Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (22 page)

“You
sure
you don’t want me to stay and see you off?” I asked Fallon, as we both stood there in her now-empty apartment. It was so strange to see it that way: no posters on the walls from all the cool shows Circles had played over the years, no LPs scattered across the floor, no so-bad-they-were-good kitsch knick-knacks and bric-a-brack.

“You’ve already asked me that like a million and one times already!” she replied, blowing at her jet-black bangs in a sigh of exasperation. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

The tour van was coming to pick her up in a couple hours, and then she’d be off — away for three whole months. Her friend Krista, a friendly lesbian girl who worked at her print studio, was going to be subletting the apartment, and she’d already put all her things in storage.

Meanwhile, I’d not let Fallon know that the place
I
was moving to was Blake’s old pad, just making it sound more like something I’d stumbled upon on Craigslist, playing up the fact that it was handy to live in Manhattan for work, telling myself that a little white lie never hurt anyone ...

“Come here and gimme a squeeze,” she said, holding her arms out. She was wearing that very same white and black Bikini Kill t-shirt I’d worn to my meal with Blake, what now felt like
years
ago.

And as she hugged me tightly, she murmured, “
Please
promise me you wont be someone totally different when I get back, Jessica.”

I pulled away to study her face, thinking she was joking at first. But no, she looked deadly serious.

“Of course I won’t,” I insisted.

“I’ve just seen it happen so many times,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “You won’t even realize you’re changing, until it’s too late.”

“Hey!” I cut in. “Maybe
you’re
the one that will change! After all, you could be playing arenas by this time next year, Miss Rock Star! The next time I see you will probably be on the front cover of Rolling Stone.”

She laughed and shook her head again.

“Well, in that case, we
both
need to make sure to keep our feet on the ground, okay? Deal?”

I nodded.

“And when in get back, we’re going to do some totally normal shit. We’re gonna get takeout and stay here and drink soda and watch crappy
Gossip Girl
reruns for three days straight.”

“I honestly can’t wait,” I grinned.

We hugged again, and then that was that. It was finally time for me to go. Most of my stuff was packed temporarily in Fallon’s storage locker, too, and I lugged my few remaining bags onto my shoulders, then made my way down the stairs and out onto the street. Fallon came down too, to wave me goodbye.

And as I flagged a taxi, I felt her warning ricochet around inside me:
Please promise me you won’t be someone totally different when I come back, Jessica.

I knew I owed it to her to keep my head on my shoulders and my feet on the ground.

I just hope I’m not making a huge mistake …

§

I shook my head, still kind of unable to believe my luck. All my doubts melted away, the moment I actually set eyes on the place. Because this apartment was totally perfect. Large, spacious, simply furnished, and
so
close to Blake’s place, too — and therefore my office.

Yeah, this was gonna be just great.

And already, I could see lots of tiny little things I could do to improve it; little ways I could put my own unique stamp on it. Blake had already made it clear that this time, he wasn’t after a complete overhaul, just a few feminine touches, and then only if I had the time. Mainly, I was to focus on building up my own client base. This was just a little extra job on the side. 

Blake had mentioned another woman living here, too, a friend of his, but so far the place seemed pretty empty — there was hardly any trace of her that I could see on first inspection.

In fact, the whole place was rather sparse, lacking any kind of personality really, and I knew that with just a few simple touches I could totally bring it to life.

I strolled through the large living area and the hallway, still waiting to find any evidence that anyone else was actually living here. They must be out
a lot
, I thought. But then, as I turned a corner and made my way into the kitchen, I saw a large pizza box, the pie inside abandoned after only a single slice, as if whoever bought it liked the
idea
of it, but was still watching her figure – along with many empty bottles of both Perrier and champagne.

Looks like this girl’s kinda cool. I thought women on the Upper East Side only ever ate sushi. If she’s the kind of girl who eats pizza, maybe this isn’t gonna be so different from hanging out with Fallon in Brooklyn after all?

In the bathroom, I found more evidence: a bottle of Chanel No. 5, and all kinds of body lotions, powders, scrubs, and exfoliators (all high-end, of course). Whoever it was who owned all this stuff, obviously took
really
good care of herself.

Wow. This person sure has a lot of gorgeous things.

Maybe she can give me a few tips, perhaps even let me borrow them some time!

And at the end of the final corridor I discovered two doors, which I assumed led off to the apartment’s two bedrooms.

“Hello?” I called out, just to doubly check that no-one was actually home.

