Amour Battu: Timeless Love: A series of Standalone novels Book 2

by Mj Fields

  Fucking lame, Oliver, just… lame.

  She continues looking out the window.

  “You and your mom have those bracelets, be present.”

  Christ, what are you, a fucking Hallmark card?

  “I’m all for staying in the present, but how can you truly when the past stares you in the face every day,” she whispers.

  Fuck.

  Aaaand fuck it.

  “Your beautiful, Natasha Petrov, inside and out.”

  “But what if–”

  “You’re a warrior, warriors don’t look behind at past battles, they look forward and ready themselves for the next, fiercely.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me, I groan internally. Just shut the fuck up, man, shut the fuck up.

  “I’m not a warrior, Oliver. I’m–”

  “A wizard.” Where in the fuck did that come from?

  When she busts up laughing, it’s music to my fucking ears. I physically feel my body lose all tension.

  “I’m gonna kill Shana.”

  “Shana bought those for you?”

  She laughs and nods. “After our Harry Potter walking tour with the guys.”

  And the tension is back, accompanied with a possessive feeling, same as at the bar when that fucking Harry douche and her underpants gifting bi-curious friend were trying to get her drunk so they might get a chance to fuck her.

  “I get that you still hold your,” I pause and try to figure out how best to say, cherry, and I remember her word for it, “virtue, but don’t let your past feelings make you so naïve that you don’t let yourself see that your friends Harry, Charles and even Shana wouldn’t have taken advantage of your… diminished capacity last night and ripped it away.”

  “Oh my God, Oliver,” she laughs and covers her face.

  “It’s fucking true, Natasha.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “As I’ve mentioned, you’re fucking beautiful, any one of them would have loved the opportunity.”

  “Although I think you’re insane, I’m curious to know why you think I should trust you when you continue to lie and say I’m beautiful. I mean, come on, Oliver, I’m maybe, a notch above average with a full face of makeup on and designer clothes.”

  “You dish out compliments too, am I supposed to now think you’re full of shit?”

  She smiles sweetly and shakes her head. “When I saw you and Celine together, I thought, what a beautiful couple.”

  “Not my type at all. She and I pair like socks and sandals.”

  She smiles and shakes her head again.

  “She’s not my type, Natasha, she’s more Shana’s.”

  I catch her shocked expression from the corner of my eyes before she asks, “So what is Oliver Josephs’ type?”

  You, I think, but reply with a version of the truth, “Honestly, I don’t remember.”

  She laughs again. “Oh, come on.”

  “Been too busy to even think about getting laid.” Since I saw you.

  “Okay, wow, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “What were you expecting?” I ask coming to a stop at a light.

  “I mentioned dating and you jump to sex.”

  “I’m a man, to me dating is a pretext to fucking. Why date when there are others out there that want to skip all the bullshit and get off.”

  “What about love?”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  She smiles. “You may think it’s ridiculous, but I choose to believe that dating is a pretext to love. I believe in love, I finally have seen it with my own eyes. Aaand, I believe that love can be considered the pretext to the ultimate happiness.”

  “You look pretty happy right now, Natasha, unless that smile is disingenuous.” She shrugs. “Look,” I say turning the steering wheel left. “I had a great military career. I plan to figure out a way to enjoy this career. That will make me happier. And apparently, you’re right, happiness is what life is truly about.”

  She smiles. “Apparently, huh? Who told you that?”

  At the same time, we say, “Maisie.”

  I pull up in front of her building and see all of the little fuckers standing there. She hasn’t seen it yet, and we have one last thing to get through before goodbye.

  I reach in the back and pull her little red book out of my laptop case and hand it to her.

  Her face is so red it glows in the dark.

  “Saw this on the floor in your room and didn’t want it to fall in the wrong hands. Forgot to give it to you on the plane.

  “Did you read it?” she scowls.

  “Now what kind of question is that?” I ask and nod to the onlookers.

