by Avery Aster
If only Girasoli didn’t need her for the designs. Damn her and her fashion wits.
“Fucking tease! I have better things to do with my time than play your pussy-ass-fingering games, Your Majesty.” Lex got herself together, back to her regular snarky self. Her eyes sparkled with a determination he hadn’t noticed earlier. Something had changed, making him nervous. Now she seems interested.
Massimo couldn’t risk falling for someone again. Sure, he wanted Lex, but women with these ideals tended to get emotional and wrapped up in their relationships. What if she wanted love? Not passion, something more. He couldn’t give her love, so why risk it? Tittoni men were bred for business, not love. It was how he’d been raised.
“Before I go, I have a proposition for you.” She stepped closer, but he backed away an equal distance.
“A proposition?” He swallowed hard. “From the look on your face, it looks to be a proposta indecente.”
“It’s a combination. Here’s the deal: I’ll stay this week in Milan and work with Jemma on Girasoli’s revisions. You’ll release the Easton fabric samples.”
He put his hand in his pocket to adjust himself. “Sì, we already agreed.” Massimo smiled, uncertain what would come next from her sweet-tasting mouth.
“The gala tonight I mentioned I’m attending.”
“Sì. What about it?” The one she threatened to go with Vinnie Donatello to.
“I assume you have to be there, as well.”
“Sì, sì, sì,” he confirmed.
“Will you go as my date?”
Is she asking me out? He’d received other such requests, but none as formal. The women he dated didn’t garner such invitations—no one did. “Sounds easy enough,” he replied. Why not? Having Lex on his arm would be good for his image in the fashion community, and Girasoli could use some favorable page-popping press to get the pre-buzz going on the new line.
“And…” she continued.
“Eh?” Why is she making me nervous?
“In return, after my New York fashion show, I place an order for the fabrics I need to go into more production. What you’re giving me right now will cover my showroom and runway samples, that’s it. You’ll waive the fabric markup fee, providing your goods to Easton at cost.”
Massimo couldn’t believe this. They’d almost slept together, yet nothing softened her ruthless ambition. The erection pain eased but transferred to his back pocket. He envisioned a hole in his wallet with money pouring out. “What’s the catch?” he asked.
“It’s not a catch, rather a favor.” Her chest lifted as she drew a deep breath. “Something for me, a personal matter.” Her face reddened. Another warning sign.
“What?”
“I want us to spend more time together.” She paused. “You know…”
“No, Lex, I don’t know. What do you mean?”
She took the final step, closing the space between them. “I’ll make you happy with your new fashion designs, and you’ll satisfy my sudden craving for casual, meaningless sex.”
“No strings?”
“Uh-uh.” She’d propositioned him.
“Have you ever done a one-night stand?”
Lex shook her head. “Guys always come back for seconds, sometimes even thirds. I can’t figure it out.”
“Have you ever kept a—what you call in America—a fuck buddy?” Massimo already knew the answer to this question, but needed to be certain. Her cuteness remained funny but in all seriousness, there was no way a man could let this woman—presumably 34C-24-40, five-nine at best, green-eyed, honey haired, smarter than Einstein, prettier than Brigitte Bardot and sharper than a pair of scissors—out of his hands once he’d secured her attention.
Again, in the same annoying demure reaction, her head shook to say no. She bit her lower lip and made it obvious as she stared at his dick. “Men don’t want to let me go once they get their hands on me.”
“You don’t strike me as the type who could do anything meaningless and walk away with no feelings attached.” He wondered if he could, either. “Lex, we can’t.” Massimo appreciated her advancements, but recognized deep down another voice trying to speak.
White splotches spotted her cheeks when she stepped back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I thought—I thought you wanted to fuck me.”
“Not anymore.”
Lex blinked in surprise. “Why? You didn’t enjoy—”
“Sì, I enjoyed it. I didn’t realize your type of sex life, or that you’re not active.” Her aggression must’ve represented pent-up desire.
