“Yeah well…you aren’t too bad at shell-shattering yourself.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, placing his hand next to mine.
His hands were always touching my skin during training, but his touch at this moment was different; his heat was different. I wasn’t sure what these emotions circling my body, mind, and soul were, but for the first time in my adult life, my heart felt alive.
As much as I wanted this moment to linger, my worry for where it could lead consumed me. Hormonal rushes were one thing; the heart, however, was another, much more dangerous matter. Fluttering hearts result in a distracted, lackadaisical mind, which was something I definitely couldn’t allow.
Clearing my throat, I quickly said, “Tomorrow, then?”
“Same time, same place,” he said with a hint of resigned sadness shadowing his words.
I wondered if he could see the same resigned sadness in my eyes—sadness at having to part from him.
Chapter Six
Just about two months had passed since I began training with Blake. My body was covered in fading bruises; every muscle ached, including ones I didn’t know I had, and that says nothing to the toll on my ego. I had no idea just how out of shape I had been. Blake had taken great pleasure in whipping me into form, minus the fun of a whip, assuming said whip would be fun, of course. I wouldn’t know; I’d never actually utilized a whip in the bedroom. Well, that certainly classified as a mental tangent. My brain seemed to actively seek wild detours lately, and I did nothing to stop the little bastard. I suppose that was a side effect of working with Blake, and of my own out of control hormones.
Needless to say, I was feeling a little frisky these days, something I tried like hell to suppress. Sex was a distraction I couldn’t afford, not now, not being so close to everything I’d dreamed of since the day my parents died. Unfortunately, trying to quell those urges proved to be a tall order. Rolling around on a mat with Blake’s body, hands, and sweat all over me definitely didn’t do anything but stoke my damn fire.
Friskiness aside, training had certainly started making a difference. My balance had improved dramatically, thanks to the beam. I may have a long way to go with my hand-to-hand combat, but Blake said I was accelerating at a much faster rate than he ever anticipated. In fact, during our latest session, he tried to pull a fast one on me…by jumping me from behind. Because my senses have gotten so much stronger and in sync, I was able to weaken his hold and flip him over. The smile on his face while laying flat on his back was more praise than I could possibly wish for. Yes, my body hurt like hell, but each aching muscle meant I was getting that much tougher.
Thankfully, I had my mornings to ice my body, sleep, and just laze around. Thanks to Blake kicking my rear every night, I could actually shake the insomnia and catch some decent sleep. Today was no exception. I rolled over, my face smooshed into my pillow, and cracked open one eye to look at my clock.
“Not even ten a.m. I love sleep.” I yanked the covers around my neck and cuddled in for another glorious few hours when…KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! “Oh God. Why?” Shoving the covers off, I rolled out of bed and shuffled across the room, griping. Peeking through the peephole, I banged my forehead against the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Reluctantly, I opened the door.
“Well, you look like crap.” Ivy stood before me looking impeccable in a gray silk dress and exceedingly expensive heels.
“Yeah, spare me. I already know. What are you doing here? It’s too early.”
“It’s almost ten.”
“Exactly. Early.”
“Thought you had the miracle that is insomnia.”
“Apparently, nightly training sessions forced the sandman’s hand. Now, again, why are you here?”
“It’s time for you to train…with me,” she said with a cunning grin as she pushed by me.
“Come on in,” I grumbled, closing the door and locking it.
Ivy surveyed my apartment, smirking. “I remember my first place. I think yours sucks more than mine did.”
“Yeah, well…wait, training happens from midnight to dawn. You’re here when the sun’s up. Confused.”
Sauntering over to my joke of a closet, Ivy glanced over her shoulder at me. “I like to save my nights for other extracurricular activities, usually those involving whipped cream, maybe a swing, definitely a whip.”
Note to self: Could always borrow a whip from Ivy for use with Blake, should things ever move in that direction. Dear God. No, no, no! Stop that! Get it together, you horny bitch!
