Axiom Ch. 04

His heart was hammering in his chest and his collar felt a lot tighter than usual. Was it just him or did the car suddenly become a lot warmer? He tried to calm himself down with a few deep breaths, never really able to stop thinking about her the whole time. Damn it, he needed her right now. Feeling inspired, he reached into his pocket for his BlackBerry.

"Yeah, sure. Uh-huh, right. Yeah. Alright, mom, okay. Okay. Goodnight, mom, love you, and take care."

She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her purse. The night was chilly and Gwyneth could feel the cold biting through the long sleeves of her dress. Not that she minded - she found it invigorating and refreshing. Neon lights and giant billboards flashed brightly around her, illuminating the night sky with a dizzying spectrum of colors.

She stood out there alone, not caring about the throng of people that walked past. This was one of the things she loved most about New York - how you could find solitude right in the middle of a crowd. She took a deep breath and sighed, then turned to head back into the bar when her she felt her phone vibrate. Her face lit up when she saw that it was a text from Aidan.

You look stunning in that dress. A.

Gwyneth jerked her head upwards instinctively, her eyes swiftly scanning through the swarming mass of people that walked right by her. Where was he? How did he see her? The text had been a little creepy, if not exhilarating. Gwyneth's heart was pounding loudly in her chest now, excitement prickling on her skin like electricity. Her neck craned this way and that as her eyes roved around, searching for Aidan with a predatory precision. Again, her phone buzzed in her hands.

I'm not there - I know you're looking. Drove by a few minutes ago. Enjoy your night, gorgeous. A.

A silly grin spread across her face when she read the message. It would appear that Aidan Scodelario was a bag of surprises, a completely different character beneath the layers she'd been so accustomed to. One minute he was a authoritarian who wouldn't tolerate mediocrity, and without preamble, he could morph into a flirtatious imp - one who knew how to spy on people and jump their bones.

Her fingers hovered uncertainly over her iPhone as she wracked her brains for a smart reply. She typed out a few messages, deleting each and every one after re-reading and a lot of pondering. Minutes passed, and she was still facing a blank text field. She groaned in frustration and pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she wanted to wring an idea directly out of her brain.

"Smooth, Gwyneth, smooth," she muttered to herself. "C'mon, it's just a text message! Be smart, be sexy, be confident. Come on..."

At last she threw her hands up in the air, deciding that there was no way she was going to think her way out of this. Her fingers pecked out a quick reply and she just pressed send, no longer caring about what how he would interpret the message.

You're such a stalker, but the compliment made up for it. Can't wait to see you again. G.

Six words.

That was his favorite part of the message. He'd felt irrationally happy when he read those words, even if they were completely innocuous. Inside, his need for her was almost unbearable - it had become a physical, corporeal hunger. He craved for every part of her; the gentle caresses of her hands, the familiar scent of her skin, the endless flanks of her long legs. All he wanted right now was to feel her body underneath his, squirming at his touch, ready for him.

Do you have any plans after work tomorrow? A.

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the car window as he eagerly waited for a reply. Tomorrow's plans were already laid out in his head, and all he needed was that yes. Would she like it? He was hoping to find out. The BlackBerry buzzed loudly in his hand.

Nope. Why, are you planning to kidnap me? G.

Aidan's lips twitched with a half-smile. Her yes was the best news he'd heard all week. He struggled to rein in his thoughts as he composed a reply, willing himself to stay cool.

It's only kidnapping if you resist. Will pick you up from the office. Can't wait to see you too. A.

Gwyneth laughed out loud when she read the message. The invite piqued her curiosity, filling her head with countless theories as to what he had planned out for tomorrow.

"There you are!" She spun her head to find Dylan taking brisk steps towards her. "What are you doing outside? C'mon back in, you're missing all the fun!"

Gwyneth immediately felt bad for abandoning Dylan to swap texts with Aidan. She slipped her phone back into her purse and looped her arm through his, giving him quick hug as they walked back to the bar. Before she even stepped through the entrance, she could hear her friends whooping in delight, the volume of their noise drowning out the merry chatter in the bar.

