Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

  “Did you sleep with him?” India asks.

  “He said he misses me,” she explains. “And I miss him, too.”

  “You don’t miss him,” I correct. “You miss the company.”

  “You’re putting me on blast?” she laughs. “Wasn’t it you who fucked her ex not two weeks ago, and faked her own orgasm again? Wasn’t it you who agreed to a fake engagement to Evander Church? You who proceeded to spend a fake weekend with him? Wasn’t it also you who came back only to hit the bar to troll for more cock? Will you ever have enough male attention, Taylor? No, you won’t, and because of you, Sugar looks like she fought Tyson and lost! You fake your way through life, causing damage wherever you go. You’re so wrapped up in fake, you wouldn’t know real if it sat on your face. At least, I’m trying.”

  Standing up, I toss my napkin on the table and tell her, “No, Hillary, you’re settling, and if you write about any of this, I’ll cut you.”

  Ignoring Sugar and India calling after me, I left the restaurant and drove home.

  My buzzer sounds, almost causing me to pee my pants, I pause my movie just long enough to allow entry. Back on the couch, I hit play and wait for my guest. When Hillary comes in, she falls onto the cushion next to mine and asks, “How many times have you seen this?”

  “I lost count.”

  “Sugar told me what happened,” she says miserably. “Taylor, I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, reaching for the Oreos.

  “No, it isn’t,” she says, taking one for herself. “She told me about Evander, too. I was out of line and—”

  “Look,” I say, pausing the movie again. “I get that it’s easier for you to believe I run around fucking every man with a pulse. I even get it’s easier for you to believe I live my life in a constant state of drunken oblivion. I even get how a fake engagement wouldn’t make sense to you, but guess what? Nothing I do needs to make sense to anyone but me, Hillary.”

  “You’re right,” she says, leaning into me. “I wish I could be more like you, Taylor. That I could be stronger, not care what people think, and if a fake engagement makes you happy, I wish I had that, too.”

  “Stop wishing for what I have and focus on what you want. If you want Nolan, that’s your call. But remember that there is nothing wrong with being single. Yes, it can be lonely, but you can’t tell me a shit marriage isn’t lonely, too.”

  When the buzzer sounds again, Hillary jumps up, saving me the trip.

  Now I had Hillary and Sugar sharing my couch and my movie was still on pause. “How many times have you seen this?”

  “She lost count,” Hillary adds.

  “Have you talked to Evander?” Sugar asks.

  “No.”

  “He’s probably just –”

  “Waiting to ask for his ring back,” I groan.

  “Wait what, why?” Hillary asks.

  “The juggernaut came out to play several times this weekend,” I confess. “I think last night’s show put him over the edge.”

  When they both looked at me with disbelief, I explained my behavior from beginning to end. Of course, I highlight Van’s part because it was hot, and he deserved credit. I only touch on the belting. Sugar, I know, thought Van was a hero. Hillary, it is obvious, changed her stance on him and judging by the look on her face was thinking of him naked. I don’t blame her one bit.

  “I think you’re wrong,” Sugar says, grabbing a cookie.

  “We’ll see,” I shrug. “Can we watch the movie now?”

  “The movie can wait,” she says, facing me. “Evander came to The Box Office, Taylor. Because of you. He assaulted a man who hurt me, for you. He asks you to be his fiancée for what appear to be huge events in his life, and from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like it’s for show. If I had to guess, I’d say he planned this.”

  “I agree,” Hillary adds. “Men like him don’t make impulsive decisions. That rock costs more than my house, Taylor.”

  “I think,” Sugar continues with a glazed look on her face. “He’s wooing you.”

  “Wooing? Did you just say wooing?”

  “You don’t want to be wooed?” Hillary asks. “Every woman wants to be wooed.”

  “I don’t even know what wooing is!”

  “It’s romance,” Hillary explains. “It’s stepping out of your comfort zone to make Taylor St. James like you. It’s integrating her into your life to see if she likes the fit. It’s Evander Church digging you, dumbass, juggernaut and all.”

