Feeling Some Type of Way

by Vera Roberts

  He does have a point, I’m frustrated to admit. Becoming Ian’s girlfriend meant a lot more than just expensive handbags and Manolo Blahniks. Tonight was just a small taste of it. I would be photographed and hounded in every corner of the world. While Ian kept himself private and knew how to play the media, I had no clue.

  Maybe all of this was a preparation of things to come and if I was truly ready for it. Now became the question of when. “How am I going to let you know this?”

  Ian chuckled and rubbed my shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re going to show me.”

  Book II – Roscoe’s and Bentleys

  One

  Two Years Later…

  “I don’t know where he is. I know he’s super busy and he’s about to go on holiday soon. I’ll let him know that you called….again. Okay, bye-bye.” I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

  Ian’s latest paramour couldn’t take the fact he hit it and quit it, blowing up my phone, and threatened to go to the press about it. I told her to go to the press like I give a damn.

  Working for Ian for the past two years taught me a lot – no matter what goes on between us, he was holding out for something. I’m not sure what that something was.

  I graduated from college and Ian attended my graduation, sitting with Sam and Adrienne. He actually sat between them so there wasn’t anything awkward about the two of them sharing a row. It was then he finally met Blake and the two got on like old friends. I guess when you’re part of the world’s one percent, you have a lot in common.

  Since that fateful night in the back of the Rolls, that was the extent of our romance. Yeah. I would love that we finally got together and it was Happily Ever After with a bunch of half-British Ians and Dominiques running around but not quite. I’m still his first choice as date whenever he has a formal gala to attend and he goes to at least four a year.

  My IG page has gotten a funny number of stalkers….erm, followers. I went from having just a few hundred to now I have a little over twenty thousand. Yeah, you read that right. Twenty thousand. The first picture Ian and I took together exploded my name into the high society pages. While everyone knows I’m just his assistant, a curious number of people don’t buy that.

  Honestly, I don’t buy that, neither.

  Ian and I have cuddled a few more times but no making out sessions and yes, my hymen is still intact. I’ve been on a few dates and had one guy I did consider to be my boyfriend. It just didn’t feel right. He wasn’t what I wanted.

  He wasn’t Ian.

  I don’t know what’s going on between us. I thought the Rolls Kiss, as Michelle and Helen affectionately nicknamed it, was going to be the real game changer between us. But no, two years later and it’s still status quo. I’m still his assistant, he still flirts with me, and we still haven’t done anything.

  Even I’m bored to tears with that.

  At least one positive note – Ian started showing up to Thanksgiving with me and my family. Those oxtails changed his life, yo!

  I walked into Ian’s office and found him looking like he would rather get a full body wax than to continue his task of finding an artist to feature at the Gallery.

  Ian sat in a board meeting recently, and promoted an idea to feature different artists from all shades of life every few months. Everyone (except Gerald) loved the idea. Of course, the idea had a pretty big price:

  If Ian failed, he was going to be cut off.

  Now, there’s something you should know about the patriarch, Anthony Ferguson. He’s a serious, old gent, and he’s a dedicated father and grandfather. He’s a horrible husband and I think he’s about to trade in his wife for another younger model.

  When it comes to art, however, Anthony knows his stuff. He’s one of the few art collectors in the world to boast works from old friends like Andy Warhol, Georgia O’Keefe, and many others from his private collection. It was why people come to the Ferguson and why it’s one of the most-visited galleries in the world.

  Of course, while the crowd is more of the rich and stuffy type, the younger crowd flocked to independent galleries and the MOCA. Now, there was an urgent demand to get those same feet back through the Ferguson.

  This is where Ian came in.

  He suggested the family started hosting relatively unknown artists to get more foot traffic. Something wild and against the grain. It was a brilliant idea. But if it failed….whoa buddy.

  “You look tortured,” I stood by his office doorway.

  Ian covered his face with a hand and groaned. He let out another one for good measure. “Why did I open my big, fat mouth?” He moaned.

  “I thought you found a lot of good artists?” I stepped into the office. “I saw a few of the artists you looked at and I thought they were pretty good?”

  “I’m not looking for pretty good, and that’s the problem,” Ian shook his head, “I’m looking for spectacular.”

  “But what are you looking for?” I asked. “You keep giving out generalizations but you’re not being specific.”

  “Art is something you feel. It makes you feel alive. When you see a picture, the beauty of it should stun you. When you hear a song on the radio, it should become your instant favorite. When you see a movie, you wonder of the brilliance of the director and actors. Even when you eat food, your mouth should crave it from the first bite and make it a memorable experience. You may not remember the exact dish, but you’ll remember that place and think it was the best damn food you’ve ever had.” Ian’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I’m looking for! That’s the brilliance!”

  “You’re looking for your Thriller,” I stated, referring to the iconic Michael Jackson album.

  “I’m looking for my Thriller,” Ian agreed. “Hell, I’m looking for my Off the Wall at this point.”

