Taylor Made

by kj lewis

  “Nonsense. I’d make more. I see the way men respond to you, like you’re a package they want to unwrap. Trust me, I know my business.”

  I blush and attempt to divert the conversation to a new topic. “What are you having?”

  “The tuna. And the fact that you are blushing is exactly what would have them coming in droves. My sweet Southern girl.”

  “I think I’ll have the filet,” I state, ignoring her comment.

  We sip our drinks and talk business for a while. I style the closet Colleen provides for her girls. Mostly elegant and dressy clothes, but it also runs the gamut with casual looks, swim wear, and of course, lingerie. Once a quarter, I revamp their wardrobes, and what I purge Colleen puts on a website and sells. The money goes to a charity of her choice. Since I have worked for her, she has donated over a million dollars.

  Talking with Colleen is like talking to the fun Aunt in your family that likes to spoil you and tell you how amazing you are. I admire what a strong business woman she is, and she’s taught me a great deal. She doesn’t take shit from anyone.

  “I’d like your advice.” I take a long sip of my drink to build up my courage. Colleen motions for the waiter to bring us two more.

  “What’s going on?”

  I straighten my posture and begin, “I have a client who got a little out of hand yesterday.” I pause while the waiter delivers our food and another round of drinks.

  “Actually,” placing my napkin in my lap, I look up at her. “He attacked me. I don’t know why I’m softening it”.

  “Is that what happened to your lip?” Her look is cold.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he…”

  “No,” I answer before she finishes her question. “He didn’t rape me,” I say quietly and glance around to make sure I am not overheard, even though we are in the corner and there is no one sitting next to us. The tables are close together, and I don’t want to broadcast our conversation. “He just scared me. But I think he might have if his security guy hadn’t stepped in.”

  “And the lip?”

  “I bit him. Hard. He backhanded me across the face.”

  “I see.” She’s reticent. “What did Jackson have to say?”

  “I haven’t told him. Or anyone for that matter. You’re the only person I’ve shared this with.”

  “Why haven’t you reported him?” She has stopped eating and is giving me her full attention.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. If it had been anyone else, I would have had them at the police station already making sure that at the very least a complaint was put on record.” I look in her eyes and I know she can see the shame in mine. “I know it is a he said/she said deal, and he has power. I don’t know that I want it to get out, and it will. I don’t know if I want to go through all that for nothing to happen to him. But I don’t want him to do it to someone else either.” I’m so conflicted for reasons I don’t even understand.

  “Who is it?” She asks, but doesn’t demand. When I don’t respond, she says, “You keep my secrets, Emme. You have never once strayed from that. You know I will keep yours.”

  She’s right. I know that I could tell Colleen anything and she would take it to her grave.

  “John Michaels.”

  “I see,” is all she says, but I catch a glimpse of the woman that runs an empire, and it’s clear she has had to deal with more than one John Michaels in her time.

  “What do you think is the right thing to do?”

  She picks up her fork and starts eating again. I can see the cogs turning in her head. “What I think is the right thing and what right thing is for you are two different things. I’m friends with the Commissioner. I’ll have him send one of his detectives over after we are done with lunch, and he’ll make sure it stays out of the public reports.”

  “What is the right thing for you?” I ask curiously.

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about. I would handle it just like I would if you were one of my girls.”

  “No, Colleen.” That has my attention. “You can’t.”

  “Eat your lunch darling. It’s getting cold.” And that’s that. She has officially ended the topic.

  Apprehensively, I give in and start eating again. I’m left imagining John Michael’s balls as trinkets hanging on Colleen’s keychain.

  She’s right. The right option for me is to file the report. It’s the only way I could live with myself if he tried to hurt someone else.

  We finish our meal. Colleen declines dessert, but orders tea.

  “You have an amazing body. Why don’t you eat dessert?” I ask taking another sip of my drink.

