The Anatomy of Jane (WJM #1)

by Amelia LeFay

  “So famous you didn’t even know me when we first met?”

  She pursed her lips to the side, and I was starting to notice she was horrible at controlling her facial expressions.

  “I don’t count since I don’t watch the news. Not that I’m dumb or anything, or don’t care what’s going on—”

  “You just don’t have time because you’re working.” She was always working. “Except you tried to quit this morning.”

  “I didn’t try to quit.”

  “Really? Your boss called me to tell me I was getting a new maid—”

  “It’s for the best.”

  “Don’t decide what is best for me,” I replied, pulling my leg away from her.

  She glared. “I wasn’t. I was deciding what was best for me. Contrary to what your ego may tell you, Mr. Emerson, the world does not revolve around you.”

  “So it’s a no to the marriage then?”

  She threw her hands up. “Yes! Do you know how crazy you sound? You don’t even know me and you are in love with…I’m not marrying a stranger for money. You and your cousin both think you can buy people with money. Maybe you can, but you can’t buy me.”

  She annoyed the hell out of me.

  “You’re an idiot,” I said when she got up to leave.

  “What?” She spun back to me.

  Standing up, I fixed my tie. “You are an idiot. You think working hard is the secret to making it? How do you think half of these people got to the point where they spend three hundred dollars on a plate of pasta? Maybe once upon a time, hard work was the reason. Maybe there is one out of a few thousand people who succeeds that way now. Some people are born lucky and into wealth. Some people are born extremely intelligent or athletic. But for the majority, it’s plain hustle. Why do you make ten dollars an hour, and your boss, who doesn’t even clean houses, makes sixteen? You do whatever you can to get up the ladder and most times that means using people. You’ve probably been working your ass off all your life, and most likely getting screwed while you’re at it, too. But are you any better off than you were last year? Any opportunity you have to get ahead, you should take. If you don’t, you’re either scared or an idiot.”

  I was expecting her to snap back at me, but she stood there like I had slapped her across her face. Her eyes glazed over with tears she wouldn’t let fall.

  “Maybe you are right. I have been screwed over by bosses. It’s not fair and yet I keep working. I’m workaholic Jane.” She shrugged. “But I don’t have anyone to step on. All I have is me, so I treasure myself more than anyone or anything in the world. So when you try to buy me as if I’m nothing but an item and not a person, if I let you…then I won’t like myself. And if I don’t like myself, I will have nothing. Nothing is painful.”

  She quickly wiped a tear off her cheek and spun around to leave. It was only when she left that I felt like I could breathe again…even so, my heart saw someone so beautiful on the outside but so broken on the inside.

  “Way to go.” The door opened and Irene stepped in; my shoulders drooped. She was the other beautiful broken woman in my life who was driving me insane.

  “Why did you bring her here?”

  “I wanted to see how you’d react to her all dressed up,” she replied, leaning against my door. “I heard you fighting on Friday, and that was the first time I’ve seen you so engaged with a woman. You like her.”

  Walking up to her, I made sure she understood I was not playing around. “Do. Not! Drag her into your mess, Irene. You are twenty-eight years old, so fix things yourself. Last time you used people, how did that work out for you?”

  “Fuck you,” she hissed before exiting.

  Why did this shit happen to me?

  Nothing is painful. Jane’s voice echoed in my mind, and I suddenly felt the urge to find her…only to apologize, of course.

  When I said I had an addiction to Maxwell Emerson, I was not being facetious. In the four years we had been together, I had never been with anyone else…that fact alone was insane. I, man-whore Wes, had been and was in a monogamous relationship? Even my own mothers were shocked when I told them. It wasn’t that I couldn’t, I just had never found a person who could satisfy the raging lust I felt all the goddamn time. Then I met him and he was raging along with me.

  Feeding an addiction…living with codependency…stalking...love—call it whatever you will, but I was never that far away from him, which is why when Senator Elspeth Yates begged me to personally cater her event that evening, I said yes, even though I’d sworn to myself I’d never cater any event. When the prime minister of France wanted to eat my food, he came to my restaurant like everyone else.

