Addicted for Now (10 page)

I meet his eyes, and I swear they lighten, like he’s proud
of me.

“Positive.”

***

In retrospect, I should have gone for the fondling
over the clothes bit. I would have come and all would be well. Even after a
shower, I sit behind my desk at the Calloway Couture offices with tension so
crazy that I reflexively rub my lower half against my chair. My face flames
when I catch myself, and I look up, wondering if Trish and Katie notice.

But both blondes type away behind their white desks, the workplace
more like a loft, no cubicles. Racks of clothes shield the walls. Rose has a
glass office that overlooks the rest of us, and right now, I miss her constant peeks
across the room, her reprimanding gaze darting from her computer screen to my
desk.

Her chair is empty, and I keep eyeing her office, wanting
her to remind me why I shouldn’t sneak into the bathroom and do something
naughty and just plain wrong.

But it will feel so
good.

I’m two seconds from smacking my forehead on the desk. But I
focus on my computer and the Excel spreadsheet. I try not to picture a naked
Lo, which has already popped in my head three times. I fantasize about him too
much, but I am thankful that no other guys infiltrate my thoughts. Missing him
for three months has temporarily cured me. It was like my brain could only
process one image: Loren Hale. All day, every day.

But by being alone—surrounded by clothes and two busy
assistants, their eyes glued to computers—I can’t stop the sinful images from
seeping right on in.

They begin with Lo walking towards me, still in the office.
He shoves everything off my white desk and lifts me up roughly, none of his
movements soft and slow. And in this particular fantasy, I’m wearing a dress.

And all he needs to do is shift my panties a little, and
then he yanks my legs so they wrap tight around him, my back cool against the
desk. And everything thrums so much. He tears down the top of my dress, his
lips finding my breast, sucking, and then he thrusts…

Okay, I need to stop.

I squirm in my seat, the spot between my legs now pulsing,
for real. There’s no doubt about it.

Maybe I can just log onto a porn site and once I stare at
the pictures, all will be good. I’ll scroll through Tumblr’s naughty photos,
and no one will know. I’ll hit that high I crave, and it will be okay again.

It’s an itch, a subconscious pulse. This time, I do slam my
forehead down onto the keyboard, pounding my frustration until my computer lets
out a screech. Shit.

I roll back a little, exhale deeply. And then a doorbell
buzzes. Trish stands, her suede gray booties making the short trek to the door.

Rose is probably here. My anxiety starts to lessen. Her presence
will surely keep me in line. I zone in on the Excel spreadsheet that details
the collection’s current inventory. We have to ship a few more pieces to
H&M because I messed up the order. I accidentally put a maxi-dress in the
spring collection, and Rose has been trimming most of her clothes because
they’re more flattering on the everyday girl.

My phone pings just as Trish opens the door. I check the
text.

Whore
– Unknown.

My heart explodes.
 

He has my number. He’s no longer going through Lo. What if
it’s not the same person who texted him? I never thought it was possible that
there could be
multiple
people
involved in the text-threats.

I quickly log into the search engine and type my name,
wondering if my secret has already been spilled. My fingers tremble as I scroll
through a list of Lily Calloways. Most articles about me discuss my involvement
with Fizzle. Some even call me a “soda heiress” which is a cooler title than I
think I deserve. No trashy headlines pop up. Nothing about sex addiction.

I let out a short breath of relief, even if the word “whore”
is still on my cell phone. Replying back may just fuel him to do something drastic—like
call the tabloids—so I abandon the pursuit.

“Come on in,” Trish says. “Just stand along the back wall by
the window. It’s tinted, so you don’t need to worry. I’m going to bring out the
men’s clothes from our backroom. Help yourself to coffee and water on the
table.”

What?
I thought
the male models were coming later today. Like in two hours. I check my clock on
my phone. Oh…time really does fly when you’re stuck inside your head.

The guys file in. One by one. Each of them as striking as
the next. It’s hard not to stare since that’s what they’re here for. I try to
remember Daisy. I wouldn’t want anyone to gawk at my sister like I’m doing to
these guys, but yet, I can’t stop.