  “I can’t eat like you and look like this, Emme.” Our conversation moves onto easier topics, and I show her the slideshow of looks that I have pulled for the closet update. Colleen only rejects three looks, but other than that we are on target.

  “So Emme, how are you spending Labor day weekend?”

  “I’ll be in the Hamptons. I’m going up early to work on the grants.”

  “That’s wonderful! It’s all coming together. Tell me, did you take my advice and go with all male mentees?” I’m about to answer when Colleen excuses herself for a moment, stands, and takes a couple of steps behind me.

  “Colleen.” The voice is cool and all business. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  I know that voice. How is it that now that our paths have crossed, they continue to merge in all areas of my life? I don’t make a move to turn around. In all honesty, I hope he doesn’t notice me and keeps on moving.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and join us?” Colleen suggests, clearly moving to an introduction. “Graham, I’d like you to meet Emme James.”

  I expect to see the same “Can you believe we ran into each other again?” look on his face, but I’m met with a look of disbelief that flares into anger.

  “Cut the shit, Colleen. What are you doing?” Graham doesn’t verbally acknowledge my existence. He’s looking directly at Colleen, the disdain dripping from his words.

  Colleen shows me once again why I admire her so greatly. She doesn’t back down. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash. If anything, I would say she’s standing a good two inches taller than she was a minute ago.

  “Obviously, Graham, you have an issue. I would be happy to discuss anything that concerns you, other than that you know my business is off limits to anyone,” she answers with direct eye contact.

  “Get your purse,” he says, finally acknowledging me. “We’re going.”

  I turn, pretending to look around me. “I’m sorry. Who are you speaking to? Because I know it isn’t me.” I fold my arms across my chest and cross my legs giving him my best defiant glare. Who the fuck does he think he is?

  “Don’t start with me, Emelia.” His tone is ice cold. He turns back to Colleen. “Off limits. Do you understand?”

  Unexpectedly, a slow, genuine smile spreads across Colleen’s face. She looks from me to Graham. “I do now. When did this happen?” she directs her question to Graham.

  His suit coat is unbuttoned and he has both hands in his pockets. “Off limits,” he says, raising a finger to point in her face for emphasis.

  Colleen looks at me with true enjoyment. I am so confused.

  “Emme, I was going to have Hector see you home, but now that Graham is here, he’ll make sure you get home safely. I greatly enjoyed our lunch. I’ll call you and set up our next meeting.” She pulls on my shoulders coaxing me into a standing position and kisses me on each cheek, smiling at my perplexed glare. I feel a hand around my elbow, and I am being guided out of the hotel into a waiting black SUV.

  Graham hoists me into the back seat then practically sits on top of me when I don’t make a move to shift over.

  Fine! I’ll go out the other door.

  I slide across and reach for the handle.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Graham barks. “Drive, Smith.” He says to the man in the front seat. I can’t even look at him I am so furious.
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  “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Watch your damn language. 6th and 42nd Smith.”

  “Seriously, where do you think we’re going?”

  “I’m taking you back to your office. I assume you have work to do.” He pulls his cell out of his pocket and punches a button.

  “Call Lieberman and tell him I have to reschedule. Give him my apologies for leaving the bar.” He disconnects the call.

  I cross my arms, fuming. My head feels like it’s about to explode from the emotional pressure.

  “It’s less than 10 blocks. I am fine to walk it,” I assert.

  “In those heels? I doubt it. Add to it the number of Bloody Mary’s you had.”

  “How do you know I had something to drink?”

  “What were you doing with Colleen Cameron?” Graham asks.

  My eyes catch the driver’s. Did he say his name was Smith? I think I catch a glance of sympathy in his eyes. Leaning forward I place my hand on his shoulder. “Emme James. Nice to meet you.” I smile at him.

  He nods and I assume is about to answer when Graham punches a button and a privacy shade slides into place.

  “Emelia,” he says with authority.

