Twisted Desire Read online

  So and so, lawyer. Shoot off a few emails to check references.

  So and so, popular restaurant owner. Friends with George Woods, property owner. Forward directly on.

  So and so, reporter for Sun Times. Knows everyone.

  So and so, hotel event coordinator. Same first name as the mysterious woman who’d been dancing through my mind almost hourly for months.

  I went to the wet bar in my home office, poured myself two fingers of Jameson and opened up a wonderfully coincidental email.

  From: Nora V. Koehl

  Subject: Application for Residency

  Date: May 9, 2008 19:06 CDT

  To: [email protected]

  To whom it may concern,

  Please find attached the required forms and my references. The Lunar Building is beautiful, and I’d love to be considered for residency.

  You’ll see on my application that I have no preferences in terms of size or location in the building. I’ll gladly accept any open units. I’m single, no children. I’m flexible.

  Currently, I’m in Switzerland and won’t be returning to Chicago until after June 15. However, when I return, if my application is accepted, I’d like to move in before July.

  I look forward to any questions you may have.

  Thank you,

  Nora V. Koehl

  (323) 555-9401

  Switzerland?

  After reading her email, I was left with more questions than answers. I hadn’t opened the attachments. At first, I didn’t feel sure about sorting through her financials. Yet, it was part of what I was tasked with.

  I knew she worked for Harbor Hotels, but was her job that lucrative? That wasn’t necessarily up to me. No. My job was to see if they were upstanding people and contact their references.

  I poured the rest of the whiskey down my throat and sat back in my chair.

  Was I invading her privacy?

  Had she been a stranger, would it matter?

  She wasn’t a complete stranger though, and the thought of her living in my building excited me. Through work, I’d have the means to investigate her accounts, but decided I wouldn’t go that far. To be fair to her, I hadn’t done that with anyone else, so I only scrolled through them like I typically had with other applicants.

  As I skimmed through her details, I noted that she actually had two Swiss accounts as well as one in the States. She had dual citizenship. I Googled the address she provided for her whereabouts in Zurich.

  It was a large estate. Sprawling in fact. Massive.

  I refilled my glass and couldn’t resist digging for more information online.

  The house belonged to Hugo Koehl, her father. I found that bit of information when I stumbled upon his obituary. Shockingly, it was only a week old.

  My heart went out to her. I wondered if they’d been close.

  I wondered how she was.

  By my third whiskey, I’d made up my mind to reply to her, but through my personal account.

  From: Reagan Warren

  Subject: Fresh Start

  Date: May 9, 2008 22:39 CDT

  To: Nora V. Koehl

  Nora,

  Please don’t be upset that I’m contacting you. It’s an honest coincidence. I’ve recently moved to the Lunar myself, and while the person who usually handles new tenant applications is away, I’m receiving their incoming emails.

  Imagine my surprise when I saw your name.

  The property is great, as I’m sure you’re aware.

  Please know that I have forwarded your information on to the appropriate channels, and as soon as your references come back, you should be hearing from the building manager.

  I know him, and I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you.

  Congratulations on getting the job at the Harbor. If I remember correctly, that’s what you wanted. See? Your party wasn’t lame after all. (That was a joke.)

  Anyway, if you’re anything like me, you hate waiting to hear back with these types of things. I wanted to let you know I’m sure there won’t be any problems, and I wanted to be the first to welcome you to the Lunar and Chicago.

  Feel free to contact me if you have any questions about the units, need any help, or if you’d be interested in going to dinner when you get back into town in July.

  Fresh start. What do you say? Do you still have my business card?

  Thoughtfully,

  Reagan

  I hit send.

  Surely, after a few months, she wouldn’t still be pissed about the cab. It was possible she’d forgotten about it. Yes. That would have been very nice. In addition, maybe she’d forgotten how I acted like an asshole at the party, too. I hoped she remembered me just enough. The good parts, had she noticed them? Were there any that night?

  It wasn’t that big of a deal. I hoped that letting her know her application was moving along down the line would give her some comfort. Especially if she was mourning her father.

  I couldn’t imagine.

  Still, I probably could have left the dinner invitation off, at least until she replied, but I was impulsive and realized that was a trending behavior with her. Nevertheless, I had been tasteful.

  I shut down my Mac and let my mind consider the possibilities.

  I showered and relived our encounter at the InformaTrade party. It hadn’t been my best foot forward, but everyone has an off night. Right?

  Though, I had to remind myself she wasn’t like other women I knew.

  So what? She liked threesomes. I liked ketchup on my eggs. It wasn’t likely things would ever progress, but she did something for me. My past relationships had been fairly casual. It wasn’t like I had proposed marriage or anything. True, she was brash with me, and not my type whatsoever. Then again, I hadn’t been out in months, so it wasn’t like I had my-types knocking down my door.

  Even when I had dated my-types, none of them ever consumed my thoughts like she had.

  After I was showered and toweled dry, I stood naked as I brushed my teeth. The gym was paying off, but I could do more.