She walked in to find one of them trying to shoehorn yet another buffalo wing into his already full mouth in an attempt to beat Dylan's record while the others egged him on, and she erupted into a fizz of laughter. There was an incredible lightness in her heart, a happiness she hadn't felt in a long, long time, and as she took a sip from the fresh bottle of beer Dylan offered her, she thought of how fortunate and blessed she was to be here, in this very place at this very moment. Life was good.

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Blood was throbbing in her head; a steady, insistent pulse that pounded at her temples. She winced and pressed at the sore spots with her thumbs, rubbing small circles in an attempt to massage out the pain. Papers were stacked on her desk like a miniature Kilimanjaro, tagged with Post-Its and annotations scribbled in pencil awaiting amendment. Even looking at the work pile was exhausting.

Gwyneth took a deep breath and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling more tired than she had felt all week. Beneath the glamourous facade of corporate law lay the festering skeleton of truth - all lawyers were nothing more than slaves, cooped up in a cage of paperwork and coffee; a collection of pale, sallow ghouls dressed in expensive suits.

To anyone else, Gwyneth looked like she was living the dream life in the Big Apple - smart clothes, well-paying job, living in the epicenter of the world. But look closely, and you could see the dark circles concealed by makeup and the dim, lackluster glaze of her eyes.

"You alright?" There was a twinge of concern in Dylan's voice.

"I'm fine," she said dismissively. Gwyneth was thankful that yesterday night hadn't gotten out of hand. Somehow, they'd managed to get home by two in the morning - very early by Dylan's standards - but even then, getting out of bed this morning was a monumental task.

By the time she arrived at work, the files were already stacked on her desk, and the work just kept pouring in a steady stream throughout the day. At least you'll be meeting Aidan later, she told herself. That fact alone was the saving grace that kept her going throughout the day.

"Have you eaten?" Gwyneth looked up to see Dylan studying her with worry.

She actually had to pause and think about the question for a moment. It was a bad habit of hers - being so engrossed with work that she would forget to feed herself, only for the hunger to later retaliate at the end of the day in a gut-wrenching gastric pain, which she relieved by chomping down a gallon of food.

"I...don't....know..." she genuinely couldn't remember. "I think I had a sandwich a few hours ago...I think, I'm not sure."

"Gwyneth," Dylan admonished as he pulled open a drawer. "Here," he tossed a tube of digestive biscuits in her direction. He was no stranger to her habits, being all to familiar with her daily routine, and so he took it upon himself to stash some light snacks as backup. She caught it with a sheepish smile, a little embarrassed at needing to be fussed over like a little child.

Gwyneth unwrapped it and wolfed down a piece, washing it down with lukewarm coffee. "Thanks," she mumbled with her mouth full, brushing the crumbs off her shirt. After a few biscuits, she felt considerably better, her mind felt brighter and much more energized. She then resumed working with renewed vigor, slowly working her way into a steady tempo while the headache faded away.

Her iPhone pinged with a new message.

I'm downstairs. Are you ready? A.

Gwyneth's eyes widened at the message. How could he be downstairs already? A quick glance at the computer clock revealed that three hours had, indeed, flown by in a blip. She cursed under her breath shot back a quick reply saying that she was ready, then began to frantically pack up her belongings.

"Leaving so soon? Wait, wait, wait - lemme guess - a date?"

"Yes, yes, a date," she rolled her eyes and chose to ignore his sly smile. "Why, jealous?"

"Damn right I am," he grumbled, his face gloomy. "You're off for dinner and some lovin' while the only lovin' I'll be getting is from Citibank," he brandished a thick brown file with the words "RESTRUCTURING" printed on it.

"Oh, Dylan," she leaned in close for a confidential whisper. "Continue flirting with Kitty Hayburn long enough, and you'll be getting some lovin' too." Dylan grinned widely at that joke and offered her a fistbump.

"See you later, champ," he waved goodbye. "Have fun..."

She slid the laptop into her bag and winked at him. "I will." As the elevator began its descent, Gwyneth checked out her appearance in the mirrored walls, raking her fingers through her hair to settle it. Excitement was bubbling inside her, making her skin tingle in anticipation. She wondered about what he had in mind, especially since he'd been so mysterious about it. She hadn't been able to wangle out a single clue from him, not that she tried very hard to do so.

