Champagne Bubbles & Lipstick Stains: An Erotic Romance (Book 1)

by Janae Keyes

  “Welcome to the Fairmont, ma’am,” the young bellhop greeted me, his eyes studying me while he licked his lips. I gave him a quick smile before jumping from the car and rushing inside the hotel.

  Once in the lobby of the grand hotel, I glanced around at the regal setting. I felt so out of place, but tried my best to elude the confidence that I lacked at the moment. I straightened out my denim dress and applied a quick new layer of lip gloss before searching for the hotel bar.

  I knew I found the bar when my eye caught the woman I was there to meet. She was correct that it wouldn’t be hard to miss her fiery red curls which cascaded down her back. I inched closer in her direction as she sipped on a cocktail.

  “Er, Mrs. Goodwin,” I said timidly. She swung around to face me and gave me a grand smile before introducing me with her hand.

  “Yes, you must be Taylor?” she questioned in her accent as we shook hands.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I noted.

  “Please, please, take a seat,” she said as she pointed out to the comfortable looking chair across from her. I smoothed out the back of my dress and took a seat, setting my tote bag to the side. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Oh, no thank you.” I’d already had that margarita, and I wanted to remember this entire meeting fully to recite it back to my mom word for word on the phone later.

  “I called you because a client of mine came across some of your work online. He would like some original pieces done by you. He was very impressed with what he saw and likes your fluid style,” she explained to me. I was still trying to process the fact that someone all the way in London wanted me to do some paintings.

  “I can do that. Whatever he needs, I’m down,” I bubbled out in pure excitement.

  “Good, he would like to meet with you and have you start right away. I hope your passport is current.” That is where it all paused. My passport, that meant I would actually be going to see him in London. I wondered how much airfare was.

  “He wants me to come there?” I asked her nervously.

  “Yes, he wants you to come and do all the work there.”

  “How much is he willing to pay for this?”

  “Yes, compensation. He is prepared to start payment at 1.5 million US dollars but is willing to pay more. He also states that your airfare plus room, board, and supplies will all be taken care of.” My jaw dropped to the ground instantly, I struggled to pick it up. This guy had to be insane, he was willing to pay more than a million dollars for me to do a few paintings. This wasn’t just something big, this was something out of this universe.

  “Woah!” There wasn’t much else I could get out of my mouth at the time. Vivian gave me a kind smile. I think she could see and feel the shock I was experiencing. I knew I was good at what I did, but I never expected or thought I was 1.5 million dollars good.

  “Mr. Branagan would like to have you on a flight tomorrow, but understands if you need a few more days,” Vivian noted. I wasn’t going to let this job slip from my hands if he could have me on a flight tomorrow. I was going to be on that flight.

  “Tomorrow is fine,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to risk this job I couldn’t risk letting this job pass me by.

  “Fantastic. We can work out the details, and a ride will be provided to take you to the airport in the morning. Once in London, you will be picked up and receive further instructions from Mr. Branagan,” she informed me.

  “Can I ask about this Mr. Branagan?” I questioned. I’d accepted this job, and I knew nothing about my new employer, my mom would frown on that.

  “Mr. Branagan is the owner of a billion-pound shipping company. He keeps to himself, but is one of my best clients, always looking for the best art,” Vivian explained to me. “I’m sure you will get to know him more while working with him to create pieces for his home.” I nodded and wondered how I was going to explain this insanity to my mom. I knew her first thought would be that it is some sort of human trafficking plot. I knew there were some wild possibilities, but I felt this was real and my big break. I was doing this, there was no changing my mind.

  AS I SUSPECTED, my mom didn’t believe the job offer was real. She told me I would be sold off into sex slavery, and I would never be heard of again. To try and help calm her nerves, I gave her Vivian’s website and showed her that Vivian was a real art dealer out of London who also recruited artists for commission jobs.

