The Billionaire's Toy

by Penny Wylder

  ANDREW XELLUM DROVE ME INSANE: THE DESIGNER’S FORMER MUSE TELLS ALL

  I sit straight up in bed. Right below the headline is a picture of the woman from last night. “What the fuck,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  I pass him the phone. Now I know what she meant by seeing how I felt today. She knew that story was coming out. “Shit,” Andrew says, grabbing his phone and dialing.

  He’s on the phone with May in seconds, who’s already heard the news. I pick my phone back up and read the article. I want to know what she’s saying. I know immediately that none of this is true. She’s saying that Andrew pushed her to her breaking point. That he never let her eat because he wanted her to be thinner for his shows, that he was controlling of her and her life and appearance to the point of abuse. That he kept her locked up in a house so that no one could see her unless he allowed it. The woman—Maya Hart—is someone I recognize now. She used to do what I do for Andrew in terms of modeling, and I always thought her work was brilliant. Not only that, but she has some of the world’s biggest campaigns right now. I’m surprised that I didn’t recognize her last night, but I chalk it up to the fact that I was too shocked by what she was saying.

  She claims that she had to go to rehab for anorexia and get psychiatric help because he abused her. Further, she claims that any person associated with him, especially models, are in danger.

  Bullshit. I’ve seen the way Andrew treats his models. He’s the ultimate professional, and I’ve never ever seen him tell anyone they were fat or that they needed to lose weight. He hasn’t locked me up or ever tried to control my everyday life. I’m not sure why she’s doing this, but it’s not true. None of it. I know it in my gut.

  Andrew comes back into the room, already half-dressed and still on the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hold all the media requests until I get there.” He hangs up the phone and is buttoning his shirt.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I have to go to the studio, I need to get ahead of this.”

  “Of course,” I nod. “I should go home for a little while, too. I could use some fresh clothes. But I’ll see you later?”

  He kisses me briefly, though I notice he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Of course.” Grabbing his phone and a jacket he heads out the front door. I take my time getting ready. I root around in Andrew’s workshop until I find something more casual to wear that won’t have me doing the two-day walk of shame in that party dress. But I take the dress with me. No way in hell I’m letting that go.

  I haven’t answered Fleece, and I know that she’s freaking out, so I decide to stop by the Blind Scorpion on the way home. The minute I walk in she’s on me, “What the hell is going on?”

  I drop onto my perch at the bar, even though it’s way too early to drink anything. “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.” I fill her in on everything that happened over the last days, from the incredible sex to Maya confronting me.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asks. “Are you going to break it off? Stop working for him?”

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  Fleece gives me a look. “I’m not dumb. I read the article.”

  “And you actually believed it?”

  She has the good sense to look a little embarrassed. “Like I told you before, I’ve heard things. I wouldn’t put what she says past him.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him do anything like that. And you’ve seen me? Has he tried to control my life? No.”

  “That’s true…” she says, wiping down the bar with a cloth even though it’s already clean.

  “I don’t know why Maya is doing this, and Andrew left too quickly for me to ask, but there’s more to this.” I grab my bag, suddenly determined to find out what’s really happening. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

  Fleece gives me a small smile. “For what it’s worth, I hope you’re right.”

  It doesn’t take me long to swing by my apartment and grab the few things I need before I’m on my way to Xellum Studios. I should have made Andrew tell me exactly what this meant this morning. My phone is continuously buzzing with questions from friends and notifications of new articles surrounding it. People are asking questions about me, and whether Andrew is subjecting me to the same ‘abuse.’ He hasn’t been answering my calls. Directly to voicemail every time.

  Whatever it is that Maya was trying to do, so far she’s been successful. There was an announcement that Whitman & Crown are considering dropping Andrew’s line because of the ‘revelations.’ If they drop out, other companies will too.

  There’s a crowd of reporters outside the studio. Up till now, I haven’t been afraid of the press. But fighting my way through the crowd who’s shouting my name and pressing microphones into my face is scary. I finally break through and the security guard lets me inside. For a second, I just lean against the door and catch my breath. This is insane. Absolute madness.

  The studio seems oddly deserted. I don’t hear the usual hum of noise that is the sewing shop and the other assistants bustling around. Upstairs is quiet too. I head down the hallway towards Andrew’s office, and I hear his voice and also May’s. I come around the corner and May is at her desk. She sees me and freezes mid-sentence on her phone call. “I’m going to have to call you back,” she says into the receiver. “Delia, he can’t see you right now.”

  “I get that he’s busy, I just want to help.”

  “He’s asked me not to let you in,” she says with a sympathetic smile.

  A bolt of ice goes through me. “Excuse me, what?”

  “I just think it might be better if you just went home.”

  I straighten my shoulders, “I’m sorry, May.” I push past her and shove open the door to Matthew’s office, leaving her gaping. She follows me in and Andrew’s head snaps up as I open the door.