And after a pause, I gingerly made my way towards them. I timidly pushed the door on the left, and it opened onto a completely bare room: not even any bed sheets on the double bed, or curtains on the windows. So this would be my new room, I guessed, nodding to myself as my brain began flashing with many more cute little ideas; fun ways in which I could totally transform this room into a great place to live.

Back in the main corridor, I hesitated.

Should I take a peek in that second room, too?

I mean, I knew it was wrong, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. I just
had
to try and figure out a little more about this stranger I’d be staying with.

I knocked softly, and spoke again. “Hello?”

No answer.

So I pushed the door open a crack, and peeped inside. Unlike the first bedroom, this second room was
definitely
occupied! Clothes strewn everywhere — tiny scraps of brightly colored and sparkling fabric: I couldn’t tell what they were, but they obviously didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Wow, okay.
Whoever owned all this stuff was obviously into wearing the kind of outfits that turned heads, wherever she went.

Does Blake really think this is the kind of girl I’m going to get along with?

Just then I heard the main door to the apartment open then close, and the sharp click of heels on the bare floorboards.

I quickly pulled the door to the bedroom closed once more. Then I remained there for a moment in the hallway, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding, unsure whether or not to go hide in my new room or head back out and face my new roommate …

“Hello?” I heard the soft Southern-accented voice call. “Someone there?”

I made my way slowly back down the corridor and into the main living space, and the figure I saw before me was tall and large-breasted, with cascades of flame-colored hair tumbling down her back.

But this was no stranger.

It was Gina, of course, who I’d last seen striding, confident, fearless and naked, into Blake’s party. And the time before that? She was bound up by Blake in that bare room, while a whole crowd (including me) watched their little show. And the time before that? She’d been preparing to leave Blake’s apartment, still in last night’s dress.

And now here she was again, dressed in a daytime outfit of skin-tight black jeans and a clinging white vest top. She obviously made sure she was on display at
all times
.

“Oh hey!” she said, dropping about half a city’s worth of colorful high-end shopping bags onto the floor around her, her face brightening when she set eyes on me. “Blake told me I’d be getting a new rooomie! And I’m glad it’s not a
total
stranger!”

Wait, did she just wink at me?

“Man, my feet are
killing me
,” she continued casually. No wonder. Her Louboutins were skyscraper high; the kind of shoes you wore to sit down at an elegant restaurant table in, not to stalk down 5
th
Avenue. 

“Hang on just a second, sweetie,” she purred in her lazy Southern drawl. “Let me just throw these things in my room and make a quick phone call, and then you and I are going to sit down and have a nice cup of English tea, I’m sure I’ve got some of that somewhere, but failing that we might have to start on the champagne, and then we can
really
get to know each other!”

With that, she tottered off down the hallway, leaving me standing here in this bare living room. I sat down on the cream leather sofa, looking around me – only minutes before, it seemed like this place was so full of potential, but now it just looked empty; un-lived-in and seedy.

This didn’t seem like the kind of place two fun-loving city girls would live, sharing their makeup and giving each other manicures. No, this seemed more like the kind of place a high-end hooker might call her home, a place to just drop in to change dresses between clients.

Can I really live here? With Gina? And what kind of sick game is Blake playing with me? Are we
both
his girlfriends? Is this just what he does? Puts his women together in one place, like some kind of stable?

What exactly is he trying to tell me ...

I felt like screaming.

After all, here I was on a bright fresh Monday morning, back in my new office — just a few blocks from my new home — and everything should have been great, but the problem was, I still had
no actual work to do
. Part of this was my own fault, I realized. I had to get my name out there. I had to set up a proper website, with an online portfolio, and I had to approach potential clients, too. I knew all this a hundred times over, but for some reason I just couldn’t quite actually bring myself to muster up the energy and enthusiasm to get working on it all.

I wondered if it was perhaps due to the fact that deep down, this whole thing still felt a little strange. Like I hadn’t really
earned it
. This beautiful office, my new living arrangement, and even my work on Blake’s apartment. When I thought back on how easily they’d all fallen into my lap, I once more felt that slight worry that they were all planned out by Blake, that he was behind the scenes, watching on, controlling everything, and I was just some toy that he was enjoying playing with.

Fallon’s right.

I need to strike out on my own. I need to build up a client base, completely outside of Blake.

But who can I contact ...

Then the thought popped into my head: Elizabeth O’Connor, the woman from that fundraiser. She’d told me to get in touch!