  “Well, there’s someone I follow but I don’t know if she’s Thriller or Off the Wall-worthy. She might be a little Control.” I referenced Janet Jackson’s album before I opened my phone and handed it to Ian. I’m not sure if Ian would know what I meant by Control but hell, I don’t have time to explain. “Take a looksee.”

  Ian shrugged and breathed another sigh. He glanced down at my phone and his eyes widened. Rich and bold colors like yellow, purple, and burgundy stared back at him. A powerful image of a semi-nude black woman with curled fists and a large poufy Afro was at the forefront.

  The caption read – Do Not Touch My Hair.

  “My God!” Ian’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Who is this?”

  “Sydney Walker,” I replied. “She’s the fiancée of Dean Winchester.”

  “Who’s that?” Ian shook his head.

  “The next Wayne Gretzky,” I stood behind Ian as he perused more of Sydney’s artwork.

  Ian scanned through Sydney’s artwork. “And who’s that?”

  “Never mind,” I bit my tongue. Ian was never into any sport that wasn’t rugby, sailing, and whatever wealthy people invented to kill the time. The only ones who cared about other sports were Anthony and Gerald, who were regulars at the Staples Center. “Anyway, long story short, she has a show coming up in a few days. Maybe you can attend and look at some of her drawings in person. I’m sure she’ll be there.”

  “I’m there,” Ian wrote down Sydney’s contact information. “Thank you, Domi. That’ll be it for now.”

  “You’re welcome.” I took my phone back and began to leave. “Maybe you can find yourself a nice, good woman while you’re there.”

  “The only woman I want is walking out of my office,” Ian replied to me.

  I retreated to my desk and began to prepare for the art show. I needed to find a date since I had a feeling Ian was going to bring one of his own.

  Little did I know Ian’s introduction to Sydney would turn out to be my favorite mistake.

  Two

  I wished she were ugly.

  I wished she were fat.

  I wished she had a big-ass pimple that was dead center on her face.

  I wished Sydney W
alker were the most hideous woman I’d ever seen in my life.

  Instead, I was met with one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen.

  And just my luck, she was Ian’s new crush muse.

  As I walked around with Sydney and showed her the Ferguson, I was insanely jealous of her. She spoke in a smoky yet seductive voice and had a big, beautiful smile.

  I could see why Ian was completely enamored with her. I could also see why I hated her ass from the jump.

  “So this is the Lula Jean room?” Sydney asked as we entered the room. She looked around and was astounded by how big the room was. “This is incredible!”

  Ian decided Sydney was going to make her debut in the room of all rooms. Yeah, that was intentional. “It is. He’s a huge fan of your work.” And of you.

  Sydney turned to me and flashed that smile again. Oh, why did she have to be beautiful? Shit! “I seriously cannot thank you enough, Dominique! You’re the reason for me being here!”

  You’re the reason I’m going to eventually sleep with your man. Jealous, bitch? It’s funny how I know that’s not what she said but somehow my brain translated that she did. Weird. “Anything to help you.”

  Sydney gave me a big, bear hug and I hugged her back. Gosh, I wish I could hate her. Even if her and Ian do hook up, I sincerely liked her more than the others. She would be good with Ian.

  What in the hell am I saying? I would be good with Ian.

  I heard the door opened and saw Ian walked in with a beaming smile. He made a beeline towards both of us with an equally big smile, complete with dimples. Ugh, she even brought out his dimples.

  “How are you ladies doing today?” He asked us. “Getting along well?”

  “Yeah, I was just showing Sydney around the Ferguson,” I mentioned to Ian, “I showed her everything in the Gallery and even a few things I forgot about. I was about to mention how this would be a great venue for her and Dean to get married.” My eyes cut to Ian. Yes, Ian, the woman you want is engaged to another man and you will deal.

  Ian read the look on my face with one of his own. “I’m sure she’ll make a beautiful bride.” He turned to Sydney. “If you’re free, I would like to discuss more of your residency over lunch?”

  “Sure!” Sydney beamed. “Thanks for everything, Dominique.”

  “She’s great, isn’t she?” Ian winked at me.

