by Ann, Pamela
I was more like my mother: Edna Weber had once been Miss Universe, a beauty queen from Brazil, and had caught my father’s eye when he had been about to reach the pinnacle of his success. Though many would argue that she sought him for his riches, their relationship was built on love. I grew up knowing and feeling the love from both of my parents. Well, up until three years ago when my mother died from a throat surgery. My father had never been the same. The loss of my mother had taken a toll on him in every facet of his life. The once vibrant man now had his brightness dimmed with profound sorrow severely etched around his gaunt face. Before mom died, he had weekends off, but those days were long gone. These days, he spent every waking moment at his company, diligently going through new inventions and ensuring vast development progression in the evolving world of technology today.
As much as I was in awe of my father, I wished he’d spare me some attention. It wasn’t only him who had a gaping hole in his life, a massive void that couldn’t be replaced. I lost her, too. All at once, I lost my mother, my best friend, and my number one cheerleader. And there wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t mourn the loss of her. But she was gone, and there was nothing we could do about it. The only way we could remember her was to celebrate her kindness and cherish the beautiful memories she left behind.
My father mourned in his own way. I wished that he’d seek me out so we could grieve her together. But Peter Weber wasn’t the touchy-feely type. He wasn’t severe, though he gave off that detached, hard-hearted kind of feeling. He loved me in his own way, the only way he knew how—by ensuring that I would want for nothing.
Without his guidance and steady strength to help me through the toughest time of my life, I sought solace and comfort in my friends. Blair and Vivienne helped me manage the loss of such a beautiful light in my world.
My mother was truly a beautiful soul, and I missed her dearly. One of the things she taught me was to follow my dreams and to never stop fighting for what I believed in…and that’s what I was willing to do tonight. So here I was, following my dreams, a dream that led me to Jared St. James.
There was a deep sparkle in my eye, an unfettered burning in my soul, in every single fiber of my being, craving to be unleashed. I was ready to become unbidden and become the sensual woman who’d been longing to break barriers—metaphorically speaking and quite literally—the itsy-bitsy barrier in between my thighs.
“So what’s the plan again?” Vivienne intently glanced at Blair and me. Her delicate features were accentuated with careful application of different highlighters. “What if he shows up with that chick he’s been seeing lately? What’s the protocol on that?”
As much as I loved my friends, sometimes they gave me so little credit. They should know that I wouldn’t even take such a massive risk if there were a possibility of Jared having a woman in his life at the moment. He was quite the lothario in a sense, but he stuck to one woman at a time for however long the relationship might be.
Those women, they mattered not.
“She won’t be there. Jared doesn’t recycle past lovers. Yovanna was out the door the second she made that tabloid interview.”
“How could you be so sure?” Vivienne gave me a sparing look as she scrutinized the inky black wig with condemnation.
“Because I know him. He hates being in the media. He keeps a low profile for a reason, and Yovanna blasted his personal business to the world. If my break-up timeline’s right, he’ll be on the prowl to replace her position. So, in my book, he’s been single for a week now.”
Vivienne’s pale blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Good God, you studied the poor guy. I hope he’s worth all the trouble, Gi.”
Blair snickered before batting those long sooty lashes of hers. She loved to channel the modern day Audrey Hepburn sans the gentle attitude. My friend was fierce through and through and would never back down on a good verbal spar with anyone.
“He’s far from poor, but yeah, you can’t fault Gisele for plotting this perfectly. I do hope you can tame the beast.”
I was devious and cunning…but only when I needed something accomplished. And tonight, my sights were on the man I had yearned for, for years now.
“All I need is one night…Then I can begin living my life.” One night. In his arms. No strings attached. Purely all-out delicious sex.
One night of a desperate attempt to temporarily possess something that wasn’t mine to hold. But somehow, I felt it was Jared’s sole right to take away my virginity before I began dating men my own age. A sexual passage to womanhood if you will. It was mad, but it was how I felt.