  “Graham.” I mock his tone, with a smile of defiance on my face happy to fuel his frustration. I notice he is running his thumb across the tips of his fingers, like he’s itching to do something, but holding himself back.

  “I’ve told you before, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer. What were you doing with Colleen Cameron?”

  “Not that it would be any of your business, but I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You know for a bright man,” I say, trailing off sarcastically. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my nature of business with Ms. Cameron.” I say this slowly and deliberately, as if he’s having difficulty understanding.

  “So, it was business.” Irritation rises in his voice again. “And when you said that you were only seeing Blaine Moore professionally, is that what you meant? Are you one of Colleen’s girls?”

  It takes me a full minute to understand that he is serious, that he is actually insinuating that I am a prostitute. No offense to Colleen’s girls. I mean no judgement and I’m sure they are peachy in their own rights, but they do have sex for money.

  “Do you sleep with men for money? It would make sense. You make $150k working for Jackson, yet you still work a second job. You have $478 in your bank account. You have one savings account that has had menial deposits in it for the last few years and you bring in about $50k with your second job. You have perfect credit, no debt, and you withdraw, in cash, 85% of every check you earn. You’re funneling money somewhere, and if the one-fifty Jackson pays you isn’t enough, I’m guessing the extra you make at the bar isn’t doing it either. Supplementing by working for Colleen would make perfect sense. What are you involved in?”

  If a feather fell out of the sky and landed on me, I would have tipped over. I am stupefied that he just rattled off my financial statistics like he was my accountant. How did he get all that information?

  Smith has pulled up to my office building, and I catch a glimpse of Graham looking at my legs. In my haste to move across the seat, my dress has pulled up under me and is maybe an inch from showing my panties.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” My disgruntled voice pulls his eyes up. His anger breaks and his face splits into a grin like a school boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. This only fuels my hate-fire.

  I open the door and exit the car. Pulling my badge from my purse, I scan myself through security and call an elevator. At least I know I am safe here. Unless Graham gets someone to sign him in, and I’m sure as hell not going to, he can’t get back to the elevators. The elevator arrives and I step in taking a deep breath, trying to calm the fury I am feeling. Pushing the button for the twenty-first floor, I lean against the cool metal wall and close my eyes as the door closes.

  I am so sick of this week.

  I hear the doors being halted and open my eyes to find Graham stepping in the elevator.

  “How the hell?”

  “I own this building, Emelia.” He holds up a key card.

  I really need to Google this asshole.

  I go to step off the elevator, but he pulls me back in as the doors close. I look straight ahead. Like I am traveling up the floors with a perfect stranger.

  He pulls the stop button. “I asked you a question. I want the answer.”

  It takes me a second to register the sound echoing in the elevator. The hand print reddening on his face is the clue I need to realize I have slapped him. His eyes turn a midnight blue, and just like that, he has me backed into the corner, his mouth crushing mine. His tongue is hot and invasive, moving strongly against mine. This is not like our kiss last night. This is a possession. His shadow of a beard scratches my face.

  My body responds, and I’m giving as good as I’m getting. My hands find their way to his hair and I tug on it, giving my tongue better access to his. A deep groan escapes him, and he moves his hands roughly and quickly over my body, like we’re on the clock. He lifts my dress up to my hips, pushes my panties to the side, and plunges two fingers deep inside of me. My sex pulses around him.

  “Fuck, you’re soaked.” He moves his fingers in and out of me, his thumb finding rhythm on my clit. My body senses the same urgency, the same three-minute clock, and I am coming around his fingers in a matter of minutes. My orgasm is shooting stars behind my closed eyelids. Graham lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him. I feel his erection between my thighs and start moving against him. His kiss is more aggressive and demanding, and he’s frustrated that he can’t get to my breasts through the high neck on my dress. He lowers my feet back to the floor, making sure I have my balance before he spins me around and starts to unzip my dress.

  “No.” I almost look around to see who said it, but I know it was me. Graham’s hands stop immediately.

