Couture Love

by Fields, MJ

  He steps toward me, and I step backward.

  “This isn’t happening.”

  “Fine. Then, as my friends, tell me how much I owe you for all the stuff you sent my sister.”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “It was a big deal, Autumn, to her and to me.” He takes a smaller step.

  “Don’t.” I hold my hand up to stop him, which is in complete contrast to what my body wants.

  “Fine.” He stalls. “Just answer the question then. How much?”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  He steps in again, his broad chest hitting my hand. “No one has ever done anything like that for me without expecting something back.”

  “I didn’t do it for you. I did it as a girl who knows what it’s like to fall on hard times. For a girl who seems to be going through something similar.”

  “Thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing, Autumn.” He takes my hand and kisses the palm. Electricity shoots from his lips to my palm, its current running through my veins. “Tell me how much money I owe you.”

  “Thrift store finds,” I whisper as he places my hand on his shoulder and wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his arms.

  “Most still had tags, Autumn. Don’t bullshit me. Tell me what I owe you.” His lips hover over mine, and my mouth goes dry, but not the spot between my legs. Quite the contrary.

  “Beacon’s Closet.”

  “What?”

  “Thrift store. No big deal.”

  “It was very thoughtful.”

  “Everyone deserves to look pretty.”

  His lips on my ear, he whispers, “It’s also made her want to buy and sell clothes, to make money on her own.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  He skates his lips down my cheek and to my neck. “You know how many men looked at you tonight and wanted to fuck you?” He starts toying with the hem of my dress.

  “None.”

  “Every one of those fuckers wants to fuck you, and only one is worthy. Do you know who that is?”

  Before I can make a complete ass of myself and move his hand from my outer thigh to between my legs, his phone rings.

  “Bad fucking timing,” he hisses.

  “Actually, perfect.” I start toward the door as he answers.

  “Hello?”

  When he snakes his arm around my waist, lifts me up, and physically moves me away from the door, I hear her.

  “Everything going okay with Dad’s asshole friends?”

  “Language, Shells. And yeah, much better than expected.”

  “Again, you’re not my father. And when you come back, I want a hot dog from one of the street venders.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, a red slushy.”

  “Makes you hyper.”

  “That’s Daisy, not me,” she huffs

  “Sorry, kiddo.”

  “I’m fifteen,” she groans out.

  “Remember that.”

  “I’m bored.”

  “I’ll be back soon.” He rubs his lips across the back of my neck. “I’ve got some information for you.”

  “About Mom?”

  “No. The friend who sent the clothes and accessories. She mentioned Beacon’s Closet. It’s a thrift store.”

  “Gross.”

  “This woman has amazing taste, Shells. Check it out. Might be a good place to check out for that idea you had. And Shells, it’s legal.”

  “Boring.” She fake-yawns, and I can’t help giggling.

  He pins me against the wall, leaving just enough space between us to cup my breast.

  “Can we go tomorrow? Oh, wait, we’re broke.”

  He removes his hand from my breast as he says, “We’re not broke. And if all is well, yes.”

  “How are we not broke? You couldn’t even use—”

  “I have a job,” he interrupts her.

  “You took the modeling gig?”

  He steps back, and I turn around, his look pinning me in my place.

  “Shells, we’ll chat soon, okay?”

  “Fine, but yeah and gross at the same time.”

  He looks away. “Love ya. Bye.” Then hangs up the phone and look back at me.

  He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t lay a finger on me, but I can’t move. I’m barely breathing as his eyes hold mine.

  Two steps. Three words. “I need you.” One kiss. And I’m gone.

  His lips, fire and fiery against mine. His hands, rougher than a week ago, slide up my dress as he cups my ass and lifts me. I wrap my legs around him, my back crashing against the wall, my panties ripped, and my hands leave his shoulders and dive into his gorgeous fucking hair.

  His mouth tastes like my fondest memory, one I never want to leave in the past, and that realization demolishes my heart.

  Over moans, groans, pants, whimpers, and my heart pounding so hard against my chest it nearly hurts, I hear a zip, and a second later, he thrust fully into me.

  I cry out, tossing my head back as he fucks me with no restraint, no reluctance, no resignation.

  When he comes inside me, it is without request. And when he pulls out and zips himself up, he turns his back to me and says, “Fix your dress,” giving me no more than just enough time to do so before he exits the coatroom without a look back or an ounce of remorse.

  Twenty

  Eric

  Walking out of the coatroom and leaving her behind was a dick move, but so was fucking her in a coatroom and purposely ensuring she didn’t come.

  Standing at the curb, I look at my phone and see a notification from my bank. When I hit it, I shake my head when I see the balance.

  I should be the happiest man in the world. I have a shit ton of money, and I just fucked a gorgeous woman.

  But I’m not.

  When I walk back inside La Plume, I could say it’s with my tail between my legs. Instead, my cock is slick against my thigh.

  I pass by several people trying to get my attention, but they don’t deserve it.

  Scanning the area, I see Angela being hurried down the hall by Bastian, the same hall I had just left, and cringe at the thought of hurting her, regardless of how much shit she did to hurt me.

