La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (22 page)

Dirty, dirty girl.

****

T
he door slammed and he jolted awake. Emma tossed her coat on the floor by the pile of wrapped Christmas presents and kicked a box of ribbons. Shit. She didn’t get the job.

Scrubbing his face with his hands he sat up. “How did the interview go?”

“Horrible. What a joke! By the time it was my turn they’d already given the job to the guy’s niece. If people are going to practice nepotism they should at least own it and not waste everyone else’s time making them think there’s an actual shot!”

“I’m sorry, cakes.”

She tugged the pins out of her hair and kicked off her shoes, growling as she untwisted her bun. “I’m going to be stuck at Phibbs & Grayson for the rest of my freaking life!”

“No, you’re not. Eventually something will pan out.”

She dropped on the bed and fisted her hands in her lap. “Becket starts his internship this spring. I cannot work there with him, Riley.”

“So quit.”

She laughed without humor. “Oh, okay.” Shaking her head she sighed. “I never should’ve taken this stupid job.”

Truthfully, he didn’t want her working with her ex either. “If you could be anything in the world, what would it be?”

Her shoulders drooped. “Happy.”

Was it wrong he found her pathetic pout adorable? “Aw, look at you. That’s the cutest answer ever.”

“Yeah, well I can’t pay the rent with smiles, so I still need another goal.”

He pulled her to the pillows. “Do you like being a personal assistant?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a fun job in a way, different every day, fast paced. I like keeping things organized and planning events.”

She really was organized. If not for her, the loft would be a dump. She always had handy ideas, like using the tabs from bread bags to label the cluster fuck of extension cords behind the television.

“Maybe you could be an independent organizer.”

Her mouth twisted. “That’s not a real job.”

“Sure it is. There are always those people on those shows with the hoarders. There’s the host, the carpenter, the designer, and the organizational chick. Sometimes it’s a gay guy.”

“That’s on TV.”

When she adopted a stubborn attitude he found it difficult to talk to her. “Fine. Go back to working with your ex in-laws.” He pulled a pillow over his head and shut his eyes.

She was quiet for a few minutes. “Do you really think there’s work out there for people like that?”

Without moving, he said, “I think we live in a city of millions where people want to maximize every expensive square inch they’re paying top dollar for, so yes, I think there’s a demand for organization.”

“But would someone actually hire someone to do that for them?”

“Why not?” He removed the pillow from his face. “Alicia Keys said it’s a concrete jungle dreams are made of. Listen to the woman.”

She swatted him. “I’m being serious.”

He grinned, seeing a bit of her tension slip away. “New York’s a costly place to live, Emma. People have to work in order to stay here. People who have demanding jobs often contract out the maintenance stuff.”

“Yeah, but that would require running a business. I don’t know how to do that.”

“You run everything for the CEO of a major law firm. I’m sure you could figure it out. You could build a webpage, have Rarity take some pictures, create a brand, and market your services toward Manhattan clientele. I bet you could make a killing. The thing about New York real estate is there’s a fast turnover rate of residents. Once you get your name out there, who knows what could happen?”

Her eyes widened at the possibility. “Did you just think of all that?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You’re a genius, Riley. Thank you.” She kissed his head. “I gotta go talk to Rarity.” She jumped off the bed and raced out of the room.

“I also work for blowjobs,” he yelled.

She peeked back into the room, a wide grin spread across her face. “Tonight.” And she, again, disappeared.

“Anything for that smile,” he mumbled and curled back into the pillows, happy to have helped.

****

“S
o I was thinking some dirty Disney sex tonight, hmm? Maybe some Little Mermaid post-fin fun? I could show you how to use those new legs and you could try to communicate using only your eyes and body.” He was already getting a semi.

Without glancing away from the laptop, her hand jotted down notes on a post-it as she asked, “What are you saying?”

He nudged her with his hip. “I wanna have sex.”

She still didn’t look at him. “I don’t know where I put it.”

He huffed. “You aren’t even listening to me.”

She made another note. “Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out these codes for this website host. Do you know what a widget is?”

