by S. Nelson
“You should take your own advice,” she threw back at me. “And besides, I’ve been dealing with it for eleven years by myself.”
“Yeah, how’s that working out?” The words left my mouth before I could snatch them back.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Her tone was a familiar one. We could go back and forth all day long, but it wouldn’t get us any closer to resolving either of our issues. So, I kept my mouth shut and my attention on the road.
So much for not wanting to create a hostile situation.
No traffic delays meant a smooth ride into the city. After twenty minutes of silence, I turned on the radio.
The melodic sounds of Nina Simone drifted from the speakers, and with each tune she sang, the rigidness of my muscles relaxed.
“Okay, I have to know. What’s with the old-timey music? Is that all you listen to?” Cara asked, sounding genuinely interested, not like the other times when she’d been annoyed by my choice of the genre. I certainly thought she would still be upset with me, but I supposed this was how she’d gotten through the years, ignoring the past and moving on to something else.
“It soothes me.”
“I think there’s more to it. Did an ex-girlfriend like it and convinced you it was good music?” She smiled when I shook my head and rolled my eyes.
“No.”
“Then, why?”
“Only because you’re not making fun of me this time, at least, I don’t think you are, I’ll tell you. My parents used to listen to Sinatra and Simone and Cooke and Stafford and Bennett. The list goes on and on. They used to dance in the kitchen, then make their way into the living room and interrupt whatever show we were watching and make us dance with them, too. My mom would alternate between me and Owen, and my dad would dance with Julia.” The memories made me smile, remembering a time we were whole and happy.
“Are your parents still alive?” she asked with reservation.
“My mom is, but I haven’t seen her in a little while. She went to stay with her sister in Florida a few months ago.” Cara remained silent, so I purged the rest of my story. “My dad died of a massive heart attack when I was twelve and Owen was eight. Julia was only two. Of course, we were all devastated, and because my mom wasn’t the type of person who could be alone, especially with three young kids, she remarried two years later. Steve, our stepfather, was nice enough and provided what my mom needed, so we accepted him as much as we could. But after dealing with Julia for so many years, he decided enough was enough. They were married just over twenty years when he left my mom, coincidentally two months before my sister died. At first, I was angry with him, but there’s only so much someone can take, I suppose. I’m not saying I agree with his decision, but my sister was a lot to handle, and she got worse as she got older, stealing money from them, as well as their car, which she wrecked more than once. She left home when she was eighteen but always came back to repeat the same patterns.”
My fingers curled tighter around the wheel at having to talk about a painful time in my life, but when I remembered I wasn’t the only one present who’d lived through a tragedy, I relaxed some. And while talking about Julia was difficult, it was a little easier the more I did, which I never thought was possible.
“I’m sorry about your sister. And your dad.” Cara comforted me, reaching over and squeezing my leg.
“Thank you.”
Over the next hour we talked about lighter subjects, places we’d like to visit, our favorite foods and go-to movies, ones we’d seen too many times to count. Funny thing was, Cara and I had a lot in common. We both wanted to visit Egypt someday, we loved to gorge on mac and cheese, and every time Jaws came on television, it was like all the other channels didn’t exist.
Distracted with the flow of the conversation, I almost missed our exit but veered off the highway at the last minute. It wasn’t much longer afterward that I pulled into a parking garage underneath a large stone building on Madison Avenue.
As we rode the elevator to the twenty-second floor, I couldn’t help but feel like I was going to be tested in some way once we reached our destination.
* * *
Cara
A flutter erupted in my belly as the elevator climbed higher and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous. Confidence was something I prided myself on, whether it was forced or not, but to have self-doubt wasn’t something I allowed myself too often. Although, the notion was popping up more recently now than ever.
“You’ll do great,” Ford encouraged, gifting me a smile when I looked at him. The outfits I’d brought were slung over his left arm—his right hand tucked inside his black pants. Even with my nerves rattling me, I couldn’t help but appreciate his masculinity.
Ford was a man’s man, his roguish good looks drawing the attention of everyone around him, men and women alike. From his height of six three to his thick, dark hair to his broad shoulders and slim yet powerful build, there weren’t many men like Ford. Add in his unique and piercing eyes and the mysterious persona he played up well, he was one of a kind for sure. And it was best to not get me started on his talent in the sheets or the way his scruff tickled the inside of my thigh, or… I could go on and on.
The ding of the elevator startled me from my lustful longing, and I took a step closer to Ford without realizing. “Sorry,” I said, bumping into him.
“You don’t have to apologize for being so close,” he teased, and I had to admit I enjoyed this side of him. Seriousness was still his main objective, but other sides of his personality emerged the more we got to know each other on a deeper level.
When we stepped out of the car, I stumbled, catching my heel on the grate of the elevator but instead of falling forward, I was stopped with a firm yet gentle grip on my shoulder. And it wasn’t Ford who touched me. When I picked my head up, I looked directly into a familiar pair of eyes.
