Gloria's Revenge (15 page)

Epilogue

Three months later

T
he nightmare of being chased by Boris Borofsky is over. I have a new dream. It’s always in fifty shades of gray. And it stars Jaime Zander.

“Action! Shoot!”

He carries me down a long winding staircase, shrouded in a cloud of fog. I lie limp, weightless in his bare strong arms, fallen apart from what has been and what will be; the heat of his flesh sears mine. Silk binds my eyes, my hands, and my feet. My breasts, shrouded in cups of leather and lace, quiver with each step he takes. My head is flung back, my platinum hair, loose and long, brushes against his taut torso; my arms dangle. The image of his beautiful face burns through the blindfold and flickers in my head. His hooded eyes are lusting for me, his mouth hungering for every part of me. My core trembles at the thought of what this man can do to me.

Music plays in the background. A song: “Angel” sung by Leona Lewis. The words pipe through my ears. Yes, this was meant to be. He is made for me. I am
his
angel; he is my god. I long for him to devour me with his manliness and make me fall apart until I can scream his name no more.

A seductive, virile voice rises above the music. “Gloria’s Secret. Let yourself be carried away.”

The dream becomes reality.

“Cut! That’s a wrap.”

Six Months Later

“Your dress
eez
magnifique!”
squees Sandrine, my maid of honor, as she adjusts the long train. It’s a body-hugging column of ivory silk and lace, the first in the new line of Gloria’s Secret bridal wear we’re launching. Beneath it, I have on matching ivory lace lingerie and something borrowed—Sandrine’s powder blue garter that she wore at her own fabulous wedding three months ago.

“Gloria, go look at yourself in
zee
mirror,” urges my chic French friend with a big smile, looking magnificent herself in an ocean blue satin gown.

I pad over to the floor-length gold-leaf mirror and gaze at myself. My breath hitches. With my waist-length platinum hair flowing over my shoulders, the way my future husband adores it, and my angelic makeup, I almost don’t recognize myself. The brilliant red lipstick on my lips reminds me of who I am. The sexy, powerful CEO of Gloria’s Secret, and the future wife of Mr. Jaime Zander.

The dress is strapless. I wear my pearl-white scar on my chest like jewelry. I no longer have to hide it. Scars come with secrets and mine has been bared. It reminds me that I have survived. That I have healed. I have left my past behind.

While I stare at my reflection, Sandrine carefully places the final piece of my ensemble over my head—Madame Paulette’s delicate Chantilly lace veil that she wore when she married her beloved Henri. Along with many other things that I’ll always cherish, she left it to me in her will. I adjust it so that it obscures my face.

“Ah,
ma chérie
, you look
superbe!”
That deep raspy voice. It’s Madame Paulette! I can hear her. She’s here!

“
Merci, Madame,”
I say silently. I smile at my reflection, and it smiles back at me.

“Holy fuck! Glorious, you look beyond fabulous!”

I pivot on my red-soled ivory satin Louboutins. Yes, a touch of red from head to toe.

It’s Kevin. My best friend and best man. He’s gone English morning suit the whole way—well, except for the red Keds. That’s what makes my beloved Kevin who he is.

Jogging up to me, he gives me a great big hug.

“I just had to take a peek,” he gushes. “Gotta go and check on Ray.” He rolls his eyes. “That boy is so high maintenance and takes forever to get ready.”

I stifle a laugh. Jaime’s assistant, Ray, followed him to LA and, after breaking up with his New York boyfriend, hooked up again with Kevin. They’re living together in Kevin’s condo one floor below mine. Happiness soars in my heart knowing how happy and in love my Kev is. An over-the-top Christmas wedding is in the works, and to my sheer delight, Kevin is marrying into a wonderful family that embraces his homosexuality. I give him a peck on the cheek before he scurries out of my bedroom.

Tyrone is waiting for me downstairs. Jaime and I are exchanging our vows on the beach below the cliff where we plan to build our dream house. Everyone from his company and mine has been invited; no gifts permitted except donations to Girls Like Us, my charitable mentoring program. I hope all the underprivileged girls I support will find as much meaning and joy as I have in my life.

