Fantasized by You

by Steph Nuss

  “Yeah, about that.” I sighed and helped Elly out of her mom’s dress. Once she was out of it and slipping into her regular clothes, I placed the dress back in its box and wrapped the tissue paper around it. Elly put the lid back on and then all of us settled back into our seats.

  “What about it?” Tessa deadpanned.

  “Mom wants to wear a peach gown,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ve already explained to her that Elly’s wearing peach for her wedding dress, but she’s being her normal pain-in-the-ass self.”

  “Well—” Elly started.

  “Absolutely not!” Tessa said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Harper, but your mom will just have to wear a different fucking color. She can wear charcoal like the rest of the wedding party or whatever other color she wants, but Elly will be the only person wearing peach. I will make damn sure of it.”

  “Look,” Elly said, looking at Tessa. “I know it’s tradition for the bride to stand out, but I’m totally fine with her wearing peach.” She looked at me and smiled, and I knew she was saving us from a lot of conflict with my mom. “It’s not like people are going to mistake her for the bride. I’ll be in a big, beautiful gown, and she’ll be in a simple dress. There’s a difference. But I do think it’s important that she stand out, too. I know if my mom was going to be there, I’d want her in peach since our dads are wearing the same peach vest Carter’s wearing. Mothers of the bride and groom are important. They brought us into the world. She gave me Carter. She can wear peach.”

  “Okay,” Tessa said, smiling weakly. “It’s your day. What you say goes.” She grabbed her purse and her binder and then stood from the couch. “I think I’m gonna head on home. Elly, let me know if you need anything or if you think of any additional wedding ideas. I’m calling the florist tomorrow and your homework is to pick out songs for all of the special dances. Your first dance as a married couple, the father/daughter dance, the mother/son dance.”

  Elly saluted her again and laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Tessa’s smile widened. “I’ll see you girls later.”

  “Bye!” Elly and I said in unison.

  *

  I stayed and ate dinner with Carter and Elly, and once we finished, Carter moved back into the living room to watch football while Elly and I sat together at the dining table nursing our wine. We’d talked about more wedding details over dinner—specifically, what music they should dance to—and I tried to help Carter come up with a song for him and Mom. I thought “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” would work nicely, but Carter still felt like he should talk to her about it, which was probably for the best. Mom liked having her say.

  “Enough wedding talk,” Elly said, refilling her glass. “More wine?”

  I laughed lightly and held my glass up for her to fill.

  “Thank you for offering to do the dresses. I really hope it’s not interfering with Fashion Week next month.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, waving her off. “I’ve had everything done for the show for weeks now. I just have to figure out the little details. I’m more than happy to do the dresses for your wedding.”

  “Well, we appreciate it,” she said, sipping her wine. I watched her set her glass down and peer into it. She looked like she was thinking about something as she twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “So, do you remember how you asked me about a mentoring program for Jones Health Clinic?”

  I crossed my legs and nodded. I’d read about the clinic specializing in eating disorders last year. When I read that it was in memory of my friend, Camille, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. I’d talked to Elly about becoming a mentor since she was a psychologist who was good friends with the gym owner. She knew the benefits of having a mentor. Back when I was in rehab, I had a mentor. She was a retired musician. She painted and enjoyed art just like I did. She helped me stay strong and understood what I was going through since she’d been through rehab, too. I wanted to be that strong person for somebody else.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I said, smiling. “Have you talked to Mr. Jones about it?”

  “Mr. Jones!” Elly squealed, laughing out loud. “Oh, god, that’s funny. I’ve never heard anyone call him that before. Just call him Maverick or Mav.”

  I laughed and nodded. “Okay.” Growing up in Texas, I’d learned to address everybody by Mr., Mrs., or Ms. It was just habit now.

  “Yeah,” Elly said, smiling back at me. “I talked to him.”

  “What did he say?” I asked, uneasily.

