by Mj Fields
He nods. “Surgery went well. He asked me to be here in his place.”
“Well, with Harrison leaving right after dinner for a weekend golfing trip with his son, I would love to offer you a place to stay if needed.” She looks back at me briefly then turns toward him. “We have a very nice place in the heart of Manhattan.”
“I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Fuller, but we’re all set.”
“Staying in a hotel?”
“Staying with him at the hospital.”
She giggles. “A big boy like you needs a nice bed to stretch out in. The offer stands, EJ.”
“Again, I appreciate it. Shelby might actually like that.”
She clears her voice. “Is she still having that problem?”
“What problem is that, Lita?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“You know, the ‘lifting,’” she whispers, but just barely.
“No more an issue than Harrison’s son, Arnold, had with hookers or stepsisters.”
I cover my mouth to capture the pure, joyful sound that may escape caused by anyone putting these assholes in their places.
She gasps. “He never—”
“Lita, I don’t want to go into details about what happens to the children of parents who pay more attention to their social standings than their own kids, but I will gladly—”
Time to step in.
“Eric, have you met Bastian?”
“Officially, no,” he answers, tight-lipped.
“Let me introduce you.” I walk past him and, for some reason, I know he will follow.
Once we turn the corridor out of earshot from anyone else, I turn and look at him. “I’m sorry I said anything bad about your father. I didn’t know. Is he okay?” I realize my hand is on his bicep and start to take it away when he grabs it.
“He’s gonna be fine. But let me ask you something. What in the fuck—”
“Shh...Jesus,” I scold as I look behind me.
When I feel him yank my hand, I turn just as he’s pulling me into a dark room, and when I hear a click, I assume he’s locking it.
“This is not okay,” I snap, pulling my hand away from his.
When the light comes on, I realize we’re in a coatroom.
“You know what’s not fucking okay, Autumn of...?” He stops and makes a face as if he’s disgusted with himself, then begins again. “Sending message after message to a woman who you know damn well has fucking feelings for you and having her little groundhog emoji taunt the fuck out of you when she’s typing a response, and then this grown-ass woman decides not to answer. So, tell me, Autumn, why you’re either fucking with me or denying yourself this?” He waves his hand up and down his body.
Smug bastard.
“Tell me, Eric”—angry, I poke him in the chest—“why you sent a fucking picture of us to my ex-husband, and then why I have to find out about it from my mother!”
“He called your mother!”
I poke him again. “Not the point! You’re a frat boy who made a frat boy choice! Then, when you send me all these fucking snaps.” I snap my fingers in his face. Thinking to myself, I add the unspoken truth, And even after that bullshit, I wanted to reply.
“He sent a dick pic while you were wrapped around me. Was it immature?”
I start to answer yes, but he cuts me off.
“No, it wasn’t because, at that moment, I was trying to figure out how to make this thing with us...something. And I didn’t need a big leagued, little dick asshole, who had you for all those years, flopping around a piece of grade Z beef, distracting you or making you remember why the hell you don’t trust men.” Anger and defeat mix in his tone and expression. “Now, tell me, Autumn”—he hits himself in the chest—“why you didn’t reply.”
“If I had, it would have been far less than I”—I hit my own chest now—“am willing to give to a situation that I don’t have time to do a thing about because my life is pretty fucked up right now. I also vowed to myself that I would never ever do that to myself again, and then I realized I couldn’t do it to you either.”
He steps toward me, and I step backward.
“This isn’t happening.”
“Fine. Then, as my friend, tell me how much I owe you for all the stuff you sent my sister.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was a big deal, Autumn, to her and to me.” He takes a smaller step.
“Don’t.” I hold my hand up to stop him, which is in complete contrast to what my body wants.
“Fine.” He stalls. “Just answer the question then. How much?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
He steps in again, his broad chest hitting my hand. “No one has ever done anything like that for me without expecting something back.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it as a girl who knows what it’s like to fall on hard times. For a girl who seems to be going through something similar.”
“Thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing, Autumn.” He takes my hand and kisses the palm. Electricity shoots from his lips to my palm, its current running through my veins.
“Tell me how much money I owe you.”
“Thrift store finds,” I whisper as he places my hand on his shoulder and wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his arms.
“Most still had tags, Autumn. Don’t bullshit me. Tell me what I owe you.” His lips hover over mine, and my mouth goes dry, but not the spot between my legs. Quite the contrary.
“Beacon’s Closet.”
“What?”
“Thrift store. No big deal.”
“It was very thoughtful.”
“Everyone deserves to look pretty.”
His lips on my ear, he whispers, “It’s also made her want to buy and sell clothes, to make money on her own.”
“Mmhmm.”
He skates his lips down my cheek and to my neck. “You know how many men looked at you tonight and wanted to fuck you?” He starts toying with the hem of my dress.
“None.”
“Every one of those fuckers wants to fuck you, and only one is worthy. Do you know who that is?”
Before I can make a complete ass of myself and move his hand from my outer thigh to between my legs, his phone rings.
