Chianti Classico - Part I

“Hey!”

I freeze with my hand on the door handle. Is it him?

“Wait!”

My hand slips from the handle. What is he doing here, at that time? I am sure this is not even his floor. I would know.

I turn to look down the brightly lit corridor. He is a few doors away from mine, bracing himself with a hand against the wall. I watch as he sways, his legs buckling even more under him. His white button down is crinkled, he has loosened his silver tie and left his jacket somewhere but he still looks handsome as shit.

Chianti Classico - Part II

When I wake up the next morning Joey is already gone. I do not meet him at breakfast but during the first coffee break between talks I catch a glimpse at him, playing around with the keys of his car in front of his minions. I watch him dangle the keys from his crooked fingers and wonder how he drives a car, if he is even allowed to. Probably has a chauffeur anyway. There is a girl among the crowd, laughing hysterically at a joke Joey just made. She is twirling her long dark hair around her fingers, leaning over to whisper something in his ear. Joey lifts his eyebrows and nods, grinning. I hope she will drool on him.

Chianti Classico - Part III

The image of Joey’s eyes on me as the elevator door close hunts me throughout the next day. I keep looking up even during the most heated discussions, unconsciously searching the crowd for a flash of white blond hair. I catch myself trying to remember the smell of him when we stood close, the feeling of his arm on mine, the dimples that showed when he smiled instead of wearing his usual sneer.

Chianti Classico - Part IV

It is sometime after breakfast the next morning when I hear the whispers. Joey had again already left when I woke up. I have not been part of the meeting that took place among a small circle but everyone else seems to be well informed. People standing in groups in front of the still closed conference rooms repeat in hushed voices the words that were apparently shouted across the table, father and son arguing over something. The exact reason for the quarrel changes depending on who tells the story but it all centers around the same.

Chianti Classico - Part V

Beard stopples scraping my cheek wake me up. I dimly register that, yeah, Joey is actually still there. I do not find time or energy to wonder why while he continues to plant kisses down my exposed throat and on my naked arm. I groan and tuck it away, pulling the blanket up until under my nose.