I count off the models in my head. One, two, three… and when
I reach nine, the door closes. Wait. Where’s Lo? And Rose? Rose and Lo. I need
both of them here. And Lo
should
be
the tenth model. Rose was going to drive him to the office since she had to run
a few errands and would be here during the fitting. But yet, she’s not here.

Trish departs to the backroom, and Katie stands, ushering
the guys towards my desk where they’ll linger. I sit by the window with a view
of the city, and to the right of me is a table with freshly baked muffins, coffee
and bottles of Evian.

I freak out.

I don’t know what else to call it. Just as Katie begins to
look in my direction, I act as though I dropped a pen, and I squat to pick it
up. Then I scuttle underneath my desk, hiding, and I quickly dial Lo’s number.
Thankfully no one can see me, but I am sure they’re all wondering where the
loony assistant disappeared to.

Maybe they’ll think I just teleported. I try to convince
myself of the ridiculous and the impossible notion. But at least I can’t see
them. Their deep voices and low laughter make me more paranoid than aroused. I
just don’t want to stare at them for too long and begin to fantasize. Because
sometimes I’ll try to turn those fantasies into realities. And I will not cheat
on Loren Hale.

Not for anything.

I press my phone to my ear, the ringing incessant. “Pick up,
pick up,” I mutter under my breath. I hug my knees to my chest, practically in
a scared, little ball.

“Hey, it’s Lo.”

“Lo—”

“Leave a message, and I
may
get around to calling you back. But really, you should just call me again. And
if it’s not important, then don’t bother calling at all.”
BEEP.

“I hate that you haven’t changed your stupid answering
machine,” I whisper angrily. “It tricks me every single time. And it’s not
nice.”

A pair of jeans land near my desk. I jump, my eyes wide.
They’re undressed. One of them is without pants. Oh. My. God…

I shut off the phone and redial. Answering machine. I
swallow hard and say under my breath, “Um, Lo, where are you? Bye.” I hang up
quickly, and I dial my sensible sister. The line rings twice before she
answers.

“Are you okay?” Rose asks.

“Why is Lo not answering?” I wonder, biting my nails.

“He left his phone at the house.” Her voice muffles as she
pulls the receiver from her lips. “Okay, okay, Lo, I understand. Calm down.”
She huffs and then says louder, “Are the models already there?”

“Yep,” I say, catching a glimpse of a pair of bare ankles
and legs—which means that he can see me curled up here. But I don’t dare move.
“All nine Captain Americas have reported for duty. Where are you?” It’s not
like Rose to be late.

“Stuck in traffic,” Rose tells me. “I told Connor I would
pick up his dry cleaning, and there was a long line.”

“You could have told Harold to do it,” I say softly. The
bare ankles are moving closer! I shut my eyes.
Go away. Go away.

“I’d rather not use our mother’s butler, thank you.” Yes, I
suppose that comes with some sort of stipulation. Like spending an extra couple
of dinners in Villanova, and Rose already commits to Sunday get-togethers.

“Mmm-hmm.” The legs pause, too close now.

“Lily…” Rose trails. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can go
wait in my office, okay? You don’t have to be around those models.”

I think it’s too late for that.

The male model squats, and I am met with beautiful brown
eyes, tan skin, and full dark hair, swept in a perfect way. He has that Italian
charm in his blinding smile. He tilts his head. “What are you doing under
there?”

“I work down here,” I blurt out.
I am roasting from head to toe.

He laughs a husky laugh.

“Lily.” I flinch at the sound of Lo’s voice, and I look over
my shoulder, met with the back of the white desk. Right, I have the phone
pressed to my ear.

“I’m Julian,” the model says, extending his hand.

My palm is too sweaty. He’ll think I’m weird if he shakes a
slippery hand, so I point to my phone and give him a nervous smile. “Work
stuff,” I say.

“What’s going on?” Lo asks through the receiver. “You okay,
Lil?” His worried tone drives knots in my stomach. I don’t want him to be
concerned that I’ll cheat. I know it’s a valid fear, but I wish he could trust
me one-hundred percent. But he can only do that when I begin to trust myself.

Julian says, “When you’re finished, you should come out from
under there. Your office has a great view.”

I know he’s just trying to be nice since I’m the anti-social
monster hiding beneath her desk. He’s not hitting on me, but I can’t stop
looking at his pretty eyelashes.

