by Selena Kitt
I caught up with Kevin and Vivien at the Fifth Avenue flagship store in the mid afternoon. We were having a special in-store event there—a fashion show. A scaled-down version of our big extravaganza. There was going to be coverage by one of the local cable channels as well as by numerous bloggers. Gift cards and coupons were being offered to shoppers in attendance. Kevin, as always, was handling everything beautifully. Vivien, however, wore a resentful expression. She had actually e-mailed me that she wanted to go shopping while she was in Manhattan. I had to remind her this was a business trip, not a vacation.
The show went off without a hitch and customers loved it. Sales went through the roof another day in a row. Shortly afterward, Kevin strolled up to me. “Glorious, want to go out for dinner tonight?”
I twitched a regretful smile. “Can’t. I’m having dinner with Jaime Zander.”
“Oh,” chimed in nearby Vivien. “Business or pleasure?” The sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss.
“Strictly business.” Though my tone was nonchalant, Vivien eyed me suspiciously.
“Did you know Jaime Zander is one of Manhattan’s most eligible billionaires?” she asked.
I digested this new piece of information. While I’d never seen his name on the Forbes 400 List, I guess if he owned the Walden Hotel and could afford to spend two million dollars on Rihanna’s leather undergarments, he must mega-rich. Though ZAP! was quite a successful ad agency, it didn’t seem enough to make Jaime so wealthy. I wondered—how did he make his fortune? Maybe at dinner, I’d find out.
I checked my watch; it was almost six. “I’m going to split. I need to get ready for my dinner.”
The thought of having dinner with Jaime Zander made my whole body quiver with anticipation and apprehension. I was anxious about seeing him. Would I be able to keep my emotions—and hormones—in check and keep things purely professional? What concerned me as much was that I was looking forward to seeing him.
The twinkle in Kevin’s hazel eyes clued me in that he knew there was something going on between Jaime and me. After all these years together through thick and thin, he could read me like a book. Vivien’s eyes, however, were shooting daggers my way.
“Where are you going for dinner?” she asked, her tone snarky.
“Raoul’s.” I immediately regretted that I told her.
* * * *
Back at the hotel, I showered and rewashed my hair. I remembered that Jaime had asked me to wear it long and loose. I debated whether to give in to him, but ultimately decided in his favor. It took me almost an hour to blow dry my waist-length locks. There was a reason why I wore it in an easy braid, but I had to admit it looked gorgeous loose, cascading down my back and over my shoulders like a whimsical cape. My mane of hair was my treasured asset. After my wicked, narcissist mother chopped it off with a meat scissors in a drugged-out fit of rage, I vowed never to cut it short again. My long hair, in some way, was my security blanket. And it covered my scar.
After the blow dry, I did my makeup, keeping it light and simple. I studied my heart-shaped face in the bathroom mirror and was pleased. I looked soft but sexy.
I put on some light jazz and went through my ritual of matching my outfit to my undergarments. The dress I chose was a flowy powder blue chiffon V-neck Valentino that accented my narrow waist and my full breasts without giving too much away. Beneath it, I wore delicate lacy blue lingerie from our popular “Hot Nights” collection—an underwire bra, v-string panty, and matching garter that held up my sheer silk hose. While slithering the stockings up my legs, I’d once again thought about my beloved mentor, Madame Paulette. Sadness swept over me. I was relieved that I had told her my secret. The one that had haunted me my entire adult life. Yet, I still bore the weight of my misdoing on my heart. And the nightmares had never stopped.
Forcing negative thoughts to the back of my head, I stepped into a pair of strappy, silver stilettos that went well with the demure dress. Grabbing a soft blue pashmina shawl and a clutch, I headed toward the elevator. I was purposely fifteen minutes early. I wanted to be at the entrance to the hotel before Mr. Zander. And have the time to rehearse what I was going to say to him about mixing business with pleasure. Okay. Sex. The very thought of his cock sent a rush of wetness to my panties. Stop it, Gloria. Get a grip! You can’t let this man do this to you!
