Chapter 5
Devon
What a fucking stressful day. Couldn’t a day go by where I didn’t have some major crisis to deal with? What the hell did I pay people for if I still couldn’t get a day to unwind? Deep down I knew the issue: I was a control freak who had a hard time relinquishing control of company decisions to anyone. It wasn’t so much their inability to take care of matters as it was my refusal to delegate issues I knew I could take care of personally.
On the bright side though, I had a date for the event that I was actually eager to see. And there’d be no worry about her getting clingy and wanting more than I had to offer. The woman disliked me and seemed unaffected by my charm. But she didn’t have to like me for me to indulge in the need between her legs. Maybe part of the reason I was so anxious to get home was because I wanted to get the challenge of slipping between those silky, ivory legs.
An hour ago, I’d received a call from the people at Bloomingdales. They informed me that she should be good to go. It would have been nice to have been here today and see how she handled being pampered for a change.
But, oh well, maybe next time. “Abigail?”
All I got was silence in return.
I frowned. “Abigail,” I called out again, shrugging out of my suit jacket and making my way up the glass staircase to the second floor.
At the top of the stairs, the door to the first bathroom on this level opened and she appeared looking a little flush, but holy fuck, gorgeous. With makeup and in the dress she was wearing, I barely recognized her. I stopped in mid-stride and stared for a moment. That dark hair which had been in a ponytail every time I’d seen her before was now free and flowing down her back on loose curls. Her dark eyes were lined with a smoky cat-eye look, lips painted a scarlet red to match her dress.
“Wow.” The word came out as I exhaled.
She smiled, and despite the layer of make-up a rosy blush still appeared at her cheeks. “So, do I look okay? Will I fit in?” she asked with hesitation in her voice as she slowly turned for me to get a look at her from all angles. Damn, that ass. The dress clung to her backside like a second skin. My dick jerked alive and I longed to walk over to her and cup those beautiful ass cheeks in my hands.
Jesus, I was turning into an adolescent boy in front of this woman. It was insanity.
Her embarrassment seemed to overwhelm her because by the time she twirled all the way around she’d lowered her gaze and couldn’t look me in the eye. I was a little confused over her sudden shyness; the other day she was anxious to tear a strip out of me, so why was she suddenly shy? Had I taken her that far out of her comfort zone with this?
I was tempted to play with her a little bit, but settled for honesty. “You look amazing. We’ll definitely turn some heads.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re overstating a little bit. I’ve seen the types of women that attend these things.”
Cocking a brow up at her, I walked forward. “And what types of women are those?” Walking past her as I asked the question, I expected and hoped that she would follow. I was anxious to see the fire light up in her eyes when I ruffled her feathers a little bit.
At first there was no movement behind me, which was a slight let down. But as I reached my bedroom door, I heard her shuffling behind me and grinned.
“You know the types of women I’m referring to.”
“I really don’t,” I called over my shoulder as I entered the bedroom, leaving the door open so she could follow behind me. Of course, I knew she would.
Walking into my closet, I hung up my suit jacket and pulled out the tuxedo I was going to wear to the night event. Exiting the closet, I was glad to see her standing in the middle of the room, her hands planted on her hips and waiting to give me her opinion.
“You do know,” she insisted.
I shrugged as I began to undo the buttons on my shirt.
She continued, “Women who are so thin the only fat on their bodies is in the butt and breast implants.”
“Not everybody is thin or slaves to plastic surgery.”
“Okay, name me one girl you’ve been with that hasn’t had cosmetic or plastic surgery.” She gave me a smug little smile.
Pulling my shirt from my waistband, I finished undoing the buttons and pulled it off, thinking. When I reached for my belt buckle, I halfway expected to see her run off to leave me to it, but she didn’t. She wanted an answer. Scratch that, she wanted me to admit that she was right.
She was indeed right.
My world was the kind you couldn’t take at face value. Everyone put on a facade for the rest of the world, one that they’d spent time and money fabricating, and I was just as guilty. Not because I had crap injected in my face or ass, but I dressed and acted with a specific intent demanding respect and admiration. It was what you were supposed to do in that company, at least as far as I’d been able to tell.
“It’s what women do.” That’s the only answer I had for her.
“That’s a pretty sexist remark! Not all women. Which is the point that I’m getting at.” She motioned to her body. “These aren’t my curves”
I begged to differ, I’d seen her in a pair of boxers and camisole, but waited for her to continue so didn’t respond.
“I’ve got a contraption on that’s so tight I can barely breathe or bend, I don’t see myself getting out of it until the end of the evening. I’m like a walking barbie doll.”
I grinned, undoing my pants and pushing them down. “It’s not until the end of the evening that I’ll need you out of the dress anyhow,” I said with a wink. She tried to keep her eyes level with mine, but I could see them dipping. My grin widened.
She jerked her thumb towards the door. “I’m going to…”
“You don’t want to finish the conversation about women I fuck and boob jobs?”
“I’m just saying, I’m not your usual style.”
“You’ve never actually met anyone I’ve brought home, so how can you make that assumption?”
She turned her back fully to me. “I’ve cleaned up their underwear. Not a pair of granny panties in the lot.”
Nope, she was right with that one. Still, granny panties might be erotic to me since it would be such a rare sight. “It’s about the panty lines.”
“Right. I’m going to wait for you downstairs.” She scurried out of the room as quickly as the dress would allow. “Isabella should be here any minute,” she added before closing the door behind her.
“Very well.”
~*~ TT ~*~
Abigail
At the ding of the elevator reaching our floor, I rushed out to the foyer. The driver was dropping Isabella off right on time. As the doors slid apart, my darling little girl appeared, followed by a man that I assumed to be Devon’s driver. I thought his name was… Ummm. Shit… I had no idea, even though I’d been told previously. There was just way too much going on right now to remember everything.
“Hey, mom!” Isabella’s dark eyes shone with excitement. She waved her hand towards the driver, an African American gentleman dressed in a black suit. “This is Karim. He picked me up in a fancy car. It was so cool.”
“Is that so?” I grunted, due to the restrictive dress as I bent down to give my daughter a quick hug.
“Uh-huh.” She nodded excitedly. She stepped out of my embrace and looked around us, her dark eyes widening further. “We’re staying here?”
“Just for a month.” I didn’t want to get her hopes up. What if she got used to this place and didn’t want to go back? I’d have to make certain she was clear this was only temporary. “It’s like a vacation. For a month.”
She eyes stopped roaming and she looked at me directly. “Wow, mom, you look so pretty. Like a princess! Why are you dressed like that?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but a deep voice coming from the stairwell beat me to it. “Your mother and I are going to a ball.”
“Wow! A ball? So lucky, Mommy.” Isabella’s gazed shifted to watch Devon make his way down the staircase. “Are you a prince? Is mommy going to be a princess?”
Devon chuckled. “No, I’m not a prince. I’m just your mother’s date for the night.”
“Ohhh.” She looked back to me. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“No, honey. We’re just friends.”
As Devon approached and stopped at my side, Isabella shifted her attention back to him. “You’re friends with my Mom?”
“Yes.”
She looked back at me and then to him again, her eyes narrowing. I waited with baited breath to see if she would continue to question us further, but she didn’t. “I want to see the house.” Pulling off her sneakers, she ran out of the foyer and towards the main living area.
I grunted a second time as I attempted to straighten. I was both grateful and annoyed when Devon reached down to help me stand. Damned dress and heels, this was going to be one bugger of a night. While I felt like a princess, I was extremely uncomfortable. Maybe I’d get used to it, but the pessimist in me seriously doubted it.