by kj lewis
Three hours later, the remaining dwarfs, minus one, return home tired and worn out. Kyle wakes long enough to move to his bed, never taking his scrubs off. I fold the towels and start a third load of laundry. I finally wrap up around four in the morning and opt for the couch. If I climb into a real bed, I won’t get up to run, and I have to run tomorrow. I’ve taken the last two mornings off and am behind in my training schedule. If I don’t get back on track, I won’t be ready.
If I can stick to my training schedule, my goal is to run the New York Marathon in November. I was asked to do it to raise money for charity, which I will do regardless. The marathon was just the catalyst; the running part is really for me. I didn’t think I would like it when I started training, but I have really fallen in love with the process, the time to myself, and the challenge.
Within minutes of my head hitting the pillow, my alarm goes off. One look at my watch tells me the minutes have actually been a full hour. I have a conversation with myself about do I or do I not get up. Apparently I’m a masochist, which explains how I find myself lacing up my running shoes. I do some stretches, grab an energy bar, my old iPod (I haven’t decided what to do with my new one), and head out.
Most days I run a different path, just to change it up a little. Today I’m running west to the Hudson, down to Battery Park, over to City Hall, across and back over the Brooklyn Bridge, and home to Greene Street. A little more than six miles. I should be running seven, but I don’t have the time nor the energy. In August if you don’t get your run in early, you’ll cook from the heat. Especially me. I’m not one of those runners who look like they run with so little effort, like they could go straight from running to work with no problems. I hate those bitches. They look like they’re doing a light jog while cool air is blowing on them. I hope they slip on my sweat and fall.
Running gives my mind too much time to overthink Graham’s intentions. How did he know my given name was Emelia? I try to think of ways to take back some of the control, but seeing as I only know his first name, it’s difficult. He looked delicious yesterday at lunch. I should try Google Image to see if I could find some clues about who he is. Would it matter? Do I want to see him again? Even as I ask myself the question, I already know the answer is yes. Something about Graham has me off balance, like my equilibrium is off. It’s unsettling. I can’t get him to fit into a compartment.
Outside of our building, I grab a paper from the corner and head up to shower. I’m earlier than expected, making it a little too soon to start our morning routine. The guys are still asleep when I’m out of the shower and start breakfast. Slowly they begin to stir as the smell of bacon and French toast fills the air. I am loading the last of the bacon onto a plate when Matt announces, “You’re on Page Six.”
“Who is?” Kyle says grabbing the paper from his hands.
“James. She’s on Page Six.”
“I am?” my brain is addled.
“Yep.” Kyle reads, “Page Six has confirmed a rumor that Blaine Moore and Jackson Hollingsworth’s ‘it’ girl, Emme James, are a hot new item. Here’s betting his song ‘Sex with You’ takes on a whole new meaning for her.”
“Seriously, whatever happened to journalistic ethics?” I place meatballs I am rolling for tonight’s dinner a little too forcefully into the slow cooker.
“You know that goes out the window, James, when it comes to celebrities.” Kyle sets the paper on the counter as I pour the sauce in. There’s a picture of Blaine and me sharing dessert at Bryant Park Grill. I’m saying something and he’s laughing. He looks young and carefree. At least this picture will soften his image some.
“Great. Just what I need. I guess it’s better than outing him as my client.” The last thing the label is going to want is a leak that they are tweaking his image.
Tossing the paper to the side, I head to my alcove to dress for the day. I grab a new DVF wrap dress in one of her signature fun prints. They are a staple in my wardrobe and in the closet at work. Easy to wear, and they look great on someone with actual curves. You don’t have to be a hanger girl to wear them. They show off just the right amount of cleavage and just a hint of leg. Professional but sexy.
I run my fingers through my air-dried hair and muss it up a little giving it a tossed about look. Throwing on some flats, I circle several bangle bracelets up my wrist, grab a Chanel shoulder bag and say my “love you” to the guys as I close the door.
I’ve barely entered the office door when Amanda tells me that Jackson wants me to stop by his office first.
“Great,” I mumble under my breath.
Making my way to his door, I know he has seen Page Six and has a comment. I knock and enter all in one motion.
“Hey, babe. You looking for me?”
“I am. Sit for a minute. Want to go over some accounts with you. You look gorgeous as always.”
“You’re good for my confidence.” I smile my innocent smile at him.
Laughing, “You know that smile always works on me.”
“Yep. That’s why I do it. Give the boss what he wants.”
Jackson Hollingsworth is a self-made businessman. His mind for business is like unchartered waters. You don’t know what all is there or what it holds, but its creations are nothing short of amazing. I’m such a fan of his and how he conducts his business. He’s genuine, in a crowd that is not.
He’s also loyal. To Patrick. To me. To his business. I think that is what draws me to him. He is twelve years my senior. He never talks down my ideas or dreams. He’ll use his questions to guide my thoughts without me realizing it until I’ve moved my decision into the lane it really needs to be in. Much like family would. He and Patrick have been pillars in my decision making process since I started working for Jackson. I spend Christmas with them every year. They’re solid ground for me.
“So, where are you on the mentor program?”