  I wonder what she likes?

  Big, strong men? Smart? Funny?

  Was I funny?

  Obviously she was adventurous, or she seemed so with the personal knowledge I had of her, which by all accounts wasn’t much.

  The wood floor in my bedroom was cool on my feet as I walked to the television stand and turned it on to catch the news. Then, I noticed the light on my phone flash, indicating I had a message. I got under the sheet and picked it up.

  She’d replied already.

  What time was it in Switzerland anyway? I’d have to look up the difference.

  From: Nora V. Koehl

  Subject: re: Fresh Start

  Date: May 9, 2008 23:23 CDT

  To: Reagan Warren

  You again? Great. So what you’re saying is: if I don’t accept your dinner invitation, you’ll sabotage my application?

  Thoughtfully? Yeah right.

  Nora

  From: Nora V. Koehl

  Subject: re:re: Fresh Start (THAT’S A JOKE!)

  Date: May 9, 2008 23:37 CDT

  To: Reagan Warren

  FURTHERMORE, if I don’t hear from the building manager, I’ll call him myself. I don’t need your help. I can get an apartment without it. Thank you very much.

  I don’t even know where your card is.

  Nora

  That one had come through only a few minutes earlier. The thought of an open line of communication thrilled me.

  She was still pissed, but I could work with pissed. I was a professional negotiator after all.

  I hadn’t been funny before. She probably liked funny.

  I could be hilarious, but first, she needed to get a few things straight.

  From: Reagan Warren

  Subject: re:re:re: Fresh Start (NOT A JOKE)

  Date: May 9, 2008 23:42 CDT

  To: Nora V. Koehl

  Don’t you sleep? It’s late in Switzerland.

  I didn’t mean
you had to go out with me in exchange for an apartment. I’m pretty sure you know that. I don’t need to bribe women to go anywhere with me.

  FURTHERMORE, they like me because I can be very funny.

  And handsome. Some said that. Okay, my mom thinks I’m handsome and funny, but she’s never lied to me.

  So now that you know I wasn’t trying to blackmail you, and you understand how funny and handsome I am, please let me know if you’d like to go out to dinner when you get back into town in June.

  NO STRINGS ATTACHED. I’m not a dick. I was being helpful.

  Reagan

  PS If you need a reminder of what I look like, I’m happy to send a photograph for reference.

  From: Nora V. Koehl

  Subject: re:re:re:re: You’re NOT funny. Period.

  Date: May 9, 2008 23:57 CDT

  To: Reagan Warren

  Mr. Warren,

  You have my references and my credentials. They can confirm whatever you find necessary.

  I do not need any documents, or photographic proof, regarding your attractiveness. Please provide me with your poor Mother’s email address, since she’s your reference.

  My bedtime is none of your business.

  Nora

  I chuckled to myself. Maybe she was funnier than I was. I’d also be remiss to leave out how reading her call me mister left me half-hard.

  There was definitely something about her I wanted to explore.

  I didn’t email her back. I might have been compulsive, but I knew when to push my limits. I’d sit back. Let it sink in. See if she’d correspond with me on her own. The ball was in her court.

  Not replying was better than anything I could have emailed her, but I didn’t sleep well that night.

  TEN

  PAST

  NORA—Wednesday, May 21, 2008

  I’d barely slept since I’d arrived back in Switzerland.

  Nobody had expected my father to ever last as long as he had in his debilitated condition. Being there in his last few days only gave me peace. He’d had two major strokes over the past few years, and the last one left him a complete invalid. Totally non-verbal, and for the most part he didn’t communicate at all.

  When he’d first become ill, that’s when I’d grieved. I missed his calls, his voice. His character. But he’d been gone for a long time when he finally passed away.

  In his last days, he didn’t even wake up, his organs finally wearing down. The strokes killed his brain, but it took much longer for his brain to kill his body.

  I was with him when he died, and I cried and prayed and said my final goodbye.

  My two older half-brothers loved him. Well, at least I imagined they did. We never spent much time together. When I was a teenager, I found out that when I was younger, their mother wouldn’t let them visit their dad if I was there.

  Then after some time, I saw them more, but they hated me.

  It wasn’t fair to me, but they didn’t really know any other way. My mother had broken up their family. I hated it, but I understood.

  Yet in the few days before Papa died, they’d only visited him once. Even after I was called and we were told he was fading.

  Maybe they’d already grieved, too. That’s what I would have liked to think, but reason told me it was because of the money.

  Our father was spectacularly wealthy, and because of that, we all were. He’d been successful in business. He owned properties all over the world. Including Aspen, where he’d met my mother. I’d never had to worry for anything my whole life.

  My brothers and our dad had a falling out before his first stroke, when Papa made me his executor. I didn’t want it. Both Joel and Robin knew that, but it was just another way I’d messed up their lives.

  It sucked not being close with them especially since I was dealing with the loss of our father, but I’d learned to deal with their bitter feelings toward me. It was something the money wouldn’t change, but I felt better knowing things were fair.

