“Kind of?” I ventured.
“Ok, so the first thing I want you to do is take that card to the Apple store, pick yourself up an iPad and a MacBook, and anything else you might need, too.”
He cast a glance down at the scuffed old iPhone 4 in my hand and shook his head.
“You might want to think about upgrading that, too. And then, once you’re finished there …”
He paused, looking away for a moment at something in the middle distance.
“Don’t take this the wrong way…”
“Take what the wrong way?” I asked softly when it didn’t seem as if he was ever going to finish his sentence, the silence pulsating between us.
“You need some new outfits. I want you looking stylish. Elegant. Sophisticated. After all, you’re representing me now, Jessica. You reflect on me. And I don’t do Target clothes and drugstore lipstick. Understand?”
I felt the hot, sharp rush of blood to my cheeks.
How on earth could he tell my lipstick was from Duane Reade?
I nodded, eyes fixed on the polished floor, unable to look at him.
“Is that everything?” I croaked, reaching down to pick my bag up with a trembling hand from the floor, wishing I could just sink into the tiles and disappear.
“I’ll see you again in a week,” he said coldly. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with …”
Idiot.
I was so stupid to imagine that we understood each other. In my head, on the way here, this whole meeting had gone so differently: we’d been sitting close together, laughing conspiratorially, our hands brushing occasionally as we discussed our plans, our eyes meeting, our kiss goodbye warm and lingering.
But he obviously doesn’t think I’m anything more than a silly little schoolgirl.
I quickly snatched my bag to my chest and turned, desperate to just get the hell out of there, Blake’s words still ringing in my ears.
I don’t do Target clothes and drug store lipstick …
As he saw me out into the lobby, summoning the elevator, my eye was drawn once more to that second mahogany door, the one on the right.
“Wait!” I called out, a slight tremble in my voice.
Blake turned back to face me, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“What?”
“We’ve missed a room,” I replied, nodding to the door on the right, the one he seemed to be hoping I wouldn’t notice.
And at its mention, his eyes grew cold and direct.
“There’s nothing to see in there,” he said, just as the elevator doors slid open behind me.
§
I strolled towards Fifth Avenue, my head still spinning, trying to figure out whether or not I should find what Blake had said insulting. Maybe he had a point. Maybe I should be dressing a little more … elegantly. But then again, who the heck was he to tell me how to look? And what did he want me to do, go out and pick up a bunch of stupid green dresses, like that token slut Gina, who definitely wasn’t his girlfriend?
As I walked, my mind once more turned to that locked room.
What exactly is he hiding from me?
I took out my cell and fired a text to Fallon — You free this afternoon? — knowing that her working hours in the print studio were usually pretty flexible. She replied as I was almost at the Apple store, saying she could meet me in an hour or so.
Oh screw it, I thought, a smile spreading across my lips, my confidence creeping back, as I realized the kind of fun I might have with a billionaire’s credit card ...
§
“You would look totally hot in this!” Fallon said, holding up a black Alexander Wang shirt so sheer you’d be able to see everything through it. At first I thought she was joking, but she seemed deadly serious and I nodded begrudgingly as she thrust the item into my already-overflowing arms.
“This is freaking insane,” she chirped gleefully, obviously relishing the chance to go wild in Opening Ceremony on someone else’s money. “I bought a bag from here and I had to save up for, like, six months. But today we could buy the entire store if we wanted!”
I’d never even been in here before; I usually avoided these kinds of stores, with their intimidating model-like staff, their intense, hipper-than-thou soundtracks, and clothes so cool it wasn’t even immediately apparent which part of the body you were supposed to wear them on.
But I had to admit, although some of the clothes were totally crazy, I’d also never seen so many beautiful, chic items in one place.
Once again, I felt so glad to have Fallon as a friend. I wouldn’t even have known this store existed without her.
I’d known her a little back at Savannah. She’d been a year ahead of me, majoring in Print Making while I’d been studying Interior Design, but it was only a chance meeting a year later, in Ocean Hill, when we realized that we were both living practically on the same block, that truly cemented our friendship. Where Fallon had been icy cool back in college, now she was warm and friendly — introducing me to her friends, inviting me to shows, giving me tips on the best (and worst) places in my new neighborhood. And she was still one of my only close friends in this city outside of Greg, so I doubly valued our friendship.
“Can you keep a secret?” I asked in a low voice, as we waited in line to the fitting rooms.
“Totally,” she replied, unable to keep the excitement from her voice, her big dark brown eyes lighting up in her ghostly-pale face, framed by her trademark jet-black bob.
And so I told her as much as I dared about my situation, mainly my inability to tell Greg the complete truth about my new working arrangement.
“I can see how that’s tricky,” Fallon puzzled. “But you’ll get there in the end. Greg’s a good guy. He’ll understand once you finally find a way to tell him ...”
I don’t know what I’d do without her. I felt so relieved to have someone who didn’t judge me, who just liked me for who I was and supported me in my decisions, even if they were a little crazy.
Although, I hadn’t exactly told her everything about Blake ...
I was still a little dubious about trying on all these clothes when Fallon pushed me eagerly towards the fitting rooms.