“I’m going up early to work on the grants.”
“Great. I saw the list of CEOs Adam gave you. I think they have strong companies and are open to experimenting. I know he already arranged a meeting for you with Richard Raines of Raines Shipping. I emailed you his profile this morning. It should have all the background you need.”
“Thanks. He’ll be my first. So, we’ll see how it goes.”
“Speaking of firsts,” he raises a brow. “Let’s start with the next steps regarding Blaine Moore. You have his style working perfectly. I really love the direction you’re taking him. It’s an edge that people haven’t seen out of him. I like that it looks easy, too. Like he’s not trying too hard.”
“Just him being him,” I chime in.
“Exactly. Now the next item the label wants us to address is his personality. The ebb and flow of conversation when he is interviewed.”
“Why? I think he’s got a great personality.”
“I know. I saw TMZ.”
“You mean there’s video?” I’m now exasperated. “Please tell me you don’t believe that story. We had lunch. I take all my clients to lunch.”
“I know that. Just make sure he does. I saw the way he watched you yesterday.”
“You’re incorrigible. As far as our job goes,” I divert his attention back to the conversation I’m more comfortable with, “I think we should push the label to go with the real Blaine. He has all the goods. We just need to give them an outline of how best to promote him. They need to adapt. Not him. I’ve sexed his look up, so that should help.” I glance at my watch “I have to go. I have a meeting.”
“Ok. Who’s on your calendar today?”
“I’m meeting with Baker. This afternoon is Michaels.” I make a face on the last name.
“Your best and worst all in the same day. Too bad Baker isn’t your afternoon appointment. At least you could end on a good note. I can always take Michaels, if you like. Just say the word.”
“No. For the hundredth time, I’m fine. It’s called a job. You have to deal with things or people you don’t like. It’s fine. I have it unde
r control.”
“Alright, message received.” He holds his hands up in a relinquishing manner. “Patrick wanted me to double check that you don’t want to stay with us in the Hamptons over Labor Day? He’s got your room all ready.”
“Thanks, but I’m staying with Adam’s family. There’s a group going. You can actually have a weekend to yourselves.”
“We love our weekends with you, but I’ll let him know.” Looking up from his desk while he’s grabbing some files, he adds, “Don’t forget you’re my date to the dinner and casino night. Patrick can’t make it.”
“Like I could forget,” I smile. “I’ll be the luckiest girl there.”
“I think you have that backwards, sweetheart.”
Blowing kisses, I head to my office to prep for my day.
“Your assistant emailed me your calendar of events for the next three months,” I tell Baker an hour later in my office. “I’ve pulled together all the items you will need and have them already built into ensembles for you. As always, it’s a no brainer. All you have to do is go through the portfolio I built you. I’d like to go through it together now, make sure you’re ok with everything I’ve chosen, then I’ll have Henry organize them into your closet tomorrow.
“There are a couple of things that are different this time that I want to draw your attention to. I know you are launching some new products to a younger audience, so I’ve hipped up a few outfits for when you have to make appearances for those products. I have them marked here.” I point to the last pages of the book I have assembled for him.
“I know a couple of things might feel out of your wheelhouse, but you’ll have to trust that I won’t make you look like your trying to be twenty-one again. I want you relevant and hip, but also age appropriate for the business mogul you are. I want you try on these looks in the office today for me to see and make sure you’re comfortable with the outfits.”
“Sounds good. You’ve thought of everything as always. I feel like every dad with a daughter that wants him to look cool.” His eyes sparkle when he smiles.
“You are cool. This is just cherry stuff.” I smile and he laughs. “Also, before I forget, I have birthday and anniversary gifts picked out. If you’re pleased with them, Joy will wrap them up and have them delivered to your office. We’ll do Christmas at your next appointment.”
“Well then, let’s get started, because I’m taking you to lunch after this.”
At noon, we leave the office building and walk two blocks to a pizzeria. We share a large pizza and Caesar salad as he teaches me things about business.
After lunch I make my way back up to the office. John Michaels, my afternoon appointment, is a no show. I can’t say I’m disappointed. The guy creeps me out. There’s just something about him that seems off, like he’s always picturing me naked.
I use the extra time to catch up on some orders for other clients, and spend the afternoon on the phone with the Armani office in Italy. One hour and $150,000 later, I have suits ordered for one of my best clients.
“Do you mind if I head out, Emme? I want to run by Barney’s on my way home and see what’s new.”
I look up to see Henry standing in my door.
“Sure.” I look at my watch to see that it’s three-thirty. “Joy is at Bergdorf’s picking up some items for me now. Let’s call it a day. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks! Don’t stay too late.”
I take some pictures to Amanda. “Can you catalog these for me please under the O’Keefe account? I don’t need them until his next appointment in October.”
“In that case,” she looks at me hopefully, “if you don’t have anything else, I wanted to also head out. It’s my little sister’s birthday, and I need to pick up a cake on my way. Need anything before I go?”
“Nope. Have a great time.”
I’m almost around the corner when the door buzzes. It’s John Michaels and his right hand man. My no-show has shown. Two hours late. Amanda buzzes him in.
