by Rebecca Foxx
“I thought you were a buyer.” I say.
He laughs, “No, I work in real estate.”
Against my better judgment, I decide to board the jet with him. Once inside we wind up sitting in these fancy leather seats. A steward serves us some red wine once we are in the air. I’m on a date on a private jet! I try not to act too excited at the discovery that my date is a billionaire. “So where are we going?” I ask.
He smiles, “Well, I figured since you’re a model you’re probably into fashion, right? I thought we would have dinner in Paris- the fashion capital of the world.”
My gut churns. Paris? He’s taking me to Paris? I remain calm. I smile, “Paris? That seems more of a third or fourth date sort of thing.”
He laughs. “I like to impress.”
“I see that.” I say with a smirk. He is taking me to Paris because he thinks I’m a model. How long can I keep of the charades? I contemplate coming clean when I spot a book sitting on the shelf under the window. I pick it up and smile, “The Great Gatsby?”
“You’ve read it?” He asks somewhat skeptically.
“Of course.” I say.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly strike me as a fan of literature.” He says.
“You hardly know me.” I remind him.
“Think fast.” He says and reaches across towards me, placing his hand over the cover, “Who wrote it?”
“F. Scott Fitzgerald, asshole.” I say and pull the book away, placing it back on the shelf.
“Lucky guess.” He says in a friendly tone to suggest that he’s joking.
“I actually like to read, believe it or not.” I say, “And I love the classics.”
“What else have you read?” he asks.
“Robinson Crusoe, Fury, and I’m a fan of T.S. Elliot’s poetry.” I say. “Especially The Wasteland.”
“You’ve read The Wasteland?” he asks as though he thinks I’m lying.
I take a sip of wine, “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring”
“Dull roots with spring rai.” He completes the quotation. There is a sparkle in his eye. He is staring, so I awkwardly take another sip of wine. “Miss. Anne,” he says with a smile, “you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I suppose you could say that.” I say.
“Beauty and brains, I see.” He smiles, “How did you get into fashion?”
“It’s always been a passion of mine,” I say, still keeping under wraps that I’m not a model. “My mother was a designer.”
“So fashion runs in the family.” He says with a smile.
Mark and I spend the next several hours of the flight talking about books and about fashion. We talked about his business, and even a little about our favorite sports teams. He is good at holding a conversation. In his speedy jet it only takes us four and a half hours before we are landing in Paris, and by that time I’m slightly drunk from all of the wine. I’m good at hiding it though; he is not. He has become a bit blabby, but he is still keeping his bearings about him.
Soon we are dining, where else, but the Eifel Tower Restaurant overlooking Paris. I can hardly believe where I am at. Yes, this is the greatest day of my life. Halfway through an excellent date, Mark pulls two ticket stubs from his jacket pocket and lays them on the table. “Anne, I’d like to invite you to a show tomorrow.”
I pick up the ticket stubs; the writing is in French. “What is this?”
“Well, I though you would like to see a fashion show here in Paris.” He says, “I made a few calls, and I got us invited to a private showing for a new fashion line.”
I can hardly contain myself, but again I keep calm so not to appear too eager. “The show is not until tomorrow.” I say, “It would seem like a waste to fly all the way back to the states only to come back here first thing tomorrow.”
He smiles, “I could not agree more. Perhaps there is a hotel we could stay at?”
It’s probably the wine talking, but I can’t help myself. This was a perfect date. I lean forward and touch his inner thigh with my foot from under the table “Oui Monsieur.” I say, and he blushes and calls for the check.
We’re both walking a bit staggered now, but I could not possibly care less. I can hardly remember checking into the hotel room, but the rest of the evening I am sure to remain alert for. As soon as the hotel room door closes behind us he goes in for a kiss. I can taste the wine on his breath. His hands reach around my lower back and pull me in closer for a second kiss. There is a hint of boyish excitement in his embrace that it endearing, but I can still tell that he is an experienced lover. How could he not be?
We find the bed quickly, and we undress even quicker. I know that eventually I’m going to have to come clean about not being a model, and he’ll probably be done with me then. But for tonight, I’ll let him think he’s sleeping with a high end fashion model. Even if I tell him the truth and all of this goes away, I think it will be completely worth it. This day has been the single greatest day of my life. He climbs on top of me, and I eagerly await for our bodies to collide and become one while in the wine-induced that I am more than happy to be in.
Chapter 5
Mark
We stammer into the hotel room; I can hardly keep my head on straight. The room is spinning, and I feel crazy dizzy from all of the alcohol swarming around inside me. For a moment I think I see two beds in the room, but I soon realize that it’s just my blurred vision playing tricks on me. I try to think back on the evening and count the number of drinks I have had, but I lose count after the flight. I had tried to drink some water at the restaurant to sober up, but I had had several more drinks there as well. Oh well. Live and learn. Hopefully I’m just sober enough to where I will remember what is coming next.
