Chapter 1
Beth
Six Months Later
He smelled like the woods and he tasted like tequila.
Jacob Maddox and I shared a very eventful drunken evening and a pretty stellar hungover morning after the night of my boss and best friend Tyson and his gorgeous model fiance Allison’s engagement party. Jacob and I took one too many shots and he ended up coming home with me. He tore my panties with so much vigor that I’m pretty sure I still have marks on my hips six months later and there is still an indentation on the floor of my apartment where my key dish fell over after he pushed me against the wall, and if I thought hard enough about it, I could still smell and taste him.
And now, I’m waiting on the very same Jacob Maddox to pick me up from where I’m currently stranded on the side of the road. It’s been six months since he left the morning after our hook-up. It’s been six months where he’s acted as if we meant nothing more to another than two professionals who work together. And it’s been six months since I’ve been left with wanting more.
Life has a habit of making you its little bitch. Or at least of making you look like an idiot.
I sit on the side of the road, somewhere in Santa Cruz on Highway 17 a little over an hour from home, with a flat tire and smoke coming out of the hood of my precious antique cherry red 1980 BMW 3 Series. I called two people to help me out, a tow company and then my bestie Tyson. But currently Tyson is dick deep in his fiancée and, without a goodbye, he hung up on me. I understand. I wouldn’t want to be bothered if I were getting it on either, but why pick up the phone in the first place? After overhearing, two minutes too many of Tyson’s fiancée getting fucked in the background (props to Ty who kept at it), my phone messages pop up with a message from none other than Jacob Maddox, my crush and Tyson’s brother, not to mention again, the one night stand (also my crush) saying he was picking me up. We’ve been in the presence of another since our sexcapade over the summer in account of the fact that we work together, but never alone prior to then. It’s almost like it’s on purpose, which could be either of our own workings.
I am picking at the invisible lint on my jumper as a steel gray Mercedes G65 pulls up and parks just behind my sad sick car. I immediately stand straight and turn toward his vehicle. My fingers itch to busy themselves as I watch him get out of the driver’s side in I shit you not - slow motion. He pulls off his aviator shades, tilts his head and smiles.
“Hey you. Stranded?” he asks.
“Does the smoke coming out of my car tell you otherwise?” I playfully retort.
“Well, it could have been a smoke signal. I don’t know how women try to attract attention anymore.” He shakes his head.
“You mean that’s not how it works for you? Kinda like the bat signal: ‘help, a girl is in distress!’”
“Nah, they just throw themselves at me. But I digress... This isn’t about me.” he jokes while waving his hand.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why Jacob Maddox and I are not a couple! Okay, not really. But it’s a good reason. He can be a douche happens to say douchey things. He acts as if that night ‒ and the morning after! ‒ we shared never happened. I know from the years I’ve known him that he doesn’t do commitments. He plays, and by that I mean ‘plays the field.’ He briefly dated the photographer for Mad Designs, but he wasn’t actually tied down to her. Hell, he spent a good week in Vegas where nothing can ever go good. Right now he is the only remaining single Maddox heir, since Tyson is off the market. So he keeps up his reputation of bedding anything with tits. While he stays out of the public eye, being that I’m close to Tyson, I sometimes get a behind the scene view of his escapades. However, since we did what we did, I haven’t noticed him man-whoring around as much as I once did. It could just be my imagination, but I know that he has always been one to keep his private life on the down low.
Lucky me!
“Didn’t want to ride with the tow guy?” he asks, smiling that damn pantry-dropping smile that makes my knees weak, as if on command. Damn him!
“Stranger danger. Plus, I’m scared of serial killers.” I say, as seriously as possible.
“I think everyone would be scared of a serial killer. But how would you know if the tow guy is a serial killer?”
“I don’t want to take any chances.” I say, as he reaches into the driver’s side window of my car and releases the hood.
He lifts the hood and smoke billows out and envelopes him. My imagination saw that happening in slow motion too; it was straight out of a romance novel or a cheesy chick flick. The character would be shirtless, but unfortunately Jacob is not, currently, but having seen him naked gives me the benefit of memory here. So the character is shirtless, and as soon as the hood is lifted, the smoke circles him and he wipes at his chest slowly while looking at me through the haze and licking his lips. Perspiration drips down his…
“Earth to Beth, you there?”
