by Sophia Lynn
“I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman who graduated at the top of her class at Parsons and was hand-selected by a sheikh of Bahrain to decorate his palatial home.”
“Yes, and I have heard of how you were ‘hand-selected,’” Mr. Brandt said, almost pleased at the turn of phrase.
Laine paused. She pursed her lips, giving him a long stare, and his amusement turned to discomfort.
“You have known me long enough to know that a dance and a few rumors have little to do with how I conduct myself professionally.” Laine clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Even now, I expected better of you than to participate in petty gossip. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded so much that you disregarded me if I hadn’t had so much faith in you as a businessman. I truly expected, for longer than I should have, that working hard here would get me somewhere. It hasn’t. So I have chosen to do good work and to have a life.”
“If you want to continue to do any work here, you can’t expect to shirk your duties!” Mr. Brandt slapped the table angrily.
“You expect me to do ten times the work of everyone else, with none of the credit and half of the pay! And you expect me to do it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, or I have somehow failed.” Laine stood and put her hands on her hips. “I once saw working here as a stepping stone, but now I see that you have simply caught my ankle in a trap, and you expect me to be grateful for it!”
“You cannot speak to your boss like that!”
“I’m not. I quit.”
Walking out of his office wasn’t quite as satisfying as nearly breaking Amin’s arm, but it was up there in her top life experiences. Especially since her coworkers had apparently been listening, and a few of the temps were trying to hold back scandalized laughter.
“Tamara, could you get me a box, please? I need to pack up my office,” Laine asked one of them pleasantly.
Maybe being a free agent was too much of a risk. There was a chance she wouldn’t be able to get enough clients on her own to make it work or that the rumors spreading about her had spread too far already. But Laine decided, as she carefully set her pictures into the box, that this was the only reasonable way to end her time here. She’d paid her dues and then some, and she had simply outgrown this place. She wasn’t going to win back her reputation with the measly support she received here.
On her way out, Mr. Brandt had a security guard follow her. She rolled her eyes so hard that she might have sprained them. The guard helped her by carrying an extra box and left her once she was at her car in the parking garage below the building. She packed her things into the back as she hatched her plans for the next few days.
“Hey, Lainey.”
She looked up to see Adrian Ramos waving a thick, leather-bound contact book in front of her face.
“What is that?” she asked. “And what are you doing with the black sheep of the interior decorating world?”
“If you’re looking for company, it’s a list of potential leads that aren’t signed with Brandt Interiors yet.” Ramos flicked his shoulder-length hair back. “If you’re not, I’m out for a smoke.”
Laine crossed her arms and leaned back against her car as she looked at the contact book.
“How do you have that ready? I didn’t even know I was going to quit until today.”
Ramos shrugged. “I think about quitting every time I’m in the room with that fossil of sexism and idiocy. And I can’t say I wouldn’t jump at the chance to have your creative brain on board when I get my own company rolling.”
Laine reached for the book and flipped through it. Of all the people at Brandt Interiors, she had hated working with Ramos the least. Probably because he was so damn meticulous that he actually liked doing the paperwork, and while he had a lot of ideas himself, he was quite good at collaborating and listening to the ideas of others.
“Not that you need it, but juggling a new start up is infinitely easier with help, a place to meet, and clients to start from,” Ramos said, ticking each item off on well-manicured fingers. “Not to mention that my record in client relations is utterly impeccable.”
Laine narrowed her eyes at him and dissected him visually for any sign of derision or judgment. Ramos quirked his mouth to the side and shrugged. He knew what others were saying. And he was only mentioning it now, clearly, because he wanted a yes out of her. He wanted an out from this company too.
“Go,” she ordered. “Make it official. We don’t want any bleed between working for him and official meetings for whatever this will be. We can talk over lunch.” Laine fanned herself with the contact book. “And probably a margarita.”
Ramos chuckled. “You and me both. I know just the place.”
Chapter Fourteen
Of all the things Laine had expected for her life, being technically unemployed and working out of an arthouse/coffee shop owned by the boyfriend of her bisexual business partner had not been one of them. Actually, she’d always expected to be promoted within Brandt Interiors or scouted by a larger company eventually, and for her life to be essentially the same as always, only with better perks.
Now she was listening to some indie song she’d never heard while Ramos flirted with his silver fox of a boyfriend at the register. He returned with a couple of free refills on their lattes, and the two of them got down to work.
“Hector made you a kitty,” Ramos said, inching the latte toward her.
“If that’s a hint that I need to just give in to my fate and become a lesbian, I reject it,” Laine said, pointing at him.
Ramos laughed. He had been teasing her lately about being so single, especially once he’d learned that she’d taken up painting again. She’d found a class within her skill and price range not too far from her apartment. She wouldn’t be featured in any museums any time soon, but she deeply enjoyed going to class after work two days a week. Hector, the sweetheart that he was, had hung one of her efforts up with a price tag of $100 underneath it—which, compared to the other paintings, was practically giving it away, but it was the gesture that counted. It looked like he’d taken it down now, though.
