BABY DADDY (27 page)

Well, didn’t you abandon your morals when you first saw him?

“Rowann?” I call him in a saccharine voice.

He acts like he doesn’t know I was already there. “Oh, S-Stella! You’re back!” he squeals all too enthusiastically while darting a quick look at Raiden, giving him a conspiratorial smile.

I look down a bit to hide my amusement. For Rowann to help Raiden and take the risk of my wrath is really something. This is an employee who has been with me for almost a decade. Raiden can inspire instant loyalty.

Of course I cannot get angry at Rowann now. It would be hilarious after that thorough display of i-miss-you I got from Raiden. My muff is still humming from all that bumping and grinding we did.

Rowann is now standing in front of me, trying hard not to fidget like a naughty child caught misbehaving.

“Uhm, I just told the models yesterday that we’d just call them if they’ve made it to our list.”

I nod. “Thank you. Gather our models again and make them wear my prototypes. Let’s review what’s wrong with my designs.”

The relief that floods his face is comical. “Right away, Stella! Right away!” He scrambles to do my bidding.

I introduce Raiden to my design team. He smiles at them and it has the same effect. Instant captivation.

Since most of them are either closet or open queens, they take to him like their new muse.

I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

Well, what do you know?

He’s indeed helping me with my designs.

At first, he was just a silent witness in the background while I worked, not even intruding once. He got busy reading in my extensive library full of art and design books in one corner of the studio, drinking coffee.

We exchanged looks and smiles all day. We ordered from my favorite Chinese take-out and ate lunch with my team. Then we resumed work all through afternoon.

I’ve had a thorough discussion with my team regarding my latest designs and they gave their objective opinions. All of them are into it. In fact, they’re all excited to present this collection to the world. Everyone’s happy with it, except me.

I don’t know. There’s something I don’t understand with my new outputs. These are the women’s clothes, both the RTW and the couture. Especially the couture. They came from me, and yet I don’t feel comfortable that I did them. For the first time in my career, I feel unsure of my creative direction.

Raiden is going through my sketches plastered over a dozen back-lighted glass tables. Just the two of us in the studio now. It’s almost five PM anyway, so I let everyone take an early day off.

“Did you have Kandinsky in mind while doing these?” He finally remarks as he studies my designs thoughtfully.

Why am I allowing him to comment on my works is beyond me. But I’m curious of his impression.

“Kandinsky?”

“Yeah. These uneven angles and asymmetrical lines, these vibrant bead works, ” he points to some parts of my sketches, “Very Wassily Kandinsky.”

“Why don’t you just say it’s a disaster?”

He grins. “Yeah, it’s a sublime disaster.”

“Be serious! This is no joking matter.”

“Who’s joking? Chill, babe. You’re so wrought up about this.”

I roll my eyes. “Why am I asking a man anyway? What the hell do you know about women’s clothes?”

“I know a lot about taking them off. I hate zippers and lots of buttons. I love elastic stuff. Easier to remove.”

I made an exasperated sound.

He chuckles and turns serious. “What is really bothering you here, babe? They looked fine on the models. To me, at least. I can appreciate a well-dressed woman.”

“But they’re…kind of wild.”

He nods. “I can see that.”

I sigh. “I should just scrap the whole thing.”

“Why?”

“Because they look out of place in my body of work.”

“Are you kidding me? This is genius work, baby. You just have to be brave enough to embrace it.”

“C’mon, you’re going Zen on me again. Speak fucking English.”

“You want my unbiased opinion? I’m no designer of clothes but I can see your dilemma right now from an artist’s point of view.”

“Okay, fire away.”

“I saw your designs in your shop. They’re quite different from these.”

“I know. I realize that now. This is a mistake. My clients will be shocked. This is not my style at all. It’s like someone else did it.”

“It’s not a mistake. You’re evolving.”

I shake my head.

“Look at it this way. Your old designs are works of art. They’ve weathered the test of time. They’re now classics and your valued clients will love them forever. But you know, our artistry is separate from our art works. Our art works are just the manifestations of our state of being as artists. We’re evolving beings.”

“C’mon, I know about evolving. It’s every designer’s mantra, to constantly evolve and not become a
cliche of your past works. But not so much that I turn away from my own brand, from my trade mark. This is not just art, it’s also a business.”

“There. That’s your problem. You’re afraid.”

Afraid. I loathe that word. But you know what they say about the truth? It’ll hurt before you’ll like it.

“You’re afraid to take the biggest risks in your art.”

I want to contradict him, to tell him to stop trying to interpret my character though my designs because he knows nothing of both.

Doesn’t he? He was raised by your idol. He’s an artist himself.

“What you have here is a whole new expression of yourself, the likes your clients have never seen before. You’re afraid to introduce this new you because you think they won’t get it. But they got you before, Ella. What makes you think they won’t get you now, after all these years of following you like a cult idol? They would love to get to know you more, baby.”

He spreads his arms to encompass my sketches. “They would love the new Stella Rhodes. I see a bolder, edgier, explosive, cutting edge expression here. Don’t be afraid, my love. Smash your boundaries. Fly.”

I’m the queen of symmetry, of muted blacks and whites and grays, of understated sophistication, perfect balance and quiet precision.

Colors are not me. Least of all flowing biases, billowing capes and wings, uneven edges, daring zigzags and wild, vibrant splashes.

