He winks. “It’s been all right.”
The young man driving the car hops out, and Andrew opens the door for me, and surprises me when he actually gets into the driver’s seat. He sees my look. “I’m not really the chauffeur type.”
“There are certain advantages to having a driver you know.”
“Oh?”
I reach over and touch his arm, “You are free to do whatever you like while you’re being driven around.”
Even though his eyes are still on the street in front of us, I see the color in them deepen. “That’s an excellent point. Maybe I’ll think about that for next time.”
Andrew drives us to a restaurant in midtown called Serenity. It’s gorgeous Asian fusion, with dark and rich decor and a vibe of relaxed elegance. We’re seated immediately, and I wonder if Andrew comes here regularly, though I’m too busy taking in the little details of the restaurant to ask. Sculptures of glass flowers erupt at different points in the room, fabric twists in elegant drapes from the ceiling, and colored lights in the floor slowly rotate through the spectrum, giving the room a shifting rainbow glow.
“So,” Andrew says when we’ve settled and ordered, “you told me at the party that I’d hear the story of what you wanted to be.”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to hear that.”
He catches my hand across the table. “I do, actually.”
I huff a sigh. It’s not a story that I particularly enjoy telling, but I don’t think he’s going to let it go. “I wanted to be an interior designer. I went to school for it, and I even got a job right out of college. Heidi Carson’s company.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s impressed. Heidi runs one of the best design outfits in town.
“I was assisting her with the intent to move up to be an independent designer. I was working with her on a job, and offhand I made a suggestion, a small edit to one of her designs. The client loved it and wanted it implemented in more of the house.”
I swallow, pushing down the familiar ache in my chest. “The next day Heidi called me into her office and fired me. She said that I wasn’t ever supposed to make suggestions like that in front of a client, and that since I wasn’t a full designer yet my opinion didn’t count. That I made her look like a fool because she wasn’t the one that suggested what the client really loved. I tried to find another job after that, but no one would take me. I didn’t have a choice but to find another job. So three years and countless retail jobs later, here we are.”
I look down at the table, taking a breath. There are more details to that story, the countless interviews that I got based on my portfolio and credentials, and the pained look on the interviewers faces when they got a well-timed phone call. No one wants to cross someone that big in the business, and they had no loyalty to a twenty-something nobody. But I don’t want to relive all of that by dragging out the story longer than it needs to be. I told him the high points.
Andrew folds his hands together on the table, and he looks troubled. “So that’s why you said your opinion didn’t matter yesterday.”
Lifting my shoulders in a shrug, I carefully avoid his gaze.
“Delia, look at me.”
It takes me a second, but I do.
“Your opinion one-hundred-percent matters. Heidi was clearly threatened by what you did, and reacted very badly. But that has no bearing on whether what you say has value. It does.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. Rationally, I know what he says is true, but it’s hard to erase that ringing voice in my head that’s saying that I don’t matter.
“I’ve used Heidi and her company before. That won’t happen again.”
Our food arrives, and it’s the perfect distraction. There’s a little glowing spark in my stomach from his words and his promise not to engage Heidi again, but I don’t want to talk about Heidi or my issues, not when we’ve been having such a good time. I see my opening. “Do you have an idea for your next show?”
Andrew’s eyes light up, and he starts to speak. I don’t wonder why everyone loves him and wants to be involved with him and work with him. The passionate way he speaks about everything—especially his work—is contagious. “I have a few ideas for that fall collection. But I was thinking about doing a special show before that to advertise some of the stuff we already have, and of course, for the publicity.”
“What are you thinking?”
He tilts his head. “I want to use the gallery again, I think. It’s a great space and really flexible. As for theme, I’m thinking something royal and exotic. A good transition between summer and fall because of jewel tones.”
“That could be fun,” I say.
“Or maybe I just want to put diamonds all over your body and make you sparkle.”
Arousal sparks low in my belly, and my mouth goes dry. “How would that fit the theme of royalty?”
“You’d be the queen, of course.” The smirk on his face does things to me, and I’m suddenly squirming in my seat, ready to drag him back to his apartment and fuck him again. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.
The rest of our meal is light and easy, trading silly ideas for the art show and flirting, each of us getting a little more turned on. No more talk of past disappointments.
It’s a perfect summer evening, and I’m enjoying the breeze as Andrew goes to get the car. The sky is a beautiful plum purple, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. I’m not sure how I got so lucky.
“You were with Andrew Xellum in there.”
I look away from the sky, blinking as a tall brunette saunters towards me. “Yes, I was.”
Her expression turns to one of disgust. “Looks like he finally found model that he thought was good enough to fuck him. Don’t worry though, you’re not special. He’ll drop you as soon as he’s bored and move onto his next ‘muse.’”
I take a step back, her words hitting like knives. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. But you should know that you’ve made a huge mistake.”
“I don’t think I have.”
A tiny smile appears on her mouth, and it makes my stomach crawl. “You’ll see if you feel the same way tomorrow.”
And then she turns and walks away, disappearing around the corner just as Andrew pulls around with the car. I realize that my mo
uth is open in shock, and I feel a little numb as I get in the car. “Are you all right?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.” I tell him what just happened as he drives, and I watch his expression harden. “Do you know who it was?”
He shakes his head. “No. Like you said before—and it’s an accurate criticism—I don’t hire many blondes. As much as I try to treat all my employees well, there are always some conflicts. I’ve been doing this long enough that I have a few people who are less than friendly towards me.”
The rest of the drive is silent. I’m not sure what to say and I can see from the look on Andrew’s face that he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’d be upset to if the reverse had happened. We’re still silent as he passes the car off to the same young man, but he takes my hand as we walk into his apartment building, and once we’re inside he pulls me closer, and he makes me forget her entirely.
12
This morning it’s not the sunlight that wakes me, it’s my phone. I didn’t set an alarm, so it’s a text. I click the button to acknowledge it without opening my eyes. Then there’s another sound. And another. And another. I groan, and I feel Andrew shift behind me. He rolls over and tucks his arm around my waist, and I can feel the hard length of his cock against my ass. “Good morning,” he whispers.
“Bad morning,” I say. “I’m going to kill whoever is texting me.” Pulling my phone off the nightstand, I glance at the screen. All the texts are from Fleece. She knows I’m with Andrew. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many exclamation points in a single text message when I told her what happened yesterday.
Have you seen this??
What the fuck is going on?
Delia, if you’re sleeping WAKE. UP.
It’s only on the one website now but it will be everywhere in a few hours.
I rub my eyes and try to ignore the way Andrew is kissing my neck while I click on the link she sent in her first text. If it’s another story about me and my racy moments, I’m fine. It’s probably just a news story about me and Andrew having dinner last night. But as the screen loads, my stomach drops. A giant black headline.