Only two prominent Gloria’s Secret associates—or should I say former associates—won’t be there. Victor Holden and his daughter Vivien. Victor is no longer affiliated with Gloria’s Secret. In fact, he’s no longer affiliated with any of his companies. Soon after his arrest, he was indicted by a grand jury and later found guilty on three counts of securities fraud. Further investigation into his dealings had proven that he’d also funded Boris Borofsky’s sex slave trade. He was charged a hefty fine and sentenced to three years in a white-collar penitentiary without parole. After her father was sentenced, Vivien fled the country. Sandrine thinks she saw her in Greece while on her honeymoon; that’s one place Jaime and I won’t be visiting soon.

Jaime’s ad campaign in which we starred was a great success and has even been nominated for several awards. Sales have soared. The subsequent sex toy launch was also phenomenal. Just as Jaime had proven in his little one-on-one research session, women—and couples—love the provocative products. They’ve sold like hotcakes, and Gloria’s Secret stock has gone through the roof. It’s at an all-time high.

We’re still looking for a new Chairman of the Board. One of the Board members suggested Jaime, but he declined, stating it was a conflict of interest. Besides, he’s too busy running his own company ZAP! whose headquarters he moved to California. It made sense. He has a lot of clients in Los Angeles and Silicon Valley as well as in Japan, China, and other Asian countries. And he has all of me. His new office, overlooking the ocean in Santa Monica, is a fifteen-minute drive from mine. Needless to say, we do lunch. Or we’ll squeeze in a quick work out together. My inner thighs have never been in better shape.

The SoCal late summer day cannot be more perfect. It’s the kind of weather that makes people flock to LA and never want to leave —a cloudless blue sky, a perfect mild temperature, and just a little ocean breeze. Going on six in the evening, the fiery sun is beginning its descent into the ocean. The sound of the ocean with its crashing waves mixes with squawking gulls. That is the only music Jaime and I wanted when we exchanged our vows.

My heart is pounding with anticipation as I walk down the cliffside steps, that Jaime had built just in time for our wedding, on the arms of two other men dear to my heart—my drivers, Tyrone and Nigel. The latter flew in on the corporate jet from New York to be here for me. The memory of Jaime chasing after his town car after I fled from him flickers in my head. I hold back a bittersweet tear. I’m so lucky he never stopped chasing me. In my right hand, I hold two fragrant long stemmed roses—one white for Madame Paulette, the other red for Jaime. The two people who have made me blossom as a woman.

My heart skips a beat when I see my man. Oh God, he’s gorgeous, dressed in an elegant long-tailed tux and a blue bow tie that complements the color of his eyes. And of course, no socks. His denim blues meet my gaze and I know he’s mine. Later tonight, we’re flying back to Paris on his private plane for our honeymoon. The City of Light. And the City of Love. I glimpse down at my shimmering
toi et moi
ring and wonder what surprises Mr. Creativity has in store for me this time.

“Come here, you.” He takes me in his arms. I melt.

“You look beautiful, Gloria,” he whispers in my ear. Oh, the breathy way he says my name!

“You do too,” I whisper back.

Before a justice of the peace and an adoring crowd of coworkers, we exchange our vows. My heart hammers as Jaime begins.

“My angel, I showed you my scars; you showed me yours. I gave you my heart and you gave me yours. We are the eternal union of two wounded souls. But from this day on, no more scars; no more pain. I will love you, cherish you, and protect you for all of eternity.”

It’s my turn. I’m teary-eyed.

“
Mon amour
, I promise I will love you forever. No matter what life throws at us, we will always be
toi et moi
. I shall never leave you. My tears are my witness. And I shall keep no secrets between us for as long as we both shall live.”

We exchange simple gold bands, mine inscribed with the word
“toi”
and his with
“moi.”
We’re officially husband and wife. My heart roars with joy as Jaime lifts up my veil, and his lush lips consume mine with a passionate kiss that I want never to end.

This is the man I will cherish and confide in the rest of my life. He knows all my secrets. I bore my past—my abusive childhood with my crack whore mother, my love for Madame Paulette, and the unthinkable crime that’s now behind me, buried six feet under. One night after making glorious love, I even confessed to initially thinking he was Ms. Zander. A woman! He almost rolled off the bed with laughter and then fucked me again…harder.

Confession: There’s one more secret. I’m hiding it deep inside me. But true to my vow, Jaime was the first to know. In six months, the world will know too.