Tonight was Hank Rinaldi’s sixtieth birthday, and the crème de la crème of Silicon Valley was going to be in attendance, including Jared. The second Blair had given me the green light that Jared’s secretary had accepted the invitation, my plan had begun to unfold. My father was invited as well, but ever since my mother’s tragic demise, he didn’t deem it appropriate to attend parties without his dear Edna by his side. I had tried to coax my father out of his mourning, but each time I tried, I ended up getting yelled at, and he’d unnecessarily avoid me for weeks on end, giving me the cold shoulder for what he claimed was disrespecting my mother’s memories by subjecting him to circumstances that he wasn’t ready to partake in.
As a result, whenever I was in his presence, I felt like I was tiptoeing on eggshells, making sure I wasn’t going to keep offending him. It was a tedious dance, but it was the only way I could have a relationship with him. And I’d rather get the scraps of my father’s attention than never having it at all. Even if he had drastically changed, I wasn’t going to abandon him. He was my father, and I loved him through thick and thin.
He had recently offered to purchase my own place, but I felt it was his own way of telling me he wanted more privacy, so I immediately rejected his offer. We barely saw each other living in the same house; if I moved out, I knew I’d never see him for ages. I didn’t want to be one of those rich kids who was required to make an appointment to see their fathers. Vivienne and Blair had done it their entire lives, and I knew how miserable that could be. I still believed, even after three years, that he would eventually get past the grief and become interested in me again. After all, we only had each other in this world. He wouldn’t fully abandon his only daughter. He couldn’t be that heartless.
“Earth to Gisele?” Blair snapped her fingers before my face, breaking me out of my reverie.
I rapidly blinked as I pushed my thoughts aside before blankly staring at her. “Sorry…what?”
Blair’s long nude lacquered fingertips brushed through the wig’s silky hair as she frowned at me. “I said…Do you want to put on the contacts or the wig first?”
“Let’s do the hair.” It seemed it’d be trickiest to apply. Jared preferred dark-haired women. It was a known fact to whoever knew him. He’d dated a few redheads and a string of blondes, but brunettes, he favored the most.
My vivid gray eyes would be blue tonight. My blonde tresses would be hidden under a wavy mass of black hair. I intended to seduce, and I had to make do with whatever arsenal I could enhance.
Vivienne and I had merely arrived here thirty minutes ago. Blair was already made up—hair majestically piled over her delicate head, subtle makeup accented with her favorite Chanel Coco Rouge lipstick. Her mother’s glam squad had to tend to her first before they scuttled to beautify Mrs. Wolf.
While I concentrated on painting my face and with Blair extremely focused on getting the wig to snugly fit around my head, I watched Vivienne from the mirror’s reflection as she slipped into her champagne pink beaded gown. She shimmied her hips as she slid the tight-fitting designer frock over her toned, lithe body.
“Do you want me to zip you up?” I paused in between my contouring application as I blinked at her thoughtfully.
“I’m good. I need to breathe for a moment.” She shrugged before glancing over at me with that massive grin of hers. “My hellish mother got me a size zero even though
she knows I’m a two. She’s being her usual vindictive self ’cause I’m not willing to starve to please her. God, she can be so evil.”
Her French mother, Marguerite Wolf, had a strict rule in her household—consuming fat was a sin. If you weren’t a size zero, you were considered obese. She and Vivienne fought constantly. And quite frankly, I couldn’t blame my best friend for her resentment towards her mother’s severe treatment. She even went as far as making sure her little twin daughters were under a strict vegan diet. They were barely three years old. What mother would put a rigorous diet on these babies when they needed nutrition during fundamental years? Marguerite was a hard pill to swallow. She made Blair’s mother’s unfeeling, nonchalant demeanor seem warm.
“Sorry, doll, but if she were my mother, I’d have disowned her the second I slipped out of that frozen vagina incubator of hers.” Blair wasn’t one to hide her contempt when it came to Marguerite. I tended to keep my disdain lowered down a notch since it was still her mother, after all.
