Couture Love

by Fields, MJ

  “No.”

  “No?” I ask, reaching underneath my tux jacket and pulling her firmly against me.

  “No.” She places her hand against my abs but doesn’t push me away. Instead, she digs her nails into my shirt.

  “What can I do to change your mind?” I start to sink down to my knees.

  Laughing, she pulls me up.

  “Not right here?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Fair enough. I’m here through at very least Monday night. That gives us two days.”

  “I love my career,” she says, looking between my eyes.

  “I love that you love your career.”

  “I’m not looking for something serious.”

  “I’m all for fun, as long as it’s had with you and me, and no one else.” I bow my head, lips less than an inch from hers.

  “No one else,” she whispers, and then I kiss her.

  Twenty-One

  Autumn

  Two Months Later…

  Eric is a dream … and a nightmare to have as a lover. He’s the most sexually aggressive lover I have ever had, which is exactly what I desire after years of being on top of a lazy lover. He’s attentive, affectionate, communicative, hardworking, and loyal.

  His fine ass is now all over the world wide web and in print. The funniest part is that he hates it. The sweetest is that he does it because his father nearly devastated the entire family, including his five siblings, which is all he truly cares about. He has an inherent need to make sure they are taken care of.

  His sister, Shelby, well, she may as well be his. When he’s not in school, at a board meeting, or with me, hiding out for a long weekend, he’s with her.

  Hiding out, he hates it, but there is still a part of me that thinks it’s wrong, the logical side of me, not in my heart. My heart has never felt so warm and whole, not ever.

  He was hell-bent on coming to New York for the normal four-day weekend, spending it all with me, saying that’s all he wanted for his birthday. I told him I was flying to Paris to work on the fall line release, which was late, due to Bass firing all the designers and picking his own.

  The nightmare part comes in here. He was upset, but I promised to make it up to be. He laughed darkly and said, “You bet your ass you will.”

  It hurts to disappoint him at all, because he expects so little.

  I’m so pleased with myself as I pay the Uber driver and climb out in front of his condo, balloons and bottles of Dom in hand, after a flight to North Carolina to surprise him for his birthday.

  It’s meticulously landscaped and screams collegiate money, a stark comparison to the Hamptons couture-ish kind of money and New York City’s old money. And it’s humid. If I don’t get in quickly, my hair will go poof.

  I open his contact information, where he included the code to his place, and yes, I’ve given him one to mine. It made sense. He sometimes comes in when I’m stuck at work.

  I type it into the keypad then hear the door unlock. I turn the knob slowly and walk in, hearing the song “22” by Taylor Swift playing and almost walk out. But this is Eric, not the ex, and it’s not Taylor’s fault that her music mimicks my life.

  Setting my bag and the Dom on the entry table, I begin to walk toward the sound of the music and giggle as I—

  “This is so fucked up. What the fuck kind of good can come out of this position?”

  I hear a giggle. “I don’t know, but I’m adding it to my list.”

  “You’re a nasty girl. Does your daddy know that?”

  “My daddy knows I’m a good girl, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it, hot stuff.”

  “Then get up on it and let’s get this done, or I swear to all that’s unholy I’m going to …” He pauses. “Fuck, girl.”

  My face is on fire, my stomach in a knot that not even a boy scout could figure out, as logic screams, What the hell was I thinking! He’s a kid, in college. He’s … everything you should never have believed you could have.

  I grab my bag, let go of the balloons, and turn quickly, hoping to catch the cab, even though I know it’s long gone.

  When I hear the shattering of glass, feel liquid, and then sharp shards of glass against my skin, I don’t even give a damn about the pain; I just open the door and run.

  “What the hell was that?” are the last words I hear from his female companion as I look for the quickest place to hide.

  What’s similar about the New York City and Durham, there is a coffee shop on every corner, which is where I find my escape from being seen.

  Sitting in the corner with my back to the door, drinking a large black coffee, I scroll through the flight times, hoping to get back to the city as soon as possible, when my phone rings.

  It’s him.

  I have no desire to talk to him yet ignoring him would be admitting I was the crazy in his house just minutes ago, who left balloons and a broken bottle of Dom in his foyer.

  I clear my throat and answer the phone as normally as I can, “This is Autumn.”

  “Hey, babe.” His breath is labored. I want to cry. “Weirdest thing just happened.”

  “Weird or nasty?” I can’t help myself.

  “Someone came in my locked house, left some balloons and a broken bottle of Dom.”

  I cover my face and silently scream fuck before saying, “Oh yeah?”

  “You know anything about it?”

  “Um, let me think. Do I know anyone all the way in North Carolina who would vandalize your home with balloons and Dom? No, of course I don’t.”

  “You sure about that?” He’s huffing now, sounds like he’s running a marathon or fucking Daddy’s girl.

  “I have to go. Angela needs me.” I hang up on him and fist my hair in my hands.

  When I hear his voice behind me saying, “The truth, babe,” I spin around and look at him then gasp when I see he’s in fucking underwear and behind him is a beautiful blonde holding the two number two silver balloons in one hand and a camera in the other.