  “Um.” She looks down.

  “Yeah, I know.” I kill the engine, open the door, get out and walk around the car.

  When I open her door, she steps out and looks up at me. “I have to tell them the truth and that’s going to make me look like such an idiot.”

  I step closer and she steps back. With her back flush against the car, I lean in and press my forehead to hers. “I can play this game.” All fucking night.

  “Why would you want to?” Her scent and warm breath tease my senses.

  “Told you a boy couldn’t handle you. But they will make a shitty attempt if you don’t have a man around every so often.” She laughs. I lean left and whisper in her ear, “Shh. You have to much good going on in life to let them fuck with you, so I’ll play the game.” I lean right and whisper in her other ear. “Now they think we’re sucking face.” She giggles. “And now I’m going to step back and you’re gonna walk away.”

  She grins and then rolls her eyes and shakes her head a little. I step back and can’t help but smile myself. As she walks by, I grab her hand and stop her, she looks down at our hands, and I look past her toward her little crew, lift her hand and kiss it.

  When I let go, she sighs and looks at me.

  “See you next weekend.”

  “Oh, um, I’m going to surprise my friend Stella in New York.”

  I cross my arms and lean against the car. “Isn’t that something you should have told me, or at least Celine?”

  She shrugs, “I wasn’t…”

  I cut her off, because fuck, if I want to have a shitty week again after fighting with her.

  “If the week is uneventful, it won’t be an issue. Just let me know if Ines keeps trying to fuck with you, okay?”

  She nods and I see a smile begin to form. A smile mirroring the one I’m holding at bay. A smile neither of us have any business allowing.

  “Go.”

  I watch her walk toward them when I see green, and not aspen green. I see a forest green. A dark and angry forest and the only thing that resides in it is my jealousy.

  When she stops right before she gets to them, pulls something out of her bag and doesn’t move forward, I wonder what the hell she’s doing. Then I feel my pocket vibrate. I pull out my phone and look down at it.

  The green screen pops up with a message from LW,

  -Crazy, Stupid, Love/Dirty Dancing kiss.

  I reply immediately,

  - Hell no

  When I look up, she starts running toward me and I know I’m screwed. “Aw fuck.”

  I put my hands out when I realize she’s not fucking stopping. When she jumps, I grab her waist and lift her up above my head. She lifts her arms out like she’s playing a childhood game of airplane, and then lifts her legs in the air. As goddamn embarrassing as this is, I have to admit we nailed that scene, and I can’t help but join her in laughing.

  I turn her once I realize all those fuckers are probably reading the damn script on her underwear and slowly lower her.

  My hands, still at her waist, are covered by hers immediately.

  She looks up and tries to give me a stern look, but her aspen eyes are still smiling. “You lied to me, Oliver.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I asked you if you read–”

  “I didn’t say no, just said it was a stupid question
.”

  She pushes up on her toes and whispers, “Some things will still need to be private. My book is one of them.”

  I lean down and whisper, “It won’t happen again.”

  She surprises me by pecking me on the cheek, then she hurries back to her friends.

  Fucking busted.

  28

  Oliver

  “We have more money than we could ever spend. If you think it’s a good idea, then I say let’s do it.”

  That’s all I needed to hear. “Perfect, I found a few great locations that Celine is looking into–”

  “How is she doing that when she’s ensuring Natasha is safe?” Bass asks.

  “Believe it or not, Natasha’s shared her location with Celine.” And me. “Apparently, she even requested to meet her for dinner last night and gave her all her social media information. She’s a smart young woman, Bass.”

  “She’s eighteen, man,” Bass whispers. “Still a kid.”

  Jesus Christ, I think as I sit back and run my hands over my face.

  “She’s never been a kid.” I look up and see Autumn walking into my office.

  “Do you ever knock?” I huff.

  “Never had to. And since your friend seems to have my best friend preoccupied with sex-scapades, I’m bored out of my mind, so consider yourself lucky, Ollie, you get my full attention.”

