She blew an air kiss. “Finally, my gorgeous grandson has found a beautiful heimishah girl to marry.”
As much as I adored Blake’s theatrical grandma, I was falling apart at the seams. I needed to get away from her. But she wouldn’t let me. She pressed her bony, veined hand on mine, holding me prisoner. I couldn’t break away and hurt the sweet woman’s feelings. She continued to rave about Blake.
“Such a good boy! And vhat a shmekel!”
Every nerve in my body buzzed. Desperate for words, I asked what she was doing here.
“I meet here every veek with my erotica book club. Alvays, they’re late. Too much Botox shmotox!”
Despite my anxiety, I had to stifle a little laugh. Blake’s grandma loved to read erotic romances and was one of the first to support my idea of creating a SIN-TV block of programming targeted at women—turning top-selling, hot novels into compelling telenovelas.
“So, bubala, ve’re running out of books. Can you recommend something?”
I thought for a moment. “Blind Obsession by Ella Frank. It’s beautifully written and highly erotic.”
Her gray-blue eyes lit up. “So it’s got a lot of sexy shmexy?”
“Yes.” I nodded. I just didn’t tell her it was very sad. Not every story ended with happily ever after.
I felt my eyes watering. “Nice to see you. I have to run an errand.”
She stood up and came around the table to give me a warm hug.
“So, bubala, I’ll see you Friday night at Shabbat?”
“Y-yes.” No. Not then. Not ever. Every vivid moment of that first night with Blake danced in my head. How he’d held me in his arms as I anxiously lit the candles. How I’d accidentally found him jerking himself off. How I’d almost peed in my pants when I saw his cock for the very first time. How I’d imagined wrapping my lips around his succulent balls when I put that matzo ball to my mouth. How I’d felt his heat seated next to him. And my own rise between my legs. There was no denying it. I was already in love with him.
Grabbing my crutches, I bid Grandma goodbye and hobbled away before tears betrayed me.
The Bloomingdale’s housewares department, located on the store’s upper level, was moderately busy. I noticed a number of young women wandering around, with their iPhones or iPads, taking photos of china, crystal, and other home basics. Definitely brides-to-be sorting out their registries. A pang of sadness stabbed at my heart. Perhaps, if Blake hadn’t taken that vapid video, I would have been among them. The Almost Bride. That was me. What a perfect name for a movie.
I hopped around the display tables in search of the perfect gift for Gloria. Nothing stood out.
“Can I help you?” came a throaty voice from behind me as I admired a silver picture frame that was way out of my price range. A prim, fifty-something saleswoman, who looked like she used every penny of her sales commissions on hair dye and fillers, strode up to me. I flashed her a small smile as she eyed my bandaged foot. I hoped she wasn’t going to ask me what happened. Fortunately, she didn’t and I responded to her question.
“Yes, I’m looking for a thank-you gift. Preferably something with a nautical or marine feeling to it.”
“How much do wish to spend?”
I told her my price range was between thirty and fifty dollars.
She nodded and raised a knowing forefinger. “I know the perfect item.” Glancing down at my foot again, she told me to stay put. She skirted away, and in a few short minutes, she returned with small box in her hand. She lifted off the lid. Inside was a lovely silver-plated picture frame that was engraved with seashells and starfish. The stock photo beneath the glass sent a wave of sadness through me. It looked just like the beach where Blake and I had made passionate love.
“They’re very popular and on sale. Half price. Twenty-five dollars, marked down from fifty.”
“It’s perfect,” I murmured.
“Wonderful.” The saleswoman beamed triumphantly.
“I need to have it gift wrapped and sent.”
“No problem. Follow me and we’ll get it all taken care of.”
I followed the slender woman to a nearby cash register. I paid for the frame with my credit card and then filled out a form with the address of Gloria’s Secret’s corporate headquarters in Culver City. I couldn’t remember her home address, and there was no way I was going to ask Blake for it.
“Would you like to include a gift card?” asked the saleswoman, handing me back my credit card.
“Yes, definitely.”