  When I get close enough, I call from behind them, “Is everything okay?”

  They stop. and Angela turns.

  “Of course it’s okay,” Bass snaps as he turns.

  I hold my hand over my racing heart. “Thank God. I thought—”

  “Shit.” Bass reaches out his hand to shake mine. “You’re Eric.”

  “I am.” I nod.

  “How’s your father?” he asks sincerely. He clearly got my voicemail.

  “Not good.” I lean against the wall. “The bypass is done, just going to have to see how much damage—”

  “What happened?” Angela interrupt.

  “Daniel had a heart attack,” Bass tells her then looks back at me. “His son is stepping in. Which isn’t necessary, but—”

  “It is. Our family has been part of de la Porte for years.”

  “I’m so sorry, Eric. If there’s anything I can do—”

  I laugh, cutting Angela off. “Oh, there is.”

  Bass audibly growls, clearly thinking I’m hitting on her. I’m not.

  “I met your friend Autumn this summer. She seems to think—”

  Angela interrupts me now, “I’m not sure this is a good time to discuss—”

  “The Hamptons?” Bass asks.

  Angela runs her hands up and down her face.

  “Christ, what a mess. But you two should get to wherever it was you were going in such a hurry. I was just concerned.”

  “We were just going over my speech. Should be a real snooze. But some folks were confused as to why Angela hasn’t been around. She’ll be back on Monday.”

  “My father will be glad to hear it,” I lie.

  “It won’t be Monday. I’m going overseas on Monday.” She looks at Bass. “Remember?”

  He stud
ies her for a moment, clearly not remembering, which is none of my business.

  “Well, we’ll see you in there.” I turn and make my way back to the ballroom, directly to where Autumn is sitting, and stop.

  She looks up. “Don’t.”

  I pull out the chair beside her and sit. “This is all fucking confusing to me—”

  “Which should be a sign.” She lifts her glass of champagne.

  “Give me your phone so I can give you my number.”

  “Give me my freaking underwear.” Her voice shakes in anger.

  “Autumn—”

  “Jesus, Eric, I said don’t. This is my job on the line. Could you please—”

  “Give me your phone, and this won’t be a damn issue, Autumn.”

  “Go away,” she grumbles.

  “As soon as you give me your phone, I will.”

  “Fine.” She reaches into the small evening bag on the table, takes her phone out, and all but throws it at me.

  “What the hell happened to your phone?” I ask, looking at the smashed screen, knowing now I can’t put my number in the damn thing.

  “Dropped it. Now hurry up,” she hisses.

  “Dropped it where? Under a hammer? During a stampede?” I try to hide my smile.

  “Shut up,” she sighs out.

  I lean forward and slide the phone back to her. “If we were anywhere else but here, I’d be on my knees, apologizing with my tongue for walking out like I did, but only because you know damn well this … us … is happening. Your phone is proof that you can’t stop thinking about me.”

  “I. Dropped. It.”

  I stand up and nod. “See you later.”

  When Bastian’s speech is done, I take in the grumblings of all who surround me with pleasure. Out with the old and in with the new, and since he clearly has it bad for Angela, and she seems to feel the same, I know Autumn’s worry will diminish.

  I look behind me to see if what I think is true, and she is gone, and so is Angela.

  * * *

  Walking into the hospital room, I find Shelby asleep on a recliner.

  “How’d it go?”

  I look over at my dad, who is awake.

  “Went good.” I sit down on chair beside him. “I’d left Bastian a message earlier and asked if I could step in on your behalf for a while until you were healed, and he didn’t return the call, so I was concerned. But when I officially met him, he asked how you were and told Angela—”

  “Jesus Christ, I heard she was gone. What the hell would he bring her back for?”

  “She obviously does a good job.”

  “Yeah, bullshit,” he huffs.

  “Well, that’s his choice.”

  He looks me over, obviously realizing it pisses me off when he speaks about people like that. “Anything else?”

  “He discussed the fall line and the three designers he got rid of. Apparently, he found designers that he feels will be a better fit for de la Porte’s new direction. A younger more youthful direction.”

  “That’s just fucking great,” he hisses. “Get that nurse in here to knock me out, would you?”

  I stand up and begin walking out.

  “Eric.”

  I look back at him.

  “Thank you.”

  I nod.

  When I come back in the room, Shelby’s awake and already digging into the bag of hot dogs I bought. He has one, too.

  “Don’t give me that look. This used to be our thing. Every time she came to work with me, we had to grab a dog.” He winks at her.

  When the nurse walks in, she shakes her head. “Hand it over, big guy.”

  “Fun killer.” He sighs as he hands it to her with no issue at all.

  Once he’s out, Shelby isn’t far behind. She offers the recliner, but I decline.

  For the past hour, I’ve been staring at my phone. No message or snap. I immediately regret at least not trying to text myself from her battered phone, but I did so with purpose.

  The purpose that I was going to fuck in its ass right now.