She pushed open the huge glass doors of the office building foyer, scanning the street for his familiar black BMW sedan. Her eyebrows furrowed when she couldn't find his car. Didn't he say he was already here? She shrugged to herself and chose to give him a few more minutes, thinking that perhaps he misjudged the time.

It was still light out, although the sun was setting now, painting the air with a dusky glow. The warm yellow light was bouncing off the glass walls of the metropolis in golden beads, transforming the shapeless skyscrapers into glittering blocks of illuminated glass.

New York could be so beautiful at this hour of the day - with the warm evening light, the bustle of people that were making their way home from work and the smell of bread from a bakery nearby slicing through the traffic smog - there was just so much soul in the city at that moment.

A young boy holding an ice cream cone tottered past her, visibly distracted by a sophisticated sports bike that was parked nearby. He was so busy looking at the sleek, black superbike that he blundered into his mother, smashing the gooey mass of chocolate into her Mulberry satchel.

"Nigel!" his mother scolded, plucking the ruined treat out of his sticky hands. "Can't you watch where you're going?" She was launching into a naggy tirade now but the boy remained oblivious, still enrapt by the futuristic machine beside him. Gwyneth giggled as she watched everything, enjoying how the little boy couldn't care less about being heckled by his mother - he was so obsessed with the motorbike that nothing else mattered to him.

Give him twenty years, and he'll still react the same way towards bikes, she thought, remembering how Dylan used to drool over fancy sports cars. Men and their hobbies - apparently, the habit starts young.

Minutes passed, and she was becoming increasingly irritated with every passing second. She could understand being tardy, but after all, she had just rushed from work to be waiting outside like a fool, carrying a heavy bag crammed full with a laptop and documents. Gwyneth slipped a hand into her pocket to call him, when she heard it.

"Gwyneth."

She jerked her head upwards, searching for the source of the voice. It had sounded so familiar...so much like Aidan's. Her eyes filtered out people on the street, but she saw no sign of him. There were so many men in suits walking past, all dressed in the standard issue New York black, so ubiquitous that Aidan would have blended in seamlessly. She took a few steps forward, still unable to find him, and then the owner of the bike flipped the visor of his helmet open.

He, too, was dressed in a nondescript suit and a black helmet, leaning against the bike with his arms folded across his chest. She almost looked away from him until it hit her, causing her to do a double take and realize, for the first time, the ice-blue irises that were peering at her with intense curiosity. Gwyneth was still slightly hesitant, unsure that it really was him - but hey, how many men had eyes like those?

"Ten minutes," the biker was saying. "I've been standing here for ten minutes, and you looked right past me each and every time."

"Aidan? Is that you?" She laughed nervously as she watched him nod, still struggling to process the information in her head. "Is this your bike?" she said, realizing too late how lame she sounded.

"No, I just like wearing helmets and standing around bikes that look cool," Aidan's voice was deadpan. "Here," he held out another helmet, similar to the one he was wearing. "You up for it? If you don't feel like it, we could always call for the car..."

She flushed a deep crimson. "No, no...just...wow." She circled the bike, taking in its every detail. "You have a Ducati," she couldn't keep the awe out of her voice. "I never took you for a bike person. Never, ever, ever..."

Gwyneth couldn't see it, but he was smiling inside his helmet. "We all have an adrenaline junkie inside of us that's struggling to get out. Mine's the size of the abominable snowman, by the looks of it."

"More like the size of a planet," she shook her head, unable to digest the fact that he had a superbike. The sight of him leaning against the animalistic machine looked completely incongruous. Trust him to be decked out in all black - from the helmet to every part of his suit - he looked like he was some baddie in one of them espionage films.

"Oh God, you really are a spy, aren't you?" she joked. "I bet you're hiding a utility belt somewhere underneath that suit. And a couple of tranquilizer darts."

He nodded gravely. "Corporate animal by day, James Bond by night. Now that you know about my true identity, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to kill you."

"Shame," she folded her arms. "I was hoping for a little more sex first." She could hear his muffled laugh echoing from inside the helmet. "You know," she teased, "you look a lot more handsome with the helmet on. Leaves just the eyes visible, covers up the rest of the face...very nice."

"Owch," he clapped his fist to his chest. "At least now I know it's my personality that you're interested in. I have half a mind to revoke your bike privileges."