  “No,” I confirm, shaking my head for extra emphasis, before my body overrides my ethics. I lean my forehead against the elevator wall and try to catch my breath. Graham is leaning against me, his front to my back. I feel his erection pushing into my ass, and his breathing is as erratic as mine. I push off the wall and Graham gives me the space I’m looking for. Hitting the stop button, I put the elevator back into motion. My eyes never leaving his. The elevator opens on the twenty-first floor, and I step out.

  “You don’t get to call me a whore and then fuck me.” My eyes blaze with the contempt that I struggled to display before he brought me to orgasm. My words are like a verbal wall that stops Graham mid-step to exit the elevator. My eyes never leave his as the doors close behind me.

  Amanda buzzes me into the office, smiling brightly when she sees me. “Were you mauled in the elevator?” she asks and hands me a mirror. I look at her knowing expression before straightening my hair and smoothing my dress. “Here,” she hands me the black box with the necklace. “The courier said Mr. Michaels refused the delivery and paid him double to bring it back.”

  “Then I hope you like pearls.” I shove them back to her.

  “No, Emme, I can’t. These are yours.”

  “I don’t want them. Keep them. Sell them. Whatever you want. Just don’t give them to me.”

  “Oh my god, Emme. This is four months’ rent. Thank you so much!” She can tell from the look on my face that I’m doing the math. “I’m one of the few people left who have a rent controlled apartment,” she clarifies, almost apologetically.

  She removes the pearls and places them around her neck. The lariat falls between her breasts.

  “They’re beautiful. You should think about keeping them.” It’s not their fault they were gifted by a jackass.

  Entering the work room, I make my way to my office when I receive a text from Colleen asking me to meet her out front in twenty minutes.

  Henry comes in and hands me a Diet Coke from my favorite deli on the corner. The
y have crushed ice and just the right amount of carbonation.

  “I could bear your children for this.” I draw a long sip.

  “Did I see you getting out of a Bentley Bentayga?”

  “If that’s the black SUV I was just in, then yes.”

  “Those aren’t even being offered to the public yet. Do we have a new client?”

  “No. Someone just gave me a ride after lunch so I wouldn’t have to walk in heels.”

  “What was it like?”

  “The car? I didn’t even notice.”

  “I want your life, Emme, where I ride in a Bentayga and don’t notice,” he teases and heads back to his desk. Grabbing my laptop and everything I am going to need next week, I say my good-byes to my team and make my way down to meet Colleen. Climbing into the back of yet another car, she greets me with the same smile she left me with.

  “So, you and Graham Taylor. You should have led with that today.”

  “Honestly there isn’t anything to tell. We meet on a flight earlier this week. His brother is my best friend’s fiancé.”

  “Graham Taylor flying commercial?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “The man owns an aviation fleet, so yes, it does.”

  “Seriously? What does he do?”

  “You mean you don’t know?” I shake my head. “Graham Taylor is the multi-billionaire that started and owns Taylor Organization. He’s probably one of the top fifteen richest people in the world.”

  “He’s so young. He can’t be more than what, thirty-three? Thirty-five?”

  “He’s thirty, to be exact. He just presents older because he’s so serious all the time.” She turns a little more towards me, her eyes filled with mirth. “He thinks you’re one of my girls.”

  “Yes, he made that very clear once we were in the car.”

  “And did you correct him?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t. You know I don’t discuss my clients, and if he wants to think the worst of me, then let him. No offense. You know what I mean.”

  “I do dear,” she pats my hand. “Just be careful. I’d hate to see a sweet girl like you get lost in Graham Taylor. He expects a certain behavior out of the girls he dates—well, screws, anyway. He’s not really one to date. To him a girl is an ornament to be seen with. He expects them to toe the line. Come to heel, so to speak. That’s why you never see him photographed with a woman standing next to him. They’re to always remain a step behind, and you never see him show or acknowledge affection in public. We’re here,” she announces. I didn’t even realize we were moving.