As I stood anxiously at the hotel’s entrance, Vivien came flying in with a bunch of shopping bags in her hand. All of them were from high-end Madison Avenue designer boutiques. A little shocked to see me, she gave me the once-over.
“Enjoy your business dinner,” she smirked with an emphasis on the word “business.”
I tweaked my lips to smile. “I’ll see you down here at 8:30 tomorrow morning. We’ve got a full day of agency meetings.”
Without another word, she skirted past me. Vivien was just too damn impetuous for her own good. Lucky for her, Daddy was Gloria’s Secret largest shareholder and Chairman of the Board and protected her surgically enhanced ass. If I could, I would fire the entitled little bitch in a New York minute.
A warm, firm pair of hands on my bare shoulders stopped me in my thoughts. And then through parted hair, I felt soft warm lips nuzzle the nape of my neck. Tingles raced down my spine. I jerked and spun around. Jaime!
I swear my eyes were drooling. Tonight, he was Mr. Preppy—clad in a crisp blue and white striped collarless shirt that was unbuttoned enough to flaunt his taut chest. The shirttail hung loose over tight but not too tight perfectly pressed jeans. Navy suede loafers covered his sockless feet, and a rich cashmere sweater, almost the same blue as my shawl, wrapped around his broad shoulders. Bottom line…he looked fucking sexy. And smelled intoxicating.
I sucked in a breath. “Your car or mine.”
“Mine.” He studied me. “My sex goddess, you look like an angel. Blue is definitely your color, and you should always wear your hair that way.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying to hold it together while he called his driver. Why did he have to say the word “sex”? Though I had mastered my “all good things must come to an end speech,” my hormones were already raging. I bit down on my lip.
His car pulled around outside, and as his driver held open the rear passenger door, he slid in after me. I moved away from him. A bemused smile flitted onto his face. “So, Gloria. Are you playing a game tonight? Hard to get?”
I wrinkled my nose. He chuckled. “That nose thing is one of the things I love about you.”
I cringed. Why did he say the L-word? He wasn’t making it easy for me to stay in control.
He told his driver Orson to take us to Raoul’s on Spring Street.
“Have you ever eaten there?” he asked.
I’d heard of the restaurant, one of the city’s original French bistros, but had never eaten there. I shook my head.
“The food is delicious. And the atmosphere’s great. There’s even a fortuneteller who holds court in the loft. Maybe you can ask her about our future.”
I cringed. I knew the answer to that already. There was none.
* * * *
The restaurant was located not far from Jaime’s office. The jam-packed front room resembled a classic Bohemian French bistro, with leather banquet tables and funky paintings, including nudes, hung all over the walls. The attractive brunette hostess, welcomed Jaime with a warm embrace; he was obviously a regular. Flirtatiously looking back at him from time to time, she led us through the crowded, noisy restaurant and then through the busy kitchen to a back room. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had fucked her and all the other beautiful women who stopped him along the way.
Unlike the frenetic front room, the back room was low-key and romantic, filled with candlelit tables draped with fine white linens. A glass ceiling added to the atmosphere. We were escorted to a table for two, closest to the blazing fireplace. I could feel the warmth of the fire against my back.
A heavy-set, jovial waiter came to our table. “Good evening, Mr. Zander. What will it be tonight
?” As Jaime pondered the menu, the waiter looked me over and smiled. I wondered—was this where Jaime brought all his fucks? And how many had sat in this chair before me? I mentally kicked myself. Why should I care? This wasn’t even a date; it was a business dinner. And I was about to set the womanizer straight.
Jaime gazed up at me. The flickering candlelight and blaze in the hearth bathed his face in a soft glow, making him even more breathtakingly gorgeous than he already was. Despite myself, tingling desire was spiraling inside me. Damn it! Stay in control, Gloria, I silently chided.
“Gloria, I hope you don’t mind if I order for the two of us. The steak tartare is divine and so is the artichoke. And we’ll share a bottle of Bordeaux. We’ll have the Latour 2009 Controllé right away,” he told the waiter. The waiter smiled and sauntered off with our order.