“I told you, I work a lot and free time is a challenge. Sex hasn’t been a sport for me the way it is for you.” Her emerald eyes scintillated infatuation.
“Uh-huh. Too busy suing people?” Massimo blubbered. First the discounted shipment and then she desired him as her cock on demand. What will leave her mouth next? “You make many assumptions about my sex life and what sports I play.”
“You want me. I want you. I need to loosen up a little. You know, love my body and your cock at the same time. Then I’ll go back to New York.” More confident, she asked, “So, say yes?”
Grrr. Bella does not ask. She tells. What the hell’d gotten into her? Was this really Lex, the same woman he ate dinner with the night before? He thought women were checked off his list on figuring out. Apparently, the universe sent her to him to screw with his common sense. His strategy for playing the field—trumped. He shouldn’t have ever kissed her, much less touched her.
“I will talk to our shareholders about giving you the discount you need when you go into production for the textiles. I would be honored to have you with me this week, as my social calendar is full. You would make for good company. You may even stay at the Milano estate. But I am not to be your stud.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re going to turn down my offer? But women…all the time…it’s in the tabloids. Why refuse me?”
Because I can’t risk my heart, not again. Lex embodied unique. He could tell the minute he touched her. Her expectations would be, too. “It is not my place to be your fabric supplier with benefits. What if you develop fantasies about love, marriage and babies? I cannot and am not prepared for that, either. It’s best we remain professional, for both of us.”
He rested his hands on her shoulders to emphasize his words.
“Why are you against falling in love?” Her face fell.
“A fuck buddy would never even ask such a question. So, never you mind.” He knew it. Her inquiry about love proved it. “You’re enchanting, when you want to be. I’ll give you that” He wanted to change the topic.
“Enchanting? I would rather be erotic!”
“Sì, you are smart and attractive, but I will not have sex with you. You know as well as I casual sex is not in your DNA.”
“How do you know?”
He motioned her toward the door. “Look at how wound-up you were at dinner when I came on to you. You would not even work out with me at the gym.”
“I’m much more agreeable now.”
Contemplating the idea sent his spirits soaring, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “Let us pretend this never happened. Sì, let’s not talk about this again. Let’s get ready for The Fashion Ball.”
Moments before, Lex had been walking on air. She didn’t dream she’d ever ask Massimo for sex. And even if she did, she never expected him to say no. The idea had popped into her head and she went for it. Her pussy told her to. What the hell is Massimo afraid of?
She thought her situation similar to Susan Sarandon in Thelma & Louise at the convertible wheel, listening to Geena Davis order her to keep going, even if she failed. Keep going. Drive the fucking green Ford right off the cliff, Firestone tires and all. And she’d driven her sex over the edge. Unlike the characters in the movie, she didn’t want to end her life. Lex needed cock. Was casual sex such an impossible request?
Casual sex was in her DNA. At least in her parents’ anyway—they were both swingers. Her father
’s groupies lined up in concert halls. And a tell-all book on her mother, titled Banging Birdie, an exposé on her eighties celebration, revealed her one thousand-men conquest. They lent credibility that Easton blood pumped sex. The pickle was, she’d spent her entire life trying to avoid being like them. Did Massimo have a point? Maybe he’d seen right through her.
With this embarrassment hanging over her, could she stay in Milan? Why would he want her around for the week? She must if she wanted the fabrics, though. Maybe love and Lex didn’t equate. Lex and casual sex didn’t, apparently. But Massimo remained worth a try. He would’ve been perfect. His handsome face, hard body and fat cock—Lex didn’t even get a chance to taste, suck or swallow. Dammit.
“Yes. Alrighty then, let’s get ready for The Fashion Ball.” She needed to forget it and focus on what she did best: Easton Essentials.
The Fashion Ball, next to Italy’s Fashion Week, remained Europe’s mammoth model event. Similar to New York’s Costume Institute Gala—Met Ball—anyone in fashion who is, was or who could be, should have been, or would become a fashion icon, from designers to stars, came from all over the globe to attend.