The next thing I know, we’re on the bed, and she is tossing her dress onto the floor and kicking off her shoes. She reaches out and grabs by tie, using it to pull me onto the bed with her. Even though it’s obvious she does not actually speak French, she speaks a few phrases into my ear that I’m fairly certain are a bit naughty. I’m a bit sloppy acting, and I hope she doesn’t notice. I can’t tell which of us has had more to drink. I’m fairly certain it’s me, so I hope she has had just enough to where she does not notice how off my game is.
She laughs at me when she notices me struggling to unbutton my shirt with my incredibly numb fingers. In her failed attempt to help me, I hear a few buttons snap off and hit the floor and roll. We both laugh at our own drunkenness. Soon I’m pressing myself into her, we’re wrapped up in the sheets, and she is clawing at my back. Her nails feel nice as they bare into my back, and the sensation makes me shutter for a second before I am able to get my bearings together. I hear her shout my name, and it awakens something beastly inside of me. Who is this woman? I mean- really? She’s a model, she reads, and she knows a little French. Not to mention she’s turning out to be a hellion in bed!
I half expected to bang her on the plane, but we spent the entire time talking. I’ve never talked to a woman for four hours straight without getting bored. And books? She loves books? What kind of model loves books? And when I talked to her about my business she actually paid attention and understood what I was saying. Maybe I’m just stereotyping, but when all I have to go off of is Alex’s fake-Russian bimbo girlfriend Tiffany as a comparison, well…
Anne groans loudly, greatly exciting me. I put my hands behind her lower back and pull her closer to me, causing her to arch her back more for a better angle. One of her hands touch the back of my head, and she grips onto my hair. Her moans become in-sync with the creaking of the bed. She lets out a scream that is slightly muffled by my own mouth just as I am cumming into her. The two of us collapse, panting slightly after the extreme exertion. I wrap my arms around her tightly, and she curls into my embrace. “What a night,” she says sleepily and kisses my cheek before relaxing her head on my arm.
“You’re incredible.”
I say, still feeling the effects of the wine pretty heavily.
She laughs, “You’re slurring your words.”
Am I? “Sorry,” I say.
We stay bundled up for some time. It seems like neither of us are tired enough to sleep. We exchange a few more kisses before she leans her head back, sighs a bit, and then smiles at me. “You know what I could really go for right now?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Dessert.” She says. I grin and reach my hand around her front side. Dessert, I think to myself, I’ll show you dessert! She stops me and chuckles. “I meant an actual dessert, Mark. Like let’s order some room service. I want something sweet to soak up some of this wine. My head is spinning.”
Well now I feel stupid. I agree though. We skipped dessert at the restaurant, and something sweet would really hit the spot. We call down and order some room service. Some weird chocolate French dessert arrives just as we finish redressing. Soon we’re sitting on top of the bed sheets eating the chocolate snack we had ordered. Anne shoves a large bite of the sugary food into her mouth. She talks with her mouth full for a moment, but she stops when she realizes what she’s doing, and an embarrassed look crosses over her face as she covers her mouth to finish chewing. It’s weird. It’s like she’s not really trying to impress me, but in doing so she’s coming off as a lot more fun than any woman I’ve ever dated before. I mean, seriously? The women I’ve dated in the past have been so…boring… so overbearing, and really high maintenance. Who would have thought that the model would be the most laid back? She’s just having so much fun, and she’s not embarrassed to show it or to act like she’s unimpressed.
We finish the snack pastry. Now I don’t know what to do. I’m nervous. This is not typically how a romantic evening with me goes. Suddenly she reached out and touches my bottom lip. I pause, eager to see what she is about to do when suddenly she pulls her finger away and licks some chocolate off her finger. I had had chocolate on my face. “You know,” she says with a grin, “I got to be honest with you. When I showed up at the airport and saw that giant private jet, I thought my evening was going to turn into some stupid evening of you flaunting your money so you could flatter me into sleeping with you. I mean, it’s kind of obvious that that was your intentions, but I just did not expect to have so much fun. I guess your money worked, huh? I guess it’s worth something.” There is still a smile on her face.
I hesitate before giving a response. I mean, seriously, what do you say to that? She is calling me out. She’s admitting that she knew I was just trying to impress her to get her into bed, and she slept with me anyways because she had fun? This woman is just a big question mark. Finally I say, “Personally I say that money has no value; it’s just the way you spend it.”
She rolls her eyes, “The Sound and the Fury.”
“Damn,” I say, “you’re good.”
The next thing I know she is leaning forward and kissing me, and we wind up entangled under the sheets again.
Chapter 6
Anne
“So were the chocolate profiteroles before or after round two?” Gary asks, poking me in the side with his pen.
“Shut the hell up,” I chuckled slightly when I chastise him. I have just finished telling Gary about my amazing evening with Mark, and he is quite impressed.