The wine came quickly. The waiter poured a little into Jaime’s glass. Jaime sampled it and then nodded with approval. The waiter continued to pour wine for both of us. After he parted, Jaime clinked his goblet against mine.
“To winning,” he said with a seductive smile.
I twitched a smile back at him, wondering if he was referring to our swimming competition, the Gloria’s Secret account, or me. Or all of the above.
After a few sips, Jaime eased into conversation. His voice was deep and sultry, and his long-lashed eyes held me captive.
“So, Gloria, tell me something about yourself that I haven’t already read on the Internet.”
“What exactly do you know about me?” I countered.
“Not much…Self-made business woman extraordinaire. Built Gloria’s Secret into a billion-dollar company from the ground up.”
This was true. After Kevin and I touched down in LA, we stayed at a rundown Hollywood motel until we found a charming two-bedroom apartment to share in Beachwood Canyon. We were able to secure it with a first and last month deposit from the money we had stolen from Boris. Kevin quickly found work as the manager of a hot Hollywood night club, frequented by celebrities, and I, once recovered from my gunshot wound, used the money to rent some studio space downtown and to purchase bolts of lace and silk as well as a dozen used sewing machines and necessary supplies. Once settled in, I hired a handful of talented, eager to work laborers to stitch up my lingerie designs. I shortly found a small, affordable storefront on Hollywood Boulevard to sell my wares. Gorgeous French-inspired lingerie at a reasonable price.
With the help of Kevin, who sent the “beautiful people” who frequented his club to my no-name boutique, my business boomed. Women and men alike fell in love with the innovative, sexy, and reasonably priced undergarments; it became the word-of-mouth, in-the-know place to shop for lingerie…leading me to call my boutique, Gloria’s Secret. With my success, I was able to secure a small business loan and six months later, I opened the flagship store, Gloria’s Secret, in the Beverly Center, a popular LA mall. The store was an overnight success; a catalogue followed along with a robust website. Kevin quit his job to become my partner and head of Public Relations and Marketing. One year later, enter billionaire businessman Victor Holden, who smelled a winner, invested millions, and took the company public. The rest is history. One store grew to thousands worldwide and a billionaire dollar a year business.
I took another sip of my wine. Meeting Jaime’s gaze, I didn’t go into details. “What you see is what you get.”
“So far, I like what I’ve seen.” He paused. “And I like what I’ve gotten.”
The double entendres weren’t lost on me. I shifted in my seat and crossed my legs under the table to quell the twitching sensation between them.
“But what’s that scar on your chest?”
My breath caught in my throat. I almost spit up the wine. He had noticed the scar. The reminder of everything I wanted to forget.
“None of your business,” I snapped at him.
“Ah, so Gloria has a secret.”
Damn him! He was unnerving me. There was no way I was going to open up to this man about my past. That one regrettable moment in time. I didn’t want to go there. It was bad enough to live it every waking hour and in my dreams. I quickly changed the subject, focusing on him.
“So, Mr. Zander, tell me, how did you get into advertising?”
“I had a talent. An artistic one. Rather than going to college, I came East and set up meetings with one ad agency after another to show them my portfolio.”
I was intrigued. “And then what happened?”
“I got hired by one of the major Madison Avenue agencies—which I’m sure you’ve met with—to be an art director. While I was touted as a wunderkind, the corporate world was not for me. Too many rules; too much bullshit. I stuck it out for five years, then finally called it quits. A few key clients left with me. Long story short…they rounded up some investor money, and I started ZAP! Zander And People.”
He was self-made like me. I was awed, but didn’t show it. “So, how did you become a billionaire?”
“Ah, so you fooled me. You’ve done your research too. I’m impressed.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that Vivien leaked this tidbit to me though it was fairly obvious.
He sipped his wine. “I inherited several million dollars from my mother, and during the recession a few years ago, I made some lucky investments.”
“So you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”
“Hardly.” Jaime’s tone darkened. “My mother married someone very wealthy when I was thirteen.”