  Once I’d convinced her of the validity of the job, she stressed about my contract. Had I been smart in what I signed on for. I did at least survive a semester as a business major, and I knew a tiny bit. I worked with Vivian on the particulars. I was being commissioned for a maximum of three months and for an unlimited number of pieces, but a minimum of ten. Any pieces the client didn’t like would be mine to keep and do with as I pleased. I was to be paid in full as long as I finished at least ten pieces.

  As much as I was going into this situation blind, I had a small bit of insight as I tried to be smart. It was business in the end, at least during my hated semester of school I’d taken away some lessons. I was being an adult about this, and I was growing my brand.

  I worked to pack up as much as I could in my suitcase while throwing the rest of my things into boxes for storage. I gave my roommates my permission to rent out my place while I was gone, I knew at the moment I wouldn’t be making the rent until I was paid and there was no use paying the rent on a place I wasn’t staying at.

  “Take me with you,” whined out my roommate Maci. She and I had shared our small bedroom together for a year and a half. We’d come to be best friends and of all the people who lived in this apartment, I was going to miss her the most.

  “I wish I could, you know of everyone, you’d be the first to come with me,” I informed her knowingly. The purple haired girl sitting on the edge of my bed gave me a grin.

  “London is so beautiful. I studied for a semester over there,” Maci noted.

  “You will have to give me some tips and tricks. I will be emailing you all the time with questions on where to go, what to see, and where to drink,” I said as I threw more clothes into my already overfilled suitcase.

  I’d packed every kind of outfit possible. It was late June, and I had no idea what the weather would be like. I’d always heard of England as being this cold, gray, and damp place. I hoped that wouldn’t always be the case, I was a Californian girl and needed my sunshine, vitamin D was important to me.

  I wondered about this Mr. Branagan as Vivian didn’t get me much information on him. I knew he was a client of hers, and he did seem to have good taste in art. I didn’t even get his first name from her. I supposed I would be meeting him upon my arrival in London.

  “I’m so happy for you, though, I know your parents have been on you about painting. Now you can show them that painting can make you money and a living,” Maci proclaimed happily.

  “My mom still thinks it is all some ruse to kidnap me into the international sex trade,” I said aloud as I’d received yet another text from my mom warning me to be careful and on alert. She also included the phone number to the US Embassy in London. I shook my head as I smiled down at my phone, I was a smart girl, and I knew I wouldn’t get myself into any mess. I was going to be fine, I trusted my judgment and inner feelings, my mom needed to trust them as well.

  “At least you won’t be in this cramped place. I heard that you were delayed earlier with Anika,” Maci mentioned. I rolled my eyes, thinking of my sweet roommate who spent way too much time having sex in our small apartment.

  “That is one thing I won’t miss, the awkward sexual relationships in this place.”

  “Hey, when you had a man you got creative too.”

  “We did, but those days are over. He messed up, I moved on. Now, I need to focus on my career, that is obviously taking off.”

  “Lucky bitch!” Maci threw her arms around me in a hug. I knew she was happy for me.

  Next thing I knew, there was shouting and cheers coming from the hall, the shout
ing ended up in my room as my other three roommates joined Maci and I in our small bedroom. I looked at all of them. We were a misfit crew of 5 girls and a guy. We all had artistic interests and somehow came together in this little Berkeley apartment. I would miss all of them, even their insane antics, they were my second family.

  Our chef of the house, Anika, held a cake in her arms. I smiled at the confection she’d obviously whisked up quickly for me. I would miss her late night baking marathons and all the sweet treats that came from them. I was eager to dig into the chocolate mountain she held out in front of me that had the words, Congrats & We Will Miss You, scribbled on it in yellow frosting.

  “Cake and then to the bar for our last drink,” Anika declared.

  “I don’t have money to drink,” I informed her as I thought of the pocket change I possessed at the moment. This job needed to be real as I barely had two pennies to rub together.

  “We’ve got it. You deserve it. We look up to you. Out of all of us, you have been the one who hasn’t once given up on your dream, and it is finally taking you places. It gives us hope that our careers will take off,” mused our only male roommate, Oliver.

