She blinks. “Are you allergic to scents or cherries?”
“No, I just don’t want you wearing the cherry stuff.”
“Then, no. I’ll wear the perfume I want.”
I was already in the process o
f turning away from her to leave. Turning back, I find her with one hand on her hip the other on the counter. “I said no more cherry perfume.”
“It’s not cherry perfume, it’s a layer of scented soap with a body splash. I’ll wear what I want. You bought me as a housekeeper, not a toy to do with as you please. It isn’t even very strong. I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal out of it.”
“I don’t like the scent. I don’t want you wearing it. It’s that simple.”
“That is bullshit, I am barely here. I don’t spray the place in it or anything. Once again, I’m wearing it. Do you need me to buy you a little mask so you can make it through the three hours you spend at home?”
“Or you could wear a real perfume. The kind that doesn’t come from the corner drugstore. Maybe it wouldn’t be so insufferable then. You want to smell like a little girl, it’s up to you.” I’m pissed as fuck, allowing the door to slam behind me. Great, knowing her contrary ass I’ll never stop smelling it.
As my day goes by I can’t forget the damned scent, knowing I’ll have to live with it. The thought makes me reach for the phone, Diana has agreed to be my distraction for the night. She is a beautiful woman who ticks all my boxes, and she smells like a fucking field of flowers, always. For Diana, I’ve gone back twice. I had told myself there wouldn’t be a third. Today, I’m desperate.
This time, I go up to get her myself. Vicci is her preferred place, so I play along, it’s a sushi place—I hate sushi. Thankfully, they also have steak. I order steak and a baked potato, and then settle in to begin the flattery I'll need to get her into my bed.
Diana’s smile is wide, “I have the best news. I’m pregnant!”
A chill chases up my spine. “Congratulations.” The word is weak.
“Don’t look so worried, it isn’t yours. I did the sperm bank route. I’ve wanted to be a mom for years. I know it won’t be easy on my own, which is why I’m moving back to Oklahoma. Far from being scandalized, my parents are ecstatic and want to be involved. I leave in a few weeks.”
There went my diversion for the evening. I say all the right words, I think. The idea of a child has never appealed to me. I’m not inclined to believe the instinct to procreate is in everyone. My parents were far more interested in my father’s career than in me, often leaving me with a revolving nanny until sending me to private military school when I was nine. Then there were the constantly changing locations, during the summer I was allowed to come home, yet still spent little to no time with either one of my parents. I wish her well, as I drop her off at home. Then tell Ricky to take me to the cigar bar where I stay until midnight. When I undress, my jacket is covered in a scent light, sweet, and sophisticated. I’ve done what I set out to do.
****
Jesus fucking Christ, her jeans are a worn second skin and her top is a threadbare tunic. Fuck, I can make out every inch of her bra and the skin below it. I do my best to ignore it, but my fucking cock is an asshole and won’t. Especially when I can look down her top when she sets my plate in front of me.
Anger at her and myself for wanting her force the words out of me as I’m about to leave. “Cora didn’t need a uniform, but maybe you do. Since it seems all you have are tattered jeans and threadbare shirts that show off everything. Or is it a play for attention? Are you looking for a pay-raise already?” Her eyes go wide in horror. Relief fills me. She hasn’t realized her effect on me and wasn’t trying to entice my horny ass.
“Not everyone has the money to buy what comes out every season. I’ll buy new clothes with my first paycheck, so as not to offend you.” She spits out the words.
She’s barely done speaking before I reach into an inner pocket, pulling out my checkbook. “In that case, here’s an advance on your first two weeks. Go shopping and find something that doesn’t cling like a second skin. Something made within the last decade would go a long way.”
I leave the check on the counter and walk away, ignoring the tears gleaming in her sherry eyes.
****
The party is in full swing. At three hours since the party started, I step into the room. Only ten minutes later, I’m bored. I want to leave, except this is for a client I recently helped close on an acquisition to expand her fashion empire. I can’t leave, there’s an expectation for me to see and be seen here. Normally, I’m in my element at a party like this, models are everywhere, all wearing dresses that are next to nothing. Not a single one interests me. I make my way to my client, making the small talk as expected, the woman is teasing and flirting as usual. Then she offers up one model after another, previously, my cock would be rising with anticipation. Now, nothing.
All I can think of, have been thinking about, is making Holly cry. I know I’ve made dozens of women cry before. I’ve watched women cry as they begged for more, more time, another chance. Every time, their tears did nothing, only annoyed me. Now all I want to do is turn back the clock to take back what I said. All day, all damned day, every time I closed my eyes I saw the tears welling up in her eyes. It’s fucking making me nuts, I want to know if Holly is okay. I know the way I can find out, but shy away from it. Amelia reads me too damned well.
A woman slides her arm around my neck, the models are already tall and wearing four and five-inch heels; some of them are taller than my own six foot three. It’s never bothered me before but this woman leaning down around me annoys me. I hold up my phone as I pull away.
Finding a balcony, I hit send. Amelia answers on the third ring. “You are such an asshole, Ethan. I swear. Sometimes you make me ashamed to be your sister.”
“Like I said a damned thing she didn’t know.”
“You are just too damned much sometimes.”
Amelia hangs up on me. Fuck.
Chapter Seven