  “He said to bring you in tomorrow morning so he could meet you,” she said, picking up her wine glass. “Does eight o’clock work for you?”

  “Yes!” I answered excitedly. “So, he was in favor of having mentors?”

  “Yeah, it took some convincing, but he’s on board,” she said. She hesitated as she took a drink. “Look, Harper, there’s something you need to know about Maverick before our meeting tomorrow.”

  “Uh, okay …” I said, looking down into my glass. “What is it?”

  “Mav’s not a huge fan of the fashion industry,” she said, looking at me apologetically. Well, he certainly wouldn’t be the first person to hate what I do for a living. There were many people who despised fashion. My parents weren’t fans of my career at first either. Maverick Jones owned a gym. He was a personal trainer. It was understandable that he didn’t think much of an industry that strived for perfection over health. I wasn’t one of those fashion designers, though. I worked with a range of models, from sizes zero to eighteen. I made clothes for women and men of all sizes. It was important to me that the clothes I designed made others feel beautiful inside and out.

  “I understand,” I said, nodding my head. “He encourages people to be healthy and the industry I work for encourages people to look like twigs.”

  “Yes, but it also has a lot to do with Camille’s death,” she said. “Maverick’s always felt like he didn’t do enough to help her with her bulimia. That’s the reason he wanted Jones Jym to include a health clinic—so he could help others the way he couldn’t help Camille. So, I just wanted you to know that before going into our meeting. He’s used to helping people better themselves. It’s his job.”

  “Got it,” I said, even though my thoughts kept wondering back to Camille’s relationship with him. She never mentioned a guy named Maverick, but then again, she never mentioned anybody she was seeing or dating or hooking up with. She was private when it came to a lot of things, especially her health and her love life. “Can I ask how he knew Camille?”

  “They met at a Christmas party,” she said, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. “I don’t think they ever dated or anything because he never brought her around any of us. I think they were just friends who hooked up a few times, but when he found out she was bulimic and she wouldn’t let him get her help, their friendship ended.”

  “I see,” I said, nodding.

  “I love him like a brother, but sometimes he can be so stubborn,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But just because he doesn’t like the fashion industry, doesn’t mean he won’t like you. He doesn’t know you’re my future sister-in-law. I’ve kept him in the dark about who you are for a reason. He needs to stop believing everybody involved with fashion is like Camille. He knows you’re a fashion designer. He knows you’ve been to rehab for bulimia and that you’re healthy now. I’m hoping that with you mentoring at the clinic and being around him a lot more he’ll start to understand that not everybody involved with fashion encourages eating disorders. They can be healthy, too.

  “Plus, Tessa has you two walking down the aisle together as attendants in our wedding, so this will give you the opportunity to get to know one another before the big day!”

  I laughed at that last little tidbit and she smiled back at me. “So, you’re hoping I can help him get over his fashion prejudices?”

  “Exactly!” she said, slapping her hand down on the table. “I understand his need to help others, but judging people isn’t like him. He’s not tha
t kind of guy, I swear. I’ve known him since we were babies. He’s only ever been this way since Camille died.”

  “Understandable,” I said, growing more nervous at the thought of meeting him. I made a mental note to go home and Google him.

  “There’s something else,” Elly said, moving her hand to my arm. She lightly squeezed my arm and smiled. “I want you to call me if you ever need to talk. Mentoring may bring back feelings you’ve had in the past, and I just want you to know that I’m here for you. The staff at Jones Health Clinic will be there for you, too. I know you’re going to be a great mentor, but it’s really easy to get attached to the patients, so they’ll be debriefing you at the end of each day so you don’t bring their issues home with you. We have to stay focused on your recovery, too.”

  “Thanks, Elly,” I said, leaning over to give her a hug. “I cannot tell you how excited I am to mentor.”

  “No problem. You’re going to be great!”

  “What’s going on in here?” Carter asked, walking into the dining room. He sat down next to Elly and kissed her temple.

