by Tia Williams
“No one’s looking,” she said. “So give me your best kiss. Your A-plus kiss.”
“I’ll give you the B-plus one. ‘Cause I’m a gentleman.”
“Lana Turner said a gentleman is a patient wolf,” she whispered, tipping her face up to his.
“Lana Turner was correct.” He leaned in, his lips almost touching hers. “So…now?”
“Now.”
He brushed his lips across hers, barely grazing her. A thousand tingles shot through her body. He kissed her again, his lips soft, but firm. Then things got serious. He slid his hand into her hair, angled his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, languidly.
A moan escaped her lips—she was totally caught off guard by how electric it felt. He pinned her against the chaise, tonguing her mouth with such sensuous rawness, it was like he was inside of her—and it was so achingly good that she forgot where she was, hiking her leg up around his waist, the hem of her dress sliding all the way to her hips. Holding her still by her hair, he kept at it, unraveling her, all giving, no taking—so that all she could do was grip his sides and drown—until an unimpressed waiter bumped into Jenna while collecting their drinks. Jolted, they drew apart and just looked at each other. Stunned.
“Fuck,” whimpered Jenna. Her eyes were half-closed.
“Your turn,” he said, his fist still tangled in her hair. “I want your B-plus.”
“I’ll give you my B,” she murmured. “I don’t want to destroy you.”
“Cocky.”
“Self-aware.”
Jenna pushed him back and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Holding the top of the couch for balance, she kissed him with total voraciousness, letting loose all the lust and sexual frustration she’d had for years. He matched her intensity, bruising her lips with his and gripping her where her ass met her thighs.
“Smush,” he growled into her mouth. “Told you.”
“I…I can’t believe I’m making out in the middle of a party,” said Jenna, breaking their kiss. “I’m too old for this, we have to stop!”
“Yeah, definitely,” he said, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.
“I swear to God,” she panted, “I think I love you.”
“I know I love you,” he murmured against her throat. Then, he looked up at her. “Wait, what’s your name?”
“Jenna Jones!”
They both looked up in surprise at Elodie and her intern, Misty, who was struggling not to laugh.
They tore away from each other, landing on opposites sides of the couch.
“Kimora Lee Simmons?” He looked confused.
Elodie rolled her eyes. “Jenna, what the hell are you doing?”
“You said I needed a one-night stand!”
“Yes, but I never said you should have it at my event. On a loveseat I rented for six thousand dollars! You could have gotten a room. This is a hotel, there are dozens in this bitch!”
“But…it just felt urgent. I’m bald! I couldn’t waste it!”
“Bald? You’re not…” He stopped himself, chuckling. “Oh.”
Elodie looked from him to Jenna, her long braid swinging.
“Who the hell is this kid? What happened to Dialo?”
“He had on velvet YSL slippers, Elodie. He was the living worst. I hate him.”
He shot off the chaise in a drunken rage, unsteady on his feet.
“Velvet slippers? Was he mean to you? Prissy little bitch!”
“Pipe down, junior,” said Elodie, grabbing his arm. She paused, squeezed his bicep, then looked him up and down. “Okay I get it, you’re pretty or whatever. But this is not an under-eighteen situation. Your being here could get me arrested.”
“Why does everyone keep saying I’m a teenager? I’m a grown-ass man, son.”
“Sweetie, if you have to declare it…”
“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that,” shouted Jenna, who stood up too quickly. She plopped back down on the chaise.
“Boyfriend?” He beamed at her, happily. “I’m Eric, by the way.”
“Erique. Ma Cherie.” She made a heart shape with her fingers.
“Okay, that? Will be too hilarious tomorrow,” said Elodie, stifling giggles. “Misty, escort Jenna’s boyfriend over to the model section. Jenna, my love, you’re coming to my suite. You need water and a bed. I should’ve kept my eye on you.”
Just then, Jenna’s eyes closed and she toppled over, face-first.
