by SE Reign
“I think the challenge is scaling the business,” Laura is saying. “Her designs are exclusive and handmade. You only have two? Three people in your shop?”
“Two,” Elena answers.
“So we’d need an exclusive license with her to keep up with the demand of your schedule.”
“Meaning we’d have to contract her full time?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
“What do you think about that?” I ask Elena. “Is it an issue?”
She’s staring at me like a deer in the headlights again.
Laura clears her throat.
“N…no,” Elena responds.
“We’d need one of your people in New York,” Laura adds. “We’re looking at anywhere from four hours to several months’ notice on custom dresses.”
“I’d have to close my shop in Nebraska.” Elena’s expression turns pensive. I can almost hear her thoughts racing.
“There should be no concern about cost,” Laura says gently. “Mr. Micah is clear that Natalie gets whatever she wants. That will include living expenses and salary for anyone you send here.”
If there’s one thing I am comfortable assuming about Elijah, it’s that he’s got no qualms about spending money on what he wants, including turning his fiancée into a princess.
“I can do that,” Elena says. “I would only ask that the designs remain mine, and after the initial contract, I can sell them freely.”
“Of course. Chances are, you’ll be allowed to keep many of the originals when it comes to the gowns and clothing worn for official functions. Women in Natalie’s position rarely wear the same clothing twice anyway,” Laura replies.
I already have enough clothing that I can wear a new outfit every day for a couple of years. I hope the brief fame is enough to support Elena’s business when the engagement melts in two months.
Troubled at the idea of pulling some innocent woman into what has become a complicated web of lies, I fade out of what they’re discussing. Maybe I should go with a corporation, something that won’t be hurt in a few weeks when my world crumbles.
“It would be my pleasure to become your personal designer, Natalie,” Elena says at last.
One look at her face makes me realize I can’t possibly change my mind now. I can see and hear that she means it, and I feel happy knowing I’ll get what I want today: to touch someone’s life in a way that leaves them much better off than I’ll be when this shit is over.
“Excellent. We’ll go over more details in a few minutes,” Laura says. “Can we see a few more samples?’
Elena spins quickly and heads back stage. We follow. My eyes skim over the mobile racks of clothing everywhere in the small backstage space. More models are waiting while designers and stylists are fussing over the clothing.
Elena leads us to her space, and I reach out to touch the gowns on display. They are all soft like silk with the undeniable stretch of cotton. Some have the stiffness of wool and look like they’d be more for formal occasions. The colors are mainly earth tone neutrals with several shades of blue and green mixed in.
“These are beautiful,” I murmur.
“We want the neutrals for most official occasions and subdued color for formal events.” Laura is examining a seam and studying the craftsmanship critically. “Looks good. Are you satisfied with what you see here, Natalie?”
I nod. I’m feeling good about myself and actually excited to see what Elena can do.
Laura motions for me to follow her back to the runway.
My phone buzzes from a text, and I pause to read what my mom has sent.
I asked you not to pay for your father’s surgery. I don’t want to be indebted to you or HIM. I love you, baby, but please – we don’t want your money.
I frown at it, not understanding what she’s talking about. I have to wait a full sixty days after leaving my job before the money from my 401K will be available. I already submitted the paperwork, but I think I’d know if it hit my bank account early.
I want to remind my mother that I don’t have money anyway, and I’d never presume to use a dime of Elijah’s. He gave me a black AmEx card with my name on it. I’ve bought one mocha this week with it, because I have absolutely no money to my name. I, too, understand that I’d never, ever want to be indebted to him.
I send her a quick response. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I haven’t gotten my 401K money yet but will send it to you when I do.
Tucking my phone away, I step out from behind the curtain and join Laura, out of hearing distance of the others backstage.
“Great quality, and the message you’d be sending about eco-friendly, homegrown designs is a good one,” Laura starts. “The challenge with a small designer like this will always be them adjusting to the demands of your schedule and the press.”
“I understand that,” I murmur. “If she isn’t comfortable with those things, then I wouldn’t dream of pressing her.”
“I’ll find out. Mr. Micah said you’d pick her,” she adds.
“He was right.” I have no idea how.
He’s watching me from his spot at the table, wine glass in one hand, his athletic form relaxed yet confident. The way his eyes roam down my body appreciatively makes my stomach flutter. The corner of his mouth turns up in an amused smile. I don’t like that look at all. I’ve learned it means I-told-you-so. Aware of everyone in the entire room watching me, I don’t roll my eyes like I want to.
He’s been able to read me since the day we met in his study. Why doesn’t that bore him? Obviously, I’m no challenge, and a man like him thrives off challenges. What, then, makes him unable to go a minute in my presence without touching me? What makes him fuck me like we’ve only got one night left to live?
Is it the same thing that makes it impossible for me to touch him without wanting to feel our naked bodies together? Even knowing what he’s said to my mother and suspecting he’s ordered my best friend not to speak to me anymore?
Big picture, Natty.