  Yeah, I’m so great….great at being an absolute doormat.

  ~~~~~

  “I want something slick and sweet. Something that shows off my curves,” Adrienne spoke to the gown designer at Happily Ever After bridal boutique. “Something that proves to everyone no matter how I was born, I am all woman now.”

  Adrienne is getting married to Blake. He proposed to her on a romantic trip to St. Tropez and gave her one of the fattest diamonds I’d ever seen.

  Now as maid of honor duties, I had to make sure my sister looked amazing and keep the bridezilla at bay. Somehow, I think the last part is going to be more difficult than the first.

  “So, tell me what’s up with you, sissy?” Adrienne turned to me as we head to the back of the store to try on gowns. “Been on any dates lately?”

  I’ve been on a slew of forgettable dates. It’s gotten to the point where I’m dating these uninteresting men just so I can get a free meal. “I’m my own best friend. It’s just me, myself, and I.”

  “Okay, Beyoncé,” Adrienne laughed, “and how’s Daddy Warbucks?”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Ian was too busy preparing Sydney’s art show to entertain any dates. After they met at her exhibit, Ian and Sydney hit it off and he offered her an exhibit at the Ferguson, riding her Internet notoriety.

  It also meant he was too busy to entertain me as well. I hated to admit it but I became rather accustomed to our cuddling adventures, even if he wouldn’t kiss me. I just love the feel of him next to my body at night.

  Not to mention, Ian makes some pretty kick-ass pancakes the next morning. Okay, so I love his cuddles and his pancakes. I say that’s a pretty fair deal.

  “Ian is busy. He found a new muse and he’s going to spotlight her at the Ferguson,” I sat in a chair as Adrienne undressed in her room.

  “Her, huh?” She responded. “Who is she?”

  “Sydney Walker,” I replied, “have you heard of her?”

  “Briefly,” Adrienne admitted, “she’s good. She does a lot of Afro-centric stuff with powerful themes. She isn’t for everybody.”

  “I figured as such,” I tried to contain the smarminess in my tone but it was too late. As Adrienne came out to model the first gown – an A-line number with flared skirt – it was clear she heard it as well.

  “Is that jealousy I detect, sweet sister?” She smiled at me.

  Something about Adrienne was off. Her weave was beautiful. Her body was womanlier. My eyes finally landed on the obvious thing – her tits. They got bigger. She was easily a C-cup now, a drastic size from being the Chair of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee.

  “You got your tits done,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but you’re jealous of Sydney.” Adrienne changed the subject back.

  “I’m not jealous.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I normally wasn’t jealous of any woman Ian “dated” and I’m being very generous with that word. They never lasted more than a week or two.

  Sydney has been a part of Ian’s life for the better part of three months. They had numerous conversations and restaurant dates. Even Ian started watching hockey games to keep up on how Sydney’s fiancée did.

  I wished I could hate her. She was goofy, intelligent, and drop-dead gorgeous. She was slender with light almond skin and an athletic figure to die for. She had a full tattoo sleeve and a number of tats all over her body, but it didn’t look obscene.

  She was the complete opposite of what Ian would want and maybe, that’s why he was so attracted to her. Ian never said he was but it was so obvious. He couldn’t stop raving about her talent and he’s spent a nice chunk in promotion highlighting her first exhibit at the Ferguson.

  And of course, I had to be “good girl” Domi and keep my jealous-ass mouth shut. After I paid off the debt of my car and tuition to Ian via my internship and working free for six months, I became a full salaried employee of his with full benefits, stock packages, and generous vacation times. My schoolgirl emotions were not about to fuck up my coin.

  Adrienne glanced at herself in the mirror and shook her head. “I look like a man wearing a wedding dress,” she went back into the dressing room to change, “I still think he wants you, Sister. I don’t see him with Sydney.”

  “He bought her a loft.” I replied. A freaking loft in Downtown L.A. that’s a couple of million dollars. Yeah, no man who doesn’t have the intention of getting into someone’s panties does that.

  Adrienne reappeared a few minutes later wearing a Vera Wang tulle strapless wedding dress. She looked like a princess. “Men buy homes for women they don’t love all the time. I should know; I used to date them.”

  “You look gorgeous, sissy!” I cheered her. “Ian’s totally going to sleep with Sydney.”

  “So? That’s none of your business, Sister.” Adrienne turned around to look at herself in the mirror. “You really think so? You like this one?”

  “This is so gorgeous! I think this is it!” I stood next to Adrienne and leaned on her. “Of course, he’s going to sleep with her! He’s just waiting for the moment to do so. What if he dates her? Then what? I just waited two years for a man who doesn’t want me.”

  “You were waiting for him?” Adrienne seemed surprised by this information. “Are you in love with Ian? It’s okay if you are.”

  “No, I’m not in love with Ian,” I replied. Damn, I’m a really bad liar.

  “Okay,” Adrienne gave me a knowing wink through the mirror, “you’re not wasting your time, Sister. He’ll want you when he feels you’re ready for him.”

  “I think I’ve proven I am,” I replied. “I think he likes to lead me on a
nd think I’ll be worthy for him.” I shook my head. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “The way you’re thinking,” Adrienne softly spoke, “maybe it’s not you who has to prove who’s worthy. Maybe it’s Ian.”

  ~~~~~

  After an afternoon of wedding dress shopping and I swear to God, if I see another ball of tulle ever again, I’m going to strangle someone with that very fabric, I retreated back to my one bedroom apartment in the same complex I used to room with Helen and Michelle.

  Helen moved back north where she promptly broke up with Danny (like he was firmly in the picture, anyway), and started seeing this guy named Noah, who seems more her fit. They both know a bunch of weed dealers but neither still smoke. I’m still trying to understand that one, myself.