  Which begged the question: what the fuck was I doing there?

  “This needs more vinegar! Chop the basil now and wait ten minutes once the—” I stopped mid-sentence when I saw Jane rushing down the stairs. She was dressed in emerald green and her face was puffy and pink. She had her shoes in one hand and the train of her dress with the other.

  “Tell me you see her,” my sous-chef exclaimed. “Do you know her?” he asked, confirming I wasn’t dreaming.

  “Bloody hell,” I whispered and was awed at how beautiful she still managed to look even while obviously upset.

  “Chef?”

  “Chop the basil now and wait ten minutes to grate the truffles on top of it,” I said to him, not taking my eyes off her as she ignored all the kitchen staff and moved toward the back patio. Taking off my chef’s apron, I moved to the fridge and took out a single chocolate and vanilla parfait with cherry sauce.

  “Spoon,” I snapped at one of them.

  “Here, Chef.”

  “Nicklaus the kitchen is yours.”

  “Yes Chef,” he nodded, not looking up from his dish. It was one of the reasons why I could trust him. Pulling the door open, I was immediately hit with a blast of cold air, which oddly didn’t seem to affect her at all. She sat on the steps, staring up at the night sky.

  “Come here often?” I asked, taking a seat beside her. Her head turned to me so fast I thought it would snap off.

  “Why are you everywhere?” she groaned, brushing back her hair.

  “That is not the reaction I was hoping for,” I muttered, handing her the dessert and getting back up.

  “No, sorry,” she called out before I took a step.

  “Are you sure? Because I don’t do well with crying women.”

  “Is that why you brought the dessert?” She smiled, taking a bite. She paused, glancing down at it. I grinned and sat back down.

  “I’m amazing. Go on, you can say it.”

  She made a face at me, struggling. “It’s all right…not orgasmic though.”

  “It shouldn’t be. At least not with the first bite,” I said, watching as another spoonful entered past her full lips. “A great orgasm doesn’t happen remarkably fast, Ms. Chapman. It’s the buildup and the path that gets you there.”

  She stared at me, no longer eating, so I took the spoon from her mouth, scooped up more chocolate, and brought it back to her lips. They parted for me. “You feel everything first, your mouth watering. The shiver has gone up your spine…the tingling in your ears and hands. Your nipples are getting harder and harder as your pussy gets wetter and wetter. You should be moaning with pleasure, savoring every inch of it to the point that it is driving you insane, not screaming out, and not giving in. It is then and only then”—I fed her the last bite—“that I let you cum.”

  She gasped and swallowed with eyes wide. She turned away from me, and I smirked like the dirty sinner I was.

  “You are all right, Ms. Chapman.”

  “Shut up!” She put her hand over my lips, covering them. “You and that damn accent and your fucking dessert are confusing me.”

  I waited for her to take her hands off. When she did, I told her the truth. “You aren’t being confused; you’re being turned on. Your nipples are proof of that.”

  “It’s cold!” she snapped, placing her hands o
ver them.

  “It was cold when I came out, and they weren’t like that. Believe me, I would have noticed if they were.”

  “How can you be flirting with me when you are in a relationship?”

  Good fucking question. Max was the first person to ever capture my attention like this and now here she was like a damn hurricane I couldn’t ignore.

  “But I guess it’s fair seeing as Max kissed me.”

  “He did what?” The little wanker!

  “Don’t get jealous. He was doing it to protect me from this—” I didn’t give a shit. Reaching over, I did what I’d been dying to do from the very first night she’d caught us. My lips were soon on hers and I could taste the chocolate, cherry, and vanilla on her tongue. Her lips were just as soft as I’d thought they’d be, and I wanted—no, I needed more. Moaning into my mouth, she almost gave in before breaking away.

  “Now it’s fair,” I told her, trying to catch my breath.

  “You two are insane!” she snapped and got up to leave. I wanted to go after her, but due to the rather large situation I was having between my legs, I thought better of it.

  Her lips would be beautiful on my cock…on Max’s cock.

  “Bloody fuck,” I gasped out.