Her name is Paulette Long Zander. And she has a twin. We’re calling him Payton Henri.

THE END

Bonus: The First Chapter Of Gloria’s Secret From Jaime’s Pov

When Jaime Met Gloria

“H
old the door,” I yelled out as I jogged to the elevator. Damn it! I didn’t want to miss it. Lately, the elevator had been acting up. If I didn’t make it, I might have to wait ten minutes for another car. Maybe more. I’d meant to report the problem to maintenance, but hadn’t had the chance. Living in a full-service hotel came with its perks, but owning it came with its headaches.

When I got to the elevator, the doors were parted about a foot. I could hear someone inside it frantically pounding at the panel of floor buttons. Whoever it was, he or she was hitting the wrong button—not the “Open Door” button. People in a panic often did that.

With the doors now just a palm’s width apart, I had no choice. I slid my hand between them, cursing under my breath that they wouldn’t close and crush it. Luck! The doors slid back open. I blew out a sigh of relief.

When I stepped into the car, there was indeed a passenger inside. A blond, well-dressed woman, who was squatting, collecting photos that were scattered around her and stuffing them back into her leather briefcase—Chanel for sure.

“Let me help you,” I said, already bending down to come to her aid.

Her gaze met mine. I recognized her immediately. Gloria Long, the thirty-three-year-old CEO and founder of Gloria’s Secret, the world’s largest chain of lingerie stores. Since I was meeting her shortly to discuss the possibility of handling her advertising, I’d googled her.

While she was stunning online, she was even more beautiful in person. Her face was heart-shaped with porcelain skin and lush lips so red they needed no lipstick—though they’d look hot in a warm shade of scarlet. Her hair was rare platinum, and she wore it in a tight braid—the rope so long it skimmed the polished floor. Yet, there was something different about her up close and personal. It took me a moment to figure it out. Online, her wide-set eyes appeared to be chocolate, but face-to-face, one eye was dark topaz and the other sapphire. I’d read about her weird idiosyncrasy somewhere, but couldn’t remember its name. Several celebrities shared it, including Mila Kunis and Kate Bosworth. It made Ms. Long intriguing and even sexier.

While I recognized her, she didn’t appear to recognize me—Jaime Zander, the founder and CCO of ZAP! After some thought, I decided not to reveal my identity. I was looking forward to her reaction when she met with me shortly. Was she in for a surprise! I loved playing games.

“Interesting photos.” My eyes lingered on one particularly sexy one of a D-cupped model fondling her breasts. I picked it up gingerly with my fingers. “Hmm… I think I fucked her once.” I picked up another. “She looks familiar too.”

“Give me those.” She snatched the photos from my hand and hastily stuffed them into her briefcase with the others.

Let the games begin. “Are you a photographer?”

She sneered. “Hardly.”

“So, you’re some kind of pervert who collects photos of semi-naked girls with big tits.”

“And you’re some kind of pervert who likes to sleep with them.”

Her comeback was quick. So, she was a sassy one. I liked that about her.

She shot me a dirty look and continued to collect the photos. We both reached for the last one at once. My fingers met her perfectly manicured fingertips. They were burning. A heat wave coursed through me. Leaving my hand next to hers longer than needed, I let her file it away.

After zipping up her briefcase, she realized that the elevator doors were still open, and we weren’t moving. Neither of us had remembered to hit the “close” button. Rising to my feet, I did the favors. Her gaze rode up my long, muscular legs. She was definitely checking me out. I felt my cock straining against my jeans. She was having an effect on me.

The elevator descended, but before she could get to her feet, it came to a jolting halt. Damn this elevator. Mental note: Talk to maintenance and get them on the case. I glanced down at my companion. All color had drained from her lovely face, and she bit down on her sensuous lips.

“Are you okay?” I asked, crouching down again.

She nodded nervously. I resisted the urge to hold her pale face in my hands but couldn’t help brushing the silky tip of her braid across her strong chin. I told her that this happened all the time with this elevator.

Without warning, the elevator jerked again and began to free fall. Ms. Long gasped. I longed to hold her securely in my arms and tell her to not be afraid. Instead, I simply reminded her that his was an express elevator; there was nothing to worry about.