“If my mother had you as her daughter, she would’ve granted you whatever you wished ’cause you’re terrifying as hell.” Vivienne chortled. “I can so totally picture you hauling all of her haute couture from her favorite fashion houses, dousing it with gasoline, and making a bonfire out of it on the lawn to prove a point.”
We all laughed because Blair was one crazy biatch. There was a reason girls in our high school didn’t want to cross her. She’d go above and beyond to make your life hell, and quite frankly, who needed a real, breathing, live experience of Regina George in their lives? They knew better, too, so that was why everyone bowed or cowered to Blair. The woman never went down without a hard fight. Delicate, she might seem to be, but she wouldn’t hold back before launching herself, sharpened claws and all, and give her opponent a free facial reconstruction. She was lethal in all aspects vital to bringing an enemy down.
We had graduated last week, and the three of us would be spending our summer on the French Riviera with Ethan Rinaldi, Blair’s brother, as our chaperone. Vivienne’s grandfather owned this gargantuan super yacht, and we were all looking forward to a fun-filled break lounging and partying before going to Stanford.
Tonight would culminate in letting go of the old me and my unhealthy obsession with Jared. Once I’d accomplished bumping uglies with his truly, I was setting myself free so I could engage in a normal, healthy two-way relationship. So yes, this was a essential step to get where I needed to be in life. Like a stepping-stone, if you will, but with a penis involved.
Tonight, I was supposed to be a twenty-five-year-old socialite who’d recently come back from South Africa after doing charity work for her father’s foundation. That was all I knew, and I supposed I simply had to improvise the rest, ensuring Jared would bite the bait I’d cast. Although I had no firsthand experience in the art of seduction, I had seen enough movies, read enough smut, to figure out how to catch a man’s attention.
Tonight was my night. No matter what happened next, I was going to get Jared to notice me.
Chapter 2
Gisele
“I’d whistle if I knew how to,” Vivienne remarked, pale blue eyes roving over me with approval. “You look like one of those Bond girls—a sexy smoking gun with a lot of spunk.”
Blair giggled as her dark eyes roved over my face, pleased with the results. “We’ve done a great job! The contouring’s superb, babe. Your ultra-defined cheekbones and nose altered your entire face. The lip trick sure makes your already plump lips have a definite edge to them.”
Exotic. It was the first thing that emerged from my mind the moment all the finishing touches were in place. There was no trace of Gisele Weber. My eyes were heavily rimmed with kohl. The facial contouring profoundly altered my features. It sharpened them. I could easily pass as Russian or Brazilian. Long, thick fake lashes. My lids were heavily painted metallic black. The black on black made my now blue eyes glaringly pop out. It was the first thing one would immediately notice…the first thing they’d be instantly drawn to. Sensual blue eyes. They beckoned. They seared—a glance of lust, a promise of a wild night ahead.
Yes. This is definitely the look that will get his juices flowing down south.
“Good luck with mission penis du jour tonight,” Blair teased as she brushed over the long voluminous tresses that stopped five inches below my shoulders. “Don’t act innocent. Men like Jared will run the other way if he senses you’re not experienced.”
I knew him. He liked his women skilled, but I liked to refer to them as “seasoned.” I’d have expected that with someone with Jared’s IQ, it’d be about a woman’s intellect. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He was wired like the rest of the hot-blooded males, letting their mini-mes dictate their choice of mate. He’d dated movie stars, models, divorcees, teachers, and lawyers, but never a college student. The youngest he had dated was a twenty-five-year-old. Two years younger than him. But somehow, he didn’t have a specific age preference for older women. He even dated a forty-year-old once. A hot forty-year-old knockout. Nevertheless, his tastes fell along the lines of pain and pleasure and hot and the furious (Yovanna had attested to as much in the article) and the “seasoned” women preferred it, too, or so it seemed.
Seeing that the first part of the plan was already done, the whole thing became daunting all of a sudden. A hollow knot began to form in the pit of my stomach, making me feel restless and anxious. It was silly really since I’d wanted this for so long, but now that the wheels were beginning to turn, I was a bit perplexed. As much as I thrived on positivity, this could easily become a disaster. What if he wouldn’t be able to fit? The furthest I’d gotten with a guy was second base, and I doubted fondling breasts counted, not in the league of Jared’s sexual prowess, anyway.