  “I dig him, too,” I mumble peeking at my phone, wishing he’d text, but too chicken shit to do the deed myself.

  “Then do something about it,” Sugar advises.

  “Hello?” I wave at the room. “Does it look like I have any idea what to do?”

  “Actually,” Sugar giggles. “No. You look fucking clueless. I won’t lie, it’s not a good look on you. ‘Cause, Tay, you look constipated.”

  “I look constipated?”

  “Anyway,” she says, brushing it off. “How can we help?”

  Help? I’m the one who did the helping for everyone else. That’s the problem. I have no idea how to help myself.

  “Oh! I know what’ll help!” Hillary says while sitting up. “I stopped at the liquor store on the way here. Who wants to get hammered?”

  Alcohol—the answers to all life problems.

  When no one protests, I text India to see if she is in, only she declines.

  Monday just would not end.

  Normally, I wouldn’t notice. I would stick to my routine, having nothing to break up the days.

  But today drags on and it’s irritating me.

  Being that I want to see Taylor, but she hasn’t called or text.

  A dozen times I’ve tapped out a message only to erase it.

  The problem is, everything I need to say to her should be done in person. Not in a text where it can be misconstrued. Because as history proves, I’m very good at sending Taylor mixed messages.

  So, I force myself to set the phone down until I know exactly where to start.

  I also set it down hoping it would be she who texts me first. That way, I can follow her cues in responding.

  Unfortunately, this doesn’t happen.

  I’m finally able to focus on my work, after spending the morning calling in favors and being assured from a reliable source those assholes wouldn’t talk. The same source who assured me Saturday night didn’t happen. Having friends in the right places came in handy at times. As long as the issue is buried, I have no qualms about owing a favor.

  It’s one less problem to worry about.

  Another problem which needs handling was finding a way to spend more time with Taylor.

  With one week until the retreat and less than five until the anniversary party, I’m not keen on keeping myself company.

  Sadly, without Taylor next to me, I’m boring as hell.

  When Scott comes in, he takes one look at my scowl and left before I could ask for advice. So, I decide to do something I rarely do. Checking my schedule, I cancel my meeting, and pack my brief case up to leave early. I was no sooner logging off my computer when Janice, my secretary, announces Whitney was in the lobby causing a scene.

  Because Whitney is a pushy, entitled brat who loved lashing out at those she feels are inferior to her, I’ve forbidden Janice from dealing with her ass. Instructing her to let her pass, I sit in my chair with my body tense because this will be a headache. It always is.

  Mistakes always have a way of reminding you that you’ve made them.

  Sauntering in as if she owned the place, she drops her giant bag on the table and comes to sit on the edge of my desk. The clothes she wore screamed desperation. Her hair and makeup beg for a re-do. The woman wore so much perfume my eyes are watering. And I dated her. Arching her back, hoping I’ll notice her breasts, only annoyed me more. Her play at seduction is laughable at best. And even though Whitney Nobel was a comedy show, I’m not in a laughing mood.
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br />   “Evander,” she purrs, which set me on edge. I hate how she draws my name out. Probably because she pronounced it as I tend to do and I hate followers. “You’re avoiding me.”

  “You have two minutes to explain why you’re here before I escort you out myself.”

  “Janice was mean to me,” she pouts.

  “Excellent. I’ll be sure she gets a raise.”

  “Is it true you hired Taylor St. James for your parents’ anniversary party?”

  How in the fuck does she find these things out? “Why?”

  “Why?” she laughs. “Because she’s beneath you, beneath us, that’s why. She is known for loud, ridiculous events and your poor mother will be mortified. People will talk, Evander.”

  Correcting her is useless, arguing with her pointless. “My mother,” I stress. “Asked for Taylor specifically. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant. I should also mention your invitation is a courtesy to your parents and your attendance is not mandatory.”

  “Mother doesn’t always know best,” she pushes.