“Okay, you call the supplier for the wallpaper, and I’ll get on the phone with the construction guys.” Laine picked up the conversation where they’d left off.
The days were long, but Hector helped make them go by faster. He also had an office and a few spare rooms above the coffee house where they could make use of his printer and fax machine or make calls when bands came in to play and it was too loud to work. Hector had thanked Laine for helping Ramos get started on his own. Laine herself wasn’t particularly interested in entrepreneurship and felt that the two men had really helped her attain a balance with the things she wanted to do.
That evening, they were working late. It wasn’t a painting class evening, so Laine had a little extra time to spare before she called it quits when she noticed Ramos looking up at Hector expectantly. It was late enough that Hector was opening a bottle of wine for a customer, and he signaled that he would be two minutes.
“What’s going on?” Laine asked.
Ramos shrugged.
She watched the two of them suspiciously for the next few minutes from behind her laptop screen. Finally, Hector came over to her and put a check in front of her. She looked at it, and then up at Hector in disbelief.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Your commission. For your painting.” Hector beamed.
“Someone bought it?” Laine picked up the check as though it might dissolve in her fingers.
“I know, right? What’s become of taste these days?” Ramos teased.
Laine swatted him.
“Well, minus the house’s take,” Hector said. “But plus a little extra over the asking price.”
“I noticed,” Laine said.
Hector shrugged. “I told the buyer you’d deliver it and do a little artist/buyer meet and greet.”
He held out a scribbled note with an apartment number for one of the rooms upstairs. Laine reached f
or it and then paused. The check was from Hector, so the buyer had already paid in advance to see her.
“Did he pay in cash?” Laine asked. “What did he look like?”
“C’mon. What could it hurt to meet a fan?” Ramos said.
Laine snatched the note from Hector and began to pack up her things. “If this goes poorly, I’m blaming both of you.”
“It’s upstairs. I’m not sending you into the depths of Hell,” Hector said. “I told him you’d meet him there after I had a chance to have the painting properly wrapped.”
Laine pressed her lips into a line.
“Go on,” Ramos said, making a shooing motion.
Laine pointed threateningly at the both of them in turn before she left. She didn’t know what she was hoping for. Knowing that her friends were setting her up didn’t help as she started up the staircase, carrying a moderately sized painting that she’d been sure would never sell. Laine wasn’t sure if she wanted to be right or not. Something fluttered inside her, suspecting that on the other side of the door waited Aziz. This was so something he’d do. Things hadn’t ended well between them, and she wasn’t willing to go back to pretending that she could enjoy their time together and expect nothing more.
When she reached the door, she hesitated. She smelled roses. Suddenly anger rose inside her. She was tempted to leave the painting there and just go.
Another empty gesture? Another arrangement to move her where he wanted her?
Her temper getting the better of her, Laine opened the door and stepped inside, acid ready on her tongue. It faded away, though, as she spotted Aziz standing by the window and several vases of striped roses arranged around the apartment.
He was there. He was waiting, real. Not just a dream or memory of this strange, powerful man who had held her beating heart in his hand and tossed it away.
His head turned, and she took a step back, scowling deeply at him.
“Oh…you are more beautiful than I’d remembered,” Aziz said.
“Please stop.”
“Laine, don’t run from me again. I have brought you a bit of your garden.” Aziz gestured to them.
“I’m sad they had to die for this.” Laine walked up to him and set the painting down. “Enjoy your painting, Aziz. And enjoy New York.” She walked toward the door.
“No, wait!” Aziz pleaded.
Laine stopped. She thought a moment. “Tell Hadiya I said hello. I might give her a call.”
“Please just listen, would you?” Aziz stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I have so much I need to say.”
Laine turned and looked at him incredulously. “Why are you here? For a painting? And not a very good one. What else can you say to me, Aziz? About me and my sad life?”
“I should not have spoken so roughly to you. I was angry and did not want you to leave.”
“Obviously.”
“It is no excuse. But your life has changed. I know because your office tried to assign me another designer.”
Laine crossed her arms and looked down. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No, I am pleased. You left that toxic place. It was a good move.”
“I hope so.”
“I am simply so happy to know that you are free of that place. I am so happy to know that you are painting…Would you make more for me?”
“Would I have to fly to Bahrain to paint them for you?” she quipped.
Aziz chuckled. “In all honesty…I just…” He sighed, rolled his shoulders back, and then sat down on Hector’s threadbare couch with his hands folded between his legs.
Laine relaxed slightly. What did he really want?
“I have needed to talk to you. To be honest. I have needed to say how brave it was of you to come to my country, to try to engage with my culture, to stand up to Amin.” He frowned deeply, shaking his head. “I heard through Hadiya, who heard from Amin’s wife, what happened. I cannot believe he would have…it is unthinkable. Amin has always been the older brother. He was to be the responsible one, and even after I took the lead as head of our family, I felt that I should show him due respect. But after what he’s done, I cut him off from the family fortune.”
He lifted his head. “Perhaps temporarily, and I will ensure his wife and children have enough, but for now, he must learn that actions have consequences.”