I let out a soft sigh, anxiously eyeing my friends. “Did it hurt? I mean, that first time?”
Vivienne thoughtfully gazed at me before pausing, seeming as though she was recalling that specific memory to mind. “It didn’t hurt…though it was uncomfortable for a bit.”
Blair snickered. “I was desperate. Desperation doesn’t hurt; I can tell you that much.”
To this day, she would never confess who the mystery man was. She came back one summer and announced she lost her V-card sailing somewhere in the Mediterranean.
She quickly glanced at her vanity watch before reverting her gaze back to us. “You have to go down first. Viv and I will follow in thirty minutes, give or take. We have to be mindful so people won’t recognize you. The last thing we need is for him to hear you’re Gisele. That’s all he needs to hear, and his balls will shrivel.”
We all cackled at the image she painted of Jared.
Everyone who was important in Silicon Valley was here tonight in Hank Rinaldi’s palatial home in Atherton. There were three stairways in this household—one for the servants to use, one for the family, and one for the public, merely for show (rarely used because Mrs. Rinaldi would have a heart attack if she spotted an outline of a footprint anywhere on her sleek polished marble). Taking the usual route via the second stairs, I slowly descended as I nervously skittered towards the rarely used passage leading to the garden. While I hadn’t run into any guests, I did, however, pass by a lot of the catering folks.
Relieved beyond comprehension, I took a moment, pausing just to recoup and recharge. My heart hammering against my chest did little to ease my tension. “Drat! Get it together,” I breathed out before resuming my steps until a voice halted me.
“Well, look at you,” a familiar voice came out of nowhere, blocking me from continuing down the long, mirrored corridor. The mystery person skirted my tensed figure, stopping right before my face. Dark eyes sparkled with mischief and whatever else I cared not to name.
This wasn’t the playboy I intended to secure attention from. “Move out of my way,” I gritted through my clenched teeth, earnestly trying not to show my irritation.
“Gisele?” Wyatt, Blair’s oldest brother, wickedly smirked before
making a long, winding whistle, enthusiastically checking me from head to foot. “You’re wow!” he whistled again in disbelief. “Just. Fucking. Wow.” His eyes brightened with each word spoken.
Typical reaction coming from this man. “Oh, do shut up already, Wyatt.” I was wasting precious time conversing with him when Jared had most likely arrived. The man was never late. The party started five minutes ago, so he was out there somewhere, and I’d skin Wyatt alive if Jared was already targeted by some woman who’d want to be next on his list. Let’s face it; women used such events to snag their next trophy husband. The competition was stiff. and I’d rather not get beaten at my own game.
“Make sure to stay out of my father’s line of sight. I don’t like to see him as competition.”
“Ew, that’s sick!” I gagged, sticking my tongue out and all. I recoiled at the thought of Hank Rinaldi’s slithering eyes on me. He already had three mistresses. Surely, a man could be satisfied with his mini harem.
He cheekily winked at me, appearing not appalled at his father’s indiscretions. “He won’t know who you are, so he might get a little jiggy with it.”
“That’s not funny.” Not one little bit. “How the hell did you know it’s me, anyway?” I chose dark makeup specifically to transform my features. How in the world did Wyatt figure it out? Surely, with Jared’s sharp keenness on things, he’d immediately know, too. That was not good. Knowing such a fact made my hesitation skyrocket to obscene levels.
“Oh, honey, that perfume gave you away.” His eyes sparkled, consuming me slowly. “As you know, that night left me wanting. You’ve scarred me for life. No woman compares in my eyes.”
My eyes bulged out as I looked around, hoping no one was using this scarcely used side entrance. “Oh, shush! Your sister will hear you, and if she finds out, I’m going to tear you limb from limb.” The breast-fondling thing? Yeah, it happened with this man. Unfortunately. It was one drunken mistake, and to this day, he wouldn’t stop pursuing me for another impromptu rendezvous.