“Maaan, look! She passed out before I could get her number,” said Eric, his face the picture of disappointment. He gestured toward Elodie. “I sort of feel like you’re in charge. Can you give it to me?”
Elodie, who had sunk to her knees in front of the couch, had no time for this. “I’m sure Jenna had a meaningful experience with you tonight. But she’s unconscious, so the moment’s passed. Deuces, hot stuff.”
Eric walked away, dejected. And then Elodie whisked Jenna away to her hotel room, where she spent the night with her head in the toilet. Her Alaia was ruined, she’d behaved like an adolescent, but the next morning, she felt triumphant.
Brian wasn’t the only one who could move on.
CHAPTER 4
Rodarte, Helmut Lang, Peter Som, Marchesa, Diane von Furstenberg. Jenna was at her desk, trying to sift through the massive stack of New York Fashion Week invites (and missing the days when she had an assistant). The shows were coming up in less than a week, and it was her first appearance at the New York collections in four seasons. She missed this! Many top fashion editors complained about the rapid-fire show schedules, overpriced snack food, impossible cab situation, and extreme weather (always a thunderstorm, heat wave, or snow)—but Jenna still adored the spectacle too much to become jaded. For her, the bi-yearly New York collections were the most magical time of the year.
But the RSVPs were taking forever because she kept stopping to swipe concealer over her hickie. It was Monday, and it still hadn’t faded. Fishing for her compact in her purse, the memory of the kiss washed over her. She stopped, smiling to herself.
So delicious.
That makeout session was, hands down, the silliest moment of her adult life. She’d never hooked up with a stranger—a baby, no less—and certainly not in public. A card-carrying career slut would call it pedestrian (after all, scores of sixteen-year-olds were dry-humping at parties all over Manhattan that night) but to Jenna, it had been empowering. It had been a restorative erotic charge.
Thank God he was a total stranger. If I had to see him again, I’d die.
Just then, Terry rushed up to her doorway.
“Jenna, Darcy wanted me to tell you she’s swinging by in two seconds to talk about your videos.”
Jenna never understood why Darcy made Terry run ahead of her, blowing the horn, before she made an entrance. The woman was egotistical beyond hope.
“Thanks, Terry. I see her coming up behind you.”
Terry grimaced with anxiety. “Cool, I’m outta here.” She scrambled away.
Jenna looked down at her desk, gathering the invites to make them look more presentable. When she looked back up, she froze solid. She blinked twice, thinking she was hallucinating. Latent optical side effects from violent vomiting on Friday night? But no. This was real.
It was Darcy. And him. Him. The barely-legal hottie.
In under two seconds, a thousand questions flew through her mind. How did Darcy find out? Am I in trouble for acting so slutty in public? Will I get fired from StyleZine in disgrace? When is the next Amtrak back to Facquier County, Virginia?
His face was a mask of bare-naked shock, his mouth forming a tiny “O.” Jenna’s sharp intake of breath was audible. But within seconds, they’d both recovered. Jenna threw on her brightest TV personality smile. Eric thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned into her doorway, attempting to look composed. He all but whistled.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” said Darcy, looking from Eric to Jenna.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Jenna was ta
lking too fast.
“This is our new videographer, Eric. He’ll be shooting all of the videos for our YouTube channel. His priority will be your web series. I expect you two to make magic together.” Darcy looked at Eric, who’s cool had dissolved, and was now staring at the floor, biting his lip, barely holding back nervous laughter.
“What’s so funny?” asked Darcy. “Oh I get it. You recognize her.”
“No! If I met this woman, I’d definitely remember.”
Darcy smiled, which was always a panicky experience for all involved. It usually meant she was about to drop a bomb.
“Well, you have met.”
Jenna began to sweat. “No we haven’t! He’s a complete stranger.”
“Jenna. You don’t remember my son?”
“Your…son?” she squeaked. Her brain was too overwhelmed to produce an intelligent response. Weakly, she looked up at Eric. “Darcy’s your…”
“My mother,” he said apologetically.