The woman handed me a small card, with the signature “B” for Bloomingdale’s on the outside, and a pen. I flipped it open and neatly wrote:
Dear Gloria~
Thank you for sharing your magnificent beach house. And for all the beautiful lingerie and clothes. I had a beautiful weekend.
With my deepest appreciation~Jennifer McCoy
As I signed my name, my eyes grew watery. A tear dripped onto the black ink, smearing it. Some beautiful weekend. It ended up being the ugliest, suckiest weekend of my life. Wiping away my tears, I asked for another gift card and rewrote my words quickly before another round erupted. I handed the card to the woman.
She quirked a smile. Again, I was grateful she wasn’t too nosy.
“She’ll have it before the end of the week.”
I shot back a faint smile. “That’s great. Thank you.”
While she marched off with the frame and the card to help another customer, I put my credit card back into my wallet and adjusted my new backpack, which came in very handy being on crutches. Just as I was about to head out of the store, a familiar voice sung in my ears.
“Jennifer?”
Clutching my crutches, I pivoted around. My heart plunged to my stomach and every muscle scrunched. It was Bradley.
“Hi,” I stuttered. Get me out of here.
“What happened to your foot?” he asked, eyeing me from head to toe.
“Nothing. What are you doing here?” My voice quivered.
Before Bradley could answer, a familiar saccharine voice sounded in my ear. “Sweetie pie, look what I found. Don’t you just love the pattern?”
In a pained breath, she was in my face. Candace, Bradley’s hygienist, wearing tight-ass jeans, mile-high stilettos, and a tight V-neck sweater that all but exposed her melon-sized boobs. In her hand was a large dinner plate with tiny pink hearts dotting the rim.
“Oh hi, Jennifer,” she snipped in her singsong voice before placing the plate on the glass counter.
“Hi.” I wanted to rip out her larynx and step on it.
She flung her left hand through her mane of brassy blond hair and then I saw it. My mouth dropped open.
My engagement ring! On her fourth finger.
Bradley flushed and then flashed his mega-sized pearly white teeth. “Jen—” Unable to complete his thought, he anxiously turned to Candace. “This place is a rip-off. Let’s go to Target and—”
Candace brusquely cut him off. “Oh, did Braddie Waddie tell you we’re engaged?” Her possessive, predatory eyes sent daggers my way. “We’re getting married in May. We just started picking out our registry.”
I registered her words. An unexpected, sickening feeling filled me. My pulse quickened and then I succumbed to numbness. “Congratulations to the both of you,” I spluttered as they argued over the plate. I hobbled away as fast as my crutches would let me.
This was all too much for me. I was shaking all over. I had to get out of here.
When I returned to my office, my already jumbled emotions were in a tailspin. My run-ins at lunch had totally frayed me. Yes, marrying Bradley would have been the biggest mistake of my life. But I was having second thoughts. Maybe I’d already made the biggest mistake—breaking up with Blake. Had I overreacted to the video? Knowing now about Bradley and Candace’s insta-engagement, maybe I should have been grateful and thanked him for sparing me an inevitable fate. On my drive back to the office with Libby, I didn’t share what had happened or what was
going through my chaotic mind. I needed time to think things out. Sort them through. Come to my own conclusions.
Back in my office, I did nothing but stare at the painting on the wall. The Kiss. All the emotions it elicited swelled up inside me, and tears yet again welled up in my eyes. There was a reason I couldn’t bear to take it down. Jen, face the truth. It was loud and clear. As much as he’d deceived me, I was still madly in love with Blake Burns.
Was it too late to make amends? I’d shunned him, pushed him away. Could I ask for forgiveness? Uncertainty tore through me. A sudden ping on my computer catapulted me out of my state of despair. Just before a rush of tears. It was an email from Blake marked “Urgent” in the subject line. My heart hammered. I hesitated before opening it—half-hoping it would say something like:
Come to my office immediately. I want to fuck you over my desk.
Love~ Blake
Opening it, I shoved my glasses on top of my head. I read it quickly. My heart sunk.