  “But I do,” I push back. “I was leaving, Whitney. You will follow me out.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Just to shut her up I say, “To Taylor’s.”

  The look of shock and revulsion is clear on her plastic face. Recognition comes a second later. Calculation directly thereafter. “That was her at breakfast, wasn’t it?”

  “You know full well it was.” Hell, Whitney zeroed in on Taylor within seconds of walking into Scott and India’s backyard two years ago.

  “She’s crass, foul-mouthed, and dresses like a hooker.”

  “I know,” I smile at my luck.

  “She’s fat, Evander.”

  That’s it. Coming around my desk and taking her by the elbow, I steer her past reception, to the door and straight to the elevator. When she is about to speak, I lean down and warn, “Not another word about Taylor.”

  Aghast and feigning hurt, she whispers, “I can’t believe you’re speaking to me this way.”

  “It’s about fucking time someone did.”

  When the doors open, I waste no time shoving her inside. She’s sputtering like an idiot as it closes.

  There would be consequences from this, I’d fucking bet on it.

  Passing Janice’s desk, I caught her smile and ask, “Did you enjoy that?”

  “Immensely,” she chuckles. “I never wanted her for you, Mr. Church.”

  “Thank you for that, Janice.”

  “So,” she says while twirling her pen in the calculating way women do when they have questions. “Taylor St. James, the legendary event planner. What’s she like? And be specific because I’m taking notes.”

  For the next twenty minutes I explain in detail exactly what Taylor is like. It occurred to me that Janice has been a loyal employee for over three years, but this was the first time we’ve interacted on a personal level.

  “I think I love her,” she winks and I smile. Taylor is impossible not to love.

  “How is Brandon? The kids?”

  “Good, Mr. Church,” she beams like I’ve handed her the moon. “Thank you for asking.”

  Ending the chat, I go into my office and dial India. While I appreciate her meddling on behalf of Taylor and me; I didn’t need Whitney involved. Answering on the second ring, she says, “Am I in trouble?”

  “Why would you tell Whitney about Taylor?”

  “Because it’s fun?” she giggles. “Because she’s a bitch and because she needs to be checked.”

  “India,” I groan at the upcoming nightmare.

  “She’s still telling people you’re together, Evander. When she finds out about the engagement she’s going to lose it and cause a lot of trouble for you both.”

  India would know. She sits on two committees with Whitney and hates her with a passion I envy.

  “I don’t want to cause trouble for Taylor.”

  “Pssh,” she laughs loud. “Taylor can handle Whitney, but… it wouldn’t hurt if you did as well. You’re too easy on her, Evander. She doesn’t know when to quit. You shouldn’t be having breakfast with both your parents knowing she’ll show up, and she shouldn’t be invited to their party where you plan to announce the engagement either.”

  At my silence, she gasps, “You want to rub her face in it publicly, don’t you?”

  Do I? Of fucking course I do. I wanted to rub everyone’s face in it. When an opportunity presents itself, I never discriminate. However, until recently I never had anything but work accolades to brag about.

  Now I did.

  “I’m heading to Taylor’s,” I inform her.

  “Kiss her for me,” she says happily. “With tongue.”

  Scott definitely has his hands full with his wife, that’s for damn sure. But India has nothing on Taylor.

  No one does.

  It’s a testament to age when your hangover sticks around longer than your ovulation cycle.

  Rather than focusing on the lingering headache or the fact I was a total coward, I dove into planning the Church’s party.

  I’m behind my desk placing orders and confirming a shipment when the buzzer sounded, causing my pen to go flying.

  Seriously, I need to do something about that damn noise. It’s fucking terrifying.

  Setting my reading glasses down, I slide my chair back and walk over to slap the button.

  When Evander walks in still wearing a suit, I knew my mouth was wide open in awe.

  He’s unbuttoned the top two buttons, exposing his chest, has run his hands through his hair at some point, and strutted with purpose. My God, he’s one fine man. And all I could think is about how I’ve had my hands on that chest. Fist around that cock, tongue down that throat…

  Because my knees went weak, I found my chair and planted my ass in it. Coming to stand in front of my work station, he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “You didn’t call.”