“Bad fucking timing,” he hisses.
“Actually, perfect.” I start toward the door as he answers.
“Hello?”
When he snakes his arm around my waist, lifts me up, and physically moves me away from the door, I hear her.
“Everything going okay with Dad’s asshole friends?”
“Language, Shells. And yeah, much better than expected.”
“Again, you’re not my father. And when you come back, I want a hot dog from one of the street vendors.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, a red slushy.”
“Makes you hyper.”
“That’s Daisy, not me,” she huffs
“Sorry, kiddo.”
“I’m fifteen,” she groans out.
“Remember that.”
“I’m bored.”
“I’ll be back soon.” He rubs his lips across the back of my neck. “I’ve got some information for you.”
“About Mom?”
“No. The friend who sent the clothes and accessories. She mentioned Beacon’s Closet. It’s a thrift store.”
“Gross.”
“This woman has amazing taste, Shells. Check it out. Might be a good place to check out for that idea you had. And Shells, it’s legal.”
“Boring.” She fake-yawns, and I can’t help giggling.
He pins me against the wall, leaving just enough space between us to cup my breast.
“Can we go tomorrow? Oh, wait, we’re broke.”
He removes his hand from my breast as he says, “We’re not broke. And if all is well, yes.”
“How are we not broke? You couldn’t even use—”
“I have a job,” he interrupts her.
&n
bsp; “You took the modeling gig?”
He steps back, and I turn around, his look pinning me in my place.
“Shells, we’ll chat soon, okay?”
“Fine, but yeah and gross at the same time.”
He looks away. “Love ya. Bye.” Then hangs up the phone and looks back at me.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t lay a finger on me, but I can’t move. I’m barely breathing as his eyes hold mine.
Two steps. Three words. “I need you.” One kiss. And I’m gone.
His lips, fire and fiery against mine. His hands, rougher than a week ago, slide up my dress as he cups my ass and lifts me. I wrap my legs around him, my back crashing against the wall, my panties ripped, and my hands leave his shoulders and dive into his gorgeous fucking hair.
His mouth tastes like my fondest memory, one I never want to leave in the past, and that realization demolishes my heart.
Over moans, groans, pants, whimpers, and my heart pounding so hard against my chest it nearly hurts, I hear a zip, and a second later, he thrust fully into me.
I cry out, tossing my head back as he fucks me with no restraint, no reluctance, no resignation.
When he comes inside me, it is without request. And when he pulls out and zips himself up, he turns his back to me and says, “Fix your dress,” giving me no more than just enough time to do so before he exits the coatroom without a look back or an ounce of remorse.
Chapter Twenty
Eric
Walking out of the coatroom and leaving her behind was a dick move, but so was fucking her in a coatroom and purposely ensuring she didn’t come.
Standing at the curb, I look at my phone and see a notification from my bank. When I hit it, I shake my head when I see the balance.
I should be the happiest man in the world. I have a shit ton of money, and I just fucked a gorgeous woman.
But I’m not.
When I walk back inside La Plume, I could say it’s with my tail between my legs. Instead, my cock is slick against my thigh.
I pass by several people trying to get my attention, but they don’t deserve it.
Scanning the area, I see Angela being hurried down the hall by Bastian, the same hall I had just left, and cringe at the thought of hurting her, regardless of how much shit she did to hurt me.
When I get close enough, I call from behind them, “Is everything okay?”
They stop, and Angela turns.
“Of course it’s okay,” Bass snaps as he turns.
I hold my hand over my racing heart. “Thank God. I thought—”
“Shit.” Bass reaches out his hand to shake mine. “You’re
Eric.”
“I am.” I nod.
“How’s your father?” he asks sincerely. He clearly got my voicemail.
“Not good.” I lean against the wall. “The bypass is done, just going to have to see how much damage—”
“What happened?” Angela interrupts.
“Daniel had a heart attack,” Bass tells her then looks back at me. “His son is stepping in. Which isn’t necessary, but—”
“It is. Our family has been part of de la Porte for years.”
“I’m so sorry, Eric. If there’s anything I can do—”
I laugh, cutting Angela off. “Oh, there is.”
Bass audibly growls, clearly thinking I’m hitting on her. I’m not.
“I met your friend Autumn this summer. She seems to think—”
Angela interrupts me now, “I’m not sure this is a good time to discuss—”
“The Hamptons?” Bass asks.
Angela runs her hands up and down her face.
“Christ, what a mess. But you two should get to wherever it was you were going in such a hurry. I was just concerned.”
“We were just going over my speech. Should be a real snooze. But some folks were confused as to why Angela hasn’t been around. She’ll be back on Monday.” “My father will be glad to hear it,” I lie.
“It won’t be Monday. I’m going overseas on Monday.” She looks at Bass. “Remember?”
He studies her for a moment, clearly not remembering, which is none of my business.
“Well, we’ll see you in there.” I turn and make my way back to the ballroom, directly to where Autumn is sitting, and stop.
