I adjust my coffee to flavor then slide into one of three black leather barstools. He sets a plate full in front of me, waiting for my ultimate judgement. There’s more food here than I will ever eat.
“It’s good,” I tell him, after the first bite. “It’s really good.” I normally don’t do breakfast, but I seem to have worked up an appetite last night. I’m starving. He sits beside me, stealing bacon and stabbing a forkful of eggs from my plate. So that was the plan. We’re sharing. People actually do that? Holy crap. I’m one of those “people who actually do that.”
I had boyfriends in high school. In college, I focused on my job and my grades. Bastain was my first real relationship. How pathetic is my life? I’m 31-years old and I don’t even know what it’s like to share a meal with someone. Is it ever too late to start over? Do we ever reach a point where we just are who we are, like it or not?
I refuse to accept that. I refuse to settle. It’s not too late for me. I can start over. This is my book, and I’ll write it the way I want it.
“I guess I should get dressed now,” I say as we polish off the last of the breakfast.
Alex guides his hand up my thigh. “Horrible idea,” he answers with a playful grin, though his eyes are dark with want.
My body instinctively slides to the edge of the stool, burning to be closer to him. “I have to find a place to live. I need clothes. Gorgeous ones. Because I have to beg Cameron Inc. for a job.” My tone rises and falls in panic as I mentally check off the list of things I need to do. What was I thinking? Why wasn’t I prepared for this? Because you didn’t expect to be living with a psychopath.
The second Bastain hinted that his behavior might be getting worse, I started saving money. I tried finding an apartment. I did find a job. I did everything I knew to do. I have to stop beating myself up. Time to pull up my big girl panties and move on.
“Emma, love, relax. It’s Sunday. There will be plenty of time for all that tomorrow.”
“I can’t wear leggings to a business meeting.”
I’m freaking out and he’s laughing. Of course he’s laughing. I look around. He’s a successful attorney with an amazing loft and everything going for him. He notes my insecurities and takes my hand.
“Okay. We’ll go shopping. But the job and apartment can wait. I want you to myself today. Deal?”
He does have a point. There isn’t much I can do on a Sunday anyway. Old habits die hard, I suppose. I’m used to being chastised for not having things in order ahead of time. I do have to find a place to live, but between cash and credit, I’ve got at least five night’s worth of hotel stay in my wallet. More than that if I decide to call my mother. I asked Cameron to give me the week to decide on the job, which would leave me having to make my decision by Tuesday. I’ll just go to their office first thing in the morning and accept their offer. Alex is right. I need to relax. All's not lost. I give myself a mental high five. I’ve got this.
“Deal,” I agree.
“Good,” he says, lifting me off the stool and pulling me to his lap. “Now, come here, babygirl. I’m not done with you yet.”
Alex
Being inside her is the closest thing I can imagine to heaven on earth. The way she sings my name when I bring her to the brink. She can’t even form a coherent thought while I have her slid up on the kitchen counter, as I’m buried in her balls deep, and she’s begging for things she can’t explain. At first I thought I just wanted to fuck the beautiful woman from the coffee shop. Then she showed up at my gym, and I got greedy. I wasn’t giving up until she was mine. Now she’s here, and I’m not ever letting her go.
Sunday traffic is light this morning as Emma and I walk the streets of my neighborhood, scouting boutiques for new clothes. We pass in front of the cafe where we first met, and she steers us inside. She smiles when she notes my usual table is empty. “Venti nonfat…” she begins.
“Vanilla latte,” I finish, making her eyes narrow in confusion. “I pay attention,” I boast with a proud grin. “I remember everything about you, Emma.”
She swallows hard then rakes her teeth across her bottom lip. The way her bright eyes grow dark lets me know she remembers things too. Things like how my tongue made her quiver just a few short hours ago.
I lead her through the tables to our spot by the window then go back to the counter and wait for our coffees. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
She stops blowing her cool breath through the tiny lid opening to answer. “You fed me enough breakfast to last two days.” Her eyes twinkle when she smiles. “But if you want something, please, eat.”