It would be Lex’s first appearance at such a gala. The previous year, up to her eyeballs in sketching and drafting patterns, she’d declined the invitation. This year, however, she’d hired employees who’d helped her more and more with the business. Ready to be social, to network, to be seen, and be casual in bed, she’d get him.
“I’ll book the afternoon for you at the spa,” he affirmed. “Jemma has a few gowns at the house you may select from.”
“Did you say spa? Which one?”
“I’m going to drop you off at Aquae Calidae over on Via S. Sofia.”
“The famous Roman bath place?”
“Sì, you have been?”
“Nope, but I’ve always wanted to go.” Aquae Calidae was a legendary place celebrated for transforming movie stars, creating aesthetic wonders beyond anyone’s greatest wishes.
“You will have a late lunch there and get some treatments.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?” A part of her reveled in spending the day with him at the spa.
“I’ll schedule our week. Work on the designs. Get your shipment flown to New York, and finish the details for tonight.”
“You have to come. How will I find my way about town?” She spoke with desperate firmness. No, no, no. I just played dumb. Fuck. I’ve been to Milan a million times. Why did I just say that?
“The spa’s driver will take you back to my home here in town. But before you leave, I want to address the real reason why I brought you here today.”
“Yes, what is it?” She’d almost forgotten.
“Last night, I thought long and hard about the fabrics, and I do intend to give them to you. But there is a condition to this trade, or rather a proposition for you.”
“Continue.” Lex felt a chill and crossed her arms.
“You do not have to say yes, or no, to what I am about to ask, right now. I would like you to spend this week mulling it over. Okay?”
“Spill it, Massimo.” She hated mulling.
“My intent is to acquire Easton Essentials. You would work for Girasoli and head up our North American business. We’ll make Easton a Girasoli subdivision.” He beamed.
She gasped. He’d lost his mind. Lunacy swirled rampant around them today. “No way! I don’t need to rationalize a sellout to your subdivision for more than a second. I can tell you right now, the answer is no.” HELL to the no.
“Your quick ‘no’ is because I refused to say ‘yes’ to sex. They say men think with their dicks. I hope you do not run Easton with your—”
“Shut it!” I’m gonna punch you.” Lex inhaled and fisted her hands. She reflected on what Taddy or Vive might say right then. She’d give him an earful sampled by second bestie “Viveca Farnworth” sarcasm-style. Massimo deserved it. “You could have fucked me ’til your overexposed on the blogs, ‘too ginormous for my snatch’ pecker fell off. And I’d still no way, never ever in a thousand years sell, loan, or sample you my Easton. And to answer your question, I run my company with my pussy, and twenty-four other pussy-sporting employees. Easton girls do not allow dickheads or cocks in our fashion world. Period.” She recrossed her arms and quirked her jaw up to illustrate physical defiance coordinating with her ruthless words.
Massimo’s face remained impervious as she heard him jingle loose change in his pocket. He coughed, cleared his throat and said, “An acquisition is the solution viable for us both. Girasoli will acquire Easton. You will work for Girasoli and receive full benefits, healthcare, retirement, an expense account, you name it. Girasoli will give your entire team plenty of vacation time, whatever you want.”
“Come again?” Hell to the maaaybe?
“Today, watching what you did with the designs confermato my interest. Girasoli needs you. And Easton needs Girasoli. It is best for everyone, bella. Think it over.”
“There is nothing to think over.” She bluffed. A regular paycheck with benefits versus her unstable startup and lack of cash—which constantly flowed out, but never in—made her cream more than thinking about Massimo’s fat dick. “And stop calling me bella.”
“When you’re ready, bella, I will have my attorneys draw up the paperwork, assuming you agree on the price. Would you care to know the prezzo I’m offering for Easton?” He completely ignored her request, and she had to admit, she really didn’t mind it so much.