  I hear whistling, awkward giggles, and then the barista saying, “Your usual, Cartwright?”

  “Yeah, and another one of what my girl is drinking … to go.” He turns and looks at the girl. “You want anything?”

  “I want a picture of you at the counter paying for your coffee while holding these balloons.” She thrusts them at him.

  “Really, Kylie? Right now?”

  “Tomorrow’s your birthday, so this is perfect.” She laughs then looks at me, holding out her hand as if I’m going to shake it. “Hey, I’m Kylie. You must be Autumn.”

  I look away from her and glare at him. “Even pissed, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

  He reaches out his hand. “Trust me, babe?”

  “Don’t,” I hiss.

  “Okay, have it your way, but if I get hard and that hits the internet, I’m not going to be able to keep up with the messages.”

  “Pig.” I scowl.

  When he pulls my chair several feet away from the table, I close my eyes. “Don’t.”

  When he picks me up and slings me over his shoulder, I sink my freshly manicured nails into his sides.

  He laughs huskily.

  “Fourteen eighty-three,” the barista says.

  “Kylie, you wanna spot me? I left my wallet in my pants.”

  As the coffee shop erupts in laughter, I bury my face in his back while forcing myself not to bite him.

  After Kylie pays, she hands me my coffee.

  “Thank you.”

  Yep, I said thank you … to her. What the hell is wrong with me!

  Then she hands him the balloons. “Hold these.”

  He does.

  “Now look back at me.”

  “Put. Me. Down.”

  Kylie laughs. “Don’t worry; you’ll get paid when this goes boom.”

  “Hurry up, Kylie; she’s a feisty one, and we are really pushing her limits with this.”

  “We’re good,” she says, and he turns around. “Oh my
God, she’s wearing—”

  I don’t know why she stops, but she does. And as much as I don’t like her, I could kiss her for not pointing out that I am, in fact, wearing his undies.

  “Stop there, hold up your cup, and smile.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I say as he laughs. Then I wiggle out of his arms and try to step back.

  He pulls me against him and kisses the top of my head. “I can’t believe you came.”

  “I see that.” I try to pull back again, and again, he holds me tighter.

  “Kylie is Phillip’s daughter and the photographer. I told you I had to do a monthly video for social media—part of the contract. Haven’t done one yet, and it’s been almost two months. It had to be done.”

  “In your house?”

  “Well, I prefer that over here at Pick Me Ups.”

  I bang my head against his chest, trying to break whatever stupid spell men cast over me to make me believe their bullshit and lies.

  He lifts my chin. “You’re gonna have to walk backward.”

  “I’m so pissed at you right now.”

  “Which makes this so fucked up.” He smiles. “I should piss you off more often.”

  “You hurt me.”

  He looks stricken then squints his eyes shut. “Never my intention.” He opens them. “Not ever, babe. But”—he begins walking us toward the entry—“I didn’t do anything that would hurt you. And what sucks, babe, is that you seem to want a reason not to be happy. You throw walls up that don’t need to be there.”

  Once outside, I turn around. “I think I should go.”

  “Like hell you are.” He chuckles.

  Once back at his place, he opens the door. “Careful of the glass, ladies.” He easily steps over the mess and takes off down the hall, leaving me with … her.

  “I just want to make sure you know there is nothing going on between him and me.”

  I turn my head and look up at the tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, athletic, beautiful girl with all the allure and ease of the girl next-door, who doesn’t show any signs of the insecurity one carries when their heart has been shattered. The kind of girl you’d wish your son to marry someday.

  My polar opposite.

  “I believe it,” I tell her, and I do. I believe that Eric Cartwright is all the things he says he is and so much more.

  “Good. I wouldn’t want this thing he’s got going on with my family to fall apart. We adore him and hope the success continues. It’s a hard industry to compete in, but when I saw him, I knew he was something different than those we attempted to bring on. Something real. Someone who doesn’t just care about himself but others.”

  “Well, I hope you continue treating him the way he deserves to be treated. He’s a good man.”

  Eric bounds in with Duke University sweats on and a white tee-shirt. “Let me just get this, and then we can grab your things and get you on your way.”

  “You’re the best.” She smiles at him, and he laughs.

  While they gather her things, I listen to the banter between them. It’s sweet, borderline flirtatious on her part, and he’s deflecting with purpose, and that purpose is to protect a heart, one that will never accept his protection.

  * * *

  Two Weeks Later…

  “Oh, my fucking ass.” I sit straight up in bed.

  Eric mumbles sleepily, “Again?”

  I throw my hand over his mouth and point at the phone.

  He sits up, now wide awake.

  I mute the phone., “I need to take this, and you just … stay put.”

  He scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m not a spy, for fuck’s sake.”

  I roll my eyes and walk out into the tiny living room/kitchen area, unmuting the phone. “She’s the new designer?”

  Angela sighs. “All Bass’s doing, and Oliver.”

  “Oliver?” I say with as much disdain as I have for the new owner’s best friend who, since Angela has been in Paris for much longer than I expected and is now admitting to being head up her butt in love with the Bass, has been a pain right in my ass.

