Bridesmaid for Hire

by Chance Carter

  “I found a place!” Willow announced, coming into the kitchen a couple minutes later. I’d been hanging a dish towel over the oven handle, and turned when she entered. There wasn’t much space in the kitchen with Willow and I in there at once. Good to know for hosting dinner parties.

  “How did you find it so quickly?” I asked. Willow could be very picky when it came to her take out.

  “I have a friend in the area who recommended it.” Lowering her voice, as if that friend might be listening, she added, “Though I’m reserving my judgement. It could be crap.”

  “Whatever,” I said, laughing. “I just want some food. Order me some pad Thai and let’s get this show on the road.”

  Willow saluted me and walked out of the kitchen. I went back to my towel, straightening it until it hung perfectly, with no corner out of place. Things wouldn’t always be so pristine here, but for now they were perfect.

  Willow finished ordering and came back into the kitchen a moment later to give me the ETA. Then she and I went to continue unpacking in the living room.

  “You should have scheduled some furniture deliveries for today,” she said. “We could’ve had this place filled up in no time.”

  “I thought about it,” I said. “I just haven’t had the time to look. Things have been busy at work.”

  Willow stopped what she was doing and looked over at me out of the corner of her eye. “Oh yeah?”

  I knew she’d been resisting the urge to ask me about Max every day since I’d ended things with him. I’d given her the bare facts of the evening, but held back on some of the more sordid details. She didn’t need to know that I’d come all over his fingers in the back of the limo on the way home. I wanted to keep that to myself. Especially since I still masturbated to the thought of it sometimes, even though I knew it was a bad idea.

  “It’s just a busy time of year for us I guess,” I replied.

  I’d known that Willow had been at her breaking point for a while now, but I’d been putting off the inevitable. I could put it off no longer.

  “Emma, you’re killing me!” she said, tossing the tea towel onto the floor. “What is going on with you and Max? Or what isn’t going on? Isn’t it hard working alongside someone whose tongue was down your throat only a couple of weeks ago?”

  For someone who spent most of her days around small children, Willow certainly didn’t act like it. I didn’t mind this confrontation as much now as I would have back when I first ended things. I’d been more cut up about it than I let on, and maybe part of me wished that Max would make more of a fuss. It was stupid, I know, but losing him before I’d even gotten him properly in the first place had hurt like hell. It might have helped if he’d have fought me on it a little more.

  “Max is a perfect gentleman,” I said. “We don’t talk about what happened. We’re both adults about it.”

  “Adults?” Willow scoffed. “Pretending like it never happened isn’t being adult about it.”

  “What would you suggest? Ignoring him for the rest of my life? You know it’s complicated. Pretending it never happened is the only way we can continue our professional working relationship.”

  “I guess I just don’t understand the point of ending things in the first place.” She picked up the tea towel and refolded it, setting it gently on top of the other few in the box. “I thought you liked him. Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “It was bound to sting a little,” I replied.

  It hurts like hell, is what I wanted to say. Being so close to him and yet not being able to have him is one of the most frustrating and disheartening experiences I’ve ever had.

  Willow rolled her eyes, clearly not believing my assertion that it only stung a little. She could read me like a large-print newspaper, so that didn’t surprise me. I was more surprised that she had such an opinion on the matter in the first place.

  “I thought you’d be happy about this,” I said. “Everything’s gone back to being professional. We tried it, it didn’t work. The timing just wasn’t right. End of story.”

  Willow thrust her hands in the air. “So what if the timing’s not right?”

  I opened my mouth to list off the other reasons, but Willow waved it back closed.

  “No, listen up for a sec, okay?” She grabbed me by the shoulders, staring deep into my eyes. One thing I wouldn’t miss from living on my own was how touchy she could be.

  “Max isn’t Lance. They’re not even slightly comparable. One of them is a good guy with a good job who has been nothing but nice to you, and the other is a literal pile of shit with a face.”

  Again, how did she work with kids all day?

  “It doesn’t matter if they’re not the same person,” I sighed. “And anyway, I’ve missed my chance. Even if I changed my mind—which I haven’t—what’s the point of rocking the boat? Things have been good at work and I would only make things weird by changing my mind.”

  I hadn’t changed my mind about the Max issue, but I also hadn’t fully accepted it yet. I just wished there was another way things could work between us. He was everything that I wanted—smart, funny, successful, attractive. And I knew him to be a good guy, too. Being around him every day only made me want him more, but I couldn’t let myself go there. There was too much keeping us apart. He was my boss, I was just getting out of a relationship, and did I mention that he was my boss?

  “I still think you’re crazy,” Willow said. “But hey, I can’t stop you from living your life the way you want. But let me tell you, that’s the kind of man I’d eat some meat for, if you catch my drift.”

  I made a disgusted face and shook my head. “You’re one of a kind, Willow Nelson.”

  “You know it.”