I can’t believe I’m taking a 25-year old champion barefoot skier’s opinion seriously, even if he’s a damn good sculptor. But he’s right, I admit grudgingly. I got scared of my new expression.

They’re not me. The old me.

I’ve changed.

I’ve evolved since I met him.

After my nth orgasm in under 48 hours,
I knew I had to make things clear to him. I’m getting into deep so fast I have to grab some anchor or lose myself completely.

He’s like a huge wave of decadent chocolate washing over me, bathing me in pleasure, but drowning me. He’s a tsunami fast climbing all my walls, wrecking my fortress. He’s opening all my doors, destroying the locks, blurring all my demarcation lines, smashing my boundaries.

I have to lay down the law.

My law.

“Raiden, if you’re going to be in New York and…associate with me, I have a few rules.”

He makes an exasperated sound. “Rules. You’re so mechanical, babe. Let the days unfold in your life naturally, with freedom. Savor the little moments. Life is too short, you know.”

There he goes with his Dalai Lama shit again. In the tranquility of his little kingdom in Asia, it’s adorable but here in the daily rat race of New York where the stock index could fall in a blink, it’s irritating.

“Associate. What’s that? I’m not your associate. I’m your lover and best friend, the one you chose to be the father of your babies. Don’t call me anything else.”

“Baby. Singular.”

He snorts. “We’ll see about that.”

“I’m serious, Raiden,”

He thumbs my nipple.

“Stop that!” I slap his hand away. “Move over there.”

He sighs dramatically and scoots to the opposite side of the divan, resting his back on the armrest, crossing his arms on his chest. His biceps bulge but I refuse to be distracted by his gorgeous physicality.

Business first, then cock. Somehow, he’s managed to reverse my cardinal rule in just a few days.

“Okay, let’s hear ‘em,” he says with a tinge of impatience.

I stare at him more intently. “First, I hate gossip.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Good. We both hate it. So we’ll try our best to avoid being gossiped about, starting at my work place. I don’t want…I don’t want any PDA.”

His brows arch. “PDA?”

I smirk. “You’ve been cooped up in that island for so long you’re so far behind in the relationship jargon. PDA. Public displays of affection. Meaning, don’t be touchy-feely, okay?”

He frowns. “I’ll try.”

“Raiden…”

“I like to PDA with you. Is that bad? It can’t be bad.”

I fight a smile. But I can’t be soft about this. “Well, I don’t. I’m too old for that shit.”

He shakes his head. “Tsk, tsk. Cynical. Nobody’s too old for hugs and kisses. How will you raise our kids without PDA?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course it’s different with the kid.”

“OUR kids. You listen here, woman. I got rules too. No. 1, you want my kids, you better be a good, touchy-feely mother. I won’t have my little ones starving of affection.”

Oh god, super-duper like!

“Oh don’t be silly! Of course, I’ll be a good mother! And quit interrupting me.”

“Alright, alright, go on.”

“No. 2, you can’t stay here. I’ve never had a man stay here before.”

“While I’m happy to hear you’ve not brought a man here in the past, where will I stay?”

“In your hotel, of course.”

He picks an imaginary lint from a pillow, looking like a hurt puppy. “Can I just pay all your bills in this apartment so I can stay here, too?”

“No. No. 3, we can’t go out together. We can’t be seen together by the paparazzi. You see, I’m quite popular around here.”

“I understand,” he says glumly. “Anything else?”

“I call the shots in this association. I decide when to end it.”

I see sadness cross his eyes and I almost take back what I said.

“Looks like I don’t have a choice in the matter. But last time I checked, you need my genes.”

“Correction, this time around, you came here to volunteer yourself. I didn’t ask you to. I can get some from the sperm bank.”

He stares at me, as if trying to measure the truth from my words.

Well, it’s the truth.

It was the truth before he came here. But now that he’s here…

Aw, shut up!

“Fine. I wanna stay closer so I’ll buy a unit in that condominium building opposite yours.”

I forgot that he’s a prince who owns a fucking island full of casinos his family operates. He’s probably ten times more loaded than I am. Well, at least I won’t be getting involved with an opportunist here.

“You can’t live close to my building either.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’d want me to come here every morning and leave in the evening?”

“Yes. Discreetly.”

“If you do the math, that’s twice a day exposure to the paparazzi. More risky, if you ask me, no matter how discreet I am.”

He got me there.

He grins and puts his hands behind his head, the picture of smug arrogance. “Baby Dada stays here, I guess. Safer, too. Leaves us more time for baby-making.”

I glare at him but I see the practicality of it.

“No PDA!” I emphasize.

“I’ll try very hard but I can’t control my arms and lips. They’ve a mind of their own.”

I throw a pillow at him. He chuckles.

“One more thing, go down to the studio when my cleaning and maintenance people are here. I don’t want them gossiping about us.”

“Alright. Are we done?” He waggles his eyebrows naughtily.

I roll my eyes.

He jumps back in my arms and starts making me feel like I’m the hottest chick in the city again.

I sigh. What the hell am I getting myself into?

Whatever! Having sex!

EIGHTEEN

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25 CONTROVERSIAL QUOTES FROM THE STYLE EMPRESS

On ambition:

It’s killing the romance in the dream. You want something?

You don’t get it by being nice.

You get it by being wise.

Stella Rhodes

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I COME HOME AND FIND HIM
in the kitchen. He’s cooking. Judging from the aroma wafting towards me from the oven, it’s something delicious and fattening. My taste buds react. My tummy growls.