“I want you to be that voice, Elena,” he said, pronouncing my name exactly right.
Itook John up on his offer to drop me off downtown on his way to the airport, but when I got to the building, I wasn’t ready to go to my studio. I opted instead for window-shopping—and maybe some actual shopping—on Royal Street. The possibility of assuming a more public role for Essex Corp excited me and had me running through scenarios in my head. It also meant I needed to stay ahead of things with my other clients so I could give everyone the attention they deserved. I needed to get serious about hiring an assistant. I made a note on my phone to put placing an ad at the top of my to-do list.
I had to finalize the color choices for Mrs. Acrement’s receiving room. I’d gotten the job because of the favor Alex’s husband Erik had done for me, letting me decorate his home for the Garden District home tour. Mrs. Acrement was just one of several clients who’d found me from the tour, and ifI managed to please the woman with exacting taste, I’d likely get more referrals. A walk through Doucette & Co., one of my favorite places for linen and home goods, was exactly the kind of inspiration I needed to help the design gel in my head.
Opening the door with the signature brass bee hardware, I stepped into the cool lavender-scented air. The company made a variety of linen and room sprays, but the lavender was my favorite. I breathed deeply and smiled with pleasure.
“Elena! It’s lovely to see you, gorgeous girl.” Julien Doucette, the shop’s owner, crossed the room to greet me, kissing the air above each of my cheeks. “What can I help you with today?”
“It’s lovely to see you, too,” I said, letting my hand rest briefly on his oxford-cloth covered forearm.
The man was a hopeless flirt, but also very much in love with his partner of thirty-odd years which made the over-the-top compliments feel charming instead of intrusive. It was funny how that worked, how the perception of a thing almost entirely controlled a person’s reaction to it. I worked with it all the time—setting up scenarios and creating moments for my clients—but the power of framing experiences never ceased to surprise me.
“I’d like to look around for a bit if that’s all right.”
“Of course. The season’s featured bedding is along the wall over there, and we’ve started to carry a new line of pottery, handmade by an artist in Belle Chasse. It’s in the back with the Emile Henry.” He motioned to the back of the store where they kept the selection of high-end table accessories. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“There is one thing.”
“Anything for you, love. You have but to name it.”
I smiled at the older man, barely managing to hold back my eyeroll. “Keep making offers like that, and you’re going to get both of us in trouble with Gregory.”
“Nonsense.” He made a decidedly French sound and waited with ayour wish is my commandexpression on his softly lined face.
“Could you send another set of the Sferra hand towels to the Collins address? Exactly the same as the last order.”
“Of course.”
If he was curious about the duplicate order, he didn’t let it show. I pulled out my phone to send a quick text to Anna, Jake’s housekeeper, to let her know to expect them. If I didn’t tell Anna, they’d likely still be in the package buried under a bunch of other things when I showed up at Jake’s place the next time.
I couldn’t conceive of living like that—not putting things in their place as soon as they arrived. Being surrounded by chaos instead of beauty. It would be easy to see what I did as nothing more than playing with pretty things, and therewereso many pretty things. I ran my fingers over the smooth brushed cotton bedding, relishing for a moment the feel of the soft fabric, slightly lavender scented and cool to the touch. But design—at least the way I thought about it—was so much more. Beautiful, yes, but also functional.
When it was done correctly and matched to the client, it made their lives easier. Or in the case of the Essex project, it created a moment and held the space for someone to have an experience they wouldn’t forget. I had to pay attention to the things around me. I couldn’t imagine living any other way.
For Jake, I suspected having Anna handle the day-to-day household tasks went beyond aesthetics and function the way most people thought of it. Clean clothes and food in the cupboards and all the other details that made a home run. For him, it seemed more like having someone take care of those things was an Einstein wearing the same clothes every day thing. It took the details out of his head so his mind could focus on the things that required his attention. Even after our time inhis office, I didn’t understand what he did. I didn’t have to understand to know it was more important than him doing his own laundry. I might not exactly understand it, and I certainly couldn’t live like that, but I could respect that he’d managed to come up with a system that served his needs.
I wondered what his sheets smelled like—if they held the green tea and whatever else it was scent unique to him. The one I’d developed an instant response to. It was strange. For as many times as I’d been to his house, we’d never had sex in his bed. The sofa lots of times, up against the wall, even the rug in front of his fireplace, and most recently his office. But never the bed. And never at my place, partly I suppose because I hadn’t offered, but it also hadn’t come up. I’d been so focused on the fantasies we played out, I hadn’t really considered it before. I suspected Kindra would say it had something to do with boundaries and intimacy.
It might be nice to try the bed, or it might be too intimate. Now that I’d had the thought, I didn’t have a choice but to worry it around in my head until I came to some sort of resolution.
I stretched up to grab a set of the lovely pale-blush sheets for myself and sucked in a breath when my upper thighs hit the edge of the counter. The sting from the spanking faded the same day Jake gave it to me, but I still had a barely visible line of bruises across my thighs from where he’d fucked me against the edge of the desk.
He'd asked me about it when he’d sent his customarythanks for the sextext. Remembering it made me smile. It was charming in its almost old-fashioned, chivalrous gratitude for the debauchery. The most recent time after the thank-you, he’d asked if I was okay. I’d assured him I was better than okay and hadn’t heard from him since. But I’d thought of him every time I brushed against something and felt the residual sensitivity.Every time I let myself think about what we’d done together and what it meant for me to want it—to want him—so much.
Holding the bundle of sheets to my chest, I thumbed open my phone and scrolled to Jake’s messages.
ME
I’ve been thinking about your bed.
JAKE
Tell me more
I smiled at the immediate response. It might not be—definitely wasn’t—a relationship, but I liked the idea of him thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.
ME
