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We turn at the same time. Landon and I. Landon smiles at the new arrival while I take in the confirmation of all my suspicions from the sound of her voice. She is beautiful. Glossy black hair falls to her back and over her shoulders in soft waves, perfect makeup enhances a face that’s already classically beautiful. Her figure would be like a model’s if not for the extra curviness that’s shown off unapologetically in a sequinned top, slim black pants, and classy heels.
I recognize her immediately. It’s the woman from the picture. The woman Landon had dinner with when he told me he was working. I take a breath and keep the pleasant expression on my face, willing myself not to care, to remember Landon’s assurance that there’s nothing to be jealous about.
“Ava,” Landon’s hand slips from my waist as he steps forward to place a kiss on her cheek.
I feel the loss of that hand like the floor disappearing from under my feet. The woman is looking at me now, one eyebrow raised as she eyes me from my hair to my toes, her lips curled in a supercilious half-smile. Landon is introducing us, and I hear him say her name, Ava Sinclair.
He’s been fucking her for years.
“How nice to meet you,” she says. There is a mocking edge to her voice, barely perceptible, but there.
“It’s good to meet you too,” I reply pleasantly, although my mind is whirling. Landon had been meeting his ex? And even when I’d asked him, he’d conveniently neglected to tell me that she was his former lover. He’d made it seem like I’d been jealous about just another business meeting, with just another associate who happened to be female.
Meanwhile, she was someone he used to fuck.
It gave a whole new meaning to the way they smiled at each other in the picture, the hand she’d had on his arm.
I breathe. “I’ve met your brother,” I tell her, intent on wiping the mocking smile from her face. “Evans Sinclair?” I smile wider. “It was a very… memorable meeting.”
She blanches a little, but she quickly recovers. So she’s embarrassed by her brother? I hold her gaze and take a sip from my glass, and her eyes narrow slightly.
“I thought you’d returned to San Francisco,” Landon says. He seems oblivious to the vibe I’m getting from her, or, I think sadly, maybe he just doesn’t care.
“Not yet.” She does a graceful headshake. “I had a few things to take care of.” She gives me another look then turns to Landon with a dazzling smile. “I want to say hello to Steven,” she says, taking his hand. “It’s been ages. Why don’t you come?”
She starts to move, then stops when he doesn’t follow her. He’s looking at me, and his eyes tell me that he’s not going anywhere without me. I decide to trust that, and ignore the way Ava is holding on to his hand. It doesn’t matter who she was to him, and what she wants now. That’s none of my business. What matters is Landon, and the fact that right now, he’s mine.
“We already saw him,” I hear him tell her. She lets go of his hand and I feel a little triumph. She gives me a quick glance, but I respond with another pleasant smile. She smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Alright then.” She wiggles her fingers charmingly, giving Landon another bright smile, before walking away.
We leave soon after that. On the way to his place, I decide not to ask him about her, or why he didn’t think it was important to tell me that she’d been his lover. I don’t want to trigger any feelings of jealousy that I wouldn’t be able to contain. Not tonight. Not when he’s leaving tomorrow. I don’t want the night to end with us fighting.
If he knows the reason for my silence, he doesn’t let on. As soon as the elevator deposits us in the foyer of his apartment, his lips are on mine, his hunger for me as real and tangible as the naked arousal pulsing through my body. We barely make it to his bedroom before he lifts my dress around my waist and bends me against the wall, ripping my panties and thrusting deep inside me.
He fucks me hard, his hands almost feverish as they explore my heated skin, but I don’t care. I only care about my need to touch him, to feel him, to drive out the thoughts of him with anybody else.
By the time he makes me come over and over, again and again, and I finally fall asleep, sated and pliant, I’ve almost succeeded.
CHELSEA comes through on the dress. A few hours after lunchtime, she leads me up to the Gilt Style floor, where everyone is insanely styled and so incredibly fashionable that they could all be models on a shoot. Nobody pays any attention to us as we make our way to the fashion department. There, we have to go up a flight of stairs to the storage floor, half of which houses the ‘storage closet.’
The doors are already open, and Veronica Short, Chelsea’s friend, is waiting. She’s tiny, about five-feet tall, with a shock of frizzy red hair. She drags on her e-cig and smiles at me. “You’re Rachel?” She looks satisfied. “I love your coloring, and your hair is just perfect. It’s a Midsummer Night’s Dream? So a fairytale? I love it!”
At first, I feel like a culprit as she leads us into the closet, but the more she talks, the more I get infected with her excitement. We make our way through the vast storage space. It’s totally crammed with unending closets, shoe racks, accessory bins… every usable space is packed with something and labeled with code I don’t even attempt to decipher. But Veronica navigates it like she knows the location of every scarf and belt. She unearths dresses and shoes and hair accessories, making me try them on, clucking her disapproval with each one she doesn’t like, before tossing another one at me.
We finally settle on a pale blue dress from a current collection. It has a flattering neckline, and a fitted bodice that hugs my waist and hips then flows down to drape loosely around my legs. The silky fabric at the neckline is studded with tiny glittering stones, which also rise from the hemline in exquisite patterns. Veronica smiles in approval and turns to Chelsea, who has been quiet since we came. “What do you think?”
“It’s fantastic,” Chelsea says, she’s leaning on one of the bins, nodding her head in approval. “It’s perfect with your hair,” she tells me. “You could pass for a wood nymph, or maybe Titania.”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes, but Veronica is nodding in agreement. She dashes off to find the right pair of shoes and a clutch, then sucking on her e-cig she hurries off again. This time she returns with a box containing a large hair clip. She brushes my hair to one side and places the clip, then steps back and rubs her hand together.
“I think you’re a genius, Veronica,” Chelsea declares.
I shift a little so I can see my reflection in a visible part of the mirrored walls, and I gasp. I really do look like a wood nymph, something beautiful straight out of a fairytale.
“Wow!” I exclaim.
“I know.” Veronica is grinning, and I feel so grateful I could hug her. She takes a picture with her phone, then packs everything up in a box. “I’d better see your pictures somewhere that matters,” she warns.