He waves me over.
I go, realizing I’ve been gazing at him like a lovesick fool.
His gaze is on Laura when I approach, but he automatically shifts to make way for my body to meet with his again. His fingers brush my ass, his body fitting against mine perfectly as he draws me into him. The sexual tension between us is thicker than usual, I think because we’ve never gone this long being together without fucking. I’m aching and wet for him in a way that leaves me irritated at myself for being so easily affected.
“Was I right?” he asks Laura, as if completely unaware of the effect he has on me.
“Exactly, sir,” she answers.
“So not fair,” I murmur.
He looks down at me, the half-smile on his face again. The warmth of his solid chest reaches me through his sweater. Holding me against him, he brushes my lips with his thumb before kissing me lightly on the forehead.
God I love how he does that. Even if for show, the tender kiss makes me melt.
I sigh and rest against him.
“Small break, then we’ll continue,” he says. “There’s a catered luncheon waiting for our guests.” The look over his shoulder is meant for Maya, who will take his words religiously and ensure everything is done the way he’s directed.
“Yes, sir,” Laura says and moves away.
Like everyone else around us, she talks to Elijah differently than she does to me. People are stiff, formal and responsive to the point of scared around him. I suspect that’s the way he likes it. He needs the control.
I wait until Laura moves away before asking him. “Can I touch you?”
Of all the things I hate most: the need to touch the jackass ruining my life.
“Yes,” he replies and wraps his other arm around me.
The planes of his face fascinate me. So sharp and perfect, like a sculpture. I place my palms lightly on his cheeks then trace his high cheekbones with my thumbs. He’s gazing down at me steadily, his arousal at my lower belly
and his body relaxed.
When the doors close behind the designers and their staff, I voice what’s bothering me about today.
“What happens to my team in two months when this is over?”
“Who says it’s over in two months?” he challenges.
“EJ.” I give him an irritated look. “That was our deal.” I run one hand through his soft hair then clasp both behind his neck.
“Maybe it ends when I want it to, farasha.” His low voice is quiet. His full lips are so close to me, and his scent has a way of rerouting any logical thought I should be thinking.
He’s not telling me anything I hadn’t already suspected. Some of the changes the past week are too … permanent. Choosing a stylist team for me that can’t start for about two more weeks, appointing me to the boards of a couple of his charities …
I’ve been trying to ignore the small voice inside me that insists he’ll only let me go when he’s done with me. My fear of what that means is more difficult to handle.
“We both have to agree,” I insist. “Isn’t that the way business deals work?”
He gives me a trace of a smile and shifts away, patting the table.
I leave his arms and pull myself to sit on the edge. Elijah settles against the table, between my thighs. We’re at eye level now, and for some reason, that makes him a little more intense than usual.
I replace my arms around him, unsettled by the way he regards me, and he wraps his arms around me.
Our bodies touching makes doing business with him a little less scary.
“How about an indefinite extension to our contract?” he asks.
God I hate that tone! “Indefinite?” I repeat, my heart quickening for reasons other than I’m turned on. “You want me to let you decide when it’s over.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not fair at all, Elijah.” And what does this mean? That he likes me enough to keep me around?
Or is this another part of his master game that I get glimpses of sometimes?
“What if there was more in it for you?” he asked. “There’s nothing on this planet I can’t buy you.”
“What’s in it for you?” I reply with more heat than I probably should.
“Maybe I’m enjoying this. Or maybe it’s not your concern.”
If Caramel-EJ was asking, this would be different. I’m not sure what to say.
“You wanted to negotiate,” he reminds me. “What do you want? Anything in the world.”
“Maybe for you not to mess with my parents and friends.” Shit. I hear the words and realize that – while true – I never intended to say something like that out loud to him.
“How is paying for your father’s surgeries messing with them?” he demands, bristling.
“You did that?”
“Of course. Your mother didn’t make it easy, though.”
“They don’t want your money, EJ!” I snap quietly. “They … we don’t want to owe you.”
“What was your alternative?” he asks.
Only EJ can spin something like this. He really doesn’t get how us normal, non-billionaires live our lives in the real world.
I’m afraid of my temper snapping too much. Turned on and moody, I slide off the table with the intention of walking away to rein in everything from my hormones to my agitation.
He plants his hands on either side of me, his penetrating gaze stopping me in place. That perfect mouth is inches from mine, his strong body brushing mine.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say a little too breathlessly.
“I do.”
Dammit, Natty.
“I want you to answer my question. If I didn’t pay for it, then what would’ve happened?” he pushes.
“There’s always a way. If it means going into debt or, like I planned, pulling out my money from my 401K or checking with Medicaid … there’s always a way that doesn’t involve loans from someone like you,” I say with tried patience.
“You didn’t have enough in your 401K to pay for it,” he responds.
“How do you know?” I flush, knowing this already, but embarrassed he knows just how bad my finances are.
“I vetted you. I have all your financials. I paid off all your debt and for your father’s surgeries.”
