Chapter Eighteen
From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v2
Rule #6: Stop buying me stuff! For god’s sake, man, I know you own like fifty houses, but I don’t need a mountain of muffins every time you make me mad. Save your money and instead… just say you’re sorry like a normal person.
“Are you watching this?” Harper asked from the living room.
“I’m not watching the news,” Natalie answered while swirling her spoon around in a now-melted bowl of ice cream. Some part of her thought maybe ice cream would cure what ailed her, however ice cream just wasn’t doing the trick.
“It’s Foster,” Harper added.
Natalie was out of the chair before she’d thought it through. Foster being on television wasn’t anything new, and likely whatever he had to say would have nothing to do with her. Why would it? She was just the woman he slept with for a while, who became a disgruntled former employee. But she couldn’t resist. Some sick and twisted part of her wanted the torture of seeing his face and hearing his voice.
She missed him. The world was just a bit dimmer without him in it, with his cocky self-assuredness and whiplash charm.
He looked good. That was the first thing she noticed. It didn’t seem right that he didn’t even have the decency to look as traumatized as she felt. But then his words soaked through her addled brain.
“She’s just a really special lady. I don’t know what I’d do without her,” he was saying to the reporter. It looked like he stood in his boardroom at the penthouse, based on the background, and she wondered who he could possibly be talking about.
The reporter cleared up that question really fast when he asked, “But you said you wouldn’t be involved with an image consultant. You implied—”
Foster laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Is there anything else I could’ve implied that would’ve given me the time to be with her? Come on, if I hadn’t publicly denounced any involvement with Natalie Stolen, you would’ve had cameramen following my every step, right, Rudy?”
The reporter laughed with him, but the sound was strained. “It would’ve kept us busy for a while, that’s for sure.”
Foster shook his head. “To clarify, I have feelings for her. We’ve been seeing each other for a while. Hopefully, we’ll be seeing each other again really soon.” This last bit was said while Foster stared right into the camera, almost as if he could see her through the screen.
She knew he couldn’t, that he had no way of knowing whether or not his very public message made it to her or not, but he stared her down through the television anyway.
“Oh mah god,” Harper said. “He just publicly outed your relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship,” Natalie was quick to correct.
“That’s not what all of the viewers of Celebrity Insiders think,” Harper said.
Natalie’s legs went weak and she sat down hard on the couch. “Why would he say all that?”
Before Harper could answer, Natalie’s phone rang. Natalie stared at the device in surprise. Other than the press, no one had been calling her or messaging. Her client list… There wasn’t a client list anymore. There had stopped being a client list ages ago. But a new email showed up on her phone, and it wasn’t being stopped by her spam blockers.
Which meant either the spam filters were off, or someone had actually sent her something. She didn’t open it on the phone, moving to the laptop to click refresh on her email there instead. Once she got it open and realized the message was from Foster, she almost didn’t open it.
Almost.
Curiosity got the better of her. Was it just about her failure to deliver on the contract as per their agreement? Was he, god forbid, paying her for services rendered? Where would blow job show up on that particular invoice?
Instead of speculating, she should just open it. So, she did. Scanning the words, she went from really confused to really annoyed pretty quickly. Then she was crying. Harper came to her side, cradling a coffee cup in her hands.
“What gives? You read the damn headlines, didn’t you?”
Natalie shook her head.
“You saw the memes? I can’t believe they made memes. Some people have way too much time on their hands.”
Natalie shook her head again, sniffling out another half sob, half laugh.
“Well, then, what the hell happened?”
Natalie pointed at the screen. The words were wobbling, blurring through her tears, so she listened as Harper read through the list:
Reasons that Natalie Stolen fails at following her own rules:
Rule #1: Avoid the press… You got your picture taken with Connor. #FAIL
Rule #2: Private venues… You got your picture taken with me multiple times, not to mention the picture with Connor. #FAIL
Rule #3: Do not cry “Not Guilty!”… I found the footage (I attached a link to this email) of you proclaiming you didn’t leak the secret baby news. #FAIL
Rule #4: Well-thought-out gesture… You broke my damn heart, and I still haven’t received a single muffin. #FAIL
Rule #5: Own your past… Instead of accepting the Margo situation, you continued to let it get under your skin to the point that you instantly assumed I was banging her. #FAIL
Rule #6: Act in accordance to your personal values… You claim to be able to fix people, but you broke me and left. #FAIL
Rule #7: Blah blah blah change… When given a chance to tell me I was wrong, you just left. #FAIL
Rule #8: Planning… You didn’t distract Connor, but distracted me instead. How am I supposed to plan a hostile takeover of Boyd Cosmetics when my dog keeps bringing me your shoes? #FAIL
Rule #9: Change what you can, accept what you cannot… You could’ve tried to change my mind, but you accepted me acting like an idiot instead. Clearly, it was a situation you could’ve changed. #FAIL
Rule #10: Do not read the news… But you’re checking your email, or you wouldn’t be reading this. #FAIL
Now, if you’ve read all this and you’d like to talk, I’ll be home. Come quick. I have something to show you. Yes, it involves restraints.