So I picked up my purse and began searching through, rifling through my keys, wallet, lipsticks, pulling out business card after business card – I seemed to have amassed a
lot
at that charity fundraiser – until I eventually  found it: the small rectangle of expensive card,
Elizabeth O’Connor
, printed on it in an elegant, pale grey Serif font, along with her telephone number and email address.

I knew it was a long shot, but even just composing that one brief email to Elizabeth — asking if she was still interested in having a chat about the possibility of redesigning her summerhouse in the Hamptons, as we’d talked about a fortnight or so ago — made me feel a whole lot better.

And at the end of the email, as an afterthought, I also asked her whether she knew of anyone else who might be in need of any interior design work, too.

There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Suddenly, the day didn’t seem quite so frustrating after all.

I settled back in my chair and began sorting through the many digital photographs I’d collected at various stages of the redesign of Blake’s apartment, to decide which best illustrated my work and warranted inclusion in my portfolio.

I don’t know how long I’d been working on this for, maybe an hour, when my computer softly chimed, signaling the arrival of a new email.

My heart leapt when I saw who it was from:

Re: Hello Elizabeth

Elizabeth O’Connor 11:55

To: Jessica                                                       

Dear Jessica,

Great to hear from you, and so fabulous to meet you the other week! I know we talked about my summerhouse and I do still want to hear your thoughts, but I’m afraid I’m so busy at the moment, it might even be next year before I have a free lunch slot to talk!

But in the meantime, a couple of friends of mine — Max and Andy — have been calling for design pitches for a restaurant they’re opening, and I was intending to forward you the brief anyway. Please find attached and good luck!

All best and speak soon,

Elizabeth

--

1 Attachment

I opened up the brief for the restaurant. The deadline for pitches was Friday! Damn. I kicked myself for having left it this long before contacting Elizabeth. I was going to have to work my
ass off
now if I was going to be able to turn in a halfway-decent pitch in time.

I quickly silenced the negative voice in my head, the one that was telling me I was an idiot for not getting in touch with Elizabeth before now. Because these thoughts were just wasting my time, when what I needed was focus.

I spent the rest of the day working on my pitch. And despite my initial worries, I was glad to finally have something — something of my
own
— to really sink my teeth into. 

In fact, I worked so hard that when I finally looked up from my screen and decided to call it a day, it was already dark outside. It was the first time in a long while that I’d actually worked so hard I’d lost track of time, and when I looked back over what I’d done, I felt pleased with the progress I’d made.

Maybe I am cut out for this profession after all.

It was only as I was strolling the few blocks back to the apartment that I remembered that waiting for me there was my new roommate: Gina. I’d been lucky so far. She’d gone out last night and still didn’t seem to be home when I left for my office this morning. I knew she was the kind of girl that spent more time in other people’s beds than her own, which was something of a relief. But still, I felt on edge, never quite knowing when she might come walking through the door.

I had to be honest with myself: I didn’t like her. She just seemed so ... I feel bad saying this about another woman, but she just seemed so
slutty
. She was so different to me, and I couldn’t understand why Blake thought we would even get on. We had
nothing
in common.

Or, if I was
really
honest with myself?

We had one thing in common: Blake.

I knew almost nothing about what her relationship with Blake actually
was
, save from the little I’d seen of them together. Were they still seeing each other, too? Was Gina one of his girlfriends? Did
they
lie in bed, talking and joking, too?

God, I spend so much time just thinking about him, waiting for him to ask me to do something.

What’s wrong with me?

I need to take control. I’ve done it before, in other areas of my life. In fact, I did it this morning with Elizabeth, and look how that’s turned out ...

No more waiting around for Blake Matthews to contact me.

I pulled my cell from my bag and quickly tapped out a message, telling him I wanted to see him tonight, and asking if he had dinner plans already. I read it over then quickly hit send, before I could change my mind and chicken out.

After all, that was how Blake always contacted me, wasn’t it? Just sending a last minute text, assuming I’d be free to drop everything and join him.

There.

See?

Nothing to worry about.

But I received the reply just a few seconds later:

Away for two nights (Miami). Back Weds. B x

§

I reached the apartment building and paused on the step, searching for my key. This really was an amazing neighborhood, and I knew I should feel lucky that I was living here now. There was no way in a million years that I’d ever be able to afford to live somewhere like this on my own, even with the kind of money I’d been making recently.

As I opened the door and headed up to the first floor, I thought again about the deal I’d struck with Blake: doing up this place in lieu of rent.

So if I’m providing my interior design services for rent, what exactly is Gina supplying him with ...