  “Okay, as long as you guys are paying,” I noted, accepting their offer to go out for a last drink with them. When I came back from London I was determined to get my own place, and I would no longer share a space with them, but they would all always have a space in my heart. We spent our time bringing one another up and letting each other know that we could reach our dreams no matter what the naysayers told us.

  I STOOD OUTSIDE my apartment building with my large and very over packed suitcase next to me and a backpack on my back. I was told to be outside at 9 AM for the car. It was early and cold. I crossed my arms and shivered in my oversized hoodie. I glanced around the nearly abandoned street, hoping my ride would arrive soon. The longer I waited, the more I felt like this might be a prank and not real.

  Just when my nerves were starting to short out, a black town car pulled up to the curb in front of me. The driver hopped out, he was in a black suit and approached me right away. I did consider screaming and running at his presence.

  “Ms. Taylor Walker?” he questioned as he stood in front of me. I nodded in response. “Good, I’m Joe. I’m supposed to take you to the airport.” He took the handle of my suitcase and drug it away from me toward the car. I watched as he popped the trunk and placed it inside.

  Once my suitcase was secured, Joe went to the back door and opened it, with a motion of his hand, he ushered me into the backseat of the luxurious vehicle. I felt like a celebrity as I sat inside of the private car. Joe went to the driver’s seat, and it was no time before we were off.

  I watched the city of San Francisco arrive and pass us by as we headed toward the large international airport. I’d grown up here, and thanks to my parent’s hard work I was able to travel a bit, leaving on my own was strange and a little bittersweet. It was an early Saturday morning, the roads were relatively clear, and it took no time to arrive at the international departures area.

  As soon as we arrived, Joe opened my door before rounding to the back of the car to get my suitcase out of the trunk. I felt bad because I didn’t have any money to tip him for his kindness.

  “I can leave the car for a moment, I will walk you in,” Joe informed me. I gave him a thoughtful smile as he rolled my suitcase and led the way inside. Joe went right toward the line for first class passengers.

  “Uh, Joe, I don’t think this is the right line,” I told him quickly glancing over at the long, meandering line that was meant for coach passengers like myself.

  “Nope, this is right. I was told to take you to check-in at the first class desk,” Joe said to me in a matter of fact tone.

  “Oh,” I said, dumbfounded.

  We approached the desk and the smiling attendant waiting for me. “I hope you have a good trip ma’am.” Joe gave me a grin and a wave before I could properly react, he was running back outside to his abandoned vehicle.

  “Hello, ma’am. May I see your passport?” the attendant with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun asked me. She flashed her perfect pearly white smile as I pulled my passport from my small purse and handed it to her. She scanned it and began to type quickly. “I see you are on the 12:50 to London this morning. You are traveling in First Class in seat 2B. Let me print your boarding pass and you can place your suitcase up here.”

  I was quick to grab the suitcase that Joe had brought in for me. I placed it on the belt next to the counter. The woman at the counter placed a tag on it before it rolled off to be taken away. The next time I would see my bright pink suitcase would be at Heathrow Airport.

  “Here is your boarding pass, I hope you have a wonderful trip,” she noted as she handed me my ticket. I looked down at it, my name was on it, and I was actually being placed in first class as noted. This was starting to feel more real, very real.

  THREE

  THE FLIGHT WAS just over ten hours long. Luckily, I hadn’t slept the night before, and I was able to take a nice snooze on the plane. Riding in first class was very comfortable. I had my own private seating area that even let down into a bed, my TV screen was huge, and the food was served with real cutlery. The moment I got on the plane, I was greeted with a glass of champagne and snacks right away. I’d made the decision to never fly coach again, this was how flying should be.

  Upon my arrival in London, I went through passport control and was able to get my bag fairly quickly before I went out into the arrivals hall. It was funny seeing the arrivals hall of Heathrow Airport in real life, as I’d seen it over and over again in my favorite movie of all time, Love Actually. Right away, I spotted a man holding a large card in his hand with my name scribbled on it.