Foster, aka The Only Prince You’ll Ever Need for All Your Fortune Hunting Needs
“I can’t believe he signed off with a smiley face emoji,” Harper said.
“Did you read all of it?” Natalie practically shrieked.
“Uh, yes. He’s being a bit of a dick, if you ask me.” Harper gestured at the screen. “Do you see all the hashtag fails in that thing? He’s, like, calling you out.”
“No, no, no, that’s not it at all. He said I broke him. That I broke his heart!” More tears fell, and Harper quickly set down her coffee.
“Here, tissues. God, you’re going to want to buy stock in the tissue companies, the way you’ve been the past few days. Could you be preggers?”
“Harper, he cares!”
Harper blinked at her, shaking her head. “Dude, I figured that out days ago.”
“How?” Natalie asked before blowing her nose.
“Well, duh. The guy wouldn’t have gotten instantly jealous over seeing you with his brother if he wasn’t at least a little emotionally involved. Plus, you stopped complaining about the butt sex, so I was guessing you guys worked that out. That also meant that he wanted to make you happy. Like, it was completely obvious.” Harper picked her coffee back up and then yowled in complaint when Natalie grabbed her arm, sloshing the beverage onto her hand. “Hey! Coffee abuse!”
“If you knew, then why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Natalie yelled.
“Because, if I told you, you would have gone to him, and he needed to do something to win you back. Hell, you deserved it after all that you’ve been through. I’d hope you would do the same for me, were the situations reversed.” Grabbing some tissues, Harper mopped at her arm.
“But…”
“And, personally, I think you should hold out for more than an email that tells you about how you failed ten times over. I mean, if you’re bumping uglies with a billionaire, you’d think he could at least afford an apology lake house. Or something. Come on.”
“I need to go to him,” Natalie said, jumping to her feet. Shoving her feet in shoes, she was practically out the door before Harper stopped her.
“No, doll face. Not like that. Just in case we’re both reading this wrong, go there triumphant. Go get a shower, do your hair, slop on some concealer, because your under eyes are a red-hot mess… Go there and show him what he’s been missing.”
Natalie paused. “But that means making him wait. He just sent that message. He’s probably waiting for a response and…”
Shaking her head, Harper smiled at her. “Let him sweat a little. Go get cleaned up. If he’s really the prince you’ve been looking for, an hour won’t make a difference. He’d wait. He’d climb a tower for you. Let the man wait a little.”
…
After more than an hour of waiting, Foster Boyd had to face the very real possibility that he was making an idiot of himself. She probably wouldn’t come to him at all, especially not after that stupid email. What then? Who would walk Buffy? How long until Connor would come back and check on him? If he’d been better at planning—rule number eight, according to his image consultant—he might’ve thought to build in a fail-safe for his big moment of begging for her forgiveness.
But he sucked at planning, so here he was.
She wasn’t coming. He’d blown it with the email. Why had he sent the damn thing? Was he really hoping she’d read between the lines and realize what he was saying? Just because he felt like they had their own special variety of communication, it didn’t mean that they actually did.
Probably his housekeeper would be the one to find him. Then she’d promptly quit. Then he’d be out a lover, an image consultant, and a housekeeper, all in the same week. Maybe she had a point with the whole planning portion of the rules.
Not that he’d admit that to Natalie. If she ever came.
There was a knock at his door. Either it was her, or it was the most inconveniently timed visitor ever. If it was the press, they’d eat for a month off the paycheck they’d get for this particular image.
“Come in!” he yelled.
“Foster?” her voice called back, softly. From the other side of the house.
“In the bedroom,” he answered.