  * * *

  Standing in front of a beautiful Brownstone in Soho, the address kindly provided by the location Autumn unknowingly shares with me, a feeling of normalcy comes over me.

  The stoop, not large enough for furniture, has two large ceramic flowerpots with greens and flowers spilling out of it. It’s beautiful and welcoming.

  Walking up the stairs, I smile at the sight of the welcome mat. Simple and telling, this is a home. A place you would buy to raise a family, and not reside in all alone.

  Then I wonder if he and she bought it together.

  Of course they did.

  Fucker.

  I’m almost ready to walk away when I realize: one, I’m not a pussy; and two, the armload of flowers is for her.

  I ring the doorbell, and a light in the foyer comes on. When I see a half-dressed man come to the door, I feel my hands shaking in anger.

  When he opens the door, he looks me up and down. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Was gonna ask you the same damn question, but then I realized I’m not here to bring you flowers.” I step toward him, fully intent on walking in the place, through him if needs be.

  He pushes me back. “You may want to think again, asshole.”

  “You put your fucking hands on me again, and I will beat your ass then plant these flowers in it.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are!”

  “What’s going on?” I hear a voice, not Autumn’s, and then I see a woman who’s recognizable, but I’m not sure where from peering from behind him.

  “You and I had a fucking deal, Milly.” He turns around. “You fall off the wagon again?”

  “Hey, man, I think I’ve got the wrong place.”

  He turns and points his finger in my face. “You shut the fuck up!” He turns back to her. “You can pack your shit and go with him. I’m done, Milly, fucking done.”

  “Man, you need to listen—”

  Before I can continue, I get a fist flying at my face. I block it with ease, and then he dives on me. We tumble down concrete stairs, and then he swings at me again, and misses.

  “Knox, cut the shit!” the woman he called Milly screams.

  “Fucker, that’s two. One more and I’m taking out teeth!” I roll him onto his back. “I don’t know who the hell she is. I’m looking for Autumn.”

  “Great, Knox, that’s just great!” Milly screams. “You stupid bastard!”

  When she lunges at him, over my back, I move out of the way.

  “What the hell is going on!” I hear a familiar voice.

  Autumn.

  “Knox is a dick!” Milly screams as he stands up, throwing her over his shoulders as she kicks and punches his back.

  “Sorry, Awes.” Knox chuckles.

  “You should be, asshole.” Milly kicks him hard in the stomach.

  “Everything okay?” I see Angela coming up the stairs from what must be a basement apartment. As soon as she sees me, she turns and walks right back down the stairs.

  “Yeah, my bad.” Knox passes by as he looks me up and down.

  Dick.

  “Sorry, Awes.” Milly waves. “We love you.”

  Autumn waves at her. “Love you, too.”

  As soon as they walk in, she looks at the flowers in my arm.

  “This is an apology.”

  “For which infraction?”

  “The only one I’ve any reason to apologize for.” I hand them to her.

  “Thank you, but this is—”

  I let go, and she catches them.

  I reach in my pocket and pull out a box. “And this is so you don’t beat yourself up too badly about all the rotten things you’ve done to yourself this week.”

  “Things I’ve done?” She steps back.

  “Smashing your phone because you felt so horrible about the way you left me—”

  “Oh please.” She looks up and sighs.

  “That you didn’t keep your word
to me.”

  “Let’s be fair, I didn’t know who you—”

  “Not reaching out to me when you’re stressed about work and—”

  “Like I could talk to you about work.” She sets the flowers on the stoop then runs her hands up her bare arms.

  I take my coat off and toss it around her shoulders. “But you know you could have, because you trust me. You just don’t trust anyone else because—”

  “Awes.” Milly is in the doorway, and Autumn looks at her. “Dipshit just messaged Knox.”

  “Thanks, Milly.”

  “He’s asking—”

  “Thank you, Milly,” Autumn cuts her off, “but I don’t care.”

  Milly looks at me. “I can see why.” Then she disappears into the house.

  When Autumn looks back at me, I finish my sentence, “—dipshit little dick hurt you.”

  She reaches over and runs her fingers over the flower petals. “Angela flies out early; I should get back inside.”

  “You live in the basement?”

  She nods.

  I try to mask my annoyance when I ask, “You rent from one of your ex’s old teammates?”

  “No longer teammates, and they rent from me.” I must look confused because she explains, “I didn’t need all the space and renting out the place helps pay the bills. Better to people I know than strangers.”

  “Your ex and he are close still, huh?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “They weren’t until a week ago.”

  “Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry.”

  She rolls her eyes. “He’s between bimbos. He’ll stop feeling sorry for himself soon.”

  “You deserve better than—”

  “I know,” she says with conviction.

  “And you deserve better than being fucked in a coatroom.”

  She looks down, her chocolate brown hair hiding her beauty.

  I lift her chin and see that she’s smirking. “Damn,” I whisper. “You liked it.”

  She looks up at me. “I like good sex.”

  “Then have it with me as often as you’d like.” When she starts to turn away, I hold her chin gently but firmly in place. “I’m a man, Autumn. I’ve proved it over and over to you.”