“It must have been fun being a rich kid.”
“Money comes with benefits. It also comes with baggage.”
“Oh, is that your tagline for your poor little rich boy poster?”
Jaime’s eyes flared, making me immediately regret what I’d just said. His somber expression suggested that his childhood memories, like mine, might not be happy ones. Perhaps, he was harboring some dark secret too. I flashed back to the faint white marks on his back. Scars? Before I could say a word, the steak tartare and artichoke arrived. Jaime’s face brightened. The attentive waiter refilled our wine goblets and then scurried off.
I imbibed more wine. The smooth, rich liquid poured down my throat and coursed through my bloodstream. I was loosening up. Slow down, Gloria. You don’t want to get drunk.
Jaime cut off the voice of my inner conscious. “Spread your lips, ” I heard him say.
I found myself spreading my legs.
Jaime let out a sexy little laugh. “I was referring to your mouth. I want to give you your first taste of the steak tartare.”
I felt flushed with embarrassment. He was affecting me again. The area between my inner thighs was getting hot and wet. This was not supposed to be happening. I was losing control!
“Excuse me, I have to use the restroom,” I said, leaping to my feet. I needed to get away from him. Compose myself. Focus on business.
“It’s in the front of the restaurant, up the stairs,” he said, eyeing my body. “I’ll be here waiting for you.”
I felt his eyes on me the entire time as I made my way to the packed front room and up a rickety spiral staircase. There was a long waiting line to the ladies’ room.
A portly, dark-haired woman who resembled a gypsy was stationed at a table outside it. “Let me tell you your fortune, my dear,” she called out to me.
Usually, I never did these kinds of things, thinking they were shams, but tonight my unease tempted me, and I really didn’t want to wait in line.
I lowered myself into the worn velvet chair facing her.
“You are very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said as she studied my face.
“Your eyes, one brown, one blue, tell me a lot about you. You are two very different people who share the same face. A woman of contradictions. One side of you is light and seductive, the other dark and secretive.”
I inwardly gasped. How did she know?
“Let me see your palm.” She grasped my right hand and flipped it so that my palm was in full
view.
Her eyes grew wide.
“What is it?” My voice was shaky
“You are losing control of your life. There is a man.”
Christ! Jaime Zander was written all over my hand.
She shook her head and bit down her lip. Her gaze slowly met mine. “I usually tell people good things they want to hear, but I must tell you the truth.”
My heart hammered.
“You are in grave danger. Someone is out to get you.”
I shuddered. Boris Borofosky! I’d heard enough. I jumped up from the chair and hurried to the restroom. Thankfully, it was now free.
With my dress raised to my thighs and my panties and garter lowered to my knees, I sat on the toilet longer than I needed. I was shaking. Was Boris on my trail? Was he seeking revenge? Was my life in danger? Wait! That wasn’t possible. I knew from Madame Paulette that he didn’t even know my name. So, he couldn’t possibly know where I lived or what I did. Or where I was this very minute. I took a deep calming breath. Besides, that woman was probably a charlatan though she did seem to know the effect Jaime Zander was having on me. Yes, he was making me lose control, but by hell or high water, I was going to put an end to that tonight. Yet, at the very thought of him, the pulsing between my thighs intensified, and I could feel myself heating. I dragged my hand over my cleft. The folds were even hotter and wetter than I imagined. My fingertips could actually feel the throbbing. For a minute, I thought about masturbating, to put myself out of my glorious misery. Instead, I peed and washed up. My hormones were back to raging. Damn that man!
Jaime’s eyes contemplated me as I headed back to the table.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he rose to his feet and pulled out my chair.
“Yes.” In truth, I was all hot and bothered.
“Good.” Returning to his seat, he refilled our wine glasses. There was a roguish glint in his eyes.
“So let’s pick up where we left off.” He scooped up a forkful of the steak tartare. “Now, part your lips, Gloria.”
Again, the sexy command. This time I did as he asked. My lips spread apart.