“No, I would not. Easton is priceless. There isn’t enough money in the world for my baby.” Easton was her child. An all-consuming, demanding, fulltime, pain in her ass child, but she loved her two-year-old Easton regardless.
“Girasoli will offer five times Easton’s annual gross,” Massimo enticed without hesitation.
“Last year’s gross? Or this year’s projected revenue?”
“This year,” he affirmed.
She did the calculations in her head and rounded up to the nearest million. “Three hundred flippin’ mil.” Hell to the YEAAAH!
“Sì, sì, sì.” He hushed her as she opened her mouth to speak again. Extending his arm, he said, “Shall I take you to the spa? We can talk about this in more detail later. We have all week, after all.”
With Jell-O legs, she clung to his side as they left the executive suite. The words jumbled in her mouth but couldn’t come out with any intelligence, so she kept silent. Three hundred million dollars. Oh, my Oscar de la Renta. More moola than she’d ever thought possible. Regardless of what’d happened, she was there for the week. Might as well enjoy it, right? But she sure as hell wasn’t going to sell him Easton Essentials.
Aquae Calidae, I’m so flippin’ excited. Clean pores, here I come.
“I’ve heard amazing things about your oxygen facial. My friend Vive experienced your services last year. She was here for Milan’s fashion week, raved about you for weeks. That’s huge considering Vive never has anything nice to say about anyone.” Lex complimented the aesthetician as she tucked herself under the white sheets at the spa. Inhaling the sharp lavender scent, she tried to void Massimo’s rejection from her mind.
“Grazie,” Sophia said as she swiped a wet sponge over Lex’s face.
As her nails were buffed and lacquered in a juicy watermelon pink, her body wrapped in brown algae cocooned in Mylar sheets, and her face blasted in oxygen, her mind was on the prince.
Unlike some women, she didn’t store her sex life away with the marriage notion. She, Taddy, Vive weren’t on the Kleinfeld Bridal Salon bandwagon. The one in their circle to wed was Blake Morgan and his gay marriage to “Mister Limp Dick” didn’t go so well. Blake mentioned more than once that the straights could keep the wedding thing.
There was nothing wrong with those who did save for marriage, though. Lex hadn’t found the right opportunity for a good fuck buddy was all. Sure, propositions came and went over the years. But it was rushed, insincere and resembled her father’s groupie escapades. She’d wa
tched backstage as one fan after another threw themselves at his band members for sex. Long lines out in the hall. She never saw it, but it became much implied.
From then on, she’d sworn two things—one, she’d never marry an adrenaline junkie like Eddie, and two, she’d never become those women who jonesed cock with strangers like Birdie.
But why the sexquesting this week? Was she becoming what she’d always despised? She frustrated even herself with her actions. Why did Massimo refuse? He’d expressed interest in devouring her sex at dinner the previous night. He’d made advances in his racecar. Then again, on the plane he’d tried over and over again to bed her. He’d initiated the damn kiss—the kiss that changed everything. But the minute he’d realized she’d never played without strings, he’d wanted nothing to do with her. Were women who came and went in the night his exclusive taste?
Then there stood this three-hundred-million-dollar offering, as if it were an elephant in the room. A large mammal with beady eyes, long tusks, in varying gray tones. Yes, gray—everything no longer black and white, not anymore. The acquisition, money, designs, sex—it would make anyone go on a blue Xanax bender to alleviate the stress. A pill-popper Lex was not, though she began to wonder if she should start.
Unlike Birdie who turned to things illicit, Lex’s vice remained another white powder, one you didn’t snort or shoot, but ate. Sugar! Willy Wonka-style. I need a “fuck-it bucket” packed with my favorite sugary candy from Dylan’s Candy Bar—Swedish Fish, Sour Watermelon Gummies and Mini Gummy Bears. I can’t take my lame-ass sex life any longer.
“Would you care for a marine collagen mask or a vitamin C treatment applied after the oxygen blast?” The beauty therapist looked down at her as she felt toner mist on her neck.
