Cockloft

by K. C. Lynn

  I shove the thought aside before I’m reminded of the one man I hate most in this world.

  We were able to contain the fire quickly. Other than the second floor where it originated, the damage was minimal throughout the rest of the building. How it started has yet to be determined.

  Slamming my locker shut, I sling my bag over my shoulder, ready to go home and crash for the day. I pass through the kitchen where the dayshift crew is starting to gather for breakfast.

  “Hey, Martinez, heard you had quite the night,” Russell Bryant says, his mouth curved in a knowing smirk.

  I’ll just bet he did. No doubt by Banks. That fucker hasn’t shut up about Blondie’s dog or her exquisite ass.

  “Do you think they have a medal for purse and puppy rescue?” His laughter, along with the rest of the crews’, echoes through the whole station.

  Flipping him the finger, I push through the back door, but not before I hear his parting shot.

  “Aw, come on. At least the hot blonde had a nice ass. Or so I hear.”

  She sure did and it’s an ass that will no doubt haunt me for days to come.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CeCe

  A warm breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders and whips it around my face as I drive my pink Volkswagen Beetle convertible with the top down, Katy Perry blasting from the speakers. Pepper sits next to me in the passenger seat, enjoying the sunshine and looking all sorts of handsome in his new bow tie.

  It’s a beautiful morning, especially after finding out that I’ll finally be able to leave the hotel I’ve been staying in for the past week and move back home. Not that I’ve minded the hotel all that much. Room service comes in handy for a girl who can’t cook. But I’m ready to be back in my own bed and be reunited with all of my things, full wardrobe included.

  My easy smile vanishes when I pull into the parking lot and find it filled with fire trucks and police cars. For one agonizing second I fear something has happened to my boutique, until I realize the flurry of activity is at the end of the strip mall where Mr. and Mrs. Nelson’s flower shop is.

  Parking in my usual spot, I grab Pep, shove him into my purse, then run as fast as my gold Prada heels will allow. I head straight for Mrs. Nelson who stands alone while Mr. Nelson speaks with a police officer.

  “Mrs. Nelson, are you guys all right?”

  “Yes, dear, we’re fine. Just had a little scare. We thought there was a gas leak but turns out it was a false alarm.”

  My heart plummets at the thought of what a gas leak could have done to this entire shopping center. Losing my boutique would kill me. It’s my whole life.

  “Well, I’m glad everything is okay.”

  “Me too,” she says, placing her worn hand on my arm. “It was sweet of you to come check on us.”

  “Of course. I was worried when I saw all the fire trucks. Especially after…” My words trail off when a couple of firefighters walk out of the flower shop, one of them being a man I had hoped to never see again. The man who has invaded my thoughts often this past week, more than I care to admit.

  This is not happening.

  He spots me immediately, both surprise and amusement flashing in those dark chocolate eyes of his.

  I hate dark chocolate. Always have. Always will.

  “Well, if it isn’t Blondie and her little dog, too,” he greets, a cocky smirk forming on his lips.

  I also hate smirks, especially the sexy kind. I want to kiss—no, slap it off his rude face.

  His eyes sweep down my body as he strides toward me, taking in my outfit of white skinny jeans and mint green halter-top. My stomach does a little flip and I suddenly feel exposed, even though there is nothing revealing about my outfit. Although, the low-cut shirt does give me great cleavage.

  “Stalking me?” he asks, snapping me from the thought.

  “Hardly, Fireboy,” I return snidely. “For your information, I own the boutique at the other end of this mall.” The words are delivered with pride.

  His head turns to the side, checking out my store, and I can’t help but notice what a remarkable jaw he has. Strong and cut. The sharp angle is so perfect I get the urge to bite it.

  Bite it? What am I, a vampire?

  Oh god, this asshole is making me have weird fetishes now.

  Get a grip, CeCe!

  “Kensington Palace,” he muses, rubbing that bite-worthy jaw of his. “How…appropriate.”

  I don’t miss the underlying tone in his deep voice. “Why do you say that?”

  “A palace for a princess.”

  I flinch, the words hitting me like a slap in the face. If he only knew how close to the truth he was. Except, he spews the word princess as if it’s a dirty thing. Whereas my father always said it with nothing less than pure adoration.

  I shove aside the memory before it can pull me under and lift my chin. “You don’t know me.”

  “True, but I know your type. All you rich, pretentious chicks are the same.”

  “Pretentious?” I repeat, my blood heating.

  “Yeah pretentious. Materialistic,” he adds. “Take your pick. After all, I did find you in the middle of a fire trying to save your designer purse.”

  My teeth grind so hard my jaw begins to ache. “I told you that it means something to me. Or did your pea-sized brain forget that?”

  He steps into my personal space, his mouthwatering scent invading my senses. I straighten my shoulders, refusing to cower, but the moment he dips his mouth close to my ear, all of my confidence vanishes.

  “Trust me, Bella. I haven’t forgotten a single thing from that night. Especially the black satin that barely covered your fine ass.”

  Heat explodes through my entire body, creating a wildfire.