He stands, and I try to focus my thoughts on the phone call.
“Lo?” I question whether he’s hung up.

“Lil,” he says slowly, “you’re freaking me the fuck out.”

“Sorry, I’m fine.”

“Where are you?”

“At my desk.” That’s not a lie, right? Technically I am
right here. “I just…thought you were going to be in the room too.” I don’t want
to cheat on him. I don’t want to even give my mind the ability to contemplate
the thought—to wander and fantasize. That will kill me. Keeping them out of
sight is best, even though it’s not healthy to avoid the opposite sex when Lo’s
not around.

Once I have a handle on controlling the things that tempt
me, it’ll be better. Today’s just not a good day. I am overly aroused.

“You don’t have to talk to them,” he reminds me.

Too late.

“I thought you said you were at your desk.”

“I am.”

“Then how come I don’t see you?”

He’s here? I can’t even crawl out from underneath my desk
anymore, not even to greet Lo and Rose. Because everyone by the muffins will
laugh and look at me funny for being down here. I just want to stay hidden
until they all leave.

“Maybe,” I say, “because your superpower is to turn me
invisible.”

He pauses. “That’s a horrible power. Take it back.”

“Okay fine. I may be here. But I’m not
here
on my chair,” I whisper.

And then I see a pair of ratted Vans. He bends in front of
me the same way Julian did, but his face isn’t full of kind amusement. His eyes
darken, and his brows harden in concern.

“Go model or try on clothes or, you know, do what you do,” I
tell him. “Don’t worry about me. I’m working on something down here.”

“Like what?”

Uhhh…
“A
report…thing.”

“Okay,” he says, and I relax, glad that he’s letting me off
the hook. “Can I have a hug before I go?”

I crawl forward a little, still blocked by the desk sides,
and I wrap my arms around him. He smells good. Like mint soap and a hint of
citrusy cologne. Just before I let go, Lo’s arms tighten around my waist, and
he begins tugging me out of my sanctuary.

“Lo,” I whisper fiercely. I shove his chest, trying to
escape and crawl back to my den.

But he brings me into the light, and I bury my face in the
crook of his arm, unwilling to meet the mocking gazes of the other models. I
don’t want people to look at me like I’m a weird, abnormal girl.

Lo strokes the back of my head, and his lips brush my ear.
“Hey, you’re okay. Lil, no one cares.”

“I care,” I mumble.

And then he clasps my face and before I can go spastic, his
lips touch mine. He kisses deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth. My
thoughts, my insecurities—they whoosh out of my head and all my built-up
tension starts to tighten again.

The distraction works too well. Because when he draws back,
a few of the models clap and whistle in jest. Lo shakes his head at me as my
elbows blush.

“Don’t listen to them.” He rolls out my chair and guides me
until I’m sitting behind my desk once more. And he hangs onto the back, his
head dipping low as he meets my ear. “Just think of finishing that kiss
tonight.”

I turn my head a fraction to see his sharp features, all
ice. “And what if I can’t wait?”

“You can,” he assures me, but his muscles flex, worried by
my sudden claim.

“You’re right,” I say. “I can.” I nod, knowing I have to. I
have to wait in this chair, with my back to ten male models, and I have to
finish double checking my spreadsheet. I nod again, trying to build confidence.

He kisses my temple one last time, leaving me completely
aching. And every so often, my arousal turns to embarrassment and shame. I
wonder if any of those models can read my sinful thoughts—or if they just think
I’m a bizarre girl. I shouldn’t care about the latter, but being reminded that
I’m not normal makes me feel…wrong and dirty.

After Rose assigns the models outfits, she stops by my desk.
“You look flushed.”

I shrug sheepishly. What else is there to say to that?

“You don’t have to be here, Lily,” she says. “You can go
home early.”

“I need to finish this.” I tap my screen. “And I want to
ride home with Lo.”

“You’re uncomfortable,” she says.

I am, but I’m desperately trying to do the right thing here.
I’m trying to be better. “It’s okay.”

She pats my shoulder. “If you change your mind, let me know.
I won’t be upset by it.” She returns to the models, and she flocks Katie and
Trish, making sure they’re doing their jobs well.