Distracted
Copyright 2015 Alexandra Warren
Cover Art by Visual Luxe
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real locations, people, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
Acknowledgements
Thanking God first, knowing none of this would be possible without his blessing.
I made it to book baby #8! And this is probably my favorite one, even though I usually feel that way after every release. Lol
But this one I hold near and dear because it was the first time that a character was like, “Yo… tell my story. I got somethin’ for you right now if you want it.”
And boy, did Bryson give me a run for my money!
So I hope you all enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it.
Bryson
“Damn, that was good.”
I looked over to Madeline who was sprawled out across the bed, stuck in the exact position I had left her in after hitting it from the back. I felt bad for the girl, knowing I was gonna have to fire her now that we had crossed a line we could never recover from.
But… it wasn’t the first time.
“I can’t believe you made me wait that long for a taste of B-Money,” she replied between breaths, still exhausted from our impromptu session. It was something like a badge of honor to hear her satisfaction, but I knew the bliss would be short-lived once I broke the news.
“Considering you needed the paychecks, you better be glad I made you wait that long.”
She sat up, pulling the cover over her naked body before asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, business and pleasure don’t mix for me so I gotta cut one. And for you, that’d be the business part.” I honestly hated that I had let things get this far, especially since Madeline had only been my employee for a couple of weeks now.
“What? Are you kidding me, Bryson? I work my ass off to make sure you’re dressed to the nines.” I was pretty sure I could pick out my own clothes. But since my do-it-all agent Leslie prided herself on keeping my image clean, we had decided to hire Madeline as my stylist; though it was pretty clear from the jump that she was more interested in me than my clothes.
“No offense, but uhh… it’s really not that hard.”
She smacked her teeth before she hopped out of my bed, and snatched her clothes off the ground. Since I didn’t wanna put bad energy out there in the world, I gave her a sincere, “I’m sorry, Maddy.”
She rolled her pond blue eyes, adjusting her clothes in my floor-length mirror as she said, “Whatever. Just make sure the check comes on time. Some of us have bills to pay.”
I smiled as I assured her, “I’ll even add in a little bonus for your exceptional tongue skills.”
I thought of it as a compliment - a token of my appreciation - but it only seemed to piss her off even more as she spit out, “Fuck you, Bryson.”
I climbed out of bed, grabbing my pajama pants and sliding them on before following her out of the room.
“Maddy, you didn’t really think we were gonna work together and sleep together, did you?”
She didn’t stop her trek to the door as she replied, “Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t have fucked you.”
“I’m pretty sure I fucked you, but that’s beside the point.” Damn, there’s that look again. “Look, I don’t mean to hurt your little feelings or nothin’ like that, but we can’t do this shit. And ain’t no turnin’ back after you fuck with somebody like me, so I gotta let you go.” I didn’t mean to sound cocky, but I had already learned its truth on so many occasions.
Too many occasions.
“Don’t worry about letting me go. I quit.”
“But… you know what? That actually works too. Send me your letter of resignation and shit. I know my peoples will ask for it.” I could already see Leslie now, rolling her eyes when she received the letter on her desk.
“You’re probably fuckin’ her too!”
There was no way in hell I would even think about touching Leslie, especially considering she was happily married to a woman. But instead of giving her that tidbit of information, I simply told her, “Nah. She has a way of keeping me in my place by not being easy.”
Madeline stopped right in the doorframe to scowl at me. “Did I already tell you to go fuck yourself?”
I shrugged. “Well… I would do that. But I already fucked you so…”
She huffed and puffed, totally outdone by my truth. “Goodbye, Bryson!”
I watched her storm to her car as I replied, “Take care, Madeline.” Which I really said more to myself than her since she was so far away.
In no time at all, her tires were screeching against the pavement of my driveway and all I could do was shake my head.
Note to self: Add consensual sex clause to all female employee contracts.
Kennedy
“Damn, that was good.”
I rolled over on my back, grinning from ear-to-ear as I thought about what had just happened for the third time tonight. Landon was an incredible lover - had always been an incredible lover - but that wasn’t enough to keep me from wondering if our engagement was a mistake.
Welp, there goes my endorphin high…
Of course I loved him and he loved me back. But in the back of my head, I knew something was missing.
That spark, the butterflies, the fullness of my heart.
It seemed as if it had all went away the day after he proposed. I initially assumed it had something to do with the general nerves of planning a wedding. But as more time passed, I began to wonder if maybe I just wasn’t ready to take that next step.
I mean, me… a wife?
Changing my last name?
Sharing accounts and picking out houses?
All of it sounded so… far-fetched.
But I couldn’t let Landon know that.
He was patiently waiting for the day to make me Mrs. Landon Montgomery, make me a mommy, make me his for life.
Damn, that’s scary.
