Violet In Lace

by Vivienne Hunt

  Violet remembered that she couldn’t stop staring at the picture. There had been nothing left to the imagination; every flaw, every soft curve of her body was splattered on the front page in full color — the black-boxed marker lines barely covered up her nipples and crotch. Behind her was Justin, who was holding her by the wrists as he pulled her back onto him. The position had thrust her breasts out in front of her, allowing them to dangle in the air. It was obvious that he was plowing her hard from behind. Her face was filled with lust, as was his. Her hair was disheveled and her makeup was smeared. She looked like every bit of the slut that she was when they had sex. There was no denying her expression — she had loved every minute of the fucking she was receiving.

  Even so, she still didn’t believe Russell when he told her that the paparazzi were hot on her trail. It was Atlanta, after all; this type of thing just didn’t happen down south. Boy, was she wrong. They parked a discreet distance away from her town house to scout out the area. Sure enough, there were flashy news vans, cameras, and dozens of reporters all setting up on the sidewalk with their lenses aimed at her front door. A couple of the neighbors were out on the street as well. They were arguing with some of the cameramen that they couldn’t be there. Then the reporters started handing out newspapers. After that Violet felt like she was going to throw up. Russell drove her to the closest Walmart, where she loaded up on cheap clothes and toiletries, before heading back to the guys’ apartment. During the entire ordeal, she had received only one text message from Justin saying that he was so sorry, and he was doing everything in his power to fix it . . . also . . . that he loved her.

  He loved her.

  Her Justin.

  It was not how she envisaged someone telling her she was loved — written in a text across a smartphone screen — but still, the words carried a weight with them, a permanence, that had been missing from her life for too long.

  Did she love him back? What did she have to offer a man like Justin? She was quickly closing in on being homeless. Hell, she might as well already be — she didn’t see a way back to her place anytime soon. Her job was now in jeopardy, as was all of Chenille. The tabloid had pulled out all the stops; a tiny picture of the boutique attached to the inside article, complete with an address. Then there was Fashion Week. She knew that it should be the furthest thing from her mind, but everyone had worked so hard preparing for it. Justin’s and her private life on public display now affected every person that worked at Chenille. Violet couldn’t help it. Somehow she felt that she had let them down. After all, she was the “seasoned chubby honey” who didn’t disappoint.

  That last thought brought tears rolling down her cheeks. She set the ice cream container down on the carpet, sobbing into her hands.

  A pair of arms engulfed her. It was Russell. He pulled her into a big bear hug, holding her while she cried. They were joined by another pair of arms as Dylan wrapped his arms around the both of them.

  The three of them sat there together like that for a while as Violet’s sobs turned into dry heaves and then the hiccups. When she was all cried out, she wiped her hair from her face as she smeared her runny nose on the sleeve of her ridiculous polyester pj’s.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without the both of you,” she said sincerely.

  “Perish,” Russell teased.

  “Go through withdrawal,” Dylan added.

  She lightly swatted them both, chuckling. They were like the brothers she had never had. Her only other saving grace through all of this was that her parents weren’t alive to witness her current catastrophe — at least she had that.

  Russell gave her another hug before kissing her on her forehead. “It is Dylan’s turn to cook tonight.”

  “It’s my turn to cook every night,” Dylan said warily.

  “Semantics,” Russell sang out. He focused his attention back on Violet. “Why don’t you go take a nice, hot shower, change into that hideous panda robe you just bought, and I will have a glass of wine waiting for you when you get out.”

  Violet laughed a little. It was a refreshing sound. “Okay, but you know this ‘fad’ could become all the rage with the ladies of Chenille!”

  Russell sputtered. “Darling, over my fine, dead body will we be outfitting our clientele in cartoon fruit and pandas!” He snapped his fingers in the air.

  Violet had reached the door to the bathroom and then froze.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Dylan asked, seeing her tense up.

  Her mind was moving a mile a minute. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong; in fact, everything’s right. No! It’s perfect!” She closed the bathroom door behind her.

  “What are you talking about?” Russell yelled from down the hall.

  “I’ll tell you when I get out!” she yelled, starting to turn on the water and adjust the temperature. “Fire up your laptop, baby. We’ve got some work to do!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Justin

  The scenic drive up to his factory in Dalton helped to clear his head. His knuckles were still bruised and swollen from where he had clocked Chad, twice. Satisfaction tempered the dull throb in his hand. He grimaced through the pain, knowing that he would have done more to the bastard if he could have gotten away with it.

  His mother had been more sympathetic than he thought she would be. Joanna was not only creative but a witty woman who laughed off the exploit as a tribute to her son’s healthy, robust libido. Of course the tabloids had made their way back to New York, where he and his Violet were the flavor of the month, as some papers didn’t think it was possible that they could find another story paired with such a “flattering” picture that could top what the gossip hounds had uncovered in Atlanta.

  Austin, however, was furious. Justin hadn’t spoken to his father since Christmas, but Mr. Avery had decided to make an exception today, actually calling his son. The conversation was a disaster, which ended in Justin hanging up on his father. It wasn’t the first time, and he was sure it wasn’t going to be the last.