  “We were just discussing Harper mentoring at Mav’s clinic,” Elly said, smiling up at him. “We have a meeting with him tomorrow morning.”

  “Nice,” he said, taking a drink of her wine. “He asked about introducing him to Harper a few months ago.”

  Elly smacked his arm in shock and glared at him. “What?! Why didn’t you say anything to me about this?”

  “I don’t know. Probably because I was too busy making up with you, and I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he said, shrugging. He glanced at me, looking for some reassurance from his single and almost-thirty sister. I would take any help I could get in the relationship department. “I didn’t think Harper would want me introducing her to my guy friends in the hopes of a date.”

  Wrong.

  I very much wanted to be introduced to guys. Hot guys.

  And all of Carter’s friends usually were.

  “Ohmigawd,” Elly sighed, shaking her head. “Maverick rarely lets anybody introduce him to a woman, and the one time he asks you about meeting your sister you don’t think it’s that big of a deal to tell me?”

  “Well, it worked out, didn’t it? You’re introducing them tomorrow,” Carter said, massaging the back of her neck.

  Elly shook her head at him and then looked over at me, telepathically agreeing with me that Carter could be an idiot sometimes. Maverick and I could already be on our way to happily ever after if it weren’t for him keeping this info to himself! Ugh, little brothers! Even as adults, they could still be a pain in the ass.

  Maybe once Maverick learned I was the sister he’d asked about, he wouldn’t care that I was a fashion designer.

  Chapter Three

  Harper

  Monday morning came and Imani, my personal driver and bodyguard, was driving me to Jones Jym. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. When I got home from Carter and Elly’s, I Googled Maverick Jones, and what I found was beyond impressive.

  Maverick Jones graduated summa cum laude from Columbia University with a degree in business and human health and performance, and he looked like something straight out of a GQ magazine, his body shredded from head to toe with muscles a woman could get used to running her hands over. He was a work of beautiful, masculine art, and I’d only seen pictures of him with his clothes on. I’d spent the remainder of my night fantasizing about what he looked like underneath the suit he was pictured in. There were pictures of him cutting the ribbon at the opening of Jones Jym. He was pictured with the mayor, the governor, and a bunch of the gym’s investors. He had a black buzz-cut, dark, sensual eyes, and a taut, golden body. As I looked at the picture, I wondered what his voice sounded like, and how his big, strong body might feel against my skin. I bet he was just as much a genius in the bedroom as he was at Columbia.

  Remembering the way he looked was the reason I changed my outfit three times this morning. When the sun rose, I restlessly crawled out of bed, took a shower, and then began prepping for my meeting with the sexy-as-sin gym owner. I usually didn’t stress too much over my clothes. Comfort and style were my two main goals when it came to my own personal fashion sense. I finally settled on a fitted, rust-colored long-sleeved sweater dress from my own collection. It hugged all my curves just right. I slipped on a pair of black leggings to keep me warm in the January breeze, and a pair of black boots. I added gold jewelry to compliment the outfit, and then spritzed on some perfume and let my chestnut hair hang in loose waves down my back.

  I looked good. I felt good, too. Confident. Beautiful. Ready to meet a guy who’d inquired about me a few months ago. A guy I would be seeing a lot over the next few months as I mentored in his facility and helped with Elly’s wedding.

  Imani turned into the underground parking lot that was exclusively for the VIP gym members and the gym employees. She pulled to a stop in front of the door and turned around to look at me. She was a petite African American woman who looked sweet and innocent on the outside, but underneath her facade she was incredibly lethal. She was one of the toughest women I’d ever met. She became my driver right after I hit it big in the fashion world. My grandparents, specifically Grandma Ceci, because she watched too much crime television, insisted I get a driver who could double as a bodyguard, worried that a deranged fan or serial killer would hunt me down. So, I found Imani and she’s been with me ever since. “Girl, you’ve been drumming your damn fingers on the armrest the whole way here. You weren’t this nervous when you met the President and First Lady. What’s going on?”