Pulling open my closet, Ivy scoffed. “God Almighty. No wonder you have insomnia. I’d have nightmares if this was my closet. A mouse could not live in here.”
“Oh, no, they can, and they do from time to time.”
“Right. If I see one, I’ll be sure to put my spike through its skull.”
“Kindly don’t.”
“Let me guess, you’re the cruelty-free kind?”
“Yeah, I tend to be pro-cruelty-free.”
“Mmm. How boring. Now, where are all your clothes?”
“You’re looking at them.”
“No, no, no. I mean where do you keep the rest of your clothes? The oven?”
“What you see in front of you is the extent of my wardrobe.”
Ivy glared from me to the closet and back again. “How do you not walk around naked? I ask for two basic reasons—”
“You can spare me the reasons.”
“One, you hardly have enough clothes to put on your body. And two, for the most part, I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in any of them.”
“That’s just great. Thanks, Ivy, for the opinion I didn’t ask for.”
“Now, let’s see what we have here,” said Ivy, thumbing through my closet. “This pink number isn’t completely hideous.” She tossed my pink blouse on the bed. “Are these the hangers you use?”
“Uh, yes.” I had a feeling ‘yes’ was the wrong answer.
“Don’t mean to pull a mean mommy act on you, but wire hangers just aren’t acceptable. You have to respect the clothing. I’m not sure why that’s such a challenging concept for so many people to grasp. Although these clothes of yours don’t exactly warrant respect, do they?” Ivy took out a pair of jeans. “Guess these will have to do. How much did you pay for them?”
“I dunno, like twenty bucks.”
“Should’ve paid no more than five,” she said with a whisper, flinging the jeans on my bed next to the pink shirt. “Now for shoes—oh, God—I’m at a loss for words. This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I’ve seen plenty. I’ve read things about the holocaust, and that was quite awful, but this shoe collection has to trump that.”
“I cannot disagree with you enough right now.” Pike wasn’t kidding when he said I’d have to get used to Ivy.
“Here, wear these not-so-revolting boots. What’d you pay for the boots?”
“Fifty. On sale.”
“Fifty? Oh, child, you have a lot to learn. Wash your face and put makeup on because I’m not going out in public with you looking like that—you’ll scare people.”
“Fantastic.”
“And do something with your hair. Straighten, tease, or curl it, I don’t care, just make it look presentable. When you’re done, get dressed in what I picked out for you, if you can call that ‘dressing’. Do you even have a fashion sense?”
“I call it relaxed.”
“I call it pitiful.”
“Where are we going anyway?” I asked grumpily.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Meet me downstairs. The car’s waiting. And hurry the hell up. We don’t have all day.”
I slapped makeup on my face, threw the clothes on Ivy picked out for me, and straightened my hair. Grabbing my bag, I locked the door and sprinted downstairs. Outside, Ivy leaned against an exotic stretch limousine.
Approaching her, I said, “Went for the limo over the town car, huh?”
“Blake knows better than to send
a town car for me. I wouldn’t get in.” She snapped her fingers at the young driver, who promptly opened the door for us.
I slipped in behind her. The limo was fully stocked with snacks, champagne, water…and beer. I grinned at the beer, recalling how I chided Blake over not having any available at his charity auction.
Spying my grin, Ivy said, “Yes, Blake made sure the beer was here for you. I can’t stand the stuff.”
“We talked beer the first night we met, so…”
“Clearly he remembered. That says a great deal.”
“How long did it take Blake to warm up to you?”
Ivy studied me for a moment as the driver started the engine. “Well, that’s out of the blue.” She sighed and straightened the hem of her dress. “Blake is a guarded man, in his own way. He doesn’t necessarily come across guarded, but don’t let that fool you. He uses wit, humor, and charm as his guard. It’s very effective.”
“And all of that translates to what exactly?”
Smirking, she admitted, “It took him a fairly long while to warm up to me. Why the question?”
“Just curious,” I said, shrugging. “I mean, Pike is pretty transparent—”
“If by transparent you mean oaf-like jock, then yes. Go on.”