  The buzzer for the front door rang, and Willow jumped up. “You go get the food,” she said. “I’ll uncork the wine I brought.”

  “You brought wine?” I asked.

  She shrugged, smirking. “Don’t I always? You better drink it or I’ll force some kombucha down your throat next time you’re over.”

  “Say no more.” I rose to my feet and went to the buzzer. “Hello?”

  “FedEx here. I’ve got a package for a Miss Valentine?”

  I frowned. It wasn’t the food at all. My curiosity was piqued though, so I buzzed him in. He arrived at the door a minute later, holding a wide, squat box. He thrust his machine out for my signature and then handed me the package. He turned to leave, and I looked at the sender to see where the parcel was coming from. All it said was that it had come from an online art store, one that I was familiar with from my time of sketching. Willow was still in the kitchen, and I wanted to know what was in here before she found out it wasn’t food and asked.

  I ripped the box open and sorted through its contents. A sketch pad, some drawing pencils, some charcoal, a gum eraser. All of it was super high quality, and had clearly cost a ton. There was nothing about the person who’d sent it, except a little note on top.

  Happy Housewarming.

  I scowled. I knew exactly who it was from.

  “That’s not food,” Willow observed from the kitchen doorway. She was holding two glasses of wine and her mouth narrowed into a pinched frown. My stomach grumbled, so I knew how she felt.

  “It’s some art supplies I ordered online,” I lied.

  “On a Saturday?” She crossed the room to look in the box. I made sure to shove the note off to the side where she wouldn’t see it.

  “Uh, yeah. I paid extra for Saturday delivery because I thought it might be nice to do some sketching on my first weekend in the new place.”

  I felt bad being dishonest to Willow, but this was something I’d like to figure out myself first. I didn’t know what to think about the unexpected present and if she knew who it came from I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Cool.” Willow was still holding both glasses, and without furniture to put them down on, she couldn’t properly root through the package. “Maybe we could use the box as a table?”

  I
laughed, “Clearly you spend too much time with kindergarteners.”

  The buzzer screamed again. I put the box down on the floor and walked over to answer it. This time it was the food.

  “Food’s on the way up,” I said, turning back to Willow. She handed me a glass of wine.

  “I’m proud of you, babe,” she said. “You may not be making all the same choices I would in your situation, but you’re doing a damn fine job. I can’t believe your drawing again. That’s so exciting.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It’s exciting for me too.”

  Albeit unexpected.

  Chapter 17

  Max

  The afternoon sun slanted through my living room window, bathing the whole room in golden light. My mother always chastised me for not closing my blinds during the day. She was just as concerned about her own aging as she was of the furniture and rugs in her luxurious Manhattan apartment, and having direct sunlight blasting through the windows was considered a cardinal sin. I, on the other hand, liked the way the sunlight seemed to change the room, giving it an ethereal, dreamy quality.

  My living room was the perfect place to unwind after a long day, which was exactly what I was doing. I sat on the leather sofa and stared out the window across from me, eyes tracking along the lines of the adjacent skyscrapers. Dust motes waltzed through the air in front of me, twirling and drifting without ever worrying about touching the ground.

  In my left hand, a tumbler of gin. In my right, my phone, on which I’d just finished my third business call of the day. It would be my last too. If I had to have breakfast with my mother tomorrow, I was at least going to give myself the night off. Who knew what she had in store for me?

  I was just thinking about turning on the TV when my home phone rang. Since I wasn’t expecting visitors, and the only time it rang was when someone was downstairs to see me, this caught my curiosity.

  I downed another mouthful of the gin before setting it on the coffee table and grabbing the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mr. Westfield, I have a Miss Emma Valentine here to see you.”

  My heart lurched in my chest. She must have received my present. Had she come all this way to thank me? I’d debated sending the present in the first place, since it hardly seemed to fit in with her desire for professionalism, but I couldn’t resist.

  “Thank you, Hal. Send her on up.”

  I hung up the phone and took another drink of the gin. My pulse was just a little too fast for my liking. I should have been able to handle this. I saw her every day, didn’t I? But this was different. Something would change with this visit.

  She knocked on my door a couple minutes later, and I tried to compose myself as much as possible before I opened it. I fixed a warm smile on my face as I swung the door open, a greeting poised on my lips.

  Emma was all red hair and fury. She barged passed me, stomping over to the kitchen island and slamming down a box on top of it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Returning your present,” she said, spinning on her heel to face me. “What did I say about being professional?”

  I closed the door, raising one eyebrow. This wasn’t going exactly how I’d hoped, but I could work with this. At least she was here.

  “I don’t see anything unprofessional about sending my treasured employee a housewarming gift.” I crossed my arms and strolled over to her, watching with delight as she backed up against the granite countertop to keep as much distance between us as possible. “I’d say the more unprofessional act is you storming in here unannounced to ungratefully return the gift.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. A bolt of desire shot through me, and it took everything I had not to crush her against the counter.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked. “How is sending a sweet present professional? You can’t do that. If you wanted to send a housewarming gift, a set of dish towels or something stupid like that is the norm.”