  I put my hands on my hips and square off in front of him. “I get that this is probably one of the worst days of your life, but shutting me out of it is not going to make this better or easier for you.”

  Andrew looks past me to May. “Give us a minute please, May,” he says softly. When she closes the door behind her he says, “I’m sorry.”

  “What the hell is going on? And why are you trying to hide from me.”

  He looks a little guilty. “A couple of reasons. I wanted to protect you from some of this. Connection to me right now only damages you. And second…” he hesitates. “I’ve said some things to you about wanting to push your boundaries and make you more than you are. I thought…I thought you might believe what they’re saying.”

  I cross the room towards him. “I don’t believe them. And you don’t get to tell me that I matter and that I’m special without treating yourself the same way.” Yanking his face down to mine, I kiss him. “You’re talented and brilliant and there are tons of people who know that. Just tell me the truth about why she’s doing this.”

  “I loved working with her,” he says. “She’s an excellent model, but she didn’t want to just be my model. And in the years that we worked together it was a constant onslaught of hints and suggestions that we should be together as more than just professional colleagues. I didn’t want that.” The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smile. “I didn’t want that with her. Then one day I came home to find her naked in my bed. I severed our professional relationship the next day.”

  I press my forehead against his chest. “So she’s attacking you because you’re with me.” Guilt creeps up my spine. He could lose everything because of this.

  “I don’t have any regrets about being with you. None.”

  “Okay.”

  Andrew lifts my face so that I’m looking at him. “I’m serious. This is not your fault.” He kisses me, and I allow myself to melt into him a little bit.

  When we come up for air I ask him, “How bad is it?”

  His expression clouds over. “Not good. People having been pulling out of meetings and stores are threatening to d
rop the line because of the article.”

  I drop myself into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “But anyone who knows you and has worked with you knows these things aren’t true.”

  “Bad press is bad press,” he shrugs. “With something out there like that, being connected to me is a liability.”

  So,” I say, “they’re afraid of this article because Maya is a huge model and they don’t want to offend her, and they don’t want to lose sales by being in business with you.”

  “Pretty much.”

  I think for a second. “So all we have to do is get people who like you to spin the story the other way.”

  “I think it’s easier said than done, but I’m open to ideas. What are you thinking?”

  Smiling, I pull out my cellphone. “I’m thinking we have to move fast and you have to make me a queen,” I say as I dial. “Fleece, can you tell Barbara you have somewhere to be tonight?”

  13

  The gallery looks completely different from last time, but even with all the bad press, there’s a crowd waiting outside to come in. I can’t believe everything we did in the last twenty-four hours. I’m exhausted and nervous and I feel like I might throw up, but we have to do this.

  Andrew comes up behind me, hands skimming my hips and lips against my neck. “Thank you for this.”

  “Thank you for what you said this morning.”

  He called a reporter this morning and submitted his rebuttal. A simple, short version of the story that bleeds truth because of its simplicity and confirmable details. But it was the end that took me completely off guard.

  I have always prided myself on professional behavior. I have countless colleagues who could attest to it, but to ask them to put themselves at risk because of these rumors would be unfair to them. To those who know me, I hope you know that I would never behave in such a way. To those who don’t know me, you may make your own judgment.

  Just recently, I did something for the first time that I would consider to be unprofessional. I crossed a line I have never crossed before. But I don’t regret it. I have found the love of my life, and if I have to live with these rumors for the rest of my life, I will. Because they don’t matter, and we know the truth.

  I almost cried when I read that last paragraph, and then I kissed him. Now, he pulls me back against him, and I pull away. “Careful, you’re going to ruin the design.”

  I’m completely naked, and just like he suggested at the restaurant, I’m covered in diamonds. Not real, but they look real enough.

  “I look forward to removing every one of these later. Slowly.”

  I laugh. “I’m looking forward to that too, but let’s do this first.”

  We transformed the gallery into what looks like a royal throne room, the outside walls covered with giant photographs that we took yesterday. Andrew called in every favor he could, and his employees came and some friends, too. The photos are of the two of us in different situations, and in every one, I am a queen. I was right, Andrew is an amazing model, and even though we were frenzied, we had a good time. I want to do more of that when we have more time.

  There’s a photo to match—and counteract—every accusation. A photo of me at a table of food eating a huge meal while Andrew has none. A photo of me locking him in a dungeon and throwing away the key. A photo of him sitting by my feet while I sit on a throne. Others too. It’s a strong statement, that I’m not only a queen but his queen. Something we hope will back up his words that appeared online this morning.

  And then there are the final photos. Taken late last night after we kicked everyone out of the studio. Andrew worshiping the queen’s body. Pictures that are scandalous and verging on indecency, but they’re my favorite. I didn’t know that I could look like that.