He could hear her mumbling long before she came into sight. “I haven’t even said if I’d forgive him or not yet— Oh, hi, Buffy. Who is a good girl? Yes, you are. You’re a good girl. Where is your master, huh, baby? Is Timmy down a well?” He heard the sound of a dog paw smacking the floor and figured she was scratching Buffy’s behind. Nice for Buffy. Not great for him.
He wanted to tell her to hurry up, but, well…couldn’t. He could feel the heat flooding his face. This plan was stupid. She was going to take one look at him and walk right back out the door. Not to mention the embarrassment of getting Connor to help—he was never going to live this down, and it wasn’t even going to work.
“Foster?” she called again.
“Still in the bedroom,” he answered. He was kind of proud his voice didn’t warble in embarrassment.
“He’s going to make me go in there,” she said, obviously still talking to Buffy. “If he thinks one little email and interview is going to make me want to let him cuff me to the bed so he can have his way with me, he’s so wrong, isn’t he girl?”
He’d bet from the slurping noise that his dog was giving her kisses. Traitor.
Finally, after what felt like about a year, she came around the corner, peeking in the door. That she didn’t laugh outright was probably a good sign. There was a chance that he’d offended her sensibilities. She could file harassment charges. Or something.
Actually, he didn’t care what she did, so long as she didn’t leave. He’d missed her so much that even just seeing her again was remarkably soothing. She was there, in his bedroom, and the gold had returned to his life.
Now, to convince her to stick around for more than the time that it took for her to recover from her shock. That would be the tricky part.
“Hi,” he finally said, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to say anything.
She gave him a halfhearted wave, looking over him carefully.
She wore an elegant but simple confection of a dress like the one she’d worn that first day. The fabric all gathered at her neck, falling in a cascade of flimsy fabric in the most cotton candy of pinks. It halted about mid-thigh, showing off a glorious expanse of creamy leg, and she’d apparently kicked off her shoes when she’d come in, leaving her pretty little feet bare.
That he found even her feet attractive was probably a sign of how far gone he was for her. That he hadn’t recognized the signs sooner was proof that love was blind. Because he’d accepted that fact when he laid in his bed, his whole body feeling like a husk because she’d left him and he didn’t think she’d come back. He fell in love with Natalie Stolen at some point along the way. With her clever mind, with her irreverent humor, at her ability to see him for more than his sum parts, and instead find something whole. Even when he didn’t feel whole.
He just loved her.
“You’re naked,” she pointed out.
“Indeed,” he answered, remembering too late how she seemed annoyed when he talked like a dictionary. Changing it up, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I totally am.”
Her lips twitched in what might’ve been the beginnings of a smile. She might’ve been disgusted, too. Who knew? He wished she’d say something.
But she just stared. He shifted awkwardly, the chains clanking against the frame of the bed. “So, you got my email.”
Her lips twitched again, and he was almost completely sure it was a smile. “I did.”
“As you can see, your rules no longer work. I pointed out the flaws in each and every one. Your track record is completely blown at this point.”
“Yours, either. Your rules, I mean,” she pointed out. “You totally have gone back for seconds. At least with me.”
“You’re my exception,” he began.
She waved that off, looking annoyed.
“Because you’re exceptional,” he finished.
A flush stained her cheeks, and she twisted her fingers together nervously. “Arguably, a lot of my failures were beyond my control.”
He nodded. “And I owe you an apology.”
She shrugged. “I thought that was what this was?” She gestured toward his position on the bed.
He’d had Connor cuff him to the headboard and the footboard in his strongest pair of restraints. He was naked, as she’d pointed out, and not entirely comfortable with it. “I was making a visual statement, actually.”
“What? About the fact that you’re hot? We established that a while ago.” Her lips shifted into a genuine smile, and hope bloomed in his chest.
“About the fact that Boyds do have weaknesses,” he explained. She stepped closer, running a single fingernail down his chest. When she scraped over his nipple, he jerked automatically, even though he tried to tell his body not to move. To allow her to do whatever she needed to feel comfortable with him.
Whatever at all, just so long as she stayed.
“So, you were going to let me hurt you, just to prove you had weaknesses?” she asked, crawling onto the bed with him. He could feel her warmth as she got closer, as if the sun itself was embedded in her skin, and he couldn’t find heat until she’d returned.
“No,” he said softly. When she met his eyes, he spoke without releasing her gaze. “That you’re my weakness. You, Natalie. Because without you, I found I…missed you. You’re my weakness. You’re my exception. And I needed you back.”