I snap out of my daydream and blink several times then fix my eyes on Jacob’s face after several moments of staring at his chest.
“Sorry. What?” I shake my head.
“Which happened first? The radiator blowing or your tire?”
“Oh, um. It seemed to happen simultaneously.” I shrug.
“Life’s a bitch.” he says.
“You can say that again.” I agree quietly.
I watch him continue to look under the hood of my car. Jacob’s short dark brown hair is tousled as if he didn’t even bother with it this morning. His gray eyes are searching under the hood as if he knows what he’s looking for. When he reaches into the dirtiness of the engine area, his muscled arms flex and his shirt creeps up showing the golden skin on his hip. While it’s just a hip, it’s skin. And I’ve touched that skin intimately. Stop thinking about that night! I shake my head and he looks up at me and smirks.
“You okay over there?” he asks. His voice is deep and he’s obviously attempting to not laugh at me while rubbing his hands together, wiping the invisible dirt off.
I nod as he comes to my side and we stand together in an awkward silence, waiting.
After the tow truck arrives, Jacob followed the truck into Santa Cruz to its shop. He waited around with me as if he had nothing else going on with his day, As though he had nothing else on his schedule, he waited around with me, which was appreciated. Once everything else was settled, we set out to head back to San Francisco.
“What were you doing all this way out of the city?” he asks once we’re on the 280 freeway.
“I was having lunch with a friend.” I say. “What were you up to this fine day that you could break away so easily and come to my rescue?”
“I was kinda in the area.” He smiles staring straight ahead. “Santa Cruz is hella far from the city. Why there? Some friend to make you drive all the way out here.”
“Because that’s where he lives and he made us lunch reservations at my favorite place in Capitola.”
“Reservations, for lunch? Must be a fancy restaurant.” he mumbles.
“It was,” I say, defensively crossing my arms.
“So, what was the occasion?” Jacob asks after a moment of silence.
“My birthday,” I say quietly looking out the window.
The car jerks a little as Jacob nearly turns his whole body to the side.
“What? Wait! What day is it? Your birthday isn’t until the fifteenth.”
He knows when my birthday is?
“That’s today,” I say quietly, unsure as to how I feel about his reaction. He doesn’t say anything more the remainder of the ride home. The tension in his car felt thick with a mixture of unknown emotions from both of us.
“Happy Birthday,” he says softly, almost angrily.
He is a confusing individual.
Why is he looking like he wants to throw his fist through the windshield? Why does he seem to care about my plans? Plans that have never involved him or needed his approval? Why am I so affected by the simple notion that he remembers my birthday?
Jacob
I sat in the boardroom trying to think of anything but her. She’s been a fixture in my mind since the summertime when we both took things to the next level after my brother’s engagement party, and even more so since Sunday when I picked her up in Santa Cruz. I know I wouldn't be able to be the type of man that she needs, so I have acted like nothing happened for the past several months. I know that it wasn’t entirely fair to her. It was a shitty thing to do, and it probably fucked with her head some, but at the time I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not saying that I know what to do now, but I would like to think I’m slightly more… grown up than I was six months ago.
Previously, I was unsure. I completely froze because all I wanted to do is the right thing by her, because that is what she deserved. In all honesty I want the right thing to be her. Only I would fuck it up, epically.
I don’t commit to relationships. They scare me.
She scares me or at least what she could do to me. Then where would that leave us? Her best friend is my brother, she and I work together, and she’s practically part of the family. There is no chance in hell that I deserve her, or that she should be able to count on me being an actual boyfriend, especially because she knows my track record, or maybe she doesn’t. She knows of some of my dalliances, but not the true person I am, because I haven’t ever let her see.
Would I even be capable of being a boyfriend?
You would for her. It’s almost like my subconscious is trying to tell me that I’m a good guy.