  And now, in a few minutes, I’m going to sit in the gallery in nothing but diamonds. We’ve agreed that Andrew shouldn’t be seen. That the work and his words should speak for themselves. That also works to my advantage, for the little addition I’ve added. Near the entrance to the gallery, a list of names. Hundreds of people who have worked with Andrew and Maya, and agreed that he is nothing like what she claimed. People willing to put their reputations on the line for him. It’s clearly labeled, and right at the front of the gallery so you can’t miss it.

  “Okay,” he says. “Good luck.”

  I lean up to kiss him. “We don’t need luck.”

  Lounging on the throne, I hear the doors open and the drone of voices as people pour inside. I hear the shocked gasps as people see the list of names, and their impressed whispers as they enter the throne room. In the other shows I’ve done for Andrew, I’ve been moving. Not this time. I’m frozen on the throne, the diamonds on my skin scattering the light in patterns across the walls. I see cameras and microphones—the press are the first people in the door—and I hope that we’ve made a difference. I hope that this will stop the bleeding. Andrew’s reputation may never be spotless, but at least it won’t be destroyed.

  People seem to like the exhibit, and as time wears on, I begin to relax. We set a limited time for this, just a couple of hours. We don’t need a huge audience, just the ones that will get the word out. There’s a commotion near the door, and I have to fight the urge to move as Maya walks in. I thought she might show up, but I was not prepared for the way anger rises up in my chest, threatening to strangle me.

  Suddenly the air in the room feels tight, and the cameras and microphones are all on her as she approaches me. I meet her eyes, unsure of what she’s going to do. Unsure if I should break character.

  There’s a mocking smirk on her face as she takes me in. She doesn’t speak loudly, but the whole room can hear her. “You pulled this together quickly. Did you even sleep?”

  Slowly, I turn my head so I’m facing her more fully. “No, I did not. Neither did any of the other people who came to help.”

  Maya’s smile falters. “No one would help that man, not after what he’s done.”

  “Did you not read the sign at the entrance? There are hundreds of people willing to vouch for Andrew’s character.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asks, her eyes narrow.

  I take a beat, and then look away from her. “You know why.”

  She stiffens, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her face fall. Just like that, I suddenly understand what she was hoping for. She saw us together and thought that since he had suddenly slept with a model that this was her chance. She wanted to drive me away from him because she’s still in love with him. Or what she thinks is love.

  “You’ll never be as good as we were,” she hisses at me.

  I let a tiny smile form. “Maybe not. But we’ll be happier.”

  Maya turns on her heel and storms out. Half the reporters in the room follow her outside, no doubt to question her about the exchange. There’s something in my chest that’s released. It’s over, for now. The video of our exchange will be online, and it will take the sting out of her accusations. It’s enough.

  Suddenly antsy, I can barely sit still for the rest of the time that the gallery is open. As soon as the doors close and the rest of the audience leaves, I spring off the throne and run to the back room and launch myself at Andrew. “Thank you,” he says into my hair. “This was perfect. You were perfect. You have no idea how hot that was.”

  “I may have an idea,” I say, pulling him further into the depths of the studio. I see a rack of clothes and pull him behind it. My whole body is charged with energy, and I have his belt undone before he grabs me by the wrists. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” I raise an eyebrow. “We won, and I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. Right now.”

  “Delia—”

  “Andrew,” I say, reaching for him, “are you saying you don’t want to see me kneeling in front of you, naked, covered in diamonds, and sucking your cock?”

  He groans, and lets me go. I grab his cock and pull it out, stroking it to full hardness—he’s alread
y halfway there. I haven’t done this yet, and I’ve wanted to, so I take my time. I start with just my lips, kissing the tip and moving them up and down the length of him. I love the feel of him, smooth and hard, and I listen so the way his breath deepens when I kiss along his skin.

  Now I use just my tongue to explore him, licking just under the base of his head, and downward. I cover him in long, broad, strokes that have his hands moving to my hair. I’d smile if my mouth weren’t otherwise occupied.

  When I finally take him into my mouth, the sound Andrew makes sends a burst of heat straight through me. His fingers tighten in my hair and he pulls me closer. I love the way he fills up my mouth, the rich taste of him—I don’t need him to pull me closer for me to take him deeper.

  “God, Delia,” his voice is hoarse, and I think that I should do this more often if it makes him sound like that. I suck back along his length, circling his head with my tongue before plunging down again. And again. I set up a steady rhythm, and I feel the way he’s growing tense, hear the way his breath intakes as I take him all the way down.

  He’s speaking through gritted teeth now. “I’m not going to last.”

  I blink up at him, and we lock eyes. His jaw is clenched and his gaze has that same fire it had on that first day. Slowly, I take his cock all the way while he watches me, and I watch him. That energy that began crawling through me during the show has turned into flaming arousal, and I’m so wet that I can feel the diamonds loosening on my thighs.

  I speed up again, and Andrew goes utterly still. His hands are gripping my hair, and his breath goes shallow. I know he’s close, and I use it to my advantage. I tease him, sucking and licking, breaking up the rhythm so he doesn’t know what to expect, so he’s on the edge.