De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set
Page 89
“When you’re off the tit and realize that, in order to make it in this world, you have to play the game, you’ll understand that yes, I am pretty damn proud of that.” His eyes lock with mine as he takes a drink.
Not long ago, that would have intimidated me, cooled my temper, but not anymore. Now I glare back at him.
“Your house of cards is built on bullshit and lies. You keep playing the game, and the rest of us will watch it fall.” He smirks, the smug bastard. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You’re wrong. I walk around all fucking day putting out fires so everyone under that roof can live the lifestyle you’ve all grown accustomed to.”
“Here’s a tip from your idiot son. Stop throwing gas on coals, and you’ll spend less time putting out fires.” “Christ, kid, you haven’t a clue.” He laughs at me.
“I’m done with you,” I snarl.
“Then you’re done with them, too.” He nods toward Shelby and the others.
“I highly fucking doubt that. They’d choose me over you any day, Father.”
“When this thing is over, you and I can sit and talk about why a twenty-one-year-old boy should tip his toe into manhood before thinking he can jump in and be everything everyone around him needs him to be.”
“When you’re done thinking you have to be a big dog to all these little bitches, maybe you’ll realize what a real man actually is.”
He laughs and picks his drink back up. “Look around, son, everyone is watching us. I am the big fucking dog.” He points across the yard. “And when I’ve tamed that bitch and put her little ankle biting sidekick on a leash, I’ll be sitting at the top, just like I should be.”
I look across the way to see who it is now that he’s disrespecting and fuck if she doesn’t look stunning in a navy sundress and a white, oversized floppy sunhat shielding her skin from the sun. Those fucking eyes, though, they can’t be hidden. My heart drops when I realize the women he’s referring to are Autumn and Angela.
“Do you even know those women? They could be—”
“Angela Petrov was Jean’s right-hand. She’s a glorified secretary, his PR at best. Was a stay-at-home mother, hemming dresses, when she came to work at de la Porte. You can guess how she worked her way up the proverbial ladder. If she gave a shit about this company, or any of us who’ve worked our balls off for it, she’d have pushed to take advantage of the press after his death.
“The little pissant next to her, the lapdog and sometimes ankle biter, doesn’t even have a real degree from a reputable university. She has an online bachelor’s because she was busy chasing her husband around the country while he was playing minor league baseball.”
“A what?” I ask, trying to keep my shock at bay.
He laughs. “As soon as he made it to the majors, he dumped her on her ass. The change in her, the power she thinks she has now, is disturbing. I can’t wait to see both of them escorted out of Jean’s office and end up in the unemployment line.”
“You’re an even bigger asshole than I thought you were.” I walk away from him, my ego fucked up.
Major league baseball player! What the fuck?
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hit the search app as I watch her and Angela chatting. I type in Stephen13.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Stephen Greenfield, number 13, was picked up by the New York Mets five and a half years ago after playing minor league baseball since college.
“Good fucking thing I’m a Yankees fan.”
Scrolling down farther, I pass by articles about him.
“He’s on Wikipedia. Of course he is.”
I type in Stephen Greenfield’s wife, hoping this is wrong, knowing damn well it’s not.
Hundreds of pictures pop up of Autumn, many with him, looking at his lanky ass like the sun fucking sets on his goddamn size two feet, several feet away from his five-inch dick.
I scroll down farther and see pictures of her alone, taken by some shitbag minor league paparazzi. In most, she’s crying or...well, eating. In some, she’s doing both. The headlines are brutal, and I snap-shot every one of the sites who posted them, hell-bent on someday ruining them, and the photographers, and the fucking reporters.
Stephen’s Ex At Ate It Again.
The photo is of her eating a king-sized Baby Ruth bar.
The Mets Gain A Star And His Ex Gains
Another 30.
She’s eating another Baby Ruth bar.
Baby Ruth Should Make A Deal With Autumn Greenfield,
But She’d Probably Just Chew Up All The
Profits.
She’s eating Baby Ruth ice cream out of the carton while walking down some street in New York City.
Greenfield’s Ex No Longer Fun Size.
There’s a picture of her carrying a fun-sized bag of them
There’s also a photo of a fat baby with her face on it with a Baby Ruth in its hand.
A million emotions swarm in my beehive of a head.
Once a fat kid, I’m pissed as hell that these fuckers clearly haven’t a clue how emotionally wrecked someone is when they try to eat their feelings. How anyone could miss that is beyond me — Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, Marie Osmond, Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, for fuck’s sake.
Then the man who has tasted, eaten, fucked, and is clearly in deep shit in less than two days over this woman wants to thump the hell out of her ex with a baseball bat.
But no rational fucker would do that. That’s a whole different level of crazy. Actually, it’s psychotic.
And I’m pissed she’s not a virgin.
I look up and see her and Angela smiling as they begin to walk toward a group of women. I have to ground myself so I don’t go over there, kiss the hell out of her right now, throw her over my shoulder, and take her south with me. But apparently, Autumn has a career, and her best friend is her boss.
