His Obsession by Ava Lore Page B

like to be around you. You... make things more vivid. I told you that in that whole room of people, you were the only one who was alive, remember?"
    I nodded. I remembered.
    "It's that. I want to borrow your warmth for a while. You warm me up. I don't feel so cold when you are around. And you submit to me so readily... it has been a long time since I felt in control of my life. The company runs itself, the press runs away with stories on me, my own trusted people are not to be trusted, and my emotions..." He trailed off. "Well, let's just say that I am not used to having my emotions run away from me, though I believe I have been able to effectively let them go. Betrayal does strange things to a man. But you reminded me what it's like to have something under my control. With you, I can indulge in a bit of pleasure. You are alive, and you make me feel alive. And the things we create..." He sighed. "I don't know. The photographs are just bits and bytes. Your painted body didn't last. Our sculpture will last until it breaks. And yet for some reason I don't feel as if that is the thing I am striving for. I am impermanent, and I want my art to be permanent, a reminder to the world that I was here... but it all feels empty, somehow."
    I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand in mine. No man had ever spoken so frankly and candidly with me before, except one man, and he didn't count.
    "You have to figure out what you're trying to say first," I said.
    His eyes darkened. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to say. A lifetime of grabbing for every dollar, reaching for things that are reachless... Perhaps it's just turtles all the way down. A hole in the middle of me that I keep trying to fill with sex or philosophy, possessions and money and fine wine." He lifted his wine glass and took a sip as though to emphasize this point. "I'm afraid I am just empty, Sadie. I was hoping art could help me find what it was I wanted to leave behind, but maybe there isn't anything to leave." Then he smiled. "If I could figure out how to express that in art, I'd have my masterpiece."
    Yeah, right. We both knew he was going to get arrested and go to prison before that ever happened.
    "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm having a hard time processing this."
    "I know," he said gently. "I didn't want to bring it up. It's not your burden to bear, but, well... I feel my hand was forced. Don is good at that."
    "So why'd you give control of your company over to him?"
    "I wanted to help him. We both tried to outdo each other in business, and I suppose I won in that regard. After he'd lost everything I offered him a job with me. Comfortable, good benefits, pay to make the richest man green with envy, but most importantly something to do. His failure was just bad luck; he's a brilliant businessman."
    He stared at his wine glass. "He was always my closest friend, and about a year and a half ago I'd decided that I'd worked myself to death enough for a while and that I needed an extended vacation. I left Don in charge... it went organically from there." He sighed and put a forkful of asparagus tips in his mouth. He had already cleared one portion of food—the seafood dish—and was starting on the middle dish, a delicate slice of some hapless farm animal. From the green sauce on it, I had to deduce it was lamb. He carved a slice, then, noticing I was watching, gestured to my plate. "Please, eat," he said. "You'll get sick if you don't have something in your stomach after all that wine."
    Too late, I wanted to tell him, but I didn't. "So... what do you want me to do with this information?"
    He looked surprised. "I don't want you to do anything with it. I told you under duress, as you might recall. Why, do you feel the need to do something about it?"
    "Of course!" I said. "Who wouldn't?"
    His mouth twisted. "Well, plenty of people. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to cut and run right now. I'm wanted by the FBI, I am a self-admitted empty shell of a human being, and