Tyson and my mother are arguing, which is nothing new. She wants something and he’s refusing to entertain her ideas. That’s the norm. Since our father passed, she has nothing aside from the last name to do with the company now. Hell, I don’t even think she had an official job before that other than the fact that she was the wife of the CEO. My brother took Mad Designs and turned it from a has-been fashion regret into an "it" fashion need. Since Mitchell Maddox’s passing, we have younger blood at the helm, which has improved sales as well as the brand as a whole. I've assisted here and there, though Tyson really does the most work of all of us. I’m sure I’ve done a lot, but I feel like a lot of the time our cousin Brad and I are dicking around when he’s not across the world working a deal. I work in the media and marketing area, and I choose the models that we work with.
I am the Director of Marketing/PR and Media and, even though I hate the media, I’m the lucky sonofabitch who approves everything the public sees or hears about Mad Designs. One of these days, I’ll divide up my role, but for now it works. When Father left us Mad Designs, we didn’t accurately dole out responsibilities, so we played it by ear, and five years later, we’re still trying to figure it all out.
My mind keeps drifting back to this last weekend when I picked Beth up in Santa Cruz. She had been stranded due to car problems and when my brother texted me asking me what I was doing, I jumped at the chance. After all, I wasn’t too far from Santa Cruz since, by a stroke of luck, I had been meeting with my buddy from college. She had been in that area for what seemed like a date, for her birthday, and I was incredibly jealous. I tried my best to not show my jealousy and I hope I portrayed indifference.
But seriously, is she dating someone? I want to ask, but is asking too invasive? Maybe she doesn't want me knowing. Part of me is chastising myself because I know damn well I forfeited knowing that information when I was a dick to her after I gave her the dick. See where I went with that?
With me, what you see isn’t what you get. I’m a layered individual, like I’m always dressed for the winter, but I really don’t like to advertise those layers to the general public.
I have plenty of metaphors that run through my head, but I like that one since it’s universal for the industry that I’m in. I use fashion terms to explain myself. Plus, it makes me seem more interesting than I really am. The actual type of guy that everyone assumes that I am. So who am I? On the outside, people assume they know me, they think that I’m a dick, a cold hearted guy, and a complete player. It isn’t too far off base. I have asshole tendencies and I like to hook-up, but really, who doesn’t? But I am a simple man, and I enjoy simple things.
My persona for business, the public Jacob, is far from who I am in private, and the bottom line is that there is more to me than what meets the eye.
My fear of commitment stems from my mother, I assume. Isn’t it always that way. When a boy has commitment issues, it’s from either of their parents? I look over at her and the lines are prominent around her mouth since that’s her standard resting bitch face.With all the shit she’s put in her face over the years to try to look younger, her skin barely moves, but from all the frowning she’s done, it appears that is her only expression. She’s never been the kind, doting and loving mother to Tyson and me. She’s more so the commanding, disappointed dictator of unruly offspring, forced to hire a nanny to look after the kids, shipped them off to school and then, when they reach adulthood, made sure they work in the empire of Mad Designs kind of mother. And now she’s a widow. As soon as my father’s corpse was laid in the ground, she had her fingers digging into the next male that she could find with a suitable pedigree as if she was itching for a new man to wrap her hands around and dig her claws into. She doesn’t seem to do well being alone. Growing up, she couldn’t be bothered and would send us to our nanny for any mothering needs. Growing up, I recall the standard rebelilious teenage years full of drinking and girls. Lot’s of girls. I didn’t have a parent figure to really have to answer to so I did what I wanted, which likely bled into my adulthood. While Mother attempted random acts of parenting, as soon as my brother and I became official adults, she reserved those moments for when she had several drinks and forgot her manners. Our parents’ marriage was for convenience and for security. Since my father worked hard building Mad Designs, he was rarely around. He didn’t see the small affairs that she was having with god knows who. And I’m sure she was obvious to his philandering as well. Seeing that my mother has portrayed quite elegantly the subtle art of not giving a shit about the sanctity of marriage, it’s no wonder that commitment has terrified me for the majority of my life.
“What do you think, Jake?” Tyson’s voice disrupts my trip down memory lane.
“‘Scuse me?” I clear my throat, sit up straight and fold my hands in front of me.