We reached the lobby in no time. A ping sounded and the doors opened wide. Ms. Long let me help her to her feet. It couldn’t be easy getting up in her tight pencil skirt and six-inch heels. She straightened her stoic black suit, Chanel again, without a thank-you.

Standing face-to-face, I drank in her entire body in full view for the first time. Considering that I stood six foot three, she must have been about five foot seven minus her stilettos. Her legs were long and shapely, the kind that seemed endless. And beneath her suit jacket strained a fine set of tits. Definitely a C-cup. Maybe even a D. She was as beautiful and sexy as any Gloria’s Secret model. Yeah, she was fuckable, but why was she so uptight?

She fired me another dirty look and shot out of the elevator. Her gait was strong and confident, as if she’d been born wearing heels. My eyes settled on her ass as I trailed close behind her. What an ass! I couldn’t get over the way it moved in smooth figure eights. Damn! This woman gave off mixed messages.

Her pace was fast, but I had no trouble keeping up with her. She kept her head up high and her spine straight, completely ignoring me.

Outside the tall steel and glass building, we stood side by side. The morning rush of cabs and limos crowded the circular driveway. My car, the third in line, would be pulling up to the curb soon.

“Can I give you a ride?” I asked. “My driver will be here any minute.”
And we’re headed to the same destination.

“Thanks but no thanks,” she retorted, her voice icy. “I have my own driver.”

“Impressive.”

She didn’t miss my sarcasm and shot me a smirk. Fuck. She was sexy when she did that little curl of her lips.

My car, a sleek black Ranger Rover, pulled up first. One of the valets raced to open the passenger door.

“See ya.” I winked as sidled into the car. She gave me one final dirty look. After the valet slammed the door shut and we pulled away, I laughed my head off. She was going to see me in less than an hour. I couldn’t wait.

My agency, ZAP!, which stood for
Z
ander
a
nd
P
eople, was located in the heart of Soho on Prince Street. I smiled, as I always did, when Orson, my driver dropped me in front of the late nineteenth century brick townhouse.

Our receptionist, Brandy, was putting on her headset when I breezed into my office headquarters. She was clad in a graphic tee with a portrait of Jim Morrison printed on it, and on her arm, I swore she sported a brand new tattoo. Before long, her arm would be sleeved with tattoos. Her eyes fluttered at the sight of me. I couldn’t deny the effect I had on women—even on husky-voiced biker chicks like her.

“Good morning, Jaime.”

Everyone at the office was on a first-name basis, and the atmosphere was casual. No stuffy suits here. Even I wore jeans to the office most of the time.

“Hi, Brandy,” I winked at her as I skirted past her desk and loped down the gutted corridor to my office. I was pleased to pass so many employees already at work. Most of them were young and passionate—I liked having talented, recent grads around me.

My assistant, Ray, was already at his desk when I got there. It didn’t matter that he was blatantly gay. A RISD graduate, he was brilliant and my protégé. He had a big career as an art director ahead of him.

“The SIN-TV team is in the screening room waiting for you to view the spot they just cut.”

SIN-TV was a recently launched porn network based in Los Angeles that had hired us to create a brand identity and a national advertising campaign. The tagline we’d come up with, “Television so hot, your screen will sizzle,” had blown away CEO, Blake Burns, and we’d subsequently become good buddies.

“Great. Let me just check my e-mails and I’ll head over there.”

I flew into my office, threw my leather bomber jacket onto a cool-looking coat rack, and made a beeline for my desk.

I loved my desk. It was a large, light-wood elliptical table that I’d found at a local antiques shop. I kept little on it—my state-of-the-art computer, a few colorful plastic folders, and a framed photo of my father and me at the beach taken at the age of five. I stared at the photo and could still remember the day it was taken as if it were yesterday. Our favorite secret spot in Malibu where he liked to paint. The memory brought me as much sadness as joy. A day didn’t go by without missing him.

I booted up my computer and went directly to my e-mail inbox. Most of the new e-mails could wait, but one caught my attention and made my entire body tense up. It was from Vivien Holden and it said URGENT in the subject line. What the fuck did she want? With hesitation, I clicked it open.

Hi, Jaime!

I’m here. Why don’t you come to the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show at the Lexington Avenue Armory? I’ve reserved a ticket in your name.