“I’m just glad you’re getting back out there.” He says as he spins his desk chair back around to face his computer screen. He acts like he is happy for me, but I know he will be working this into a conversation with his jealous girlfriend very soon. I can picture it now Oh, honey, stop being so paranoid- Anne isn’t even single. She has a boyfriend. Mark Stone, you’ve heard of him, right? You really think she would hit on me when she’s dating a guy like that? So sad. Gary can be really pathetic sometimes. Unable to stay focused on work at all, Gary suddenly drops his work and spins back around to face me, “You’re going to have to tell me about that French fashion show, you know?”
“It was amazing-” I start to say, but my desk phone suddenly rings. Quickly I answer it, “This is Anne Stamey-” I start to say, but Miss. Brail is on the other line and cutes me off before I can say much more.
“My office. Now.” She hisses.
Yes, she is back to her usual dragon lady self, it seems. Yes, I can see the serpent scales already growing back even from my desk; she once again is full of the usual rage that I have come to know as Miss. Brail. Too bad. I was really starting to like the boutique version of this woman. I have to admit, it was a lot of fun getting to know Nice Miss. Brail at the boutique over the weekend. I hang up the phone, “We’re going to have to talk later.” I say and rise from my seat. I head across the office complex to the far wall where I can see Miss. Brail seated at her desk, her nose in a magazine. By the way her shoulders are tense up I can tell she is either really, really angry about something or really, really excited. Without seeing her face, which is hidden behind the magazine, I cannot tell which.
I enter the office and slowly approach her desk. Before I can say much of anything, she speaks, “How was your date?” she asks without looking out from behind the magazine.
Honestly, I’m surprised she remembered at all let alone thought to ask me about it. Is this some sort of sign that she is starting to like me? Is there a possible promotion in my future? Probably not… she already cussed me out about her coffee being cold this morning. Surely she is up to something. Something smells really fishy about this conversation. “It went really well,” I say, “Thank you again so much for helping me pick out that gorgeous dress.”
There is a slight pause before the magazine is slowly lowered, and I can see Miss. Brail’s glasses and her eyes peering over the top. “Is that all?” she asks.
I’m confused by what she means. Does she want me to give her details? We certainly don’t have that sort of relationship. “I’m sorry?” I question.
Miss. Brail sighs and lowers the magazine. She hands me the magazine, her thumb saving the page she wants me to look at. I take the magazine into my hands, and my jaw drops as what I am seeing. There I am, plain as day, at the Paris fashion show with Mark, his arm around me. The title of the story reads in red, bold print WHO IS MARK STONE’S NEW FLING? “Um…” is all I am able to say.
“So is this the date I helped you get ready for?” Miss. Brail asks curiously. She is giving me an intense glare. Her lips are stuck out slightly as she waits for my response.
“I am so embarrassed,” I finally say.
“Well,” Miss. Blair sighs, “If I had known you were going to get yourself photographed in a magazine I would have gotten you something a little more marketable to wear. Actually, I probably would have gotten you something from my design company rather than the boutique. You do realize you are just advertising another designer here, right?”
I blush. “I had no idea that picture was taken!”
“So, dear, did you get yourself a second date?” Miss. Blair asks.
“Um…” I grumble.
“Well?” she snaps.
“Yes. Yes, I did. I am seeing him again this weekend.” I say, although I hardly see how it is her business. But it’s not like I’m going to tell her that.
“Excellent!” Miss. Blair suddenly jumps up out of her chair and comes around to the front of the desk, all smiles. This version of Miss. Blair makes me nervous. “My dear, do you realize you are dating one of this city’s most profound bachelors?”
I start to speak, “Well-”
“Honestly!” she gives me a friendly pat on the shoulder, “Stone Enterprises is much more than just real-estate, you know? Anything with that man’s name on it sells. And it sells well.” She turns around and grabs a folder off her desk; she hands it to me.
My eyes widen, “Is this what I think it is?”
“The new fall line.” She says with a smile, “I want you to show it to Mr. Stone.”
I’ve never gotten to see the new designs early. She’s always so careful about who she shows them to. I
snap myself out of my current state of shock, “You want me to show these to Mark? Why?”
“Anne, my dear, I want you to convince Mark to help us promote these.” She says, “If I can get him to work with us, even if it’s just as a spokesperson of sorts, well, this new line-”
“Miss. Brail, you must be joking.” I interrupt her, “I mean-”
She holds up her hand. “Don’t interrupt me, dear. Listen, do this for me, and I will be sure to do something for you. You did a great job for me on Saturday, but I know you’re not interested, really, in being a buyer. You want to design, right?”
My eyes widened, “Yes, of course.”
“Well, I think you should seriously consider your future here, Anne, unless you want to continue getting my coffee every morning.” She starts to shoo me out of her office, “Now go on! I have a lot of work to do this morning.”
I exit the office, still gripping the design folder in my hands. I go and sit down at my desk; I’m sure there is still a look of shock on my face. “Everything all right?” Gary questions as I hide the folder under some of my own files, not wanting him to ask me permission to take an early glance at the designs.