  Quick, think of something witty.

  I can’t. My mind has completely short-circuited. The only thing I can focus on is how good he smells and the way his warm breath feels against my ear.

  I’m pulled out of my stupor when he steps away and flashes me yet another smug smirk followed by an infuriating wink. Then he walks past me, heading for his waiting fire truck.

  “It’s CeCe, asshole. Not Bella!” I correct him.

  My outburst only seems to amuse him further. He gives me a wave as the fire truck pulls away, leaving me to stand alone like an idiot.

  Oh the nerve of that jerk.

  I stomp across the pavement, the clicking of my heels matching the furious rhythm of my heartbeat.

  Pretentious. Materialistic. How dare he judge me after only one encounter.

  I come to a stop just in front of my boutique, my anger slowly fading at the sight of the purple crown on the glass window with the capital K woven into it.

  Kensington Palace.

  You will always be my princess and this home is forever your palace.

  Emotion burns in my throat as my father’s voice fills my mind and heart. There isn’t anyone or anything that will ever taint those words for me. Especially not some stupid judgmental firefighter.

  Unlocking the door, I walk in, turn off the alarm, then flick on the lights, unveiling…magic.

  Racks upon racks of spring colors fill the space. Everything from designer dresses, to shoes, handbags, and even jewelry.

  This is my happy place.

  From the time I was a little girl I’ve had an obsession with fashion. Dressing up my Barbies, playing in my mother’s clothes. Now I get to help others look fabulous.

  I walk into the backroom, scoop Pep out of my purse and drop a kiss on his head before putting him down next to his food and water bowl. After filling them both, I move to the front counter and take care of last night’s closeout that was done by Jill. An employee I hired a few months ago whom I adore. She’s a couple years younger than me but fashion is a passion we both share, and I can see her being here for a long time.

  After tallying up all of the receipts, I’m delighted to see we had a very successful night. Once that’s all squared away, I pick up the phone and call my mo
m. She’s been gone for almost a month on a cruise with her sisters and I miss her dearly. Ever since my father died, she travels often. I think it’s her way of coping.

  As each ring passes, I become less hopeful of speaking with her and eventually get her answering machine. “You’ve reached Elizabeth, I’m away soaking up the rays in the Caribbean, leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Caio!”

  I wait for the beep. “Hey, Mom, it’s me. Just checking in. I guess you’re already out for the day. Hope you, Aunt Viola, and Aunt Sadie are having a good time. I…I miss you,” I confess, my voice softening. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Talk to you soon.”

  Hanging up, I decide to call my best friend whom I also miss terribly. Emily and I have been friends since birth. She’s the closest thing I have to a sibling and her friendship is one I cherish. I hated it when she moved away but I’m also happy for her because she got a second chance with the boy she fell madly in love with when we were in high school.

  The bad boy whom I deemed a killer and beat with my purse. Turns out he was far from it and even became an FBI agent. A growly one at that.

  Speaking of her husband…

  “Jameson residence,” Ryder answers, clearly not looking at the number.

  This is going to be fun.

  “Good morning,” I greet with a slight disguise to my voice. “This is Violet from Whoreilicious. I’m calling for our employee of the month, Emily Jameson. Is she around by chance?”

  There’s a long pause.

  I cover the receiver with my hand and snicker, imagining the look on his face.

  “Hardy fucking har, Kensington,” he grumbles, not the least bit amused.

  “Aw shucks, how did you know it was me?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  His dry tone has me busting into laughter.

  “Do you lie awake at night thinking of ways to annoy the hell out of me?” he asks.

  “Not really. It just comes naturally. It’s a talent.”

  He grunts.

  “You need to lighten up, Jameson. All that growliness isn’t healthy for you,” I tell him. “You know what you need?”

  “To fuck my wife but you’re too busy cockblocking me.”

  Well that explains the extra pissiness this morning. I deliver myself a pat on the back for my impeccable timing.

  “Nope. You need the newest Louis man purse.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Trust me, you do. I’ll tell ya what. When I get my men’s line in here I’m gonna have a purse line named after you. You can even be the model. We’ll call it the Secret Agent line,” I say, knowing how much it pisses him off when I call him that. “What do ya say?”

  “Over my dead fucking body, that’s what I say.”

  Once again, I’m unable to contain my laughter.

  “Are you calling for a reason or just to annoy me?”

  “Both. But I’m done the with latter so let me talk to your wife now.”

  He hands the phone off to Emily who is also laughing.

  “Would this happen to be my best friend in the whole world who loves to get a rise out of my husband?”

  “The one and only,” I announce proudly. “How are you and my sweet goddaughter?”

  Rosa is the most precious little girl in the world and I’m honored to not only be her aunt but also godmother. Just last month I had the honor of buying her, her very first designer purse. A Michael Kors wristlet. She loves it and carries it everywhere with her. Emily is constantly sending me pictures. Ryder was ecstatic about the gift.

  Not!

  “We are both doing wonderful, thank you for asking. How about you? How’s the apartment coming along?”

  “Good. I get to move back in this Thursday.”