“Good. He’s old enough to have learned that lesson already,” Laine said a bit harshly. She looked down on him and wanted to touch his shoulder. That had to have been a hard decision for him to make. “Thank you.”
“I should have done more when you were with us,” Aziz said. “I should have been more resolute. You are brave in the way I want to be brave, and I…”
Laine uncrossed her arms and stepped closer to him. “You?”
Aziz looked at her tenderly and smiled. “I wanted your service as a designer because you are good. You are an untapped talent, and it gratifies me to know that you have finally accepted this. But…” He swallowed and tented his brows. “When the renovations were underway, I wanted you to stay because…”
“Aziz—”
“No, Laine, please. I wanted you to stay—I needed you—because I adore you. I love your beauty and your strength. I wanted more time. I could never have enough time with you,” Aziz vowed.
Laine closed the distance between them and touched his shoulder. He gazed up at her as if he were taking in the stars themselves, and she blushed deeply.
“What am I supposed to do? Come back home with you?” Laine asked, squeezing his shoulder gently.
“I could throw you over my shoulder and take you,” Aziz suggested. “But after the bruises I saw on Amin, I wonder if you would go quietly.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Laine teased with a smile.
“Does this mean that you would consider…?” Aziz took her hand and kissed it. “Allowing me to…?”
“I think I’ve allowed you enough.” Laine closed her eyes for a moment. “I have missed you, though. I thought you must have found yourself another live-in fling by now.”
“No one can replace you. I’m utterly taken by you, Laine. I cannot help but beg you to forgive my failures.” He reached for her face, and she came down to sit beside him. “I knew what you were asking of me. I simply struggled to admit I wanted something more than temporary.”
Laine lifted their hands up, their fingers woven together, and looked into his big hazel-green eyes. How she’d missed them and the sound of his voice and the scent of him. How she’d missed his humor.
“I did too,” she murmured. “I never could believe that you wanted more than what you’d already taken.”
“Please believe me, Laine. Please let me show you how dearly I love you. Give me this chance to truly make a fool of myself.” Aziz cupped her face and searched her eyes before pressing an inquiring kiss to her lips.
Laine felt her heart pounding in her chest. She’d changed so much of her life. Could she still fit him into it? Could she refuse what she felt for him, either way? Did she even want to, anymore?
“Let’s be real,” Laine said. “We’re both going to do that.”
Aziz laughed and pulled her close to him. Laine touched Aziz’s cheek. In spite of her doubts, she had to believe him now. For all his odd ways, he’d never been cavalier about the word “love.” She caressed a hand over his thick, luxuriant hair and then met his lips with a gentle, inviting kiss. Aziz’s hand pressed against the small of her back. He returned her kiss vigorously, as if to prove his feelings through their physical connection.
But Laine was convinced. Now, she wanted to convince him. She wanted him to understand that this risk he was taking, admitting his feelings to her, was much wiser than he seemed to believe. She curved her leg against his and scratched her nails lightly down the back of his neck.
“Ah!” Aziz grabbed Laine’s ass and pulled her into his arms. “My tiger!”
“Yes,” Laine gasped, arching her back and wrapping her arms around Aziz’
s shoulders. “Yours,” she vowed.
With a grunt, Aziz laid her back on the sofa, kissing her neck as she exposed it for him. Laine rolled her hips forward, eliciting a guttural noise from Aziz. He rubbed his erection against her thigh and squeezed just under the curve of her behind.
“Are you still on the pill?” he whispered.
Laine nodded, cupping his face between both of her hands. She kissed him fiercely, with a heat born of the denial they had suffered from their time apart. Even being this close was not enough. She needed to touch him, to be pressed flesh to flesh, to have him inside her as one body.
“My shirt!” She laughed when Aziz pulled her blouse open effortlessly. He slipped off her bra and rolled his tongue around her sensitive nipple as he squeezed her side. As always, her body was his to worship. Mewling sounds came from her as he teased one breast and then the other, and she began to quiver, her body wanting more of him all the time.
When Aziz pulled away, Laine moaned from the loss of him, but he was only stripping off his pants and soon returned to her with apologetic kisses. He positioned one strong arm underneath her ass, lifting her up until she could hitch a leg over his shoulder. Her head rested against the arm of the couch and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
“I was so afraid to let myself want this,” Laine admitted.
Aziz slid one finger inside her as he held her securely. “As was I, but now, we take our happiness, yes? No more fear. Just life and love, my sweet, strong rose.”
Laine moved her hips against his fingers, making soft noises of appreciation and looking into his eyes like they had only just now seen one another truly. When he pushed his erection inside her, she remembered how thick it was, and how it was so close to being too much…but it wasn’t. It was perfect, filling her completely as he rocked his hips rhythmically.
Their eyes closed, and he pressed his forehead to hers. Back and forth, they both panted and moaned, expressing their passion and appreciation of one another. His hand reached between them, massaging the sensitive nub there, and she tightened around him as she shuddered in pleasure. Once only a little, and then again explosively. She gripped the back of the couch with one hand, moaning as though possessed, and her body lit up in ecstasy.