“I think it’s that little nub above your hoo-ha that makes you squeal and call my name.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. At least she heard him that time. “You know, if I make flyers and put them by the mailboxes of high rises, all I’d need is one client and then tenants would talk and my name would be passed around. I need all of this stuff to match. The cards, the flyers, the website. If I could just get this stupid widget coding figured out.”

“Emma,” he whined. “Come on, you’ve been staring at that computer for days. I wanna play with your widget! You’re wearing your glasses and your hair’s all sloppy. You know what that does to me! I need attention.”

She sighed. “If you can be quiet for thirty minutes so I can figure this out I’ll give you a blowjob.”

He sat up. “Really?”

“Yes. Shh.”

Buttoning his lips tight, he waited. How did he want to do this? Should he be standing or on his back? Maybe on his knees with her on her back? There were so many options and he was already hard. Twenty-nine minutes to go.

His toes twitched as he tried to pass the time. Steve Miller Band sung in his head. Emma didn’t move. She just stared at the computer and clicked and made notes and did that adorable squish thing her nose did when she got frustrated.

Twenty-seven minutes.

He quietly whistled. She could at least work naked. Glasses on, panties off...

“You’re the cutest thing I—”

“Shhh...”

Twenty-three minutes. “
Really love your peaches—”

“Come on, Riley!”

He held out his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m ready.”

She slapped down her pen. “It hasn’t even been ten minutes.”

“You
know
I can’t be silent. It’s torture.”

“I need to get this done. My business cards are coming in two days and I can’t hand them out until the website’s finished.”

“I don’t know why you insist on doing all this by yourself. There are people that can design that stuff for you.”

“I can’t afford a web designer at this stage. It’s not in my budget plan.”

“I’ll get one for you. We’ll pretend it’s a Christmas present.”

“Riley.” That was her serious voice.

“Fine.” Clearly there was no persuading her away from that computer. She was really excited about this new venture and he was excited she’d soon be leaving her crappy job. “I’m going to find food.”

He left her alone to finish her work and ended up getting wrapped up in some reality show with Rarity and passing out on the couch. When he finally made it to bed it was after four in the morning.

Grabbing a bottle of water, he staggered down the hall. Just about to fall into bed, he stopped when he found Emma still hunched over the computer. “You’re still up?”

Her eyes were frantic and there were coffee cups all over the vanity, which was now her workstation. “Yeah. I just read this article about holding a virtual campaign. I don’t have any of this done. I need a mailing list, a uniformed font to brand my company, a mission statement—”

He shut her laptop.

“Hey!”

“You need sleep.” Picking her up, he carried her to the bed and pulled off her pants. Stripping, he climbed under the covers and pulled her close.

“I have so much to do if I want to open for business by the New Year.”

He leaned over and shut off the lamp. “Go to sleep, Emma.”

Wrapping his body around hers, he hugged her like a pillow and shut his eyes, already half-asleep. She’d be up, stressing, for at least another hour, but he wasn’t letting her out of bed. Everything else could wait. It was his time now and she was putting herself under way too much stress. It would all be there in the morning.

****

A
ll signals were a go.

Rarity was gone for the night. Emma hadn’t touched her laptop all day. When he’d spotted her curled up on the couch with the boo-boo blanket he suspected he’d miscalculated her cycle, but after checking the bathroom cabinet he ascertained he was in the clear.

It was go time. Sex was happening.

Locking the door, he snatched a dog treat for Marla and threw it on his sister’s bed. Marla happily chased after it and curled into Rarity’s pillows. Door closed, one obstacle handled.

As he returned to the kitchen, he lowered the lights and lit the flowery scented candle Emma had picked up at Pier One. Ambiance—check! It was time to pounce.

His prey rests unsuspecting in her remote habitat commonly referred to as the couch. Drifting slowly in the shadows, he, the predator, breaches her sanctuary. Unaware, the female lay with her crown poised vulnerably on her raised knee as she perches in wait.

