De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  Sitting at the bar at Cock & Bull on 45th street, I sip on a pint of Pimms while waiting for reinforcements—Autumn.

  From behind me, I hear, “Nice place you picked.”

  I turn around on my stool, stand, and hug her. “Reminds me of London.”

  “Oh yes. Tell me, did you order bangers and mash?” she jokes.

  “No, actually. I ordered sliced hangers, white cheddar mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus.”

  “Girl, I have no idea where you put the number of calories you consume.” She laughs as she hangs her bag under the bar and sits.

  “My ass, of course,” I reply then hold my pint up to the cute bartender and then two fingers.

  She grins. “Pimms?”

  I nod.

  “God, do you remember a year ago? We were at Wimbledon and got stupid drunk on this drink?”

  “You.” I laugh. “You got stupid drunk. I was Autumn-sitting.”

  “Semantics.” She waves it away. “So, tell me, how’s that rich boyfriend of yours?”

  I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

  “Spill it.”

  So, I do.

  An hour later, I’ve convinced her that I will not be staying in the de la Porte penthouse, and she talks me into spending at least tonight there before making that decision. She also offered me her apartment in SoHo, to share with her while she’s in New York, and then it will be all mine when she goes back to London.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stella

  With a hellacious buzz going on, Autumn and I finally stumble out of Cock & Bull at close to eleven at night, catching an Uber to de la Porte.

  Standing outside the building, I look up. “You do know I have a fear of tall buildings, right?”

  “Well, sister, you’re going to have to get over it tonight.” She laughs as she loops her arm through mine and drags me around to the side alley.

  “Last time I was here, I was saving Natasha from GQ Joe.” She gives me a sloppy grin. “Also, it was my first time going up to the penthouse.” She punches in the security code, and then we walk into a side entrance door. “Never forgot the code, though. Always had intentions of sneaking in here and spending the night.”

  She pulls me down the hall to the end elevator, where she punches in another code, and the doors slide open. Unlooping her arm from mine, she walks into the elevator, and I follow.

  “Punch the P.”

  We ride in silence. Once at the top, there is a soft dinging sound as the doors slide open to the penthouse, a place I have envisioned all my life but never thought I would end up being a guest at.

  “Emerald City,” I whisper.

  “I know.” Autumn walks in first, and I follow behind her.

  Each step we take awakens motion lights that glow softly around us as we both look around in awe. It is luxury, from the black marble floor with gold flecks to the white marble walls leading to a twelve-foot white ceiling.

  “There’s a fireplace.” As soon as she says fireplace, the thing glows to life. “And air-conditioning.” It starts cooling immediately. “And a dozen Greek gods hung like horses, who love to feed us grapes and dine at the Y.”

  I laugh.

  “It was worth a try.” She shrugs as she looks around. “I can’t get over this place. It’s like the Jetsons had a baby with Richie Rich.”

  “Now you see why I can’t stay here?”

  “Hell no, I don’t!” She laughs. “But I do have to tell you, Angela is gonna get an earful for not offering this pad to me for a night or two. Some best friend she is.”

  I know she’s joking.

  “I feel the need to take selfies everywhere and send them to all the bitches from high school who voted me most likely to pop out a kid junior year.”

  “I don’t think Jean’s spirit would like that.”

  “Honey, when I stayed at the Paris mansion, I took a million selfies, not all fully clothed, and Jean didn’t even say boo.”

  When my eyes widen, she studies my face.

  “Tell me you’ve never sent a pelfie.”

  “A what?”

  “Twat shot.”

  “Ew.”

  “Oh, honey, that may be why you and your boyfriend are having issues.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t like that kind of thing. Plus, I mean, what if we do break up? I wouldn’t want him to have that forever.”

  “No face shot and send it through snatch chat.”

  I laugh out loud. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m single and loving it.” She winks. “Plus, in a few years, the meat curtains may start hanging, and my tulip may not look as delectable.”

  “How the hell do you know what your vagina looks like?”

  “Every woman should, which is why pelfies are a really great idea. Plus, if you share them with that special friend, it could spice things up.”

  “Spice is just not us.”

  “Babe, someone’s gotta be the one to bring the spice.”

  It has been a long day for both of us, and although I don’t take a pelfie, I do fall asleep thinking that maybe he would really appreciate it someday. But it’s the wrong he I was thinking of.

  At one in the morning, I hear a ding, alerting me of a message.

  Aaron: I did as you asked. I stood there like you asked. I wanted to knock his teeth out half the night, but I didn’t, for you. I’m telling you right now, it won’t happen again. I won’t play bitch to him. I advise you to make the same choice.

  I have no idea how to respond. I never asked him to play bitch. All I asked was that he show he cared about the business. I mean, it’s how he and his father live. Which of course I don’t say because he would take it as an insult.

  Aaron: Also, Tois keeps sniffing the stool your round, little ass sat on when we ate.

  He sends a picture of the kitty on the stool.