“Ty is the all-around good guy, your quintessential big teddy bear. And Greg, well, he’s an open science book. Anybody could read him, though they might not understand what they’re reading. But you…you’re so abrasive…I imagine it could make people wonder if you’re hiding another version of yourself.”
“Oh, no, this is who I am, sweetheart.”
“No, no, I mean, I get that now. I just wondered if it took Blake a while to figure it out. You sort of have a sandpaper personality—you can rub somebody raw.”
“In other words, I rub folks the wrong way?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Ivy stared at the roof of the limo for a moment. “Yes, I quite like that about me. But there’s another reason for your question, isn’t there?” I stared out the window, silent. “He’s giving you a vibe, isn’t he?”
“I’m sure I have no clue what you mean.”
“In case it escaped your attention, I’m the only other one in our group with woman parts. So, spill it.”
“I don’t know how to explain it. I know he doesn’t trust me like he trusts you and the others, and I know I have absolutely no reason to feel jilted. I’m the newbie—I haven’t earned his trust. It just…bugs me.”
Ivy shifted in her seat to better face me. “Blake’s the kind of man…how shall I word this? The more you know him, the more you want to make him proud and please him. Believe me, I understand the feeling.”
“And exactly how—” I was about to ask how often Ivy pleased Blake, but thankfully my mouth shut the hell up.
“Are you wondering how I went about pleasing our Manx?”
“No, not at all.” Yes, very much.
Ivy gave me a ‘yeah right’ glance. “Well, I’m not going to lie. We’ve had a nice rough and tumble now and again, but that was a long while ago. Let’s just say we wanted to sweat off a little steam. It was never a relationship, if that’s the worm squirming about your brain.”
“Really wasn’t wondering,” I quipped. Liar.
“Oh, please. You’ve got steam-dream face. I’m no fool—I’ve seen how the two of you look at each other. There’s something there… You’re a challenge for him.”
“And you weren’t?”
“No, not all. I’m promiscuous like that.”
“I wouldn’t call it promiscuous—you’re just bold and secure in your skin.”
“No, it’s promiscuous. I like the word and the meaning. Don’t take it away from me with that politically correct horse crap.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“You are a challenge to Blake, a different kind of challenge. I know you haven’t told him about whatever secret you’re hiding.” My eyes shot up to meet hers. “Look, I’m not expecting that by the end of the night we’ll be curling each other’s hair, giving each other facials, swapping nail polish, and giggling about boys. Not to worry—this is definitely not a day I plan to meddle into your past. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. So long as your past doesn’t collide with our present or future, I really couldn’t give two cares.”
“Well good, because I don’t intend to tell you anything. But it bothers Blake, doesn’t it?”
“Immensely. Think about it—the Manx is about knowing everything about everyone. And what he’s uncovered about our clients is dirtier than the dirtiest laundry, yet he can’t crack you, though I heard he tried the day he hired you. Blake, in his roundabout way, gave you an ultimatum: tell your past or fail to get the job. And you, with equal measure, countered with: ‘hire me or I walk, but I’m not telling you a damn thing’. That kind of attitude from a woman not only sparks a man’s libido, but his mind as well. Mental connections work far more magic on a man than a hair flip, cleavage, and thong combined.”
“What are you saying exactly?”
“You’ve reached a place in Blake no one has yet to touch. And, frankly, you’re right where you should be, mentally and emotionally, on this journey. Your actions and questions show you care. I might like you a smidge more now that I realize this.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. Truthfully, I was contented by her words. “Now to more important things…where are we going?”
“Eliena. Only the most exclusive boutique in New York.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that. Wait. Oh God, oh no. We’re going shopping? That’s our training session?”
“Yes, dear. We’re going all over the city to try and find your fashion sense. I’m hoping it’s not lurking in a sewer.”
“This is going to be hell, isn’t it?”
“For you, most certainly. For me, absolutely not.”