  “He’s a good man, Autumn.”

  “Well, someone should tell him to act the part,” I grumble. “Now let’s get back to our secret designer. Again, oh my fucking ass.”

  Angela laughs then proceeds to, as Natasha says, spill the tea.

  I listen as I make a cup of coffee, shocked and excited for Natasha, who’s never had a lot of confidence. I hope that she will now finally gain the validation she needs.

  “I need you to also accept the position as the assistant to one of the two CEOs.”

  “Please don’t tell me he made Oliver official.”

  “No, but I am. Jean left me a very big responsibility, in way of enough shares to outdo anything his son, Bass, could have done to tear down de la Porte.”

  “There is not enough coffee in the world for me to drink at this hour and wake up believing this wasn’t a dream.”

  “You and Oliver are the US points.”

  “You’re going to make me suffer with him forever, aren’t you?”

  “He’s rough around the edges for a reason, but trust me, he grows on you.”

  “So does pubic hair, and I get that ripped off every four weeks.”

  She laughs. “Well, lucky for you, he’s going to be here a lot.”

  “How is that lucky for me? I get stuck in the US and the tattooed, ape-sized man gets to see my best friend and half-daughter?”

  “I need you there. And you know, if I could, I’d bring you here, too.”

  “Well, when you run into that fairy godmother who has been waving around all the magic for you tell her I’d like a sprinkle or two of that fairy dust.”

  “Your new position comes with a raise.”

  “Say it’s true.” I laugh.

  “It’s true, and it’s twice your salary now.”

  I jump up and down, covering my mouth so she doesn’t hear me losing my shit …

  “You still there?” she asks.

  “I am.”

  “So, this paycheck will reflect that. And I’ve talked Bass into releasing the bonuses. So, Autumn?”

  “Yes, fairy god-Ang.” I try to quell my excitement.

  “Get rid of those tenants and take your house back.”

  “I’m going to cry,” I admit.

  “I wish I could hug you.”

  “You just did.”

  “See you in two weeks?”

  “With a fedora on.”

  When I hang up the phone, I cover my face and cry.

  “Everything okay, babe?” Eric asks, hurrying toward me.

  I nod. “Just got a raise, and now I can let my tenants go.”

  He hugs me. “I’m happy for you. You work your ass off and deserve it. And I can’t wait to christen every one of those rooms.”

  Twenty-Two

  Eric

  Lying in my bed in the pool house, I feel a calmness within the gates of the estate for the first time in forever.

  Dad’s on the road to recovery, finally. Until he received the bonus, he was a miserable fuck.

  I don’t agree with the spot he put his family in, and I will forever be in charge of my own accounts and pay attention to what documents I sign. And yes, it’s a shit lesson to learn in the way I did, but a lesson, nonetheless.

  A lesson for him, too, I suppose. I would hope so, anyway.

  While going over his financial statements, I realized, if he hadn’t donated to the university’s new sports facility, which is a fancy and legal term for buying his son, a half-ass player, a spot on the team, he wouldn’t have been in as grave a position. Still pisses me off that he did it, but I get a man wanting what’s best for his kids. I just hope, after our fallout, he realizes what’s best for me and the others is him being part of what he created, and not blowing smoke up my ass.

  I haven’t harped on him at all about it. I want him to recover. I want him to be who Shells seems to remember or has created him to be in
her imagination. Either way, it’s working for them both.

  I just know if he fucks up, I am going to have to step in again.

  Shelby’s mom is in rehab, and from what I’ve read and heard from Shelby, it’s a good one. If things go well, she’s going to get out in time for Christmas. Now Shelby and Dad are looking for a place in the Hamptons where they can live closer to them.

  I miss her being out here in the pool house, but when Dad finally came home, she moved right back in. And Suzy, well, she tiptoes around her. I still don’t get why, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

  Shelby is at my old school and is doing well. No black eyes and, as far as I know, no illegal shit. She’s on what most consider the right side of the track, but honestly, it holds as many problems as the other side. It’s just painted prettier.

  Today is the first Thanksgiving I can remember where there has been no fighting over mealtime and whose holiday it is. All of us are here. I’m sure ninety percent of it is Kimmi not being around, due to rehab, to change plans every five seconds, and ten percent because of Dad’s health.

  * * *

  I hit Autumn’s name in contacts and decide to FaceTime her.

  When she answers, she holds the phone to her ear like she’s taking a call. “Morning.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving, gorgeous. We’re on FaceTime, babe; let me see you.”

  She gasps, and then the line goes dead.

  I hit the callback button and am declined.

  When I call her, she answers, “First, Happy Thanksgiving. Next, don’t do that FaceTime with me, Eric. For God’s sake, I’m in bed.”

  “Which was the point.” I laugh. “I would love to see you in your childhood bed.”

  She sighs. “That’s silly.”

  “What’s silly, gorgeous, is you not wanting me to see you in bed. You know how many times I’ve seen you wake up? You’re the cause of morning wood.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I hear the smile in your voice and want to see it.”