I stepped into the apartment and there she was, lounging on the sofa in just a flimsy pink wisp of a dressing gown, falling right open at the front as she lazily painted her toenails a matching hot pink.

Jesus, does she ever cover up?!

“Finally!” she said, the moment she saw me. “I’ve been going stir crazy in here all day on my own. And on top of that, I’m absolutely
starving.
Come on, let’s get dressed and grab some food. What d’ya say, sweetie?”

“I, uh ... I’m not sure,” I began, still scrabbling around for an excuse that at least sounded plausible, when to my relief I heard my cell start ringing in my bag. “I’d better take this,” I explained, quickly pulling it out and swiping my thumb across the touchscreen, lifting it to my ear without even registering who the caller was.

“So when exactly were you planning on telling me about
Blake Matthews
?” Mom’s voice said, surprisingly sternly.

“What?” I replied, completely taken aback.

How in the hell does she know about Blake?

“Blake Matthews,” she repeated. “He
is
your new boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“I, um, I mean … I don’t think so?” I ventured, my head spinning. “Why in the world would you think that?”

“Because it’s all over the damned internet!”

“What?!”

I felt my face flush with heat and my head begin to spin. I looked around me for a place to sit down, but the only seat — the couch — was taken up by Gina’s lazy, open-legged sprawl. So I ended up propping myself awkwardly against the doorway, the whole room whirling.

“What do you mean it’s all over the internet?” I urged, feeling my pulse begin to race as I imagined my photo plastered across the front of the
National Enquirer.

“Sylvia’s daughter, Ashley,” Mom countered. “You remember Ashley?”

How could I forget her? Ashley Adams was a couple years younger than me. We went to high school together in Glenbrook Falls, and even back then she seemed to be following in her mom’s footsteps as Small Town Busybody and Gossip Queen Extraordinaire. I couldn’t imagine just how much of a gossip she’d be by
now
.

“Uh huh,” I said quietly. “I remember Ashley.”

“Well, she saw you on a
website
. Some tacky gossip column thing, a photo of you and this Blake Matthews stepping out of some fancy restaurant. ‘Unknown Brunette’ they’re calling you, so at least they don’t know your name. But it’s definitely you. Your face is there, clear as daylight …”

“Whoah. Okay, calm down, calm down,” I replied, my mind still reeling from all this new information.

“And the things they’re saying about you on this website!” Mom continued. “The most horrible names! Oh Jessica, it’s really too much.”

“
Who’s
saying things?”

“Just lots of different people, all chipping in with their vile opinions on you at the bottom of the article.”

Of course: the comments.

I hadn’t even seen the article myself yet, but I could already kind of guess the content. A photo of Blake and I, speculation as to who I was, and beneath it a long string of snarky, venomous comments, all focused on me. Like almost
every other gossip article
on the internet,
in other words …

I didn’t waste too much of my time reading that kind of stuff, but of course I’d been on those kinds of websites before. And
any
woman who appears on them got trash talked, no matter what she was doing.

“It’s all just so
unlike
you,” Mom sighed. “And it’s only been a few weeks since Greg! So are you living with him now, this Blake Matthews? He’s clearly much older than you. I’m worried he’s taking advantage of you, Jessica. There are men that do that, you know ...”

“No!” I almost shouted. “You’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing even going on. Blake’s just my boss. Mom, you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the damned internet!”

“Well, I’m not at all happy about this,” she replied. “It’s not making you look good, and it doesn’t reflect very well on your father and me, either. I think you need to cool things off with this Blake character for a while, young lady, and in fact, I think you should come home, too. This city’s obviously changing you, and you need to take a break and get your morals straightened out ...”

“Mom!” I sighed, exasperated. “I  told you! Nothing’s going on! He’s just my boss! And I’m not gonna come home, just because of some stupid little article.”

I could tell Gina was listening in. She’d stopped even pretending to paint her toenails now, her big blue eyes fixed on me, her mouth curled in a curious smile. But I didn’t blame her. After all, I was making such a scene, I’m sure it was pretty hard to ignore.

“Listen,” I continued, “I’d better go. I’ll call you again in a couple of days, but really,
don’t worry about me
, okay? I love you. Goodbye.”

And then I quickly hung up the phone, stuffing it deep in my bag.

“Trouble in paradise?” Gina asked, after a moment’s awkward silence.

I glanced over at her, unsure if she was genuinely interested in my problem, or if she was just enjoying my frustration. To my surprise, she actually seemed genuinely concerned.

“Just my mom, getting the wrong idea about everything again, as usual,” I explained.