gotten.

“Come on, lunchtime,” he announced. “Shall we go get some food?”

In fact, I had brought some lunch in, but I didn’t want to tell him that. Was I going to open my Tupperware and eat some cold pasta salad when I could go out with him into the world again?

“Great,” I said.

And I was. I suddenly felt very hungry indeed.