Gloria Zander needs to move our meeting to this coming Friday as she will be out of town on the originally scheduled date. She will be here at 4 p.m. and is eager to hear about your erotic romance daytime block. Please have your PowerPoint presentation ready.
I shuddered. Blake’s coldness sent a shiver up my spine. Not even a “hi” or “thank you.” I had only forty-eight hours to finish the presentation. And Blake was over me. The waterworks sprang.
The next forty-eight hours were pure hell. An unbearable sadness ate away at me. Blake Burns completely ignored me, except for stopping by a few times to find out how my PowerPoint was progressing. His presence tugged at my heartstrings, and I fought back tears each time I told him it was going well, my eyes never leaving my computer screen. I couldn’t look at him because I knew I would fall apart.
The truth: the presentation was progressing slowly. While I’d gotten most of it done before the holiday break, I still had some slides to prepare and needed to spruce it up. I had an impossible time concentrating. Blake Burns consumed my mind every waking minute—literally since I had to pull an all-nighter, something I hadn’t done since college. I missed him terribly, but it was over. I unsuccessfully tried to convince myself it was for the best.
I finalized the PowerPoint at midnight on Thursday. My accomplishment lifted me out of my doom and gloom for a fleeting moment. I was pleased with it. Based on my instincts and Libby’s focus group research, I had a convincing story to tell. Women 18-49 were craving erotic romance, and in the landscape of television, this programming was sorely missing. SIN-TV had a chance to create a breakout block of programming that would attract a new demographic and advertisers alike. Gloria’s Secret was a perfect fit.
Bleary eyed, I got into my SpongeBob PJs and crawled into bed, taking with me the latest Hollywood Reporter which I hadn’t had a chance to read. It was important to stay current on what was going on in the entertainment industry. I quickly perused the trade magazine. When I got to the last page, which was a gossip page filled with photos of Hollywood movers and shakers, my body did its own moving and shaking. Staring me in the face was a photo of Blake with one of his blond bimbos all over him. Kitty-Kat no less. It was taken last night at a fundraiser gala at The Beverly Hills Hotel. While I was slaving away on my PowerPoint, Blake was out partying. Blake was not only over me, he had moved on. He was back to being a player. Tears bombarded me.
I tore up the magazine and sobbed my way to sleep.
Chapter 17
Blake
I was a basket case. A fucking basket case. It sucked to be me.
Why couldn’t love be an open door? Jennifer McCoy was shutting me out of her life. Emotionally and physically. She was avoiding me like the plague. The few times we ran into each other, she gave me the cold shoulder and moved away as quickly as she could. And she kept her office door closed. I had to knock to see her. Glued to her computer screen, she never made eye contact with me. She looked on the verge of tears. The amount of pain I’d caused her was immeasurable. The amount of hatred she felt toward me unfathomable. I desperately wanted to tell her again how sorry I was and ask for forgiveness. And tell her how much I loved her. And then hold her in my arms and smother her with kisses. But her behavior made me feel like I was a persona non-gratis. It was plain and simple. She was done with me.
On Monday and Tuesday, I left work early. My beautiful tiger had eaten me up. Gnawed at my heart and torn it apart. Unable to focus, I drove home, drowned my sorrows with a couple of beers, and then crawled under the covers. Usually a sound sleeper, I tossed and turned. Trying to fall asleep, I even masturbated thinking about her. But wanking off didn’t help. It made matters worse. Jaime’s words spun in my head: Don’t give up on her. But how was I supposed to do that when she’d given up on me?
Wednesday at work was no better. In fact, it was worse. More disheartening. I was going to ask Jennifer out for lunch under the pretense of discussing business, but when I popped into her office, she was gone. When she returned, she seemed even glummer and more unapproachable. She coldly told me she was working on her Gloria’s Secret presentation and that it would be ready in time for our meeting on Friday. Before I could say another word, she asked me to leave so she could keep working. As I slogged toward the door to her office, I glanced at The Kiss. Surprised the painting was still hanging on the wall, I surmised it was just a matter of time before it vanished. Until every memory of me was gone. The sight of it frazzled me. Why the fuck didn’t I just ravish her? Take her in my arms and give her a kiss that would make her fall apart? And fall again for me? She may have been a wounded tiger, but she was brave. As for me, the former king of the jungle, I was reduced to being a cowardly lion. My heart roared with pain.