  “I didn’t want to send dish towels,” I replied. “I wanted to send something personal, something you might actually like, and use.”

  “Well...” she trailed off, staring at me angrily. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Too late. I did.”

  Emma set her jaw and stepped away from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at the unwanted package.

  “You can take them back. I’m not accepting it. And next time you think about sending something, don’t.”

  She stormed past me again, heading for the door. I turned and caught her arm before she got just out of reach, knowing that if she made it to that door she’d be gone.

  “Emma, wait,” I said.

  Emma stopped but didn’t pull her arm away. She fixed me with a glare that could have melted meat from bone. It was chilling, to say the least. And impressive. I didn’t know what about her had changed so much in the past couple of months, or what had brought about said change, but it looked good on her. She was finally coming into her own. I wished I could say I was a part of that.

  “What?” she growled. “Don’t tell me there’s more on the way.”

  “You’re being pretty aggressive considering you’re talking to your boss.”

  It was a lighthearted joke, or at least it was meant to be, but Emma didn’t take it that way. She yanked her arm out of my grip and scowled.

  “Don’t you dare try to use that on me right now.”

  This woman was perplexing. I was a Westfield, and that meant I always got what I wanted. So why couldn’t I have her? Why did everything I said and did seemed to make things worse? It was infuriating and intoxicating all at the same time.

  “Fine, sorry.” I put my hands up in surrender.

  “I’ll see you on Monday.” She turned to leave again.

  This time, I figured I should try fighting fire with fire.

  “You’re not mad about the present,” I said. “You’re mad because of how it made you feel. You’re mad because I got under your skin.”

  Emma stopped and stayed so still it looked like somebody had pressed pause on her. Then she slowly turned to face me, and I noticed the little bit of pink on her cheeks.

  “You’re not under my skin,” she replied, voice just a little too steady.

  I stalked toward her, touching her chin and forcing her to look up at me. The air between us was smouldering and charged with all the sexual tension we’d spent the last few weeks suppressing. Emma could try all she wanted not to want me, but it was clear as day how much she did. I could practically smell it on her, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d made her admit it. I could only be the sweet, gentle lover for so long.

  “If I’m not under your skin, then what are you doing here, baby?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Answer my question.”

  She took a step back, my hand falling away to my side. I noticed her breaths were coming heavier now.

  “I came here to yell at you because I can’t do that at work,” she replied.

  “Bullshit. You came here because you’re mad, yes, but you’re not mad at me. You’re mad at yourself for liking the gift, and for appreciating it. So you came to return it, to punish yourself, but also because you can’t stay away from me any more than I can stay away from you. Admit it.”

  Her hazel eyes widened ever so slightly, lips parting as if of their own accord. If I touched her wrist I knew I’d feel her pulse racing under her skin like a thumping drum line. I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted her right now.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “No, baby. I’m so right it hurts. And the sooner you admit that, the sooner I can make you forget all about that hurt and introduce you to a world of pleasure instead.” I reached for her again, this time holding her face in both hands and staring deep into her eyes. “Let me.”

  It was as much of a command as it was a plea and I knew that if she left my home today, I would be a wreck.

  I’d already let her walk away from me once before, and I couldn’
t do it again.

  Emma’s pupils ate up her irises until they were practically black. Her skin was soft and warm under my palms, and I wondered how it would taste. Probably sweet, just like the rest of her. Though, she certainly had a rough streak. She’d proved that much to me today.

  “It’s not a good idea, Max,” she said weakly, trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me. There was no convincing me. She was in my sights and I was pulling the trigger, there was no doubt in my mind. But would she let me?

  “The only thing that’s not a good idea is the fact that you’re still wearing those clothes.”

  She gulped, bringing my attention to the long line of her neck. I leaned in to press my lips there, unable to hold back any longer.

  Emma wrenched herself from my grasp and teetered back a few steps. “And what happens when you get tired of me, huh? I’ll be out on the street looking for a new job, and you’ll be my only applicable reference.”

  There was fury in her eyes now, like it was my fault for putting us in this situation in the first place. Like I had insulted her by wanting her. It made fire scream through my veins to see her look at me like that, with such distrust and fear in her eyes.

  “Listen to me closely, Emma,” I said, tone dark and low. “There are a great number of things I’m going to do to you, and that’s not one of them. I’m going to make you cum so hard you see stars.” I took a step closer. “I’m going to stretch you wide with my cock until you scream for more. And I’m going to make my mark on you, under your skin where you’ll always be able to feel me.” We were face to face again, and this time she didn’t scurry away. I bore my gaze down at her, daring her to move even an inch. “But I will never betray your trust, nor will I do something as stupid as sullying my company’s good name by using it as a means to get myself some disposable action on the side. Do you understand?”