  He pulled into a parking space and sent Violet one more text before he went inside. The factory was like a black hole for cell phone service, which suited him just fine. He needed a break from the overwhelming amount of calls he was receiving. The fuckers were crawling out of the woodwork. He made a mental note to get a new number as soon as possible.

  Justin spent the rest of the day on the factory floor, inspecting production while talking with the managers and workers alike. He visited often and knew most of his employees by name. He wanted to be honest with them, so he had given them a heads up on what had happened before he arrived. He told them that he would understand if any of them were uncomfortable working for him or wanted to seek out better employment — that he would even compensate them while they found a new job. Out of his fifty-three employees, including the managers, not a single one decided to take him up on his offer. Some even went so far as to tell him that it was the best job they had ever had. Chenille came with a solid benefits package, competitive wages, and time off for sick days plus vacation. Justin firmly believed that a company was only as good as the people it employed. Happy employees translated into a healthy production of quality products. His mother had taught him that, which was why her designer bags were also made in the USA, where she had loyal employees that had been with her for decades. His father, however, couldn’t have given two shits about where his polo shirts or golf pants were produced. To him, it was all about the bottom line. His clothing line was manufactured somewhere in Asia. It was the source of many arguments between his parents.

  Justin checked his watch. If he made it back in time, he could pick Violet up at Russell’s and get her out of the apartment for a while. She had texted that she was going stir-crazy being cooped up inside.

  “Just a couple more days and this will all blow over,” he said out loud, walking to his car. That, and Regimain was working overtime to bring Chad’s firm into the spotlight. He still wasn’t out of the woods on a possible assault
charge, but Anthony had a few cards up his sleeve that he just needed a bit more time to finesse before he could play them. Lawyers. Always scheming.

  “Hello, Justin.”

  Dad.

  Justin turned around to find his father standing in the parking lot with his arms crossed next to a BMW rental. Austin Avery — impeccably dressed with his face twisted into a perpetual scowl. Even when he smiled, he appeared aggravated. That was his father.

  “Dad, I didn’t realize that you were already in town when you called. You should have told me; we could have met for lunch.” Justin’s voice was flat. He didn’t mean a damn word he was saying.

  “Of course I’m in town!” Austin snapped. “I have to make the rounds of my clients before the Masters.”

  “Right, Dad,” Justin countered, “right. You’re not here to see your son. No, it’s always been about you and your friggin’ golf clothes.”

  “Well, now it’s all about you isn’t it, son?” The sarcasm in his Dad’s voice was plain as day. His father pulled up a picture on his phone and thrust it in Justin’s face. “Care to explain this? Just what the fuck were you thinking?”

  It was another inflammatory picture of Violet and him — this time in an equally damning position. Justin wondered how many pictures of their lovemaking the paparazzi had taken through the living room window. He hoped they had given the fuckers blue balls for all their trouble.

  Justin studied the picture closer. “Well, Dad,” he observed sarcastically, “I believe I was fucking. Yup, uh-huh, definitely fucking.”

  “Don’t get all wiseass on me, son.” His father’s anger was boiling over. “Not this time.”

  “Or what, Dad?” Justin exploded, “What? You’ll withhold my trust like you did when I was twenty-two? Threaten to cut me out of the will like you did when I was twenty-five? What? I’m fucking thirty-one years old. I’m a grown man. I have my own business. I have my own money now. I was caught having the best sex of my life with a beautiful woman who I happen to be in love with, and you know what?”

  Austin appeared stunned at his son’s tone of voice. “What?”

  “I would do it all over again in fucking Times Square so long as it meant that Violet was still mine and I was still hers.” Justin flung open his car door so hard it creaked on its hinges.

  “Son . . . I…,” his father started to speak, but Justin cut him off.

  “No, Dad. Just forget it. Don’t do me any favors. Don’t do anything. Just get the hell out of my way, and stay the fuck out of my life.” He got in his car, slammed the door, turned the engine over, and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving his stunned father in the dust. At the rate he was going, he would need a set of new tires.

  He checked the rearview mirror; his dad was still standing there with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Maybe he got through to him this time, maybe. Right now he couldn’t have cared less.

  He played the voice message of a missed call from Violet. She and Russell were on a covert mission to sneak back into her town house so she could pick up a few things. Great, now he wasn’t going to see her tonight.

  He hit speed dial, and Shawn answered on the first ring. “Holy shit, man, I have been trying to reach you for days.”

  Justin sighed. “Sorry, it’s been hell on earth.”

  “I can only imagine,” Shawn sympathized. “Where are you? Can you meet up for drinks?”

  “Yeah, but let’s make it your place. I have a feeling that public places are bit off-limits at the moment.” Justin eased up on the gas pedal; he was speeding. A car accident or a ticket would not bode well considering his circumstances.

  “I hear ya. See you in an hour?” Shawn asked.

  “That’ll work.” Justin hung up, and then his phone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number. He ripped the Bluetooth out of his ear, tossing it onto the passenger’s seat. He was fucking tired of constantly being connected. He started to fantasize about whisking Violet away to some remote cabin where nobody cared who they were and they could have sex any which way they damn well pleased. He smiled at the thought. It was just about the only thing that kept him going.