The shit my father said about her can’t possibly be correct.
I look over to the bar to make sure my father isn’t still there when Shelby walks up to me.
“That was intense.”
“It’s fine, Shells.”
She crosses her arms. “Nothing’s ever fine with him.”
I look down at my phone and see a snap from Autumn.
“Who’s that?” Shelby leans in, but I hold my phone back as I look for Autumn.
“That’s none of your business,” I tell her.
“Let me guess, hot catering help?”
I give her a look, and she gives me one right back.
“Don’t even act as if you haven’t been doing that since you were my age.”
She’s not wrong.
“The difference is—”
“There’s no difference,” she interrupts me.
“The difference is”—I pause and give her a look—“you have me to steer you in the right damn direction. I didn’t have anyone.”
“We’ll see,” she says as she walks past me and toward a waiter, grabbing a barbeque slider.
I look down at my phone and hit the snap app.
AutumnsSeason: You free?
I look away from it and around the crowd. I still can’t see her.
StixsandStars1: Where are you?
AutumnsSeason: Currently with my bestie, and we both decided to blowoff all obligations and have fun.
StixsandStars1: When will I get to see you?
AutumnsSeason: I can be available as soon as an hour, two tops.
StixsandStars1: Two hours and one minute then.
AutumnsSeason: I can’t wait.
StixsandStars1: I can’t wait even more.
Shelby clears her throat as I slide my phone in my pocket. “Here.” She hands me a slider.
“Thanks, Shells.”
“Whiplash much?”
I throw my arm around her shoulders. “We’re all good, kid, all good.”
After taking Shelby and the twins back to the house, I hit the shower. When I get out, there’s a snap.
StixsandStars1: Sounds good, G.
Chapter Thirteen
Autumn
I’m late, which isn’t an Autumn trait, but when three different Ubers didn’t show up, I was tempted to walk. However, I’m wearing a little black dress and red Jimmy Choos. The heels are high, and my hopes are, too.
My wish is for tonight to be as amazing as last night and to not fall any deeper in major like as I already am.
Hot sex has topped my list, and he’s checked that box...multiple times. The fact that he makes me feel sexy, respected, desired, and sexy. Yes, I know I mentioned that twice, but it has been a long time since I’ve felt that way. As a matter of fact, the last time was...never.
I’ve made my peace with saying goodbye and never looking back, but when I go back to New York City, I’ll bring with me an arsenal of things to add to my list.
Respect.
Desire.
Laughter...God, he makes me laugh so much.
And I need to promise myself never to allow a man who doesn’t look at me with smoldering eyes into my little red panties. I’ve worked too damn hard to get this body back, and whoever I allow to touch me better damn well bring his A game and deserve it because I have discovered mine. Walking into the bar, I see him immediately. How could I miss him? And let’s just say that if I did, all I would have to do is follow the line of vision of every female in the place to guide me.
He’s wearing black jeans and a gray sweater.
I slow my pace when I notice his shoulders are slumped. His elbows are on the bar, and his hands are in his silky, messy, hair. I feel slightly nauseated by it.
When he sits up and turns toward me, the corners of his lips turn up. When he stands, it’s not with the prowess and fluid moves I’m used to with him, but he’s no less sexy.
I can’t help laughing, thinking he may have had a bit too much to drink.
“Been here a while?”
“Long enough to catch a buzz. But thankfully, not long enough that I can’t see how fucking gorgeous you look.” He kisses my cheek then stands back and gives me a once-over.
“Gorgeous.”
“A few more drinks, and you’ll be seeing double.”
He grins as he pulls out my stool and waits for me to sit before sitting himself down. “Two of you, a threesome.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s order you a few shots, and then we can make it a foursome.”
When the bartender comes over, I order, “Two shots of
H2O and keep ’em coming.” The bartender nods.
“I’m not fucked up, babes; just a little buzzed.” His eyes take me in again, and he shakes his head slightly.
I reach over and push his hair back. “Rough day?”
He nods and takes my hand as I am pulling it back. “And I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.” He leans in and goes for a kiss.
I lean back. “Don’t start something you can’t continue.” “You talking whiskey dick?” I nod.
“Whiskey fuels my drive like lithium to an energizer battery. I keep going and going and—” “I get the point.” I smile at him. “Can you handle that tonight?”
“I can, but buzzed, I’m not letting you anywhere near my bum.”
He scowls. “When you were late, I thought maybe you weren’t coming tonight.”
I shake my head. “I’m a woman of my word.”
“Good, because I have a proposition for you. Regardless of the answer, I want it to be honest.” Swallowing hard, I nod.
The intensity of his blazing blue stare causes my heartbeat to accelerate, and as uncomfortable as the heat is getting in a public place, I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“I don’t want this to end here, not tonight, not in a week.
Hell, not for the foreseeable future.”
My head shakes back and forth, as if on autopilot.