“Nick. What are you doing here?” Nick Costa was a good friend of mine who also happened to be a well sought-after model. His chiseled good looks bordered the line of masculine and pretty, a perfect mix for the fashion world.
“James Hollen asked to meet with me for an upcoming show he has. What are you doing here?” Nick briefly looked behind me at Ford and gave him a quick nod.
I could only imagine what Ford was doing behind me. Hopefully, he wasn’t snarling at my friend, remembering his reaction to him the last time he saw Nick at the club where he accosted him.
“I have a meeting with James, too,” I confessed, biting my lip in the process. Nick looked at the book I held, then to the clothes flung over Ford’s arm.
“Are you serious?” His smile was infectious. “That’s amazing. How did I not know you designed clothes?”
“Because it’s sort of a newer adventure for me.”
“Well, if James wants to see you, then you must be talented.”
“She is,” Ford interrupted, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t doubt it,” Nick agreed, leaning in to kiss my cheek. If Ford intimidated him, Nick didn’t show it. “I have to run to another meeting, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Of course.” We said our goodbyes, and once the elevator doors closed, I looked up at Ford. “Thank you for not causing a scene.”
“Why would I cause a scene?” I swore the corner of his lip twitched.
“Because of your last encounter with him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That time his lip kicked upward into a smug grin.
I rolled my eyes before walking toward the receptionist desk at the far end of the hallway. Once I approached, I gave the red-headed woman my name, then took a seat and waited. Twelve o’clock came and went, amplifying my nerves the longer I waited. When the clock read twelve twenty, I thought maybe James had changed his mind about meeting with me, fully expecting to be told to go home, that the appointment had been set up under the guise of a favor to my friend, and after thinking about what he’d promised, he reconsidered.
All sorts of doubt entered my overactive brain and messed with me.
“Can you please sit down?” Ford paced the room instead of sitting next to me. “You’re making me more nervous.”
“I think it’s best—”
“Cara,” the receptionist interrupted. “Mr. Hollen is ready for you now. If you’ll follow me, please.”
Ford grabbed the outfits he’d placed over the back of the seat before I could.
“I can take those,” I offered, stretching out my hand but he held on to them. “You can wait here. I’ll be fine.”
“Not a chance,” he said incredulously, looking at me like I’d gone crazy. “You know the deal.” He extended his arm and waited for me to concede, which I did right away because I didn’t want to keep James waiting.
But when we walked up to the receptionist, she placed her hand on Ford’s arm to stop him. The woman was attractive, her red hair pulled up into a tight bun, showcasing her elegant bone structure. Her voluptuous curves surely drew Ford’s attention, the thought alone pricking at my newfound jealousies.
“Sir, you’ll have to wait out here.”
“That’s not gonna happen. I’m hired to protect her, so where she goes, I go.”
Her arm fell to her side. “I see.” She batted her eyes at him before licking her lips. Brazen bitch. And just like that, there was no way I was going to leave Ford behind, even if I could, and allow that woman to flirt with him.
I cleared my throat and she finally tore her eyes away from Ford long enough to look my way. “Sorry. Follow me.”
“Uh-huh,” was all I managed to say, keeping some distance between her and me. She led us down a short hallway before rounding a corner, James’s office the first one we came upon. She knocked, opened the door, and disappeared inside. I took the opportunity to turn toward Ford.
“You should’ve worn your shades,” I grumped.
“Why? You hate when I wear them.”
“Because maybe then she—”
The receptionist appeared before I could finish my gripe, standing to the side and allowing Ford and me to enter.
“Miss Dessoye,” James greeted right before he extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Cara, please,” I instructed, taking his hand briefly. I’d seen pictures of him online and in magazines, but the images didn’t do him justice because he was much more handsome in person. He wore his dark blond hair short, the style drawing attention to his light green eyes. With his clean-shaven face, I could see the slight dimple in his chin clearly, and while I wasn’t particularly drawn to that feature in men, he pulled it off well.
“Of course. Please have a seat.” He motioned toward the large leather sofa across the room. For as big of a deal as he was, his office was a moderate size, comfy. Nothing fancy, but sophisticated all the same.
After I sat, James looked at Ford. “You can have a seat as well, sir. Or if you chose to stay standing, that’s your right.” He gave him a smile, and Ford’s only response was a curt nod before he stood next to the door, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Well,” James said, sitting on the couch next to me. “Let’s have a look.” He reached for my sketchbook, silent while he looked at page after page. I hated that I couldn’t tell what he was thinking while he gazed at my drawings. Did he like them? Did he regret taking the meeting? Would he laugh in my face and tell me there was no way in hell I’d ever make it as a designer? I glanced over at Ford in my nervousness and saw that he was staring intently at James. When he sensed me looking, his eyes connected with mine, and he flashed me the faintest of smiles.
“Okay, you definitely have talent. More so than Stephie let on.” Again, with him referring to my friend as Stephie. I’d never known anyone to call her that, which only affirmed some of my suspicions that the two of them were closer than she let on. “Can I see the outfits you brought with you?”