Within minutes, the limo stopped in front of Eliena. Once inside its pristine walls, exorbitantly priced garments, and peppermint scented air, I could feel my shoulders collapse ever so slightly. Eliena was the kind of place that could easily send an outsider like me into a bout of claustrophobia.
Barely two seconds had passed when a pretty, if not doll-like saleswoman rushed up to Ivy. “Good morning! I’m Aimee. How may I help you today?” Her narrow, smoky gray eyes devoured Ivy; from the way she carried herself to the tiniest detail of her attire, Ivy truly was a salesperson’s dream.
Ivy held her hand out to me. “We need to fix this. You can see why.”
The woman looked at me like I smelled very badly. “Oh. Indeed. Well, come on, Miss. I’m sure we can figure something out. What’s your name, Miss?”
“Mag—”
“Ahem!” Ivy cleared her throat; it was a message I received loud and clear.
“My name is Charlotte.” From this moment forward, every time I wandered into the sandbox of the rich, I had to remember to use my ‘other’ identity.
“Charlotte, if you’ll just follow me to the dressing area, we’ll get started,” said Aimee.
Shooting Ivy my best bitch brow—much to her amusement—I accompanied Aimee to a dressing area. She promptly took my measurements and then instructed me to wait. While I waited in the plush dressing area, Ivy had a grand total of three saleswomen shadowing her around the shop, collecting dresses, pants, shirts, and every other kind of garment she deemed suitable.
As they began piling clothes on the hangers of a dressing room of Ivy’s choosing, I peeked at one of the price tags and very nearly gagged. “Ivy, this one blouse is two-hundred and ninety-five dollars! I can’t—” I whispered.
“Money is no object,” said Ivy in a deep, angry voice right in my ear, taking care that the saleswomen didn’t hear her. “Never, ever talk money concerns in a place like this.”
“Sorry, I just—”
“You’re cautious about money. Admirable, yes. But unwarranted. Got me?” I nodded. When she was finally done staring me down like a reproving big sister, Ivy took a seat in o
ne of the silk ivory chairs, and growled, “Start with the day clothes, then move to dresses and other night wear. Oh, and hurry. I’ll know in two seconds if your body rejects elegance.”
Fabulous.
“And if I didn’t make myself clear…you will be shedding those vile jeans and shabby shirt here and now. Bid them farewell as you start your new life in the world of fashion.”
“I’ll just pick something out of all this to wear for the rest of the day, then?”
Ivy laughed like an evil fairy tale witch. “No, dear love. I’ll pick something out for you to wear the rest of the day.”
Every shirt, pair of pants, and dress, garnered the same responses from Ivy: “No.” “Yes.” “Absolutely not.” “Must have.” “Did you leave your cleavage at home? Get her extra padding.” “Needs to hug her body tighter—not hooker ‘pay me tonight’ tight, but more ‘nothing compares to what this body can do to you’ tight.”
This scene replayed itself multiple times across New York City, from some of the most exclusive boutiques to the most iconic department stores. I had never tried on so many clothes, shoes, and other accessories in my life. After six hours of slipping clothes on and taking them off, I was absolutely exhausted. Ivy took her role as fashion puppeteer a bit too far at times. I, however, got a little revenge: I damn near gave Ivy a heart attack when I suggested going to a consignment shop; she caved and walked out of there with half the store for herself. I took a bit of pleasure knowing I’d introduced her to a more frugal way of acquiring those labels she loved so much. Though shopping wasn’t my thing, I had to admit…having a new wardrobe was pretty cool. I’d never owned clothes like these in my life and never expected to.
With the limo chock full of boxes, bags, and garment bags, Ivy said, “We have another stop.”
“I don’t think I can try on one more thing.”
Quite unexpectedly, she ran her fingers through my hair. “Who cuts your mop?”
“Uh, well…me.”
Ivy’s eyes bugged. “We’re heading to Marco, my hair stylist. You need a proper cut and highlights. This hair would never pass muster in Blake’s world.”
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