She looks up. “Don’t.”
I pull out the chair beside her and sit. “This is all fucking confusing to me—”
“Which should be a sign.” She lifts her glass of champagne.
“Give me your phone, so I can give you my number.”
“Give me my freaking underwear.” Her voice shakes in anger.
“Autumn—”
“Jesus, Eric, I said, don’t. This is my job on the line. Could you please—”
“Give me your phone, and this won’t be a damn issue, Autumn.”
“Go away,” she grumbles.
“As soon as you give me your phone, I will.”
“Fine.” She reaches into the small evening bag on the table, takes her phone out, and all but throws it at me.
“What the hell happened to your phone?” I ask, looking at the smashed screen, knowing now I can’t put my number in the damn thing.
“Dropped it. Now hurry up,” she hisses.
“Dropped it where? Under a hammer? During a stampede?” I try to hide my smile.
“Shut up,” she sighs out.
I lean forward and slide the phone back to her. “If we were anywhere else but here, I’d be on my knees, apologizing with my tongue for walking out like I did, but only because you know damn well this...us...is happening.
Your phone is proof that you can’t stop thinking about me.”
“I. Dropped. It.”
I stand up and nod. “See you later.”
When Bastian’s speech is done, I take in the grumblings of all who surround me with pleasure. Out with the old and in with the new, and since he clearly has it bad for Angela, and she seems to feel the same, I know Autumn’s worry will diminish.
I look behind me to see if what I think is true, and she is gone, and so is Angela.
Walking into the hospital room, I find Shelby asleep on a recliner.
“How’d it go?”
I look over at my dad, who is awake.
“Went good.” I sit down on the chair beside him. “I’d left Bastian a message earlier and asked if I could step in on your behalf for a while until you were healed, and he didn’t return the call, so I was concerned. But when I officially met him, he asked how you were and told Angela—”
“Jesus Christ, I heard she was gone. What the hell would he bring her back for?” “She obviously does a good job.” “Yeah, bullshit,” he huffs.
“Well, that’s his choice.”
He looks me over, obviously realizing it pisses me off when he speaks about people like that. “Anything else?”
“He discussed the fall line and the three designers he got rid of. Apparently, he found designers that he feels will be a better fit for de la Porte’s new direction. A younger, more youthful direction.”
“That’s just fucking great,” he hisses. “Get that nurse in here to knock me out, would you?”
I stand up and begin walking out.
“Eric.”
I look back at him. “Thank you.” I nod.
When I come back in the room, Shelby’s awake and already digging into the bag of hot dogs I bought. He has one, too.
“Don’t give me that look. This used to be our thing. Every time she came to work with me, we had to grab a dog.” He winks at her.
When the nurse walks in, she shakes her head. “Hand it over, big guy.”
“Fun killer.” He sighs as he hands it to her with no issue at all.
Once he’s out, Shelby isn’t far behind. She offers the recliner, but I decline.
For the past hour, I’ve been staring at my phone. No message or snap. I immediately regret at least not trying to text myself from her battered phone, but I did so w
ith purpose.
The purpose that I was going to fuck in its ass right now.
Standing in front of a beautiful Brownstone in Soho, the address kindly provided by the location Autumn unknowingly shares with me, a feeling of normalcy washes over.
The stoop, not large enough for furniture, has two large ceramic flowerpots with greens and flowers spilling out of it. It’s beautiful and welcoming.
Walking up the stairs, I smile at the sight of the welcome mat. Simple and telling, this is a home. A place you would buy to raise a family, and not reside in all alone.
Then I wonder if he and she bought it together.
Of course they did.
Fucker.
I’m almost ready to walk away when I realize: one, I’m not a pussy; and two, the armload of flowers is for her.
I ring the doorbell, and a light in the foyer comes on. When I see a half-dressed man come to the door, I feel my hands shaking in anger.
When he opens the door, he looks me up and down.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Was gonna ask you the same damn question, but then I realized I’m not here to bring you flowers.” I step toward him, fully intent on walking in the place, through him if needs be.
He pushes me back. “You may want to think again, asshole.”
“You put your fucking hands on me again, and I will beat your ass then plant these flowers in it.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are!”
“What’s going on?” I hear a voice, not Autumn’s, and then I see a woman who’s recognizable, but I’m not sure where from peering from behind him.
“You and I had a fucking deal, Milly.” He turns around.
“You fall off the wagon again?”
“Hey, man, I think I’ve got the wrong place.”
He turns and points his finger in my face. “You shut the fuck up!” He turns back to her. “You can pack your shit and go with him. I’m done, Milly, fucking done.”
“Man, you need to listen—”
Before I can continue, I get a fist flying at my face. I block it with ease, and then he dives on me. We tumble down concrete stairs, and then he swings at me again, and misses.
“Knox, cut the shit!” the woman he called Milly screams.
“Fucker, that’s two. One more and I’m taking out teeth!” I roll him onto his back. “I don’t know who the hell she is. I’m looking for Autumn.”