  “Good morning, Autumn,” Bass says through the speaker phone.

  “Speak of the devil and his voice appears,” she whispers.

  “I heard that,” Bass laughs.

  Autumn sits on the edge of my desk. “So, what’s this about Natasha?”

  “It’s really none of your–”

  She cuts me off, “It most certainly is when it comes to her.”

  Bass interjects, “I’ll agree, the more hands on deck, the better. Same with Angela. I don’t want her to worry unless there’s something to worry about.”

  “Um, that’s the quickest way to make her shit list,” Autumn informs him.

  I hear Bass take in a deep breath and I know he’s worried about Angela’s pregnancy and the stress he wishes to reduce surrounding her. I also know that Angela has allowed Autumn to be a voice in Natasha’s life.

  I have a hard time understanding why women don’t tell people close to them they’re pregnant in the early stages fearing miscarriage. I’m pretty sure as emotional as women are, they’d want to have their closest friends’ support.

  He replies tightly, “Just trying to make her life more enjoyable, Autumn.”

  Autumn responds the same, “But that’s her daughter, Bass.”

  “I know you are her best friend, Autumn. You and I aren’t enemies or competing for her attention–”

  “Says the man who has her an ocean away,” she huffs.

  “That’s her choice. We’re a family now and–”

  “In two months, you’re a family?” She laughs.

  “In two minutes, I knew she was mine for a lifetime, so yeah. It was my idea to stick to Paris where she’ll be closer to Natasha, for her. It was her idea to bring Maisie here, knowing I wanted her close. We’re partners in this, Autumn, I assure you. Which reminds me, Angela wants you here for the holidays. Do you think it’s possible?”

  Autumn has a new look on her face now, reminiscent of a cartoon character whose eyes are about to fall out of their sockets. “I suppose I could change my plans.”

  Her words are a contradiction to the look on her face and it makes me laugh. She looks away from the phone and to me and sticks out her tongue at me.

  If I were back managing the restaurant, she’d be getting reprimanded. Fortunately for her, because of Natasha, I don’t think she’s as much of a jackass as I would otherwise.

  “Bass, let me get to work on securing some showings for the properties I’ve scouted in England and–”

  “You mean Celine?” Bass corrects me.

  “Yeah.”

  At the clearing of Autumn’s voice, I look up and see her perfectly arched brow raising in a speculative way. “Want to clue me in on–”

  My glare cuts her off, and then, my words, “I’ll fly in and meet with you and Angela as soon as I can to go over the details. There’s a board meeting Monday that I need to be back for, so possibly Thursday.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Chat soon,” I say.

  “Have a good one,” he laughs. “You too, Autumn. Goodbye.”

  I look up to see Autumn’s arms crossed, still judging me.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask.

  “You tell me?”

  I have an aversion to her standing over me. I push back in my chair and stand so she’s forced to look up. “I don’t answer to you. You have a question, ask. And if I think you need an answer, you’ll get one.”

  She fires off, “Who’s Celine?”

  “A trusted associate of mine.”

  “Why are properties being scouted in England?”

  “London,” I correct.

  She argues, “You told Bass, England.”

  Fuck.

  “Well, Autumn, London happens to be in England.” She rolls her eyes. “I met Celine in England and we discussed an idea I had.”

  She steps out of my personal space and I think I’m in the clear. I think that she’s going to be satisfied. She’s not. She sits down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

  “What idea?”

  I hate fucking lying, but just like last night with Natasha, I guess I can manipulate truths.

  “With the change in power, I feel it’s best if de la Porte shows it’s strength and grows. I think the board will take the hint that they aren’t going to be sold out, that we’re not just stable, but growing. de la Porte has a strong physical presence in Paris and New York City. I think it’s logical for de la Porte to have one in London as well. Possibly Milan, if the men’s line is to grow.”