She leaned down and kissed the nipple that she’d abused. “Because it is hard to find women who like to be restrained as much as you like to restrain them?”
“No,” he whispered. “Because I think I might be falling in love with you. And the idea of you not coming back carved me in two. I needed you because I think I love you, Natalie.”
Tears glittered in those too blue eyes, and he jerked at his restraints, wanting to touch her. “Dammit, I wasn’t trying to make you cry,” he confessed. “Maybe horny. Possibly make you laugh, but I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.”
She straddled him, shaking her head. “Well, you did. Because I think I rather need you, too, Mr. Boyd.” She spread her hands across his chest, her skin firing his flesh and hardening his dick in an instant.
“I don’t suppose I’ve proved my point so you’re going to just release me now like a good girl, are you?” he asked her.
She frowned, puckering out her bottom lip in a pout. “I’ve got you spread out like this and you don’t want me to take advantage of your vulnerability at all?”
“Baby, I’m always vulnerable when it comes to you. I was realizing it before you left, but once you’d gone… It became evident that I was even more vulnerable than I even realized.” Before he’d finished, she’d freed one of his hands, so he used it to drag her into his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he held her close, his whole body shaking from emotion. “Do not leave me like that again,” he whispered. “I’ll beg, if you need it, but I have a hard time fighting off the darkness on a good day. Without you, I was in hell.”
Her mouth met his and the openmouthed, desperate kiss was more sloppy than skilled. He didn’t care. It was her, his gold was back, and he didn’t want to let her go again. His hand moved around on her head, angling her until he could plunge his tongue into her mouth.
“Promise,” he whispered close to her ear, before biting down on the lobe hard enough to make her gasp. “Promise you won’t leave like that again.”
She leaned back and smiled at him before freeing his legs. “I’ll leave a different way, if you accuse me of messing around with your brother again.”
He waited until she’d freed his other arm before rolling on top of her. “I need you. I kept thinking of that poem by Robert Frost, the one that says ‘nothing gold can stay’ and thinking that I’d lose you, so I couldn’t afford to become attached. But I did. I need you, and I’ll tell you a thousand times a day if you wish it. Just, don’t leave again,” he whispered.
Her smile was beautiful, even past the sheen of her tears. “I’ve always been more of a fan of Marlowe,” she whispered against his lips.
“Marlowe?”
“Yeah,” she said, stroking her fingertips up his face until her nails scraped his scalp. She pulled slightly on his hair, rising a bit above him as she recited, “‘Come lie with me and be my love.’”
“‘And we will all the pleasures prove,’” he added. Pulling her face back down, he tangled their tongues. Her soft sigh was whispered into his lips, and he swallowed it, dragging her pleasure down into his lungs. His hands dragged up past her thighs, under the flimsy skirt until he reached her breasts. “No bra. Good god, you’re trying to kill me.”
She rubbed herself against him, bumping the ridge of his cock with her warmth. “Only the little death,” she answered.
It only took him a few moments to remove the dress. Less to divest her of the scrap of fabric hiding her most delicate folds from his view. When he touched her there, her entire body shivered before she writhed for him, gliding against his touch. Unable to resist, he ducked his head and kissed her there, where she bucked against him and her sighs became moans.
Her sweat-slicked skin was silk under his hands as he aroused her with every bit of skill he’d ever mastered. Her hands were equally busy—either grasping or clawing at him in turns, urging him onward. When finally he joined them, sinking into her body with his own, he felt like he’d found home and heaven, all in one thrust.
“Foster,” she whispered, and her fingers twined with his. They kept their hands linked as only their hips moved, the dance speeding until her eyes drifted closed and her mouth opened on gasps of sound.
“My Natalie,” he answered, his voice rough with his emotions and needs. He took her lips as they both crested, swallowing her scream as it met his groan. Tension breaking and yet still he moved, easing in and out of her as if he couldn’t stop. Not until he’d soaked her warmth inside him.
Until his heart stopped thudded with the fear that he might lose her.
They ended up twined together, legs tangled and arms around one another, and he nuzzled her cheek with his face. “I love you,” he told her again, just in case she’d missed it.
She met his serious look with one of peace. “Love you, too,” she answered. Her hands on him were tender and her voice very soft when she added, “But I’m not sending you a muffin basket.”
His laugh shook them both and for the first time since everything began to unravel, he found hope. Who knew? He’d been holding it in his arms the whole time.