“In you go, missy! I can’t do this bit for you ...” she laughed.
Once I was alone in the cubicle, illuminated by the unforgiving electric strip lights above, staring at myself in the mirror, I could see what Blake meant. This lipstick was totally wrong; the shade didn’t suit me at all, and I was supposed to be the one with an eye for color!
I fished inside my bag for a tissue and wiped it off, ready to start again from scratch. And properly this time.
Then, with a deep breath, I began to unbutton my blouse.
§
“Oh. My. God. Girlfriend, you look like a model!” Fallon cried, the second I stepped out of the cubicle. “Holy shit, Jessica. You look fierce!”
I jumped up and down, unable to help from squealing a tiny bit, not giving a damn that I wasn’t playing it cool. Fallon was sooo right. It was a total transformation. I couldn’t quite believe how good I looked.
The shirt was a sheer black, and you could kind of see my bra a little through it, but because my breasts were so small, it didn’t seem quite as obscene a display as someone like Gina – classy rather than slutty. The shirt had looked nothing special on the hanger, I would’ve never picked it out myself, but once I’d put it on I could see that the tailoring was absolutely incredible. The asymmetric hem was perfect and the neckline made my neck look sleek and long, like a model in a perfume advert.
You obviously get what you pay for.
Except in jeans on the weekend, I wouldn’t normally wear pants, and never in a million years would I have dreamed of wearing leather pants. I thought they were for prostitutes, dominatrixes and biker babes, that sort of thing. But these were the most stylish pants I’d ever worn – hugging my slim boyish hips and thighs in all the right places, making me look womanly for once rather than just skinny.
She dashed off into the store, leaving me to marvel at my brand new silhouette in the fitting room’s many mirrors.
“This!” said Fallon, thrusting a geometric red Perspex necklace towards me. “You need a splash of color and I think this is gonna be just perfect.”
Wow.
She was right.
It changed the outfit from great to absolutely incredible, and I’d never even considered wearing jewelry like this before. The only thing I ever normally wore was the gold chain my Aunt had given me for my eighteenth birthday, and a small pair of plain stud earrings.
I’d always loved interior design: that magic way that light, color and pattern could transform a room, but until now I’d never thought about the many different ways a girl could design and reimagine her own body, too.
I’ve got so much still to learn ...
At the register, a tall, thin, beautiful androgynous boy with an asymmetric haircut folded each item of clothing into tissue paper as delicately as if it was the most precious cargo in the world.
“These pants are just to die for,” he cooed, holding up the black Rick Owens leather pants. “Olivia Palmero bought these just yesterday.”
“Ooh, check you out, fashionista!” Fallon joked, punching me gently on the arm.
“That’ll be two seven ninety,” he said, matter-of-factly, and it took me a second to realize that he meant two thousand seven hundred and ninety dollars.
I stood there for a second, frozen with terror, before Fallon jogged me into action.
“Come on, slowcoach, we haven’t got all day ...”
I took out the AmEx card, the one with Matthews Inc printed in raised lettering on the side, and handed it with a trembling hand to the boy.
When we’d finished the transaction, he walked around the side of the counter to give me the bag with both hands, and I felt like royalty. I couldn’t stop thinking of my favorite scene in Pretty Woman – the moment when Julia Roberts is finally allowed to shop in all the fancy stores.
“Right,” said Fallon. “That’s Monday’s outfit sorted out. But we still need to work out what you’re gonna wear on Tuesday! We gotta get you to Barneys, quick!”
§
“So how was the first meeting with Blake?” Greg asked that night over dinner.
It was his one night off this week, and my turn to cook. I’d fixed the only thing I knew how to make to his standard – steak and thick cut fries – accompanied by a bottle of red wine. And I’d made sure to tidy the apartment too, forcing him to go out for a walk while I laid our table with a cute gingham tablecloth, then taking care to change into his favorite bright pink dress …
Actually, if I’m honest, that’s not even the main reason I made him leave the apartment. The bags full of my brand new clothes were also stuffed guiltily beneath our bed, and I needed some time to put all my new outfits away properly without him seeing.
After all, I couldn’t think of a way of explaining that Blake had given me his credit card to buy new clothes, without it sounding kind of seedy or wrong somehow.
Once the clothes were safely in my wardrobe, I knew that Greg probably wouldn’t notice that I had anything new anyway – he almost never did.
And finally, I had to get rid of all those large, high-end bags and all that luxurious, beautiful tissue paper that everything came wrapped in. I felt so bad carrying the lovely, brightly colored paper down to the dumpsters, but there was simply nowhere to hide it in our tiny little apartment.
“Jessica?” Greg said, busting me out of my thoughts. “I asked, how was the meeting with Blake?”
“Oh, sorry,” I replied, flustered, hoping my voice didn’t betray me. “He was okay. Kind of a spoilt asshole really. But I’ll make it work. The apartment, I mean …”
“So, what does he look like? It he hot?” Greg interrupted, catching me off guard.
I felt a twist of nerves, chewing on a piece of steak for what seemed like forever, suddenly unable to swallow.