“You need to stop daydreaming, Jacob, and bring your A-game to this company. You must get more involved,” my mother starts in out of nowhere. “Get your head out of the clouds and focus.”
Funny how when you’re a kid you can just zone out when an adult talks, the same can be said for me in response to anything that comes out of her mouth. Her lips -‒ I saw them flapping, but it was like in the Muppet Babies cartoons where the adults make no real sense, but instead sound like they’ve huffed some rubber glue.
“The whole idea that we put into place with the same models rotating seasons, keeping the faces familiar. It was something Allie and I mentioned after the last launch. Do you have any input on the models for the upcoming season?” Tyson asks.
“And keep in mind that, unlike your brother here, I expect you to keep your pecker in your pants with whichever models you choose. Someone needs to live up to the Maddox name. You will also start attending events as a proper Maddox, not to mention as part owner would.” She eyes Tyson with disdain.
“Models aren’t my type,” I mumble as Tyson passes a thick envelope across the table to me.
“I want to pick a few candidates before the end of the week,” Tyson says. “Here are the head shots with comps that Allie scanned and suggests.” He hands me a large envelope.
“I don’t understand why you are allowing that girl to be a part of any decision making. She’s not a Maddox and she has no business in my business,” Mother says sternly, going off topic already.
Oh, here it comes. Three. Two…
“Mother, you will refrain from speaking about my fiancée in a condescending manner. I will remind you again that I am the CEO, so if I bring my fiancée into any sort of business, that is my choice and not yours.” Tyson’s fists are balled tight, his lips thinned, and his voice low yet even. He’s ready to burst, but he wouldn’t ever fully display that emotion in front of her, as he prefers to be in control and keep the power. He takes several deep breaths unknown to anyone else except me as he counts to calm down.
This isn’t the first time when our mother took her digs at Allison and certainly won’t be the last. Mother believes Allison is a bottom feeder just because she is a model and not as upper class as my mother would expect for a partner for her son, as if she even cares. The bottom line is that our mother is a bitch. Somehow she manages to listen to me more than Tyson, so I level her with a look that gets her to dial back her negativity and the sour look on her face and she retracts her perverbial claws with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand.
“I’m sure that Allie knows these women and would be a good judge to whether or not they can add to Mad Designs and be a good fit, or a complete disaster. She kept me in the loop regarding other seasons’ models she’s worked with and so far, her input has been valuable.” Tyson explains in finality once he’s calmed.
I open the envelope and at least a hundred head shots are inside. All shapes and colors of eyes are staring up at me as I briefly look through the envelope This is my part of Mad Designs lately: find the pretty chicks to dress in the pretty clothes that we create.
Just then, the boardroom door swooshes open and tanned legs appear in my peripheral vision. I turn my head slightly and my eyes scale up her body. She’s wearing a pencil skirt that hugs her curvy ass just perfectly with a sheer black blouse. Underneath, her red bra is shining; it’s a beacon commanding my attention. There is a dusting of freckles across her nose. When she is flustered, the freckles on her sternum magically appear just as they do now as she settles into her seat. Her plump lips and perky nose scrunch together as she leans toward Tyson who speaks quietly in her ear. She avoids eye contact with me until Tyson finishes speaking and then turns towards Mother. Her green eyes meet mine as I smile and nod at her in a silent hello. Mother greets Beth sweetly and Beth returns the gesture. As Tyson’s best friend and his personal assistant, Beth Matthews has my mother’s total respect. The only respected female that I’ve seen my mother act naturally around. Beth whispers something to Tyson again and then her gaze settles on me with a small smile.
Win! She finally smiled. She normally regards me with a neutral look or not at all just like a few moments ago. I wasn’t sure why I was so excited over a simple smile, but it feels like a huge step forward. With that small gesture, I return her smile, and then resume getting back into my own head to digest everything, from thoughts of her to my place in this company and life. I want to rearrange my priorities; I’m just not sure where to start or how. Just that single smile gives me hope and turns all my negative thinking completely inside out.
I look to Beth again, who is focused on something Tyson is saying as the meeting commences.
Maybe she can help me?