  “Um…”

  “You didn’t text.”

  “I –”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you didn’t either,” I point out lamely.

  “Shit,” he exhales and places his palms on the wood. “I’m not good at this, Taylor.”

  “Wooing?” I ask stupidly.

  “Wooing?”

  “Never mind,” I say quickly. “What aren’t you good at?”

  “Picking up on cues, the rules of dating. I want you. I want to spend time with you and I don’t like being made to wait. So I’m here. I said fuck work and came to you.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Then why do you look nervous again?”

  “After you dropped me off I figured –”

  “You figured what?”

  “Our engagement was off.”

  “Why?”

  “You couldn’t get away from me fast enough,” I shrug playing it off.

  Clearly confused, he runs his fingers through his hair while probably trying to make sense of it. In the past, I’ve never had to explain my behavior. It tended to speak for itself. So being the adult right now was no fun for me. “Taking you with me to a break-in slash assault was stupid Van. You have a high-profile career to consider, I don’t. The thing is, I’m impulsive and lack the gene for understanding consequences. I shouldn’t have involved you in my drama, and I assumed you felt the same when you raced off. And if you feel that way, I want you to know I understand why you do.”

  “I apologize,” he says sincerely and fuck-shit-damn here it comes… “Back in the car, I was already in my head deciding who to call for a favor to ensure you both were safe. Then, I focused on damage control, and on top of that, I was still battling my fury over what happened to Sugar. It wasn’t you, Taylor. Jesus, you’re all I can fucking think about.”

  Back the truck up, not dumped?

  “You called in favors for me?”

  As soon as the yes cleared his lips, I’m on him. Raining kisses all over his face, neck, and exposed chest. “I’m all you can thi
nk about?” I ask between kisses. “This is good because you’re all I can think about, too.”

  “God, you smell amazing,” he says inhaling me. “Dinner.”

  “Huh?”

  “Before I bend you over this desk, I’m taking you to dinner.”

  “Oh,” I manage to say before visuals are dancing through my head. “I could eat. Where do you want to go?”

  “Taylor’s choice,” he says while kissing my cheek.

  “El Asador?” I ask, running my hands up the hairy chest I love.

  Trailing his lips down my neck, he whispers, “As you wish,” and my knees did buckle.

  While he drove, I asked where he lives. I’m not surprised when he said The Book Cadillac. I mean, I’d totally live on the top floor of a gorgeous hotel if I could afford it. He goes on to explain he bought the first (and only) completed unit so he could be close to work. Considering his office is in the heart of the city, this makes sense. Downtown businesses were a bitch to get to without adding a commute to it. For a man as wealthy and connected as Van, his residence isn’t, by any means, cheap, but he certainly could have afforded more, a lot more.

  I loved that he chose not to.

  At dinner, the conversation flowed easily.

  But it’s Van’s laughter I love most.

  Because when he smiles time stops.

  It’s the most beautiful smile in the world.

  Then there are his eyes.

  They say everything.

  And I feel all of it.

  I could even see myself in them.

  Even more, I don’t blink at what I see there.

  Because I felt like I’ve come home.

  Which makes me realize I’ve found what I was searching for.

  Him.

  When he tells me about his parents, I give him my full attention. It’s clear he adores them and from what I know, I can see why he does. He admitted he’s still trying to find his footing with them because they are the wild to his tame. I enjoy listening to him brag about his lacrosse team and his mad captain skills. His hands find reasons to touch me and for the first time ever, a man fed me from his fork. From somewhere down deep a thought strikes me, and I don’t like how it felt. I thought of him with another woman and it takes everything I have not to ball my fists. Never one for exclusivity, I surprise myself when I ask, “Are you seeing anyone else?” Because if he is, I’ll have to tuck tail and run. I refuse to share him. Mine, mine, mine, my mind was screaming.