  Shawn’s house was ridiculous. It was nestled among six wooded acres north of the city in Milton, Georgia, where there were still horse farms and rolling estates aplenty. Shawn had designed the place himself, and because of his construction company, he had the means to turn his design into a reality. The house was easily over five thousand square feet. It boasted vaulted ceilings, four fireplaces, and a mother-in-law suite, which Justin had found hilarious since Shawn not only didn’t have a mother-in-law, but he wasn’t even married. Hell, he should have sent Violet to Shawn’s place. She could have gone on a recon mission just to find a bathroom.

  When he pulled up, his buddy was standing in the front doorway with a bottle of beer in each hand. Shawn handed him his, patting him on his back as they walked inside.

  “What the hell happened to your hand?” Shawn said, noticing the bruising when they entered the kitchen.

  Justin pulled out a chair and sat at the breakfast bar. He took a swig from his beer — microbrew, nice. “It made the acquaintance of Violet’s ex. Well, soon-to-be ex.”

  Shawn pulled out the chair next to him. “I found out about the damning pictures through one of my cement guys who happened to be passing around a tabloid paper over lunch break. I thought it was fake,” Shawn paused and drank his beer, “then I did a Google search. Did you know High-Brow Entertainment is running with the story? They’re leading with it on their evening show…tonight.”

  Justin let out a string of expletives. “I didn’t think it was possible for this to get any worse.”

  High-Brow Entertainment was the national smut show that followed celebrities and other people of interest — basically anyone with money who had made a name for themselves. He had hoped all of this would have died down by now. When High-Brow covered a story, it meant that it usually went viral — if it hadn’t already. He cringed as he thought of the YouTube video mash-ups and lude GIFs that would follow.

  Shawn was sympathetic. “I am so sorry, man. You definitely didn’t deserve this and neither did Violet. Though I must say, if that’s how you screw, then I am doing things all wrong.”

  Justin wanted to kill Shawn. “Fuck you, Shawn.”

  “No, no I’m serious!” Shawn held up one of his hands in surrender. “All I am saying is lots of people fake passion all the time — shit, they fake love, too. I’ve known you for years; you and Violet definitely have passion,” Shawn added, “and you’re not afraid to show it.”

  Justin nodded. He got what Shawn was saying. “I should have called you right after it happened. I’m sorry that you had to find out about it the way you did.”

  Shawn grabbed them a couple more beers. “Hey, I get it. You were in damage control mode. Sometimes ya just need to skip the formalities. But I’m here now. Whatever you need, you just say the word. Would it help to talk about it? You might as well get all of it off your chest; you’ll feel a lot better.”

  Justin spent the next couple of hours bringing Shawn up to speed. He went into more detail about his confrontation with Chad, the discussion that he had had with his mother, and how his father had paid him a surprise visit. By the time he was finished, he did feel better.

  It was late when he headed back to his condo. He wanted nothing more than to come home to Violet’s kisses, her warm embrace, and her incredibly delectable, voluptuous tits. He needed to see her. He missed his woman. He just hoped that after all this was over, she would still feel the same way about him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Violet

  The recon mission to her town house had been a success. She and Russell had waited to slip into her house through the back door until the cloak of night could disguise them. She felt silly dressed all in black while only using a tiny LED flashlight to rummage through her own house, but when she had caught a glimpse of the lone TV van parked a few spaces down from her em
pty parking space, it had snapped her back to reality.

  Russell, bless his heart, had prepared to go to war if need be. He had brought with him two empty duffle bags for her to use, pepper spray, and a small expandable baton just in case they ran into trouble. They had made quick use of their time; Russell had filled one bag with her laptop, chargers, and tablet while Violet filled the other with her much-needed personal items and clothes for work — she couldn’t stay away from the boutique forever regardless of how much of her naked body the world had seen.

  Back at the guys’ apartment, sipping on wine, she hung her clothes up in the guest bedroom, making her feel that there was some shred of normality still in her life.

  Her cell rang. It was late. Thinking it would be Justin, she answered without checking the screen, “Hi, baby, I was wondering when you were going to call.” Her voice was sultry with just a touch of huskiness to it.

  “Good evening, Ms. Smoke. This is Austin Avery, Justin’s father.” The man on the other end of the line was formal, direct, and brisk

  Oh, shit.

  Violet cleared her throat. “Oh, uhm, hello, Mr. Avery. How can I help you?”

  How can I help you?!

  Violet did a facepalm while holding the phone to her ear.

  “I would like us to have lunch tomorrow. Say one o’clock. I will send a driver to pick you up.” She could tell by his tone that he wasn’t really asking her.

  Mr. Avery was in Atlanta?

  “Uhm, yes, okay. Should I text you the address?” Now she was asking for permission. Her cheeks flushed. She felt like an idiot.

  “That would be fine.” His tone was all business.

  There was a pause as neither of them said anything.

  Eventually something dawned on Violet. “Mr. Avery, how did you get my number?”

  His voice was clipped. “It doesn’t matter. I will see you at one. Good night, Violet.”

  “Good night, Mr. Avery.” She hung up.