“You two met at Raymond and Joanne Chase’s wedding, like twelve years ago,” said Darcy. “Eric was little, he had braces…”
“And a lisp.” He glanced at Jenna. She almost choked on her Altoid.
“And the only reason I took him to that clusterfuck of New Money Blacks was because the New York Times’ style section was shooting us right after. A Mother’s Day spread with notable moms and their kids. Remember that, E? You were running past Jenna’s table, a bad ass kid, always. You knocked red wine all over her dress. Which improved it, I must say. DKNY was already over by 2000.”
“That was you?” Eric shook his head. “This is too embarrassing.”
“That was me,” said Jenna, nodding in slow motion. She remembered that wedding, the ruined dress, and the mischievous boy. He was adorable, a tiny milk chocolate drop with a handheld camera, interviewing pretty women about their Oscar picks. He’d announced to her table, “James Cameron’s terrible. Wanna see the biopic I made about Busta Rhymes? All my friendth are in it!” She and Billie had giggled about him for weeks.
“Of course,” continued Darcy, “everyone knew my feelings about you, so they thought I ordered my kid to destroy your dress.”
“Wait, you know each other, outside of work?” It was dawning on Eric that his mother and Jenna had a history. “You’re friends?”
“Well…”
“Definitely not friends,” interrupted Darcy. “We came up in the industry together. Remember my fiancé, Marcus? Ever wonder why I kicked him out? Well, this sweet-faced jezebel ruined our happy home.”
“I had no idea they were together,” Jenna blurted out, the words running into each other. She was mortified to her core. Now he knew that she and his mother had slept with the same guy.
Eric side-eyed his mom, and then glanced at Jenna, who pasted on her maniacal fake smile.
“You two shared a dude. Like, in the Bad Boy era.” He massaged a temple. “I’m nauseous.”
“Oh, grow up.” Darcy raised a brow in Jenna’s direction. “My son can’t deal with the fact that I’m a multi-layered woman. By the way, this isn’t a nepotism thing. I gave Eric the summer to pursue his Scorcese shit and if he didn’t land something with a real salary, he had to got a real job. The only place that was hiring was here. I made this kid do eight test shoots.” She put her hands on her hips. “We all know there’s no stability in the arts right now. Tell him, Jenna. He needs to drop his moviemaking fantasies.”
“I don’t think,” started Jenna, unsteadily, “that I could discourage someone with talent from following their dreams.”
Eric’s mouth curved into a crooked half-smile. Jenna swallowed.
Was it possible that he was even cuter in the light of day? Standing there tall and cool in his just-rumpled-enough cargos and perfectly cut tee (perfectly cut arms, too) looking like he just returned from Iraq, but did a quick drive-by at Alexander Wang? Why did he have to have style, too?
“You wouldn’t discourage him?” Darcy chuckled with condescension. “Spoken like a childless woman.”
Jenna flinched.
“I have to run. People, I’m giving you carte blanche to make the series whatever you want. Just make it a winning idea. It better go viral. I need a rough cut of the first video by end of day Wednesday.”
With that, Darcy disappeared. And then Eric and Jenna were left to deal with each other, alone. Again.
Eric sat across the desk from her, tapping his fingers on the arms of the chair. Jenna stared at her hands, which were clasped so tightly that her fingers were turning white. She was unable to look at him.
“So,” he said, his voice breezy. “Miss me?”
“Listen,” she said, flipping her head up, her curls tumbling everywhere. She lowered her voice to a whispery hiss. “I want you to know that I barely remember anything. I was wasted. It’s a total blur.” Feeling like her face was on fire, Jenna put her hands on her cheeks. “Christ, I’m mortified.”
“If you don’t remember anything, why are you mortified?”
“This isn’t funny. This is terrible.”
“I’m not laughing. But I do need to know one thing.”
“What?”
“You still love me, or nah?” He grinned.