It wasn’t that much food, and I’m starving. I check my watch. It’s only 10:30. But to be fair, we did fuck once then walk seven blocks since the eggs and bacon. “I’d die for a decent curry.”
She pulls the cup from her mouth and purses her lips. Her eyes roam the room for a minute and periodically she shakes her head until finally, “No. I got nothing,” she says, scrunching up her cute little nose. “I can’t say I’ve actually ever eaten curry.”
What? Who is this woman and what rock has she been hiding under? “Oh, we have to rectify that. Chicken tikka masala is one of my favorite things back in Southend.”
“Southend? That’s where you’re from?” She takes another sip of coffee. I haven’t even tasted mine. I enjoy being here with her too much to get up and add milk and sugar.
“In a way, yes.” Welcome to my sordid life, love. “Another one of my father’s parenting wins.” She’s waiting silently for me to expound. After everything she’s shared with me, I’d be a hypocrite to keep my own secrets tucked away nice and safe. “My mother died when I was nine. Cancer.” I miss her still. We didn’t see her much once she got too sick, too weak. But I remember every moment she spent laughing in the kitchen or singing in the car before then. “That’s when I started boxing. I beat up everything in sight. Pillows. Boxes. Trash cans. I was angry. I needed something to take it out on.” I wonder what my mother would think of Emma. She’d love her, no doubt. My girl listens quietly as my mind goes back to a place it hasn’t dared to go in years. No one in my present knows my past. I’ve never found anyone important enough to share it with. Why should it matter where I came from? I’m here now. How I got here isn’t the point. But something in me wants her to know. I want to open the door to my world and invite her inside. “My father kept saying I was out of control, that I was lashing out. He couldn’t handle it. I think the truth was more that raising a son alone put a damper on his drinking habits.” Emma sets her cup on the table and leans back in her chair like this upsets her. “He sent me to live with his sister and her husband in Essex. They put me in karate. That turned to Muay Thai, then jujutsu, and eventually back to boxing and kickboxing. My aunt didn’t see my anger as an annoyance. She helped me channel it. I owe her my life. Things could have been very different for me.”
My father was never abusive but he was negligent. His wants and needs came first, at any cost. He spent long hours at the office and longer hours at the bar down the street. If it weren’t for my aunt I’d have been raising myself. Emma sits up straight, reaching her hand across the table. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” she says, a sincere sadness in her tone.
Me too. “Thank you,” I return, taking her hand, running the pad of my finger across the top of her smooth skin. “In the gym, I’m… me. I’m free. It’s always been my escape. After secondary school, or high school, I moved back here for law school. I thought that would be my one-way ticket back into my father’s heart. He’d stopped drinking, but work became his new addiction. So back to the gym I went. Only this time I wanted to help people. I knew how the boxing made me feel, how it helped me deal with whatever I was going through. And it seemed selfish to keep that all to myself. So, I started instructing.” It feels so good to talk about this with someone. No masks. No secrets. Just me, open and raw.
“I’d like to learn,” she pipes in, her expression nothing but serious.<
br />
“I might know a guy,” I reply with a wink and she giggles. Her laugh is the sweetest sound I’ve heard all morning. Well… aside from her moaning, which I can still hear if I close my eyes and listen hard enough. “A year ago, a woman walked into the gym for one of my classes. She hit that bag with a fierce determination I’d never seen before. Like she was on a mission. But she wasn’t controlled. She was angry.” My smile fades as I recall the story. “After her third class, I pulled her to the side. She told me she’d been beaten. She asked me for help. She needed to be able to defend herself.” Emma shifts uncomfortably in her chair. I’m not trying to upset her. Her situation is very different from this woman’s. She’s not dealing with a weak man with insecurity issues. She’s dealing with a monster without a conscience. “That’s when I decided to offer self defense classes. We live in a crazy world. People should always be prepared.”