I looked over to him just as he turned onto his side and began to snore. Giving a smirk of satisfaction, I tiptoed out of bed, stopping by the bathroom to clean myself up before putting on my robe and heading to the living room. I thought about stopping by the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, but I was quickly reminded of the wedding dress that I had been avoiding trying on knowing my body wasn’t ready for it.
Hell, I wasn’t ready for it, so of course my body didn’t want to comply.
But… I’d have to get over it.
This was happening.
It was real.
I turned on the TV, flipping through channel after channel of nothingness until I ended up on Landon’s favorite channel, ESPN. You’d think he’d be tired of the re-runs of SportsCenter, but that didn’t stop him from watching it every time it came on.
Naturally, I had grown fond of it as well.
Well enough to watch at least one run-through of it.
It was NBA season and while most people were excited to see the stats and highlights, I was excited to see what everyone was wearing when they showed up to the arena. Being a personal stylist was my calling long before I knew it was a profession that people actually made money from. I was the friend people called when they had to be on point for an event, or when they wanted to land a new gig and needed to dress to impress, or when they were trying to get their back blown out without dressing like a complete slut. I was the one that studied designers and actually cared about the names people were wearing on the red carpet. I had so many subscript
ions to different fashion magazines that I’d often catch onto trends late because my piles were so backed up.
I was sure doing the job professionally would be a piece of cake if I just tried it. But who would pick a stylist with no formal experience other than my job in retail, no relevant degree, and no fashion-related references?
Nobody, that’s who.
Not that I had applied for any positions to find out if that was actually true, but in my head I had already visualized the polite ass rejection letters.
Sorry. You can dress your ass off, but we can’t trust you.
Thanks for applying, but we’ve already hired someone who’s way better than you.
We appreciate your interest, but you’d be a fool to think we’d let you have the job with that shitty ass resume.
I snagged my laptop off the coffee table and turned it on, knowing it wouldn’t hurt to at least take a peek at what jobs were out there.
As I waited for it to load, my eyes flashed back to the TV screen. They were interviewing some guy named Bryson Harris according to the subtitle on the side of the screen, but I was more focused on his outfit. The color scheme of his plum sports jacket and light blue dress shirt complemented his skin tone well, but I wasn’t quite feelin’ the fitted pants and tennis shoes combination. I knew if he was my client, I would’ve probably picked loafers.
Or at least a clean dress shoe.
I could so do that.
Now that my computer was ready for action, I went straight to Google and typed in Stylist Jobs in Philadelphia. A bunch of typical stuff came up - stuff I should’ve been aiming for considering I technically had no experience in the industry - but that wasn’t what I wanted.
I wanted to do it big.
I scrolled through the most recent listings until I found exactly what I was looking for. And after allowing my finger to hover over my mouse for a solid three minutes straight, I used dick-courage to submit my resume.
Bryson
“Will you please do me a favor and stop thinking with your damn dick? You know good and well that girl doesn’t deserve the job, not to mention she’d probably be fired faster than that last hooch you insisted on hiring.”
I knew my right-hand woman was right, though I couldn’t blow up her ego by giving her all the credit. “Leslie, you helped me hire her. Said she’d be good for the image. And you thought she was pretty too, so quit trippin’.”
She rolled her eyes at me as usual before going to get the next interviewee from the lobby. I wasn’t sure why I even needed to be there since Leslie didn’t usually trust my opinion anyway. But here I was, spending my only off-day of the week interviewing a bunch of women vying for the job as my personal stylist.
While I waited for her to return, I made myself busy on Instagram, scrolling through the Explore page for a girl to take to a movie premiere I had been invited to out in LA. I thought about calling my friend Alexis, but there was hardly any chance she’d actually go for it considering we had technically fallen out.
“Ahem… Bryson?” I hadn’t even noticed anyone come in.
I scrolled a few final swipes on my phone before I answered, “Yeah?”
“Bryson, this is Kennedy.” I stood up to be polite, but more importantly to get a better look at the girl.
She was… cute.
Her body was as lanky as they came and she had the most innocent face that I could hardly see her doing wrong if she tried. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, putting her high cheekbones on display; cheekbones that created a direct path to her luscious lips that were colored a bright shade of red.
Probably one of those Rihanna colors.
I rounded the table and stuck my hand out to her as I introduced myself, “Bryson Harris. Pleasure to meet you, Kennedy.”
Her eyes were almost as bright as the smile she gave when she returned my handshake, her small hand disappearing in my massive one. “And you as well, Mr. Harris.”
Mr. Harris, huh?
I could get use to that shit.
Leslie must’ve seen the wheels turning in my head as she quickly intervened, “Kennedy, you can have a seat here. Would you like a bottle of water or anything before we get started?”
“Please,” she piped out in a voice right above a whisper as if she was suddenly nervous.
“No problem. I’ll be right back.”