“I’m sorry. I got hung up in a meeting and then traffic was a nightmare.”
“Funny enough, they have these things called cellphones. You dial a few numbers and it will connect you to me, so you can let me know that you’re delayed. I’ve already sent everyone home. We’ll have to reschedule.”
“Can you maybe show me the looks and I can leave with one? I have a causal event tomorrow that’s going to be in the papers and I need something to wear.”
Amanda looks at me with a fake smile that tells me she is as frustrated with this fucker as I am.
“Fine. I have something for you that will work.” John’s guy takes a seat in the reception area. I nod to Amanda who is putting her purse back in her desk drawer. “Go ahead and go Amanda. I don’t want you to miss the party. I’ll lock up. “
“You sure? I don’t mind staying. I’m scheduled until five, anyway.”
“I’m sure. Have fun.”
I turn the corner and John is standing there. He hasn’t entered the office. It’s like he was listening to our conversation. This should have been my first clue that something was off.
You know how you have that feeling in your gut that tells you not to go into the basement, but you do anyways. You’re not quite sure why you shouldn’t go into the basement, but you feel silly because you can’t put your finger on it. So, you tell yourself you’re overreacting. That’s the feeling I have when John is here.
“Do you have any Scotch?”
“In the middle of the day? At the office? No. I don’t,” I respond, exasperated. I take in his movements. “Have you been drinking?”
He doesn’t answer. Clue number two.
I take three of the looks we had ready for him and hang them in the dressing room. “Try them on in the order I have them. If the first one works, we won’t have to try on the others.”
He looks at me with a smile that doesn’t go anywhere. “Want to help me? Remember, I dress to the left.” Clue number three.
“Do I look like I do?” My question, like my look, minces no words. I move out of the doorway.
“You look like someone who does a lot of things.” He steps in front of me, his six-three stature hovering over my five-seven frame. I’ve measured him enough to know that he’s 210 pounds of solid muscle.
“You know what? You need to come back on a different day. I’ll see you out.” I move to step around him.
He grabs my upper arm, hard. “I think I’ll stay and you can show me a few things.”
I look him straight in the eyes, as if I can detour him. “Take your hand off me, now! You’re leaving,” I say in my most demanding voice. I remember being told that when you come across a bear, you’re supposed to make yourself as big and fierce as you can. This will help scare the bear into backing down.
I jerk to move out of his hold, but he tightens his grip and pushes me against the wall, pressing his body against mine. His free hand wrapping around my other arm.
“I’ll leave when I’m fucking ready. We’re going to finish what you started. And don’t fucking act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You made sure that we were the only ones in the office. You’ve wanted this from the beginning. Don’t be shy now.”
What I started?
“You’re delusional, John. Get off me.”
My fight or flight response has kicked in, and I know that to get out of here, I’m going to have to fight. He’s had too much to drink to reason with. I try to free my arms. When that doesn’t work. I start kicking at his legs, trying to catch his feet with mine. Why didn’t I wear heels today?
I claw at him, but he uses his grip on my arms to slam me into the wall. My head hits hard enough that I momentarily lose my bearings. That second is all he needs to turn me toward the wall with my hands behind my back. I think he’s going to break my arm, and in this position, with his body pinning me to the wall again, I can’t get leverage to fight back. It doesn’t stop me from trying.
“Listen, you stupid cunt, I don�
�t mind a little fight, but this is starting to irritate me, and you really don’t want to see me irritated. Understand?”
He turns my head to the side and runs his tongue down the side of my face. I can finally smell how much he has had to drink.
I move my head back around and try to push off the wall with my shoulder and forehead, but I’m still not moving. He binds my wrists into one hand. Reaching the other around, he sticks his hand in my dress grabbing my breast. Hard. He makes a groaning noise, and I can feel his erection against my lower back. The more I try to move and fight back, the harder he restrains me.
“John. Stop this. This is not what I want. If you go any further, I will report you to the police. Do you understand? Stop this now!” Where the fuck is his guy?
His hand has found the slit in my wrap dress and he forces my underwear down. I hear a noise and realize it’s me screaming. A deep, feral scream. He brings his hand to my mouth. “I like to hear you scream, but right now I want you quiet.” As soon as his hand covers my mouth I clamp down with a vengeance, until I taste blood.
Cursing in pain, he is stunned enough to release his hold on me. I make my move to get around him, but he grabs my hair and pulls me back, letting me go in time to bring the back of his hand across my face with enough force to knock me across the worktable and on to the floor. I take some of the chairs with me.
“You stupid bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are.” He lunges towards me, when his guy steps in between us, restraining him and talking him down in a hushed voice. He wipes the blood from his mouth and spits the rest on the floor.
“The slut’s not worth it anyway.” They turn and walk out.
I hear them leave and know they can’t get back inside without being buzzed in. I lay entwined with fallen chairs. For how long, I don’t know.
Taking my time, I finally make my way off the floor. I turn the chairs upright. I have a split lip in the left corner of my mouth, and my body is so tense it feels like I was hit by a truck. I’m able to keep my balance, but I’m in shock. Shaking, I pull up my underwear from around my ankles, straighten my hair, and grab my purse.