“Will you help me? Be prepared?”
I’d do anything you asked.
“By the time I’m done, there won’t be a person in this world you can’t handle.”
After coffee, Emma was ready to get back to the lighthearted business of shopping. I love seeing her face gleam with excitement when she sees something she loves in a nearby window display.
“It’s perfect,” she squeals, clapping her hands in front of her, then dragging me at mach speed into the store. Emma walks straight to the rack on the wall that holds the dress she admires, flipping through the hangers for her size. When she finds it I follow her to the back of the shop to the fitting room. “You can’t come in here,” she protests, placing a palm against my chest and shoving me backward.
“Try to keep me away,” I reply with a smirk.
“Alex,” she shrieks, then immediately quiets her voice to a whisper. “You can’t.”
Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and it turns me the fuck on. I hold back the curtain, inviting her to go in first. “Fine. But I want to see.”
I let her think she’s won, for now. She pulls back the thick ivory fabric, modeling the dress for me without stepping outside. The navy blue material hugs the curve of her hips, falling loosely over the tops of her thighs before stopping just above her knees.
“Damn,” I admire, unable to form a complete sentence at the sight of her. I can’t stop myself from walking into the little cube and backing her against the mirror.
“Alex,” she argues, fighting me off but not really fighting me off.
I raise the skirt of the dress up over her hips, exposing her sexy lacy panties. She closes her eyes and parts her lips. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, bringing my mouth against her lobe.
“Tell me, love, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I reach behind, lifting her off the floor, forcing her to wrap her legs around my waist. “Are we making love, slow and sweet?” I press my hard cock against her center. “Or am I fucking you, hard and deep?” She pushes back, burning to find the relief she seeks.
“Hard. Deep. Rough. Sweet.” She can barely form the words. She doesn’t know what she wants. But I do. Her body tells me everything I need to know. It speaks a language I am fluent in, with no need for translation.
“I think it’s time to get you home.”
Emma
Yesterday will go down in the books as one of the best days of my life. I learned so much about the man who is beginning to take root in my life. I found the perfect dress for my visit to Cameron Inc. this morning along with three other outfits I can mix and match for variety and a few pairs of panties. I argued with Alex for a solid twenty minutes over whether or not I should buy them because that meant spending my hotel money. He was actually offended that I had even thought of staying anywhere but with him, at least until I know Bastain isn’t still out there looking for me. The idea of that doesn’t offer much hope considering he spent five years pretending to be someone he’s not in order to get revenge.
Alex’s alarm goes off at 5 a.m. and I roll over to greet him with a kiss. “You ready to conquer the day, Ms. McClain?” he asks, pulling me onto his chest.
“Do you offer classes for that, too?”
His chest bounces when he chuckles. He places a soft kiss on the top of my head, “I can certainly give you the motivation,” he says with a roll of his hips. His motivation has me deliciously sore in places I didn’t even know could get sore. He climbs out of bed and heads toward the bathroom. “Well…” he calls out over his shoulder, “Come on then. Let’s get this day started off right.”
Good God, the man is a machine.
Exactly one hour later I’m walking through the doors at Cameron Incorporated, ready to start my new life.
“Emma McClain for Mr. King. He’s expecting me,” I inform the young brunette behind the front desk. My voice makes me sound far more confident than I feel. The elevator dings and two men in suits step out. Designer heels click against the marble tile and the sound of soft music echoes in the large, open lobby. I soak it all in, knowing this is the first step in my fresh start. This is my new story. Excitement overtakes anxiety, sending adrenaline firing through my veins. I’m ready for this. I want the sound of my own heels clicking against the floor to bounce off the tall windows as I walk in, prepared for another task. I want my name on an office door. I want to grumble about waking up early on a Monday after spending an amazing weekend with Alex. I want to look in my closet and see something other than yoga pants and t-shirts. I want this. More than anything. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders when she gives me the green light to go up. Welcome back, Emma. I’ve missed you.