  Why had I flirted with her? Because she was beautiful and I wanted her, but also because I knew Max wanted her too. Whatever the excuse the little shit made in order to kiss her was a bunch of bollocks. He had kissed her because he wanted to. The fact that he wanted to turned me on.

  “Fuck! Go down!” I yelled at my cock.

  Both of them were going to kill me.

  “Can you believe she had the audacity to show her face?” I heard one of the women whisper when I got back upstairs. Following their gaze, I saw two women staring at Irene as she spoke with Max.

  “No, why? What happened?” another one whispered.

  “Well, three years ago she fell for this total fraud. She kept showing him off, some hotshot Wall Street broker. Turns out she knew he was a fraud, but he was blackmailing her. She was a total junkie, and he said he was going to expose her. She convinced so many people to trust him with their money while all the time knowing they’d have losses. She selfishly just wanted to save herself. It was a huge scandal. She only avoided jail time because she’s part of the Emerson family. Instead she exiled herself to France. Who knows what kind of trouble she got in there. It must have been horrible if she’s back here groveling for attention again. Hopefully she does her aunt a favor and goes somewhere.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. Grabbing two full glasses off the serving tray, I took a couple of steps back before bumping into the women and spilling the wine all over their dresses.

  “Oh my god!” I gasped out

  “Have you lost your mind!” Little Miss Gossip screamed at me with her hand in the air.

  “I’m so, so sorry!”

  “You haven’t even begun to be—”

  “Ladies.” Max came up beside me. “I apologize for this, please, let the maids assist you in cleaning up. I promise I’ll personally reimburse you both.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Emerson.” They tried to be cute and I wanted to roll my eyes. However, when their glares shifted onto me again, I pretended to feel terrible.

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated again as they left. Good fucking riddance.

  Max turned to me, eyebrow raised. “I saw you spill the drinks on them on purpose.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” I shrugged.

  “Thank you.” The corners of his lips turned up and he looked, for the first time, really cute. “And I’m sorry for earlier.”

  “I must have been gone longer than I realized for you to develop a whole new personality.”

  “I swear you just enjoy aggravating me.”

  “Just a little bit.”

  “You do know tomorrow I’ll just make sure you have a shit load of things to clean,” he replied.

  “I quit. Remember?” I was done with their penthouse.

  He shook head. “Didn’t you hear me? You don’t make the rules. You are the worker bee. I told your boss I wanted you as my maid. If not, then I was done with her service. She’s going to pressure you to come, because like I said, everyone is self-servicing. I bet she’ll even threaten to fire you if you don’t show up.”

  “You asshole! Why are you tormenting me?” I groaned.

  “Simple. You’ve seen things, and I’d rather not deal with another maid. So I expect to see you bright and early, Ms. Chapman, or I’ll come and get you myself.”

  “I hate you—”

  “Maxwell.” At that moment, a woman stepped forward wearing an asymmetrical black dress. Her black hair was slicked back and her blue eyes were openly staring at me. I knew she was his mother, the infamous Elspeth Yates, and she was gorgeous.

  “Mother,” Max said, standing straighter, if possible, and also tenser. “You look beautiful as always.”

  “Thank you dear. Are you going to introduce me to your friend—”

  “Fiancée,” he corrected, and I looked around praying there was another woman beside him. Nope, just me.

  The fucking asshole. Had he not heard a word I’d just said to him?

  “Actually ma’am, I rejected him. Jane Chapman. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your home is stunning.” I reached out to take her hand and she stared at me in confusion.

  “You rejected my son? Why?” she asked, not shaking my hand.

  “He’s a conceited, narcissistic asshole.” I dropped my hand. “And on that note, I’ll excuse myself.”

  Proudly, I walked back over back to Irene.

  “Bravo,” she clapped for me. “But in his defense, he gets incredibly nervous around his mother. He probably said the first thing on his mind to get her off his back.”

  “Please say I can go now.”

  She nodded and never was I so thankful. These people and their drama were far too exhausting.

  Screw the life of the rich and famous. I’ll stay a maid.