Mwah! Vivien

The last person I wanted to see was Vivien Holden, Gloria Long’s assistant. Make that the next to last person. Her scumbag father, Victor, the Chairman of Gloria’s Secret, was tops on my list. Gloria had no idea that I personally knew them both. And I planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.

I didn’t reply and stormed out of my office. Passing by Ray’s desk again, I told him to let me know when my ten o’clock meeting—Gloria Long—arrived. Just saying her name made my cock twitch. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when she saw me.

The rough cut for the SIN-TV spot looked great. With the right music and graphics, it was going to rock. Blake would be happy. After giving a few notes to my creative team, the screening room phone rang. I picked it up myself. It was Ray, informing me that Ms. Long had arrived.

I dashed out of the screening room and sprinted back to my office. She was seated on one of my Scandinavian arms chairs, scrolling e-mails on her iPhone. One long leg was crossed over the other. Upon hearing my footsteps, her head pivoted to the doorway. Her jaw dropped and her phone slipped out of her hand. Oh, she was shocked all right. She couldn’t get her mouth to close as I strode up to her. She hesitantly stood up, and I shook her hand. What I thought would be warm and soft was wet and clammy. I had her good!

“Ms. Long, a pleasure to meet you officially.” It took all I had to stifle laughter.

She still couldn’t get her mouth to move. Finally, she said, “And you’re…”

“Jaime Zander.”

She froze. I almost felt sorry for her as she collapsed back into the chair. I took the chair catty-cornered to hers. I was so close to her that I could hear her heart thudding.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something? A coffee? Water? Tea perhaps?”
Prozac?

“No, thank you,” she stammered and tugged nervously at her long braid.

I had the burning urge to undo her rope of platinum and run my fingers through her lustrous hair as it cascaded over shoulders and down her back. In my mind’s eye, I could picture what she’d look like with her wavy hair loose. A goddess.

She cleared her throat and met my eyes. “As you know, Mr. Zander, I’m looking for an advertising agency to help me expand my business. I want to take Gloria’s Secret to a new level of sales and sensuality.”

Without losing eye contact, I leaned back into my chair. “Gloria’s Secret. The #1 lingerie chain in the world. 2045 stores worldwide. Estimated annual sales revenue: 3.5 billion dollars.”

Oh, she was impressed for sure. But Ms. Poker Face simply gave a little nod and told me that she needed to stay ahead of the competition. And then her brows knitted together.

“Did you read
Fifty Shades of Grey?”
Her tone was challenging.

“Are you testing me, Gloria?”

“It’s Ms. Long and yes, I am…Well?”

Ha! She was in for another surprise. I’d actually read it way before it’d become a phenomenon. One of my hook-ups had left behind the paperbacks at my hotel suite. It was quite amusing though Mr. Grey could have learned a thing or two from me.

Without wasting a second, I replied, “Grace Trevelyn Grey. And she’s a pediatrician.”

Her brows furrowed again.
Score another one for me.

“Mr. Zander—”

“Please call me Jaime.”

“Okay, then,
Jai-me,
tell me, what, in your opinion, has made the book so popular with women?”

I gazed into her mesmerizing two-color eyes. “Truthfully, while the sex is hot, I believe women fall for the romance.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Ms. Long, wouldn’t you like me to scoop you up in arms…tell you that ‘I want you, body and soul, forever’…and make insane love to you on the couch?”

She flushed a lovely shade of pink. Ooh, I really got to her that time—Mr. Grey at his best. Her eyes jumped back and forth between my crotch and the couch. She looked all heated up…maybe I should offer her a glass of water again. Nah. Let’s keep it going.

I leaned into her and growled into her ear. “Or would you prefer me to throw you over my desk…or perhaps carry you away and devour you on the conference room table down the hall?”

She squirmed and nervously started swinging one of her shapely crossed legs. I was enjoying every minute. The truth is, I was actually fantasizing tearing off that uptight suit and fucking her anywhere I could. My cock was straining against my jeans.

She must have been reading my mind. Seen through my eye fuck. She jerked back and deliberately kept her eyes away from the area between my inner thighs.

She took a deep breath. “You seem to know women quite well.”

I sat back in my chair. “Yes, I do.”
You have no idea.

“In my experience, the only men who understand women are gay. Are you by chance, gay, Jaime?”