Andrew King, aka my new boss, was thrilled to receive my phone call this morning. I expected him to have already offered the position to someone else since I waited until the last minute to accept his job offer. My heart filled with joy when he told me to come straight in and get started on the paperwork. I formally accept their offer letter, fill out tax documents and insurance forms, and I am now a certified “Marketing Manager” at Cameron Inc.
One thing I realized during the paperwork process was that I never took care in opening a separate bank account. The whole thing is still so surreal to me when I think about it. A week ago, I was picking up Bastain’s suits from the dry cleaner and today I’m starting a new job and worrying about bank accounts. It’s crazy how life can change in an instant. I suppose deep down I knew it was coming. I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. But now that it’s done, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. The feeling of exhaustion and hopelessness is gone. I feel almost whole again, brand new.
The next thing on my agenda is finding an apartment. I make sure I have a copy of my offer letter for employment and income verification this time. I’m not taking no for an answer. I learn quickly to be selective on which ones I apply for, since each stop lands me a $50 application fee. I’ve nearly run through my remaining funds. Thanks, Uber. So, I guess it’s time to call my mother about that loan. According to Mr. King I’ll get my first paycheck next week, pending having my bank account information available by then. Unfortunately, there’s no way I can stay with Alex that long. I had a hard enough time staying with him last night. Not that I mind the actual being with him part. But depending on him makes me feel as though I’m doing all this for nothing.
“Emma, I missed your call yesterday. Is everything okay?” she says as soon as she picks up the phone.
Shit. I can’t believe I forgot. Alex did have me a bit distracted.
“Sorry, mom. Everything is fine now,” I explain.
“Now?” she questions, sounding more worried than I’d like.
I need to ease her mind. I hate thinking my parents spend their nights worrying that I’m okay. “I left Bastain.”
Silence.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, mom. It’s been a long time coming. You were right. It’s the best thing for both of us. I can’t help him anymore.”
I can’t go into detail with my mom when she’s almost 300 miles aw
ay. Yeah, mom, he had a gun and he’s tracking me down like a madman. I’ll stick to being vague.
“He’s a grown man, Emma. Fixing him was never your responsibility.”
I don’t want to have this conversation with her right now. I’m still floating on my high from landing the job and hopefully finding an apartment. “I know. I blamed myself for his depression for so long. But I can’t live like that anymore.”
“I’m proud of you, sweetie. Your father and I just want you to be happy.”
Thank God she doesn’t keep digging for information. My parents have the storybook marriage. They’ve been together 35 years and I’ve never heard them fight. I’m sure they have. Everyone does. They just never let me know about it. I’d love to someday have what they have.
“I got a job. I start tomorrow. And I think I found an apartment.”
No better way to do it than to just lay it out there, right?
“Wow. You have been busy. No wonder you forgot to call yesterday.”
Oh, mom, you have no idea.
“If my application gets approved I may need to borrow some money for deposits and groceries until next week.”
“I told you we’d help and we will. Just send me your bank information and I’ll make a deposit, hun.”
“Thank you, mom. I promise I’ll pay you back.”
I’ve never borrowed money from my parents, and it’s killing me to have to ask them now. I wanted to do this on my own. As if she’s reading my thoughts, my mother chimes in.
“We’re your parents, Em. It’s what we do.”
“I love you.”
“We love you too. You make sure to call us after your first day at work.”
I love how she always includes my dad in every conversation, as if he’s listening right along with her, even when he’s not there.
“I promise. Bye, mom.”
“Bye, hun.”
I feel so much better after talking to my mom. She could be a million miles away and just hearing her voice would make everything better. I check my phone for the time. It’s 3:30. An hour and a half until Alex gets off. He called to invite me to lunch, but I really wanted to get the bank and apartment stuff taken care of. So, I opted for dinner instead.
The Perfect Gentleman Page 13