Leslie made it to the doorway, but not without turning around to issue me a warning glare. I wasn’t sure why she thought I’d be on anything other than my best behavior.
Actually, I take that back.
Leslie wasn’t blind.
She could clearly see how attractive Kennedy was, so of course she wanted to warn me about spittin’ game to the girl before we could even figure out if she was any good.
Speaking of which…
“So Kennedy, how long have you been a stylist?” I asked, as I returned to my seat on the other side of the table.
“Informally? For as long as I can remember.”
“What about formally?”
“Umm… well, this is actually the first time I’ve interviewed for a personal stylist position so I don’t technically have any experience.” I could see a hint of sadness on her face as if she was assuming that lone fact was gonna take her out of the competition.
“I see. So have you ever styled anyone of my caliber? You know… freelancing or anything like that?”
She shook her head. “No. You’d be the first one I could get my hands on. I mean… not like that. I’m sorry, did I offend you?” I couldn’t help but smile at her apology. It certainly took a lot more than something like that to offend me. And to be real, there was nothing offensive about the concept of her putting her hands on me.
So I licked my lips as I confidently answered, “Not at all, Kennedy.” She blushed instantly, casting her eyes down to her lap and sweeping a stray hair behind her ear.
Before I could dig any deeper, Leslie returned with the water.
“So Kennedy, how many…”
“She’s hired.”
“What?” The two women spoke simultaneously.
“I said she’s hired. I want her to be my stylist.”
Kennedy could hardly contain herself, looking like a kid that had just been invited to Disney World, as she replied, “Are you serious?! I mean, wow.”
Leslie’s eyes burned into me as if I was making the most reckless decision she had ever heard of. “But we haven’t even done the interview yet, Bryson.”
I knew it was probably a little crazy of me to hire the girl without knowing anything about her. But the fact that she was new and untapped as far as the fashion world was concerned had me intrigued.
Well that along with how cute she was.
“I know all I need to know. She’s an up-and-comer. Someone who hasn’t been given the opportunity to put her mark on the industry yet. I’ll be her guinea pig.” My eyes flashed over to Kennedy who looked flattered by my words. And even though that wasn’t my intention, it definitely made me feel good to see her so happy.
But that wasn’t enough to stop Leslie’s scolding. “Bryson, we are working really hard to…”
I cut her off. “Leslie, she’s our girl.” Then I turned to Kennedy an asked, “Do you accept the offer? We can negotiate PTO, and benefits, and all that other boring stuff later. But will you… be my personal stylist?”
She looked me directly in my eyes, giving me weird little tingles as she answered with the proudest smile, “I’d love to.”
Kennedy
“Congratulations, babe!”
Landon pulled me into a big hug the second I walked into our apartment. I had called him on my way home from the interview, desperate to share the news of my new position with somebody. It was almost unbelievable that they had decided to take a chance on me, but I was more than grateful for the opportunity.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” I replied, serving my best Elvis impression.
“So what’s next? Do you get sea
son tickets? Tell me all about it.”
I really wasn’t ready to talk about that part of the job for two reasons. For one, I really didn’t have the answers yet. And for two, I hated that Bryson was still on my mind for reasons other than the job. I wasn’t even nervous going into the interview; more optimistic than anything. But the second I saw him, with his long, muscular, tattooed frame just waiting for me to tend to his… needs.
His fashion needs that is.
I swallowed hard to wash away those thoughts before I answered, “I’m not sure yet, Landon. They’re gonna send me all the employee info via email some time tomorrow.”
“So did you get to meet him?!”
I knew exactly who he was talking about, but I played dumb. “Meet who?”
“Bryson Harris. That’s who the job is for, right? You know he’s one of my favorite players.” Landon’s list of supposed favorite players changed so often I could hardly keep up.
“Oh yeah. Yeah, he was there. He umm... he hired me on the spot.” I said it in a low tone on purpose, hoping he wouldn’t catch it.
But he did.
“You’re shittin’ me! That’s great, babe! I’m so proud of you, future wifey.”
My stomach turned at that one.
I mean, what kind of future wife was I thinking about another man that I knew nothing about other than the fact that I’d get to dress him up like my own personal Ken doll?
Instead of basking in my guilt, I changed the subject. “How about we go out for a drink to celebrate?”
Landon’s face changed from excited to gloomy as he replied, “I wish I could, babe. But I picked up a shift tonight at the club.” The club was short for the upscale gentlemen’s club his uncle Lionel owned. Even though Landon had a regular 7-3 as a high school math teacher, he still picked up shifts from time to time to bring in some extra money. It wasn’t the worst place in the world, especially since the dancers weren’t completely nude and he only had to sweep up money all night. But I still wasn’t thrilled about the idea of spending one of the most exciting nights of my life alone.
Distracted Page 1