  I took a deep breath and then let it out. “Nothing. It’s just …” The other thing about Imani was that I could never get anything past her. She always knew when something was up. “I’m meeting a guy today who looks like a Greek God; he’s that gorgeous.”

  “I know! I did a background check on him,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “And girl, that man is way finer than any of those Greek dudes. Why are you worried? You got it going on, too, you know.”

  I smiled at her compliment. She always knew how to cheer me up, too. “Thanks, Imani, but I want him to like more than just how I look, you know?”

  “He will!” she said, continuing her encouragement. “What’s not to like? You’re smart, beautiful, and sweet. Just go in there, be yourself, and you’re good!”

  “Okay,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I’m sure I won’t be more than an hour if you have things you have to go do.”

  “Sounds good. Now, get out of here,” she laughed, shooing me out the door. “You better have a date with that man by the end of the week!”

  I laughed and scooted out of the backseat, shaking my head at her. Although, a date would be really nice. I couldn’t even remember the last time someone asked me out on a date. Sure, I was asked to go to certain events with men all the time. Charity auctions. Movie premieres. Award ceremonies. But just a genuine dinner-and-get-to-know-each-other date with the will-he-kiss-me-at-the-end-of-the-night wonderment? I hadn’t been on one of those in years.

  I turned back to wave Imani off and walked into the gym. I was fifteen minutes early out of habit. I hated being late, so Imani made sure I arrived early to wherever I needed to be. I wandered through the small hall at the back of the gym towards the front where a receptionist sat behind a large desk. She smiled in recognition the moment she saw me. I heard two women whispering to one another about me, wondering whether or not I was Jen Harper.

  I smiled politely at the receptionist. “Can you direct me to Maverick Jones’ office, please?”

  “Sure,” she said, pointing towards the stairs. “It’s just up those stairs and to the right.”

  “Thanks.” I made my way there and stood before Maverick’s closed door. With a deep breath, I gathered myself and confidently knocked on the door. When I got no response, I tried the doorknob and found it unlocked, so I walked right on in like I owned the place. The minute the door shut behind me, I regretted my decision. Why couldn’t I
just wait outside his office like a normal human being?

  I stood there, pacing nervously, reading his framed motivational wall decor. I was reading about how determination was the wake-up call to something when the door opened behind me. I turned around quickly and opened my mouth to apologize, but when I saw the god in all his glory, I couldn’t form words.

  Holy sex gods, he’s gorgeous!

  Maverick Jones stood before me practically naked, wearing only a pair of black Under Armor shorts and tennis shoes, showing off all the ripped muscles of his arms and chest that the pictures I’d seen last night concealed. I couldn’t stop myself from taking inventory of his god-like spectacle as he walked farther into his office. He was taller in person and moved like pure iron and steel, ready to crush anything in his path. Each muscle of his back strained against his smooth, tan skin and his perfectly sculpted abs clenched as he took a seat behind his desk. His arms were colossal and flexed with every movement he made, and my fingers twitched at the thought of running my hands all over his fanfuckingtastic body. My heart raced inside my chest as his presence alone stirred something inside of me no man had before. Ooh, that’s new! He was inked up, too, which only made me love everything about him even more. I had a lot of tattoos, so, naturally, the man of my dreams had to like a lot of ink. His tattoos were magnificently etched into his skin, just like his muscles. He had two full sleeves and some writing across the top of his back that I wasn’t able to read because he was looking at me now.

  Ohmigawd, he’s looking at you!

  “Jen Harper? What are you doing here?” he asked, in a deep, irritated tone. His voice was gravelly and sensual at the same time, which made goosebumps pebble my skin.

  I tightened my grip on my purse. He didn’t sound pleased to see me, and I still wasn’t able to form words as he slipped a shirt on. He was the epitome of human sublimity.