“Please don’t make this worse. What happened? No one can ever know. This job is too important to my career right now.” Jenna took a deep breath. “You’re the boss’ son. Darcy loves to hate me and she’d murder me over this. Plus, besides her, we’re the only two black people at Belladonna Media. This is your first job, so you don’t know, but in white office culture, we’re watched more closely than everyone else. Especially in fashion. We can’t slip.”
“You think this is my first experience being the only black guy in the room?”
“My point is, we cannot give anyone a reason to think we know each other outside of work. No one will ever take me seriously again. Especially after…”
“After what?
“Nothing.” Jenna shook her head, unable to believe this situation. “By the way, what kind of guy takes advantage of a drunk woman at a party?”
“First of all, I was drunker than you. I woke up with a hangover worse than Hangover 3. Secondly? You ordered me to kiss you. And then climbed on top of me…”
“Please,” she wailed. “Don’t say anything else.”
“You wanted to have your way with me and you did. You’re just as bad as me.”
“If you’d told me who your mother was, this could’ve been avoided.”
“Yeah. ‘Cause that’s normal, mentioning your mommy mid-kiss,” he said. “Besides, you know her pretty well, right?”
“Right.”
“If Darcy Vale was your mother, would you lead with that?”
“Fair enough.”
“I can’t believe you’re her…peer.”
“I can’t believe you’re her son.” She sat back in her chair, overwhelmed. “What must your childhood have been like? That woman as a mother?”
“My mom is…hmm, how do I describe her?” He chewed the inside of his mouth. “On the scale of shitty mothers, from Hamlet’s mom to Delora on ‘The Wire,’ I’d say she hovers right in the middle. For my sanity, I can’t engage. Especially here. The day I do, I might lose it and commit momicide.”
“She’d commit Jenna-cide if she knew about this.”
“Jenna-cide! Nice.”
“This is very bad. I don’t have a great history with her.”
“So I hear,” he said, making a face. “You and her were with the same dude, who I don’t remember because I had more ‘uncles’ than fucks to give. And then I made out with you, which means I basically kissed my mother. Yo, that shit is mad disturbing. I’m inconsolable.”
“You’re inconsolable?”
“Irreparably.” Then he settled down into his chair. He looked around her office, taking in her surroundings. He stopped at the vintage Nina Mae McKinney movie poster above her head. Then he looked back at Jenna. “I can get over it, though. Ma Cherie.�
��
He blinked innocently at Jenna, who was distracted by his obscenely long lashes. A shadow of a smile passed his face, and God help her, she noticed a tiny dimple under one of his cheekbones. Seriously? It was almost obnoxious. Eric knew exactly what he looked like—and even worse, the effect he was having on her. Jenna glanced away from him, pretending to pick lint off of her skirt.
How am I going to sit two feet from him? I can’t even look him in the face.
“Why are you getting so worked up?” he asked. “If this can’t be funny, we’re fucked.”
“You don’t understand. This is my career, my life!”
“I’m just saying,” started Eric, “you’re blowing this out of proportion. We made out at a party. It happens. You don’t even want to know what I did with a RAC in the bathroom of Lit Lounge.”
“RAC?”
“Random Asian Chick.”
“You did not just say that.”
Of course he did. Their makeout session was probably one of fifteen he’d had on Friday night. He barely remembered it—but secretly, it had been a sexually empowering moment for her. Jenna felt ridiculous. And old.
“I can’t do this,” she said.
“Look, neither one of us expected to see each other, today. I know it’s mad awkward, but so?” He shrugged. “It’ll never be boring.”
“You actually look excited. Are you enjoying this?”
“A little.”
“How do I know you’re mature enough to keep it a secret?”
“I have an emotional maturity that belies my age,” he said, totally deadpan.
Jenna just looked at him.
“I’m not a zygote, Jenna. Give me some credit.”
Trying to project assertiveness, she chucked up her chin and looked him directly in his eyes. Huge mistake. An instant sensory replay went through her mind—Eric biting her lip, sucking her neck—and her stomach flip-flopped.
She cleared her throat. “I…I should tell Darcy that we can’t do this together.”