I would have gone home early and crawled into bed again had I not had a damn gala to attend. It was a fundraiser for an autistic children’s charity my mother supported. Still vacationing in Aruba, my parents had called me and asked me to represent them at the ten thousand dollar table they’d purchased. As much as I wasn’t in the mood to go, I couldn’t say no. At six o’clock, I headed over to The Beverly Hills Hotel where the event was taking place. On my way out of the office, I passed by Jennifer’s office. The door was closed.
I’d been to hundreds of these kinds of benefits. They were always the same. A cocktail hour followed by a long, boring ballroom awards dinner with bad food, drawn out speeches, and mediocre entertainment.
This was a very high profile event and paparazzi swarmed the cocktail lounge. I recognized many of the faces—close friends of my parents. Most of them billionaires, many of them celebrities. Drinking champagne, I politely made small talk with a few but stayed aloof. I wanted to leave.
A boyishly good-looking man about my age sauntered up to me. There was a slight swish to his walk. He was wearing one of those new fashionable men’s shorts suits I wouldn’t be caught dead in and was munching on some hors d’oeuvres. He looked vaguely familiar to me—in fact, I was positive I’d seen him at Jaime’s art gallery party as well as at the Conquest Broadcasting Christmas Ball. I zeroed in on his tie. It was a Burberry plaid one—exactly like the one Jennifer had worn as a blindfold in that game of Truth or Dare.
“Hi,” he said with a snap of his free hand. “You’re Blake Burns, right?” I could tell from the pitch of his voice and manner of dress he was gay.
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“Chaz Clearfield. Libby’s brother.”
I twitched a smile. “Nice to meet you.” I was in no mood for conversation, especially with the flamboyant brother of that annoying researcher.
“So, I hear you and my Jen—”
Before he could finish his sentence, we had company.
“Well, if it isn’t Blake Burns.”
It was Kat, that despicable sicko, all decked out in a body-hugging feline-green mini-dress. Holding a flute of champagne, she sandwiched herself between Chaz and me. She was right in my face.
“Aren’t we rude?” snickered Chaz.
<
br /> She sneered.
“Hi, Kat,” I stammered. “How have you been?” The last time I’d seen her was at Jaime Zander’s art gallery opening. She had stalked me…something she’d done for years. We had a past that I wanted to keep buried.
“Great,” she purred, pressing her big plastic tits against me. “I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”
“I’ve been busy.” I wished she would leave.
“Blake Burns, can we take your photo?” another voice called out. It was one of the many paparazzi floating amongst the crowd.
Before I could make a mad dash for it, my unwanted companion yanked me to the side and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Smile,” she said and then smacked her fat injected lips against mine.
FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! Shit. The photographer had gotten me kissing her before I was able to escape. As his camera blinded me, a chill ran down my spine. Who knew where these photos would appear?
I’d had enough of this event. Enough of Kat. I pulled away from her. She was miffed.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Blake?” she hissed.
“Home.” I said goodbye to Chaz who’d witnessed the whole miserable scene.
A short fifteen minutes later, I was in my condo. I took a hot shower and jerked myself off. There was only one girl I belonged with. The one I couldn’t have. Jennifer McCoy.
Thursday was more of the same. There was no hope for Jennifer and me. Until I got a phone call at the end of the day from my grandma.
“Blakela, I ran into that girlfriend of yours yesterday. She told me she’s meshuganah about you.”
“She did?”
“Vould I ever kid you?”
No. My crazy, over-sexed eighty-five-year-old grandma was a straight shooter.
“Finally, you’ve given me something to live for,” she rejoiced.
And vice versa. Telling Grandma I loved her, I hung up the phone. For the first time in almost a week, a glimmer of hope lit up my heart. And my cock twitched.
THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5 Page 34