For a moment, I can’t quite figure out what to say. I mean, why would he do that for someone he only planned on keeping around for three months? His intentions are growing clearer – and I don’t like it one bit. He’s just assuming I’ll go along with anything he wants. “I can’t afford to pay you back when this is over. Ever, probably, knowing how expensive his surgeries are!”
“Who said anything about repaying me?” he asks, appearing as frustrated as I feel.
“You’re telling me you spent half a million and don’t expect me or them to pay you back?”
“Exactly. What is half a million to me?” he points out.
I give a startled laugh. His honesty is almost as vexing as his manipulation of my life. Gazing at him, I start to think Caramel-Elijah is closer than I thought. A little less warm, but still well, trying.
“I can’t have my fiancé, who is about to marry a man with a trillion dollar inheritance, appear to be struggling with money. The media would have a field day,” he adds.
And then my heart falls to my feet. I fell for it again. I shouldn’t be reading anything into his actions at all. Elijah is all about Elijah.
“So you did it to look good,” I murmur. “Why am I not surprised?” I want desperately to forget the part of him that makes me give him the benefit of the doubt, because all it does is make me question my own judgment.
“Is it such a bad thing?” he asks, anger in his gaze. “It benefited you. Why not just say thank you?”
“EJ, it’s not about what you did. It’s about why you did it and how you go about it.” I search his gaze. “For someone who does so well in business, you really have no idea how to relate to people. It’s called respect. I put up a boundary between my family and me. You should respect it. I’m yours, but they are not. You can dictate how I live my life but not how they live theirs. If they don’t want your help, you shouldn’t force it upon them, even if it seems wrong. Do you get it?”
He’s frowning. “No.”
“Are you serious?” I stare at him to see if he’s messing with me.
The sense I picked up before the gala – that Elijah’s view of the world is insanely different than my own – returns. I’m not sure if I should pity him for not understanding how basic humanity operates or be furious. If he doesn’t understand this, he’s going to continue to trample over the others in my life the way he does me.
That’s simply not part of our deal.
“Okay. What if … I walked into a business meeting in your place and made decisions for you? Like, made choices you never would’ve made?” I try again.
“You’d be banned from my building and all future meetings.”
“Because … why?”
“No one makes decisions for me.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim. “It’s the same here.”
“It’s nowhere near the same. Your decisions would cost me millions. I did something nice.”
My eyebrows quirk. He says nice with such distaste, I want to laugh.
It hits me then what he’s really said. Media concerns aside, he did something because he thought he was being helpful on some level.
Which makes no sense. He’s been a distant dick since the gala. What on earth am I missing? Why can’t he be consistently either nice or an asshole?
He leans into me and cups one cheek with his large, warm palm. We never spend more than a couple of hours together without our clothing coming off. This morning is a record at about five hours, so I’m pretty sure I know what he’s thinking.
“What else have I done to torture your friends and family?” he asks, amused, clearly not understanding my point at all.
“I can’t do indefinite, EJ,” I reply.
&
nbsp; “You can. It’s easy. Just smile for the cameras and spend my money,” he returns. “What you’re saying is that you don’t want to. Which is why I say – tell me what you want in exchange. We’ll make it a simple business deal where we both get something we need. I can buy you anything, Natalie. Think about it. Anything.”
“There’s nothing I want, EJ,” I insist. “Except an out date to this arrangement, which as I understand it, is in two months.”
“How about a year?”
“Why this change?” I ask, struggling to keep from falling into his heat and scent.
His warm lips touch mine lightly. One of his hands goes down my side to the curve of my hip then slides beneath the waistband of my leggings and underwear. His hand is warm against my skin, and he shifts against me, his swollen dick pressed to my front while his finger slides between my cheeks to my ass. The thumb of his other hand is moving back and forth over my nipple.
“EJ,” I object. “You wanted to talk.”
“Now I want to fuck you.” He touches his lips to mine again then trails them down my jaw, teasing me. “Then you’ll tell me what you want.”
I love what he does to my body, but this man is a master of poor timing.
“Here?” I ask with a glance towards the doors.
“Just a quickie. I’ll fuck you nice and hard later.” He kisses me.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Elijah, it’s that once he kisses you like this, you’re already fucked. I’m barely aware of my shirt coming off, followed by my bra, as his hot touch brands my skin. It’s instinctive now for me to move my hands behind my back or behind my head, waiting for his permission to touch him.
“Where should I come?” he murmurs, kissing my collarbone. “In your mouth, your ass or deep in that cunt I love?”
My breath catches at his words. He pushes off his pants and boxers. His dick is hot, pressed to my skin. I ache for him in a way that can’t be normal or healthy.
I hate that I need him. He’s fucked up my thinking to the point I don’t know what reality is anymore. I just know I love what he does to me physically, even when he’s running me in circles emotionally.
“I brought a new toy,” he says and reaches into his pocket. It’s bright pink. “Finger vibrator.”