  “I’d really hate to say that’s ridiculous, but it’s actually brilliant.”

  And utter bullshit that I even know the Big Four fashion cities in the world. Two years ago, my focus was on demolishing terrorist cells and fighting wars, not where overpriced garments would fare best.

  “If you’re all done–”

  “Not quite,” she smirks. “I FaceTimed with Natasha yesterday and she was at lunch with this associate of yours, this Celine.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Natasha said she used to be in the Army with you.”

  Although I itch to correct ‘be in the Army’ with ‘served in the US military’, I don’t.

  Autumn continues, “That she’s still in the reserves. That she does security work.”

  Jesus, I don’t have time for this shit.

  “Care to explain?”

  “She’s secure,” I pause and then continue, “ing, for me, for de la Porte.”

  “Explain what this has to do with Natasha being a child.”

  “I didn’t say she was, that’s something you’ll need to discuss with Bass if you have an issue with it.”

  I look down at my computer screen as I sit, hoping like hell she’ll get the hint and leave it alone, even though she’s the fucking one that started this shit.

  I look up and she’s sitting there still eyeing me. “Is there something I can do for you, Autumn? Or do you think maybe you can get the finance report ready for the board meeting Monday.”

  “And what are you going to secure today?” she asks as she stands.

  I answer without looking up, “Hopefully a storefront suitable for de la Porte.”

  For Natasha.

  She walks out of my office and I give her a firm reminder, “The door, Autumn.”

  She slams it behind her.

  As soon as I know she’s not coming back in with a smart-ass remark, I pull out my phone and send Natasha a text.

  -Please give me a call at your earliest convenience. Preferably before you speak to your mother or Autumn.

  After I send it, I look at the time.
It’s nine in the morning here, London time, it’s four in the afternoon.

  Instead of giving in to my desire to look at her schedule, see if she’s in class, check her location, which I didn’t ask her to share with me, yet she did. I try to focus on narrowing down the properties and remaining calm. Instead, I feel like a kid on Christmas, thrilled I actually had a reason to message her. I spent much of the flight back trying to come up with one that didn’t make me look like a tool. Out of a hundred, not one scenario painted me proper.

  Instead of acting on it, I came up with a brilliant idea. I Googled properties in London, hell bent on finding a more secure housing situation than a college dorm full of salivating dipshits. Which led into a hundred situations in which I could end up holding her again, because I didn’t fucking dream about war, about abuse, about terrorists and guns and death and angry dogs and crying children. I dreamed of a beautiful young woman with a paint brush, painting all that was black and white, vibrant colors.

  Then I decided to look into ensuring it became a reality. Turned out to make perfect business sense.

  Now I have to choose where de la Porte would flourish best. Oxford Street, Knightsbridge Street, Bond Street, Kings Road, Carnaby Street, or Covet Garden; all are suitable.

  My phone rings and I feel my heart hammering again. It starts slow and steadily increases.

  Instead of using speaker, which is my preferred way, I would rather Autumn not listen in on my conversation.

  “Hello.”

  “Oliver, is everything okay?”

  She sounds anxious and I immediately want to calm her, like she unknowingly does me. “Yes, of course.”

  “Okay?”

  The question in her voice makes me feel even more ridiculous than I had when I realized I couldn’t wait to jump at the chance to hear it.

  “If I were a young rich woman who gave a shit about money where would I go, in London, to shop?”

  She gives a near silent chuckle and then lets out a breath.

  “Close your eyes and imagine, where you’d go.”

  “Hmmm, lets see.” I can imagine her right now, eyes closed, smile forming on her perfect little bow lips, with the tiny scar, a reminder she’s lived more than her nearly nineteen years. “Bond Street is where the rich and famous flock. Kings Road is another area with high end fashion. Knightsbridge is where Harrods is and lots of visitors designate it as must visit shopping areas here. Designer shops like Armani, Gucci, and Christian Dior are close by.”