  I guess it’s his way of making peace. Peace I thought was already made when I left right after we ate Friday feast day, which I cannot believe he remembers after all these years.

  Aaron: It’s probably because he saw me doing the same thing since you left today. Your scent is calming and invigorating at the same time. Only you, Stella McCarty. Only. You.

  After that message, I decide it’s best not to reply. I need to see Elijah tomorrow. I need to find out what this afternoon was all about, without telling him I was there and overheard him and Aaron arguing.

  Aaron: Good night, Stella.

  “You okay?” Autumn asks from the other side of the bed.

  I don’t answer.

  “I know you’re awake. Your thoughts are loud.”

  “They are not.”

  She rolls over to her side, props her head up on her hand, and looks at me.

  My phone dings again and she laughs.

  “You should have sent him that pic.”

  “Wrong him,” I say on a sigh.

  “Aaron Esposito?”

  I nod. “Why does everyone use his last name when they mention him?”

  “That big a presence deserves two names.” She smirks. “Plus, I can’t help thinking of that Luis Fonsi and Justin Bieber song when I say it.”

  I smile.

  “Even when you all showed up here at de la Porte your senior year in high school, that boy had swagger and a big presence. A Spanish flare, with eyes like the ocean.”

  “He’s always been a bit conceited.”

  “I think it’s confidence.”

  I look over at her. “Well, same thing.”

  She shakes her head, disagreeing.

  “Tell me then, what’s the difference?”

  “One wears a smile; the other a smirk. Aaron Esposito smiles.”

  “I could put a word in for you. That would actually be helpful in this situation.”

  “I would ruin a boy like that. And besides, you’re deflecting.”

  “Like Eric Courtright?” I joke.

  “I’m done playing in the kiddy pool, so you keep Esposito all to yourself
.”

  “He’s not mine.” I roll to my side and prop my head up on my hand. “And you’re deflecting. Spill the tea. I know you and Eric have had a thing for, like, five years.”

  “Never gonna happen,” she says as she lays on her back.

  “Why not?”

  “Eighteen-year age gap.”

  “Angela and Bass are fifteen years apart.”

  “I am not Angela, and he is not Bass.”

  “Nope, you’re Autumn, and he’s Eric.”

  My phone chimes again.

  “He’s persistent.”

  I roll over and grab my phone. “It’s Elijah.”

  I hit the message.

  Elijah: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I know how you like to sleep in. Noon okay?

  Me: Sounds perfect. Sleep well, Elijah.

  I wake up feeling a great bit of unease. I had a dream of me being pulled across water, like a game of tug of war. I tried to stay asleep to see the faces of the hands pulling me, hoping it wasn’t Elijah and Aaron, but knowing it was.

  By nine in the morning, I am dressed, and not in casual shorts and a tank top like I have been in all week. I’m wearing a sundress, a silk, flowy dress with a floral pattern. Thank God Autumn brought a couple of outfits for me since I brought nothing but my big purse that has everything in it except clothes. Well, it does have an unmentionable’s pouch that I made in one of my design classes. My hair is in soft beach waves, and only because I have been awake for three hours and needed to do something to pass the time.

  When Autumn woke up, I told her not to get up, that I was going to Elijah’s and would see her on Monday, thanking her for hanging out with me.

  Standing at his door, I’m nervous that he will see it. See that I am not the same starry-eyed, naive girl who thought everything would be perfect just a week and one day ago. I’m not the same girl who agreed that space and time would make us stronger. It’s done quite the opposite from the very beginning. Space … an ocean apart, has literally and figuratively sent us back to before we admitted our feelings for each other. And idle time has given the opportunity to make me the devil, or maybe just the desire to be the devil’s plaything.

  Before I have the chance to knock on the door, though, it opens.

  Shocked, I nearly retreat but stop myself. I step back several feet, needing distance between the puffy-eyed redhead and me.

  “Spencer?”

  She dabs her nose with a tissue and sniffles. “Excuse me.”

  As she brushes past me, I hear Elijah yell after her. When he rounds the corner and sees me, he looks shocked, then angry.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you yet.”

  Looking past me, not at me, I feel the tension surrounding him. It’s as contagious as the smile I’ve been gifted with for the past four days and nights.

  I walk around him toward the open door of the penthouse. “Go fix whatever issue it is you have with your assistant. I’ll just go sit in a corner and wait my turn.”

  “I didn’t mean to be harsh, but that would be impossible!” Elijah tells her, ignoring me.

  “Screw you, boss,” she hisses.

  I step forward to look down the hall and see her flip him off as the elevator doors close.

  He turns and bumps into me, knocking me back several feet. “Jesus, Stella.” He grips my biceps and stops me from falling.

  “Ouch,” I snap as I pull my arms away.

  “Dammit.” He stomps his foot like a child throwing a tantrum then turns his back on me.

  “You know, Elijah, the words are I’m sorry, something you’d usually say to someone you nearly plowed over while looking them in the eye.”

  He turns around and throws his arms in the air. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry I wasn’t expecting you until later, and I’m sorry you have incredibly horrible timing.”

  Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I look up at him. “I have incredibly poor timing? Well, you have incredibly horrible manners.”

  He glares at me coldly, with cruelty in his eyes.

  His phone chiming draws the disdain from me to the screen of his phone, which is in his hand.

  “You need to take that, or do you have five minutes available for the girl who chose you over London?”

  He doesn’t look at me for a few seconds as he scrolls through the message.

  “We’re done.” I go to step around him, but he moves in front of me, blocking me from leaving.

  In an eerily calm voice, he says, “I’ve got time.”

  I look between his eyes and shake my head. “I’ve been home a week, and you’ve treated me like crap, Elijah. I’m not doing this—”

  “If by this, you mean you and me, you better stop right there. I chose this”—he motions between us—“too.”

  The intensity in his eyes increases as does the rise and fall of his chest. It’s uncomfortable, it’s intimidating, and it doesn’t feel … safe.

  I’m a cop’s kid. I’ve been groomed to stand up for myself, do the right thing, but also how to take control back from an uncontrollable situation. And this … this seems like an uncontrollable situation.

  I force myself to look relaxed and shrug. “I think I’ll come back at noon. I should have messaged first.”

  He doesn’t move, his eyes darting between mine again, and finally, he seems to relax a little. “No.”

  “No?” God, Stella, keep your voice calm.

  When he steps toward me, closing his eyes, then wraps his arms around me, I tense further, unable to hide it.

  “Lost another assistant.”

  With him being so close, I can now smell alcohol on him. Elijah isn’t a day drinker. This isn’t normal.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He sighs, running his hand down my back. “I could really use you right now.”

  Use me? I think. Use. Me!

  “You know, maybe I could go get you something to eat? I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are, too.”

  “There’s food in the fridge. Come in.”

  It feels like I don’t have a choice, but I also now know, without a doubt, that I need to end this today. I won’t come back again. His behavior has been erratic at best. And after seeing him with Spencer, I now know it’s not just with me.

  I could use this in my favor. Drunks talk a lot. I could find out what’s going on with him, maybe even about him and Aaron’s fight yesterday. Something. Because I can’t keep living the way I have this past week.

  Inside the apartment, I see disarray, which is the total opposite of normal.

  He makes quick work of stacking the pile of papers scattered across the counter, and then he moves on to the empty bottles—plural—of champagne, grabbing them and tossing them into the recycling container in one of the cabinets.

  “Elijah, you have to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Everything’s fine. It’s all worked out and in order.”

  I want to ask what “everything” is; instead, I watch as he walks over to the living room area and straightens pillows, folds a blanket, picks up an empty pizza box, and then brings it into the kitchen. After he breaks it down, he folds it and places it in the trash.

  “Elijah.”

  He looks up at me, his eyes a blank haze.

  “I’m going to get some tea and pastries from the little bakery across the street.” Knowing he will say no, I ask, “Would you like to come?”

  “You’re leaving us.”

  His statement breaks my heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elijah

  “No,” she remarks without thought then looks down at her feet.

  She’s wearing one of those dresses, one with way too many colors. And yes, to most that is pleasing to the eye, but for me, it’s confusing, so I look away from it and into her soft brown eyes.

  “I’d prefer you be honest with me, and I understand
that you skate around everyone’s feelings, Stella, but I don’t like games.”

  She continues to look down at the floor while knotting her hands together, a sign of struggle, which is also a sign of weakness to a man like me. Yet she’s the only person on this planet that I won’t use that to my advantage.

  There’s something about her, always has been. Something too kind for this cruel world.

  Today, I will break that rule. I’ll show her some softness, vulnerability.

  “Everyone leaves at some time or another. And I just ask that, if you do, it’s without regret.”

  She peeks up. She’s so small, so fragile because of the burdens she carries in her chest, her heart.

  “You know why?”

  She’s stubborn; doesn’t answer.

  “Because they’re not strong enough to handle commitment and loyalty in its true form, not just some skewed sense of it.”

  I walk over and take her hand. She’s tense. So am I. But she’ll follow.

  I sit on the sofa and pat the spot next to me. “My mother, my father, my sisters. Even you when you went to London.”

  “You could’ve come.”

  I fight the urge to smile at the naivety in her statement, but not the urge to correct it.

  “I have a business to run; you know this.”

  “But you need to live, too. You need to—”

  I look at her like I’m paying attention, but I’m not.

  She pretends that someone like her can exist without people like me—people born to be leaders.

  When she says the name, “Aaron,” she has my attention again.

  “What of him?”

  She tenses again, and her lips purse.

  “Stella?” I demand softly because it’s her.

  “He’s your friend.”

  “He’s no friend.”

  “Why?”

  “His sense of entitlement disgusts me.” I stand and try to walk off the tension that the sound of his name causes me. “Entitlement of those born rich who never know what it’s like to worry about money.”

  “You two were best friends, Elijah.”

  I look back at her. “We were childhood playmates, classmates.”