  I was lucky to have Ives’ family there. His parents had been close to my dad. They, and especially Ives, had helped me with everything after Papa wasn’t able to make decisions anymore. And now that he was gone, Ives was helping me sort out the will with our lawyers.

  I didn’t want it all, and so as executor, and power of attorney, I was having things redistributed. It wasn’t reasonable that he’d given me the lion’s share—no matter how they’d grown apart. He’d most likely only made the change out of anger before he was sick. Despite never being close to my brothers, they were still my family. I’d see to it that they got their shares.

  But it would take some time.

  After leaving Switzerland, I’d be back in LA for a few days to pack up and ship what little I had in my apartment to Chicago. While I was still in Zurich, I had some of Papa’s properties put on the market and made sure the estate was being looked after by the employees until I decided what to do with it. It had a full staff, and honestly, I thought it would make a great vacation rental or at least a place to have events. The grounds and mountains it sat near were breathtaking.

  I warmed up some leftovers I found in the kitchen as I read the email from the building manager at the Lunar.

  I wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with being an acquaintance to Reagan, but not only had I already been sent the lease to sign, they were accommodating me by allowing me to move in a week early. Which would work out perfectly.

  If he had helped me out, I wanted to say thank you. After all, despite being overbearing, he’d only ever been helpful in his own weird way.

  From: Nora V. Koehl

  Subject: Possible Gratitude

  Date: May 21, 2008 22:06 CET

  To: Reagan Warren

  Reagan,

  I’m not sure if you had a hand in expediting my application at the Lunar or not. If you did, then thank you. If you didn’t, then disregard this email.

  I’m sure I’ll see you around the building after I move in.

  Thoughtfully,

  Nora

  I was being coy, but I couldn’t help it.

  Selfishly, I was a little lonely and hoped he’d respond. He was a pain in the ass, but still kind of entertaining. Besides, when he’d first contacted me about the building, I wasn’t in the best mood. I’d just buried my father, but that wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t know that.

  Reagan might not be funny, but he certainly was handsome.

  I ate at the counter and flipped through social media. I had a few acquaintances, but most of the people in my feed were work contacts or old lovers.

  I wasn’t a relationship kind of person. I believed that, for me, my sexuality and my emotions were best kept separate. That’s why I’d always preferred to sleep with couples.

  However, I wouldn’t ever say that I’d ever had a serious relationship with any of them. The idea of that never appealed to me. I’d seen how relationships in my family only caused pain for others. How fickle desires ruined lives all around me.

  My father had me out of wedlock.

  My mother married anyone she wanted. She was never satisfied.

  How could the product of two such people ever know anything about being committed to anyone?

  Sometimes I felt like an island. Often it was paradise.

  In most recent days, it had only felt desolate, but I had to take the good with the bad. At least I didn’t have to worry about making anyone happy or worry about letting them down. I could just do my thing.

  Work hard. Earn my own way. Rely on myself. Be independent.

  And on occasion, I fucked people who I trusted to merely offer me their bodies for mine in return.

  People who didn’t understand that kind of life probably thought it was dangerous. For some, maybe it was, but not for me.

  My lifestyle required honesty. Even though I wasn’t in a relationship with anyone, I still had to be truthful. Careful. We all did. I always protected myself. I had a contraceptive implant, insisted on condom use with all my p
artners, and had regular checkups and tests. I hadn’t had sex in months though.

  Months.

  I’d been busy in LA.

  Traveled to Chicago.

  Then I rushed here to be with Papa.

  The only opportunity I’d even had in recent memory was with Janel and Ives the night I’d met Reagan at the InformaTrade party, but it didn’t happen that night, and no one questioned anything.

  Funny thing about imaginations though. All I remember about being in their tub was the fantasy I’d had about Reagan.

  He didn’t answer my email that night, but when I was switching planes in Atlanta on my way to LA two weeks later, I finally got one.

  From: Reagan Warren

  Subject: re: Possible Gratitude

  Date: June 7, 2008 06:22 EST

  To: Nora V. Koehl

  Nora,

  Please find attached all my contact info—since you don’t have my card anymore—and let me know if you ever need anything. Including, but not limited to, dinner.

  Your neighbor,

  Reagan

  PS You’re welcome.

  So, he had helped.

  Surprisingly, I only felt grateful. Even more surprisingly, it made me smile that he still wanted to have dinner. It was flattering and after the past few months, I could use the kindness.

  It would never turn into anything. For me, it never did.

  I didn’t reply, but I saved his information into my phone.

  Later that night, when I was finally in my abandoned Los Angeles apartment, I answered a call from my mom. It was either that or clean out my refrigerator. I chose the slightly less of two evils.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said into my cell and sat on the small countertop in my kitchen. I’d pulled the trashcan over, and I began tossing things out of my cabinets that I either didn’t want or weren’t any good.

  “How are you, sweetie? Are you back in the states yet?” I didn’t worry about her asking me to visit. She rarely did. We got along best over the phone.