“Don’t mind-fuck it, Autumn of Queens. It’s not every day you find something like this. When you get to the good stuff, you don’t let go. I know you’re a busy and an independent woman—that’s part of my draw to you—and I know my schedule is heavy and getting more so every day, but we make time for what feels good. And you and I feel really fucking good together.”
Both his hands are on my knees now. “From my place to Queens isn’t across the ocean, babe; it’s an hour and a half. I’m back here at least once a month and could be even more often if the right woman”—he points to me—“were to say, I need to feel good, I could make it happen. If the right woman”—he points to me again—“decided she needed a fucking break from the snow in December and said so, I’d have my bed ready for her. And no one—and I mean no one else—would be in it.” He points to me a third time. “If the right woman said, let’s do this, I’d jump in feet fucking first.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and feel the heat of his body getting closer to me.
“I have wheels and will travel for you and only you. My schedule is lighter until after the holidays. I can take four-day weekends, every damn one of them, if I choose. And right now, I choose you, and I choose me. I choose to do what feels really fucking good. I knew after night one that you’ve been through some shit but look at me—I didn’t run scared. And look at you—you’re still sitting here, wanting something better, something that just feels good, just feels right.” He kisses me softly, like a whispered question, and when I’m about to say yes against his pillow-like lips, he rubs his lips across mine and whispers, “You and I are written in the stars.”
If anyone else in the world said that to me, I would laugh in their face. But I know how much he likes the stars —enough to want to share them with me. And I know how much he likes me—he shows me every time I’m with him.
“Okay,” I sigh out.
“Okay,” he sighs back. Then his lips leave mine, and I hear him chuckle.
I bite my quivering tongue.
He takes my hand and looks at the bartender. “We’d like a bar menu.”
“Are you sure you want to stay?” I ask in a heady, who-the-hell-am-I voice.
“I’m sure I need something in my stomach and a few glasses of water before we hit the road.”
“I thought we’d just hit the beach.”
He shakes his head. “I want you in my bed.”
“Your family—”
“Has partied all day and are fast asleep.”
“But in the morning—”
“I crash at the pool house when I’m home.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Autumn of Queens.”
“I was born in Queens, raised in Alabama, and my place is in SOHO.”
He smiles. “Tell me more.”
The bartender sets the menu in front of us.
Eric doesn’t take his eyes off me. “The sampler platter.” “Fried or broiled?” he asks.
“Broiled,” we both say at the same time.
When he walks away, Eric waits for me to answer his demand.
I pick up the glass of water, take a sip, and then set it down. “My biological mom gave me up when I was born. I was adopted at four months old by my parents and raised in
Alabama.”
“When were you born?”
“May nineteenth.”
He laughs. “A Taurus. Earth sign.”
“I don’t pay a lot of attention to astrology, but I think that’s about to change.”
“Answers a lot of questions for those who need answers. Like aside from that fact that she is gorgeous, why am I so fucking drawn to this woman born in the spring and named
Autumn?”
I shrug. “I was adopted in September.”
“And Scorpios”—he points to himself—“are mostly sexually compatible with only a few signs; one would be Taurus.” He points to me. “See? Written in the stars.”
I smile and try not to get wrapped up in the fact that it absolutely feels that way.
“W
hat sign was your ex?”
“Stephen was also a Taurus.”
“I like that you speak of him in the past tense.”
“I’d rather not speak of him at all.”
“You ever see him?” He picks up his glass of water and takes a drink.
“Well, we may as well get it out of the way. You’ll find out eventually. His name is Stephen Greenfield.” “Never heard of him,” he deadpans.
I laugh, and so does he.
“I’m not big on baseball but have always rooted for the Yankees and will definitely be rooting harder for them now.”
“Football?”
He shakes his head.
“Oh, please, I find it hard to believe you’re not into sports.”
He shrugs. “Half-ass lacrosse player, but I do love the game and the gym.”
“And the gym loves you.”
Caressing me with blue flames from my toes to my nose, he states, “Clearly it loves you, too.”
“It was a necessity for me. I ate my feelings, and they ate me.”
He nods as if he gets it then takes another drink and sets it down. “I was a fat kid, so I know all about it. But we have plenty of time to get to know each other, Autumn of...” He pauses. “Does it bother you when I say Autumn of Queens?”
“No, not at all. It reminds me of where I came from, the journey I’ve traveled and will continue to travel.” “That is incredibly sexy.”
“You good?” he asks as we walk hand in hand toward a pool house bigger than my Brownstone. “I feel like a teenager, breaking rules.” He chuckles.
“It’s not funny. I was never a rule breaker. I would have never snuck into my ex’s house.”
“Well, back then, you were a virgin, so...” he jokes.
“I don’t want to go through that awkward stage. The meet the parents’ nonsense.”
“I promise he doesn’t even step foot out here.”
I momentarily regret my word choice, forgetting he lost his mother at a young age. It seems almost thoughtless. But to say I get lost in everything him isn’t an understatement. He doesn’t seem affected, so I continue. “What about your siblings? Are they still here?”
He opens the double wooden doors, and a dim light turns on, illuminating the area.