  Chapter Six

  “Home sweet home,” I muttered tiredly as I turned the key to my apartment. It was after two in the morning by the time I got back. Stepping inside, the first thing I noticed was that the window was open. I never left it open.

  I screamed when a man grabbed my hair and threw me into the wall. The door slammed shut as I fell to the floor. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to see his face…if I saw his face—

  “I’ve been waiting too damn long for you to get here.” He clenched my hair, forcing me to see look up. I shut my eyes tight. “Look at me.”

  Don’t look. Don’t look.

  “Bitch look at me!” he hollered, slapping me so hard across the face that I could taste blood in my mouth. “Where is the money?”

  “Anything you want take—gugha!” I cried when his foot connected with my stomach.

  “Is there anything here worth two hundred and twenty-two thousand? A little bird told me they saw you riding around in a million-dollar car. Now where did you get the car from?” I didn’t answer, so he hit me over and over and over again.

  Coughing up blood and sobbing, I just held my arms to my chest and tried my best to stay calm even though I was panicking.

  “This is a message from Aaron. He wants his money and he wants it now. If I have to come here or to that little cocksucker, Allen, one more time…well, I won’t be so polite next time,” he said, running his hands over my body even as I shivered in disgust.

  He said nothing more, and it was only after he left that I finally opened my eyes. The pain was pouring over me like waves. Crawling to my purse, I reached inside for my phone.

  It felt like it took forever before Mary answered.

  “It is two in the morning Jane—”

  “Help,” I sobbed.

  Tuesday came. She didn’t come.

  Saturday came and she didn’t show up.

  It was now Tuesday again and still, no word from her. I’d ca
lled the maid service, and all Mary would say was that she could refer me to another maid service, but Jane could not come. I even drove over to her apartment, but I didn’t know which door was hers.

  “What happened at your mother’s party?” Wes asked, sitting on the bed shirtless, no longer pretending to read the book in his hands. I hadn’t spoken about it and he hadn’t asked. “I know you kissed her.”

  I turned to face him and his green eyes were calm, serious, and completely unlike him.

  How?

  “She told me. She came down to the kitchen and was trying not to cry. I didn’t ask why and then I kissed her.”

  “You did what?”

  “I kissed her for the same reason you kissed her. I’m attracted to her.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Bullocks.” He shook his head, throwing the book to the side of the bed before getting up himself. “Since we met her, I’ve been trying to keep my distance for your sake, you jealous bastard. But what have you been doing? You’re driving her home. You’re proposing to her. You are kissing her in front of your family and friends. You are fighting back and forth. You are getting to know her favorite movies. I’m here feeling like an ass while waiting for you to fuck up and just admit it!”

  “I’m not stopping you!” I hollered back. “If you want to fuck her, go fuck her! GO! Don’t bitch at me—”

  “You’re not getting it,” Wes said, shaking his head and grabbing his shirt. “I want both of you.”

  “Should we just open our relationship to anyone you want to fuck now? Where is the bar? You see a pretty girl or guy and it’s ‘Hey, let’s all have a three-way because the man-whore, Wesley, wants it?’ If I don’t agree, I’m the one who needs to man up? Fuck you.”

  “I felt something when I looked at her,” he confessed as he put on his shirt and walked over to me. “In that moment it terrified me. Perhaps I’ve only felt that once before and still do: when I look at you. I thought it cheapened us in some way, or that I was…that something was wrong. Then I looked over to you. I saw that you looked at her the same way you first looked at me four years ago. When you weren’t comfortable with your sexual activity. When you were so used to fucking men in the dark and hiding it that you shrugged me off when I tried to hug you. You fought with me constantly because you could not accept that we could be in a stable, normal relationship as men. I realized then that something wasn’t wrong with us. If it was, you and I both wouldn’t react to the same woman. I tell you all the time I feel like we were destined to meet. So who says there can’t be another person with us? Society! The same people who thought being gay meant being mentally incompetent? Fuck them. If we are all attracted to each other, why fight it? I’m not just being a man-whore, but thanks for the insult. I’m going to head down to my apartment. I’ll see you later.”