  “That’s great. I bet you’re excited about that.”

  “You know it. I need my bed.”

  “And let’s not forget your shoe and purse collection,” she teases, making light of something that never would have rattled me before but does now.

  “Yeah, I miss those, too.” I chuckle, trying to play along, but the laugh I toss out is as fake as my acrylic nails.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, all amusement from her voice gone.

  She knows me better than anyone.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “You promise to be honest with me? Even if it hurts my feelings?”

  “Always. You know that.”

  I do, which is why she’s the only one I’d ask.

  “Am I…” I pause, unsure of how to say it without sounding ridiculous. “Am I a good person?”

  “Of course you are. How can you even ask me that?”

  “Think about the question, Em. I mean really think about it.”

  “I don’t need to think about it. I already know the answer,” she says, getting a little heated. “What’s going on, CeCe? Where is all this coming from?”

  Sighing, I tell her about my encounter with Fireboy and don’t leave anything out. Well some stuff, like the part where he’s hot and I want to bite his jaw. But I fill her in on everything else, right down to him calling me pretentious and materialistic.

  “What a jerk!”

  “Yeah, but…is he right? I mean, I do love all the stuff he’s accusing me of.”

  “So what? Everyone likes nice things, CeCe. That doesn’t make them bad people.”

  “You don’t care about stuff like that,” I remind her, thinking just how un-materialistic my friend is, despite the home she grew up in.

  “Sure I do, mine just differs from yours. We grew up with the finer things in life. The difference between us is it’s all you know. That does not make you a bad person. This jerk’s judgment speaks volumes about him as a person. Not you,” she adds vehemently.

  “The thing is, Em. The purse I was digging for when he found me was from my dad,” I confess softly. “It’s the last thing he gave to me and it’s engraved. I couldn’t leave it behind. It would have killed me if anything happened to it.”

  “Oh, CeCe,” she croaks, her voice thick with guilt, something that’s always there when we speak about my father.

  There’s a strong connection between Emily and my father’s death. He died by exposing a sex trafficking operation her father and many other prominent men in our social circle had been involved in. It was a huge shock to our community, but no matter how much I miss my father, I’ll always be grateful to him for saving Emily’s life.

  “I understand. It’s a precious possession, and I would have done the same thing,” she continues. “If this guy can’t see the heart you possess then that’s on him, not you.”

  “You’re right,” I say, shaking myself of my pity party. “I don’t know why I even let him get to me.”

  “Never let anyone make you feel less than. You’re one of the best people I know.”

  “Thanks, Em,” I whisper, her words meaning more to me than she could ever know.

  “You’re welcome. Now with that out of the way, let’s talk about this men’s line you plan to launch,” she says, her excitement mirroring my own. “Where are you with that?”

  “I have an appointment at the bank soon with Graham Davis for the loan.”

  “That’s so exciting.”

  “I know. Let’s hope he likes the proposal I put together.”

  I could easily borrow the money from my mother but it’s the last thing I want to do. I started this boutique on my own and I want to continue that way.

  “He will. Not only is your boutique a success but Graham and your father also go way back. There’s no way he will turn you down.”

  It’s one of the reasons I asked to meet with him. Since my father’s death, I’ve stepped back from the social circle I was raised in but Graham and my father were close. He’s a good man. Someone my father trusted.

  The beep on my door signals someone’s arrival. “Em, I have a customer, can I call you back?”

&
nbsp; “Of course.”

  “Thanks. Talk soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Hanging up, I walk around the counter to welcome the person and find Jill. “Hey,” I greet her in surprise. “Why are you here on your day off?”

  “I came by to grab this,” she says, snagging a thin black Donna Karan sweater off the table. “I meant to buy it last night before I left but completely forgot. It’s going to be part of my birthday outfit.”

  “It’s your birthday?” I ask, feeling guilty for not knowing.

  “This Saturday. My older brother and I share the same birthday but two years apart. Crazy, right?”

  “Very,” I agree.

  “We’re having a party at the lodge my uncle owns just outside of town.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It’s going to be a blast, you should come.”

  The invite practically makes me cringe. “Thanks for asking but I have lots to do this weekend,” I lie.

  “Like what? Because the party is Saturday night and if I’m not mistaken Monica is working the Sunday shift.”

  “Well, she is but I have loads of paperwork and…other things to do.”

  She doesn’t buy it and I don’t blame her. I’m a terrible liar.

  “Come on, CeCe. You never come out when I ask.”

  That’s because I always think she invites me out of pity. It’s no secret my life revolves around the boutique. Emily is pretty much my only friend and now that she’s gone I bury myself in work. It makes it less lonely.

  “My uncle is offering up free rooms to everyone who comes,” she continues. “It’s going to be a blast and I’d really love it if you’d join us. Please?”

  It’s the hopeful “please” that does me in. “Oh, all right.”

  “Yes!” she cheers.

  “On one condition,” I add.

  “What’s that?”

  “You let me give you this sweater and”—I reach over, taking a necklace off the rack that she’s had her eye on—“this as your birthday gift.”

  She smiles. “I love it. Thank you.”