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CHAPTER12
AUTUMN
I saw Paris,in her most beautiful and in her most desperate. The image of a young child climbing out of a cardboard box shelter while the lights from the Eiffel Tower were illuminating the night will sit with me for the rest of my life.
I’m also completely thrown by what Simon shared about his own life. I did my homework on House Corbin and never read a single thing about how Simon ended up with his aunt. And certainly not anything that would make me think he’d have a soft spot for people in need.
I feel like my preconceived notions of both Paris and Simon have been shattered. But rather than that being a loss, I think it’s a good thing. I didn’t realize that my vision was so fogged over and hazy until I saw things more clearly tonight.
And like Paris, I want to learn more about Simon.
I’m quiet as he puts the pedal to the metal, contemplating. The wind ruffles my hair as we reach a neighborhood that, on the surface, looks much like the ones we just left. It’s only when you look at the details, like the total lack of garbage on the streets and of course, no signs of unhoused people, that I realize this area is very upper class.
Simon hits a button, and a gate rolls up on a parking area next to an older building, and he pulls in to park. He puts the top up and silently offers me his arm as we enter, taking a rather regular elevator up to the top floor.
Upstairs, I stop him. “Before we go in, I want you to know... I’m not sleeping with you.”
Rather than being upset or pressuring me, he laughs. “I didn’t ask you to, but...” He moves in closer to me, the weight of his body not touching me but feeling heavy, nonetheless. “It’s good to know where your mind is.”
I duck out from under his suggestive gaze, and he moves to open the door. “Here we are, ladies first.”
The apartment, or penthouse, or whatever this is, isn’t at all what I expected. I figured a guy like Simon would be all cutting edge, modern and hard, glam and cold. Instead, it’s more natural, with wood and brick, plaster and paint.
It’s like an extremely upsized version of my current apartment, and I can’t help but smile at the charming feel of his home. “Wow, this is—”
My words are cut off as a flying ball of fur comes across the floor, aiming straight for my legs, with loud yips that sound like ‘I’m going to kill you.’ I panic, stumbling as I take several steps back. Unfortunately, there’s a door behind me which stops my backward progress, but my feet don’t get that message and continue backpedaling crazily to get away. In the wild kicks of my scurrying feet, I end up catching the little dog in the chest, sending it flying backward.
“Arf!”it barks.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” I cry in horror as Simon steadies me, keeping me from hitting the floor. “I didn’t mean to yeet your dog across the room!”
“Yeet?” Simon echoes as he rushes over to his dog, who looks a little dazed but otherwise unhurt. He scoops it up, and it promptly growls at me. “Quiet, Xerxes.”
“Yeet,” I repeat, approaching carefully with my hand out so the dog can sniff me. “It means like to punt or throw.”
“Ah,” Simon says, scratching Xerxes behind the ears before tapping him on the head with two fingers when he growls at me again, this time lifting his lip to show tiny white teeth. “Well, this is Xerxes, my littlest friend and the biggest reason my apartment is never clean. Xerxes, this is Autumn, who is very beautiful. So be nice.”
“He’s um... friendly. Cute.”
“He thinks he’s an emperor,” Simon explains with a chuckle, “and I’m the sole inhabitant of his empire. He does have a bit of a temper, but he’ll warm up to you.”
Simon puts Xerxes down, who gives me a wary look as he walks around me, giving me a wide berth as though afraid I’m going to punt him across the room again. “I’m sorry, Xerxes. I hope you can forgive me?”
He sniffs and walks on, his nose in the air and booty wiggling left and right.
Simon picks up a folder from the kitchen counter. “Would you like to see the proofs from the shoot?”
“That sounds good.”
We sit on the couch as he spreads the 8x10s out across the coffee table. No matter what I look at, my eyes return to Simon, his strength and potency leaping from the photos. Regardless of the outfit, regardless of the pose, he makes it all look sexy as hell.
Becausehe’ssexy as hell. These could be photos of him in a brown paper bag and my nipples would still get hard. And the ones of him in the open shirt, staring at me off-set? I think I’m pregnant just from the picture alone.
Finally, I cup my cheeks with my hands, shaking my head. “I can’t decide! They’re all too good.”
“Non, non,you can do it,” Simon says encouragingly. “You’re thinking about it too much. Go with your gut. Which ones do your eyes return to repeatedly?”
That actually helps because while I want to look at them all—maybe plaster my apartment walls with them likeTeenBeatmagazine centerfolds—there are a few that I keep looking back to. I touch them quickly, calling them off. “Two, thirty-four, and forty.”
