by Kenna North
My goal tonight is to figure out just how challenging this will be. One should always know exactly what they’re trying to achieve. Once I fixate on something I don’t stop until I get it perfected. That’s why I’ve lasted so long at Conde Nast. Why I’ve gotten the promotions while other girls have gone down in flames after Ms. Wintour set fire to them.
I want to perfect getting Hazel Eyes into bed. Then, once I reach that goal, I’ll find a new one. Something or someone more complicated. Don’t be offended. It’s how my entire life is. I, pardon my language, fuck like a man. No emotions and no getting hurt. Just fun. One set of hurdles followed by more and more and more. Now, at thirty-seven, I’m pretty perfect at a lot of things.
“Name?” she asks, staring into her martini glass. I chuckle.
“What do you want it to be?” If looks could kill, I’d be doubling over in pain.
“I don’t want it to be anything. It is rude not to introduce yourself. After all, you’ve already offered the rental of your mouth for the night without even telling me your name,” she says, grimacing. Damn. She reads between the lines better than I thought. She also must not be one of those Upper East Side princesses, all dreamy about romance. Not at all into the games ladies play. She doesn’t belong in a bar like this. She ought to be at some upscale, intellectual book-reading. I wonder why she’s here.
“I don’t rent out my body parts, Jane. I loan my services. My name is Val and no worries – I don’t want to loan anything to you. I don’t think you have a large enough down payment. Too much liability,” I tease. Her face drops. She looks surprised by my cavalier sex talk. So, she’s guarded and innocent. “So what does Jane, who does not like to be objectified, do for a living?” I ask.
She runs her forefinger around the rim of her glass. I shift in my seat. She notices. A smile crosses her lips. “I’m a beauty editor at Hearst,” she says, tilting her head to the side. Her red hair swings around her shoulder. In a sea of blondes and brunettes rocking the latest hair color trends, she’s all natural.
It’s a rare sight and I smile so she’ll continue. And so I can hide the lust I feel. It doesn’t matter that she’s trouble. She’s something different and maybe it’s time I stop avoiding different in favor of easy. Surely Jane isn’t any more difficult to get into bed than any other woman, though. This just takes... rethinking my strategy. That’s all.
“I work with the very same women you walked in with, Val. Not directly, of course, but I’m the one making the final decisions on what we pass on to our editor-in-chief. Our team tells readers what’s hot, what works, and what doesn’t. What about you?” she asks.
She raises her eyebrows as she waits for me to tell her what I do. I think she already knows. She already mentioned the women I arrived with. It’s not really a secret. Just in case she really is clueless, I play the subtle card. “Oh, you know. I’m in fashion, too,” I say, sipping on water. “At the magazine that probably leaves yours in the dust.”
She nods, smiles, and brings her lips to her glass, draining it in one large gulp. “I knew it,” she says, after taking a large breath. I raise my eyebrows. She glances over at Cara, one of the models I consider an actual friend. Cara is cozying up to a woman I recognize as a notorious modelizer. Jane lifts her small hand to wave in their direction.
I follow her gaze and meet the woman’s – Alicia’s – stony-faced gaze. Just as she’s a modelizer, she knows I’m a womanizer. She knows my game. Jane must be her friend. I put two and two together.
Well, shit. This is even more bad news.
Then the model smiles and whispers to Alicia, who turns and kisses her. They’re all tongue and groping hands. Maybe it’s not all bad, after all. Maybe, if I play my cards right, I can get some help to smooth my way with Jane. I want this and I want her more than anything I’ve wanted in a while. It confuses me and excites me at the same time. A new, shiny toy. Nothing like the toys I’ve played with and discarded time and again.
Jane clears her throat. “Well, I think I’ve had enough fixing for tonight.” She stands to go and I wrap my fingers around her wrist.
She’s warm and soft against my smooth hand. Delicate. Fragile. Perfect for fucking. I stand in front of her, towering over her slight frame. I know the masses of easy lays are just behind me, but I want this one. I want Jane, the one woman who doesn’t want me.
I study her profile as she looks out the dancing bodies, searching for someone. Her friend? A different kind of woman? The questions are endless and I feel helpless. I need to talk to her more. Her glossy lips shine in the dim lights. I want to know exactly how she can use them. On every square inch of my body.
“Number?” I ask in the same manner she asked for my name. I never get phone numbers. There’s no need. I love ‘em and leave ‘em. Some women would compare me to a man, but I’m just a woman who knows what she wants. No need to assign a gender to that quality. I can’t even believe the word just came out of my mouth. I hope I don’t sound desperate.
Actually, maybe it will work to my benefit if I do. This is a game, after all.
“I don’t do dates. I don’t give numbers. We work for rival magazines, Val, so let’s not pretend this is going anywhere.” She motions between us with a swift flick of her hand. “I know what you’re after and, frankly, I’m not giving it up. Not to anyone and especially not to a woman who works for the enemy.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes. Humor, innocence, and guarded like the precious fashion closet at Vogue. She smiles over her shoulder as she walks away, her perfect ass moving in the wrong direction.
I only know a few things about this woman, but I’m left with one damn thought: Jane wins this match, hands down. I’m going to have to find a bathroom and toss these wet little panties in the trash.
Meet Kenna
In Kenna's world, everyone is a Guess girl and wears fabulous shoes. Yes, she has a bit of an obsession with fashion.
She loves her stories short, hot, and dirty. Her novella Sugar High is actually the story of how she met her wife. The Only One is her first full-length novel.