I kind of hoped he was joking, but when I looked up from my meal I realized that he was deadly serious.
Not this again ...
I thought Greg had got his jealousy under control: it was something that had flared up a few times, right back when we first started going out, but I’d always insisted that he was the one for me and he hadn’t shown any kind of jealousy in a really long time, long enough for me to think that perhaps it was just a weird phase he’d been through back in college.
I finally gulped down my steak, then shook my head.
“Don’t be silly!” I said, trying to force some cheeriness into my voice. “He’s just this bored old businessman. And anyway, baby … I only have eyes for you.” I fluttered my eyelashes like an old-time movie star, trying to lighten the mood, but I could feel the blood pounding in my veins and the heat rushing to my cheeks.
“Sorry,” Greg said, also blushing as he looked down his meal. “It’s just that… Well, you’re so damned beautiful Jessica, that sometimes I just get scared some hot shot guy is gonna come along and snatch you away, right from under my nose.”
I held him in my gaze as I put down my knife and fork, then got up from my seat, walking around to his side of the table.
I stood before him, looking down at him sitting on his chair, which he’d pushed out a little from the table. I reached down and took his hands, then stepped over him, so I was straddling him, as I guided his hands first up the outsides of my thighs, then up further, beneath my dress, placing them finally on my buttocks.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he croaked, as his hands moved sensuously over my ass, his fingers straying eagerly between my legs, stroking the tender, tingling lips of my pussy through the silky black fabric of my panties.
I slipped my hand down, tugging at the zipper of his pants. He helped me out, quickly fumbling them open, his cock springing free, hard and hot. I felt its sticky firmness brush against my inner thigh and I arched my back, grinding myself slowly against him.
I could hear his breathing, trembling and shivering in his throat, as he sat, fixed rigid on the chair, letting me work him up into a frenzy.
Then, finally, I tugged my panties to one side, grabbing the head of his cock and gently guiding him inside me, feeling my pussy stretching to accommodate him.
As I began to ride him, his hands now moving to my breasts, I couldn’t help myself.
I closed my eyes, imagined that it was Blake I was riding: Blake, who I knew would be so cold and calm and in-control, Blake, who would use me however he wanted, Blake, who would take the lead, Blake, who would pin me fiercely in place while he plundered his own, rough pleasure from my trembling, willing body.
And as I rode Greg, harder and faster, I thought only of myself, focusing on the orgasm that was building slowly but steadily inside me …
But just then, Greg grunted, his hips bucking as his cock began to pulse, buried deep inside me, before I’d managed to quite reach my own climax. I waited till he’d finished, then gently slipped myself off him, my own pleasure too slipping away, before I’d quite achieved it.
“I love you, Jessica,” Greg murmured, kissing my neck, his fingers moving softly through my hair.
“I love you, too,” I replied quietly, hoping I didn’t sound as disappointed as I felt.
CHAPTER SIX
I took a sip of my coffee, then sat back in my chair, still unable to quite believe that this was actually my job now. Because here I was, tucked away in the corner of Workshop, a local coffee shop I’d been meaning to check out for months now, my brand new brushed chrome MacBook open in front of me, and my only ‘work’ was the planning of Blake’s penthouse and sourcing suppliers.
I looked back over my copious notes, my digital collage of ‘moods’ and image ideas, and felt reasonably satisfied with my morning’s work.
I was wearing one of my new outfits:
a Marni dress in bold black, cream and pink panels, something else I would never have picked out in a million years if Fallon hadn’t helped me choose it. Completing my look was a pair of Dries Van Noten Oxfords. After all, I wasn’t quite ready to get into daytime heels just yet.
After another sip of my flat white, I took another quick glance around the coffee shop — it was pretty cool, I’d definitely come here again — before finally giving in to an urge I’d been denying myself for a few days now.
I opened Google and typed it in once more:
Blake Matthews.
I don’t even know what I was expecting to find this second time around, but as before, surprisingly few results came up. There was a link to his company website - Matthews Inc - and a couple of small profile articles from business journals, a couple of Page Six mentions, but that was just about it. When I was researching him the first time, I’d skipped past these gossip columns, but now I found myself curiously reading about the many women he’d supposedly dated; models, heiresses ... There was even something from a couple of years ago linking his name to Kim Kardashian, but that just made me laugh and shake my head; it had to be gossip.
I clicked ‘images’ – nothing much, a few promotional pictures I’d seen before, nestled amongst hundreds of photos of his many imposing, high-end hotels and restaurants.
Who are you?
I wanted to make this job perfect, but how in the hell was I supposed to do that when I knew so little about him?
He could be so cool, while at other times giving off surprising flashes of warmth, too. What drove him? What made him tick? It felt strange to be designing the private apartment of someone I knew so little about.
I had so little to go on, I’d simply have to trust my intuition.
I pushed the frustration from my mind, and quickly got back to the task at hand: picking out the best possible samples and designs to present to him during our lunch meeting, set for tomorrow. His assistant, Juliet, had already been in touch to take my bank details and in the end I’d found myself timidly matching my previous salary, even though I knew I could probably have added on a heck of a lot more.
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