The female tolerates the dominant male in the den of iniquity, as he reveals his position. Settling beside her, he conspicuously unveils his desire with a glance, commonly recognized by the female of the species as the pre-mating smolder. Prepared to ravish the female, the predator eases in for the hunt and reaches for a teat.

Emma shouldered him away. “I’m not in the mood.”

Crikey! Shot down again.
And why was his inner monologue suddenly in an Australian accent?

He shook off her rejection and tried for a different approach. Casually rubbing her knee through the blanket, he smiled. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine.” She didn’t take her gaze off the television.

“Everything going okay with your website?” Maybe she was overwhelmed.

“It’s good enough.”

This was not his little perfectionist. Something was wrong. “Emma, did I do something to upset you?”

“Jesus, Riley, not everything has to do with you!”

Drawing back, he scowled at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

She turned, her eyes glassy with tears. “There automatically has to be something wrong with
me
because I don’t feel like fucking you?”

“Whoa!”
He held up his hands in surrender. “What crawled up your ass? I was just playing around. You know what?” He scoffed and stood. “Forget it. I’m going out. Have a fun night by yourself.”

“Whatever.” She stared back at the television no longer acknowledging his presence.

Whatever was right. Women and their fucking moods. He’d had enough.

––––––––

T
he moment Riley left Emma shut off the television. She’d been staring at it all day and not sure of a single thing she’d watched. Her entire body was tense and she was one tear away from shattering into a million pieces.

Locking the door and latching the chain, she went to the bathroom and tried to gather her courage. She’d waited all day for a moment alone, but now that it was here, she wished Riley or Rarity would come barging in. She couldn’t do this.

Forcing the motions, not thinking about the purpose, she stripped. Staring at her reflection, seeing the woman before her as suddenly different, she studied herself. Her mind could only acknowledge bits and pieces of why she was staring at herself naked—not something she frequently did.

Her opinions were no longer harsh. On the contrary, they were forgiving, remorseful. Those wrinkles by her eyes were too fine. Yesterday they marked her age, but today they marked her youth, tallied her smiles and she wanted more.

Her heart pounded beneath her breasts the lower her gaze dropped. Pale and translucent at parts, her breasts had yet to serve their true purpose. They were meant to nurse and that would leave stretch marks, scars she desperately wanted.

Her mouth tightened as her chin trembled and her throat went dry. Unshed tears blurred her vision.
No.
She was not going to cry like a little girl. She was going to power through and deal with whatever this was like a woman.
I’m a grown woman.

Her eyes closed.
Then why do I still feel like a little kid?

Her body was imperfect, but it was hers, her temple, her home, her only vessel in this world and it was possibly betraying her. Biting her lip, she opened her eyes and a wall of tears collapsed and fell unchecked.

Glancing at the door, she lifted her left arm over her head and breathed. She was an adult. She could face this. With the fingers of her right hand, she gently cupped her left breast and massaged. Using slow, circular motions she inspected the soft tissue, much like she had that morning while lying in bed, only this time she was alone.

Maybe this morning she’d made a mistake. Everything felt fine now. Nothing out of the—

“No,” her voice croaked as if miles away.

Chin trembling, her fingers stilled over the hard mass in her left breast and the woman in the reflection broke. “No,” she cried, stunned that something was there that hadn’t been a week ago.

Her feet shifted as her posture twisted. No matter which way she turned it was there. Now that she’d located it her fingers couldn’t seem to lose it. Tiny, hard, possibly just some fat or maybe an ingrown hair, but something was definitely there. It was real, not something she’d imagined.

Lowering her hand, forcing her inspecting fingers to still, she frowned at the irritated blotch now marking her soft flesh. No longer able to watch her reflection, she hugged her body and leaned into the tile wall. Her body shivered and she swore it was due to her lack of clothes, but her excuses fell short when the sudden urge to vomit hit.

Flashes of scalpels, needles, doctors’ eyes peeking over medical masks collided in her mind’s eye. Lowering her body to the floor, the strangest sensation took hold. It was as if she were a hostage in her own body, but nothing was familiar.