"No!" she exclaimed in mild dismay even though she knew that he was just teasing. "Okay I take that back, you're more handsome than all the gods of Olympia. I mean, you make Apollo look like a drunken hobo."

"That has to be one of the weirdest butter-ups I've ever received, but I'll take it all the same." His voice was deadpan and he shook his head. "So," he held out the helmet. "Bike or no bike?"

"Bike!" She grinned widely, took the helmet from him and put it on while he swung himself onto the bike.

"If you ever feel at any time that we're going too fast, let me know. I don't want to freak you out," he advised.

"Like that's ever going to happen," she said easily, fastening the buckle underneath her chin. "You said it yourself - everyone has an adrenaline junkie stowed away somewhere inside them. I can't wait to see what this bad boy can do."

"Steady now, Evel Knievel. The plan is to shake things up a little with a fun ride, not have you say your final prayers before cracking your skull open at the junction near Fifth."

"Spoilsport."

"Spoilsport and driver, with good reason. Lord help us if you ever got behind the wheel." He shook his head at her. "Ready?" Aidan asked, kicking up the stand in a fluid motion and steadying the bike. She swung herself onto the Ducati with relative ease, flipping her shoulder bag to the back as not to obstruct her from sitting behind him.

Gwyneth wasn't sure if she was supposed to, but she looped her arms around Aidan's waist anyway, secretly relishing any excuse to touch him at all. "Ready," she answered, hearing her own voice echo inside the shell of the helmet. His eyes crinkled like they always did when he smiled. Aidan flipped the visor shut and gunned the engine, making it roar with life and they sped away into maze of traffic, deftly weaving through the sea of cars.

She had to give it to him - he definitely knew how to handle a bike. Even with so much raw power thrumming beneath them, she never, for a moment, felt any imminent danger. He maneuvered the bike with a reassured expertise, swiveling his head every now and then to check for oncoming vehicles. When they stopped at a red light, she lightly brushed her fingers across the taut expanse of his abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. God, she wanted him so badly right now. Just when she thought that he couldn't get any more attractive, he shows up with a flashy vehicle.

"So where are we going?" she almost had to shout to make herself heard.

"You'll see," he answered easily, covering her hand with his, his skin all warm and delicious on hers.

She wanted to hook her head onto his shoulder, but her bulky helmet clunked against his as she tried to do so. So much for trying to be sexy, she thought. "We're going to Brooklyn, aren't we?" She had recognized the roads they'd taken so far.

He swiveled to face her. "Not bad," he admitted. "Good guess, smartypants." Gwyneth grinned in glee, pleased at cracking a small part of the riddle. "Have you figured out where exactly we're going yet?"

"Nah, and I'm not trying to. I'm going to let you surprise me, if you can, that is. Can't promise I won't figure it out halfway through."

"Damn, should've had you blindfolded. At this rate, you'l figure it out in a minute or two."

"Blindfolded? Isn't that dangerous? What if I fall off the bike?"

"Why would you fall off the bike? I'm the one driving, and all you have to do is hold on tight. Here," he playfully tried to twist her helmet the other way round so that her visor was backwards, obstructing her view.

"Hey, stop it! That hurts, dummy," she swatted his hands away and readjusted her helmet while he laughed at her response.

"You're too smart for your own good sometimes," he rubbed her thigh with a firm hand. "Alright now, hang on tight, we're moving..."

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They pulled up outside a mid-rise red brick building on Plymouth with large glass windows. Gwyneth dismounted first, pulling off the helmet and patting her hair back into place. "Smack Mellon!" she exclaimed in delight, recognizing the place.

"I take it you've been here before?" he appeared behind her and took the helmet out of her hands, standing close enough for her to smell his aftershave.

"A couple of times, yeah, but it's been ages since the last time I visited. There hasn't been an exhibition here that I'm particularly interested in for a while now."

"Ah, I see. Well, we'll be going for a Robin Erram exhibit, if you don't mind. I've heard plenty of good things about it."

"Pulse, is it? Isn't that the one with the interactive art?" She pulled a face.

He smiled at her expression. "Not one for interactive art, I see. Such a snob, Ms. Kenner," he wagged a finger at her. "Can you at least give this one a shot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay," she feigned a sulk. "But only because of you. The things I do for you..."