“Of course.” I handed him the blue chiffon dress I’d made for Emily and the black silk and lace jumpsuit I made myself for the event.
James rose from the couch and walked toward the corner of his office, opened a cabinet, and pulled out a rod that housed a large steel hanger. He draped the blue dress over it first, inspecting my handiwork for several moments, then replacing it with my jumpsuit. When he finished, he headed back toward me.
“You did a great job. Plain and simple. And kudos for choosing the chiffon. That fabric is a bitch to sew.” He laughed, putting me at ease with his intricate scrutiny of my work.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Hollen. Coming from you, that’s quite the compliment.”
“Call me James. Mr. Hollen makes me feel old.”
I nodded. “James, it is, then,” I said, smiling so big I was sure I looked deranged.
He rose from the couch and extended his hand to help me to my feet. “Can you send me these designs digitally along with any others you have?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, great.” He handed me his business card, which had all his contact information. “Just email me the file as soon as you can. Then we’ll go from there.”
“Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. I appreciate it more than you know. I’ve been a huge fan of yours for as long as I can remember.”
“It can’t be that long, seeing as how you’re, what, barely twenty-five, if that.”
“Just recently twenty-five, to be exact.”
“Wait and see how fast time goes. You’ll be my age in no time. Enjoy your youth while you can,” he said, staring off into space with a grin. “I tease Stephie all the time about—” James suddenly snapped his mouth closed and pulled his cell from his pocket. Looking at the screen then back to me, he said, “Well, I have to get ready to leave. We’ll talk soon, Cara. It was a pleasure to meet you.” He shook my hand, but before he released me, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “He’s interested in you. Just so you know.” He pulled back and winked before showing us to the door.
With my book and garments in my hand, I left his office with Ford closely behind me, passing by his receptionist soon after.
“Have a good day, sir.” Then, she looked at me and her flirty grin faltered a bit. “And you, Miss Dessoye.”
“You, too,” I sang over my shoulder, her blatant perusal of Ford doing nothing to hamper my excitement.
* * *
Ford
“How old is James?” Cara asked, opening her phone and bringing up the Internet once we were back in the elevator. “He doesn’t look to be that much older than me.”
Her comparison of their ages annoyed me, and let’s not forget that he whispered something in her ear right before we left. And because I hadn’t heard what he said, I conjured up all sorts of possibilities. Instead of staying silent and fuming about it, though, I decided to just ask her. Hopefully, she’d tell me the truth.
“What did he say to you?”
“When?”
I gritted my teeth and stepped into her personal space.
“When he whispered in your ear?” I asked, choking on my jealousy. Rein it in, man.
“Huh. I don’t remember.” At first, I thought she was serious, but when she smiled and backed up against the wall of the car, I realized she was messing with me. “Something about clothes?”
“Funny.” I grabbed her waist and pulled her into me, towering over her even though she wore heels. “Tell me what he said or else.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” she breathlessly replied, her eyes glazing over while her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth.
“You’ll just have to imagine.” I paused for a moment to collect myself.
“Oh, I can imagine all right.” Cara ran her fingers down my chest, then rested them on my belt buckle, all the while keeping her eyes pinned to mine.
“Don’t make me imagine the worst. Did he ask you out? Because I saw the way he looked at you when we walked in. Not that I can blame him.”
Moments of silence p
assed while she kept me in suspense, adrenaline pumping freely through my veins the longer she made me wait.
Then she leaned up and kissed me, whispering against my lips, “He didn’t ask me out. He told me that you were interested in me.” As we reached our floor, she removed herself from my space and clutched her belongings tightly.
Relieved the guy hadn’t made a move on her, I was conflicted with another issue.
Us.
The thought of us.
The prospect of us.
The reality of us.
She had to know I was interested. We’d had sex, for Christ’s sake, but maybe that didn’t mean anything to her. Maybe it was just sex, nothing more.
But was it? I know it wasn’t for me.
As we settled in and drove out of the parking garage, I gave her a tidbit of information on James Hollen, one I was surprised she didn’t know, seeing as how she was a fan of his.
“He’s thirty-eight.”
“Who?”
“Hollen.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, then threw her hand up to stop me from answering right afterward. “Never mind. I’m sure you researched him before our meeting.”
“You know I did.”
“By the way,” she started, turning in her seat as much as her seat belt would allow, “what did you mean you saw the way he looked at me?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.” She tried to hide her smile, but I saw it. Plain as fuckin day.
“You like him?” I asked, regretting my question as soon as it left my mouth.
“He’s nice.” She smoothed out the bottom of her dress. “With him behind me, I could achieve a lot.”
I hated the image that filtered in with Hollen literally behind her, fucking her. What could I say? Apparently, I loved to torture myself. I started mumbling to myself, but then Cara reached over and put her hand on my forearm.
“Calm down, Ford. I’m not interested in James. And he’s not in me, either. In fact, I think there’s something going on between him and Steph.”