  The man was in a black suit and seemed poised for my arrival. His dark blonde hair was slicked back, and he had a kindness about him. Surely this guy wasn’t here to force me into prostitution. Timidly, I approached him. He looked me over with his calming blue eyes and gave me a kind smile.

  “Ms. Walker I presume,” he noted in an easeful British accent. I wanted to giggle out loud, this was like a fairy tale of sorts.

  “Yes, sir,” I noted.

  “I am Langston, Lord Branagan’s driver. I’ve been sent to take you to Lord Branagan’s London home,” he informed me. This was the first time I was hearing my new employer referred to as Lord, things instantly became much more interesting.

  “Lord?” I questioned out loud.

  “Yes, ma’am. Lord Nathaniel Branagan who has hired you to do some artwork for him. We will be heading to his London home from here. Once there, you will receive more information and further instructions.” Langston was very poised in the way he spoke, but I guessed being the driver of a Lord, you had to be well spoken.

  “Okay, I have all my things, I suppose I’m ready,” I said nervously.

  “Let me get your bags ma’am,” Langston insisted as he took both my suitcase and backpack from me.

  “You can call me Taylor, I don’t mind,” I noted. Langston simply gave me a nod in response and led the way.

  Walking out the doors of the airport, I followed behind Langston. Immediately, I spotted a typical London Taxi, I wanted to squeal with excitement at spotting it. This was unreal. There was something about London that had drawn me in since I was a little girl. I had always imagined this fairytale land of a city.

  We arrived at a black S-Class Mercedes. Langston was prompt in opening the back door for me and allowing me to get inside before he went to load my suitcase and backpack into the trunk. Unable to decipher if this was real or some wild alcohol induced dream, I pinched my forearm.

  “Ouch,” I hissed in a low voice as I felt the pain I’d inflicted upon myself. Everything was indicating that this was a dream, but reality was showing me that there was nothing delusional about my current situation.

  Langston took his seat as the driver, which I noticed placed him behind the steering wheel on the right side of the car. It w
as funny, my mind knew what it was seeing, but couldn’t quite process it.

  He took no time, and we were off. Besides the odd taxi and the road signs that differed from the ones I was used to, things seemed oddly familiar. We were in a big city and there was traffic on the roads, there were tall buildings, and the people I spotted in the cars seemed to be of every skin color and shade as it was at home. This was much different than when I went to Japan with my parents to see my sister, the lack of cultural diversity was very apparent then, but here in London, it seemed to be just as diverse as the Bay Area.

  Leaving the highway behind, we drove through the streets into the city. My eyes lit up as I spotted places and monuments that I knew from television and movies. Though I was in a moving car, actually seeing these places was mesmerizing, I made a note to get out and explore when I could. I wanted to return home not just a million dollars richer, but richer in experiences, and travel points.

  Pulling up to a street, there was a booth with a police officer. I noticed a sign outside of the brick walls leading inside that read, NO PHOTOGRAPHY ALLOWED. I was intrigued as it seemed to be a typical street with gorgeous homes and perfectly trimmed trees lining it. The officer gave Langston the go ahead and motioned us on our way. As we drove down the perfectly manicured street, my eyes were in awe of the large and beautiful homes, each of them with a yard that was clipped to perfection.

  Each of the house had a number like a typical street and under the number was the street name, Kensington Palace Gardens. I wondered if we were near Kensington Palace, which was once home to Princess Diana.

  It was evident that the persons that resided on this block were extremely wealthy. Each home had some type of luxury car parked behind the gates. From Maybachs to Aston Martins, and everything in between, I marveled at each of them.

  Langston pulled the car in front of a house and used a small remote, I spotted the gates of the light coral house opening. We pulled through the gates and into the driveway of the home. The car came to a stop, and Langston was quick to exit the car and open my door. I stepped out into the cool, yet refreshing air. It wasn’t as cold as I’d expected it to be, which was a plus.