Part 24 (2/2)

He wanted her to be as excited about ”us” as he was. But she radiated terror. His words had meant nothing to her, he could tell. Taddy's media world was built on hearsay and things that might not ever come into reality. Her personal life was about action. So he'd realized in the limo that talking to her wouldn't do either of them any good because she wouldn't listen. She had to be shown.

I'll give you action, Miss Brill, like you've never seen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Suck It, Blake Morgan May 22 Upper East Side, New York City While stuck talking to Air Euro Airways' President, Monsieur Jerome du Tautou, in the first-cla.s.s lounge, Taddy had missed her flight and booked herself on the next departure, two hours later.

A true Frenchman, Monsieur Jerome didn't scold her over the Hotel du France Kiki debacle. Rather he'd asked to use her Park Avenue residence this summer. Taddy didn't see his visit as a problem, since she holidayed Memorial Day through Labor Day out east in Bridgehampton with Blake and Vive. Since he'd busted her s.e.x toys up, her replacement items would be off-limits. Jerome promised to arrive with his own d.i.l.d.os, corsets and whips.

Late from her Paris connection, Taddy finally arrived home. Her Manhattan penthouse felt unlived in and dark. Dima, already asleep in his servants' quarters, had left a note in her boudoir that read, ”m.u.f.fie stopped by. The puppies were good while you were gone. Breakfast is at 8.”

The city's summer humidity had settled in early for the spring season. She set the air-conditioner to sixty-eight. Kissing Ruby, Carmine, Scarlet and Cherry on their black snouts, Taddy doted over each puppy. Cherry danced in circles, spinning the tucked-in sheets out from the bed's corners. Scarlet barked with a not-quite-a-dog yelp. Ruby licked Taddy's dry hands with her tongue. And to finish the list, Carmine waited for Taddy to snuggle her face in his silk coat and kiss his belly.

She crawled under the covers but before she closed her eyes, she did what she promised herself she wouldn't do-Taddy referred to her cell phone. No calls, texts or emails from Warner wis.h.i.+ng her a good night. She was familiar with personal disappointment and realized she might have to accept that being in his arms this weekend would never come to more than a Big Daddy good time. If she allowed her mind to fill with expectations, she'd go mad.

At eight o'clock the following morning, her cell phone chimed two messages, one from Lex and another from Vive. Leaving them unanswered, she dressed in a Chanel suit, pulled her hair into a bun and sat in the formal dining room while Dima served her breakfast.

Dima called the dish zavtrak. She identified it as c.r.a.p. He considered breakfast an essential meal for the day. His usual preparations included protein-rich foods fit for an Olympic athlete. With a loud thud, he placed a Hermes bowl before her filled with Kasha.

Yuk. ”Dima-darling, didn't I say you can't make me suffer like Oliver Twist living in some G.o.dforsaken orphanage by serving me this...s.h.i.+t?” Resentment filled her empty belly.

”Huh?”

”You can't put this c.r.a.p in my good china either. It dries like flippin' concrete.”

”Kasha is good for you.”

Taddy stared at the gray-brown slop, wis.h.i.+ng he'd prepare crepes, eggs Benedict or lemon poppy seed pancakes. ”Why do the s.h.i.+h Tzus receive better meals than me?”

”Ms. Brill, please do not start.” For some reason Dima's Russian accent thickened in the morning. His muscular body frame leaned over the table, teasing her with his chest as he poured orange juice.

Once tempted to make him wear a slave collar, she'd settled on a formal black-tie uniform. ”Where's your bowtie?” She shook her head, dropping the spoon in the gruel.

”Pardon?”

”I told you man-cleavage turns me on.” But oddly this morning, Dima's pectoral wonderment exposed did nothing for her. Zero. Zilch. Nada. WTF? This is a first. Usually I'm sitting here eating my porridge imagining a c.o.c.k ride on your Mount Elbrus. She studied her butler's physique. Nothing had changed. Standing tall, delicious and Eastern European imported, he remained a stud, one who, as a rule, she'd f.u.c.k. d.a.m.n, Big Daddy, get out of my head.

”Apologies, Ms. Brill.” Dima withdrew his tie from his front pocket and slid it around his neck. ”Let me cook you something else. Kolbasa won't take but a few minutes.”

”Perfect.” She pulled out her papers and jotted down her day's punch list.

Not caring if Taddy paid attention, Dima talked to her from the kitchen. He chatted on, claiming to be a distant relative to Michael I of Russia, first Tsar from the House of Romanov. Dima filled the dead silence between them with elaborate stories on the Romanov dynasty's former wealth. Supposedly, they too ate-and enjoyed-the buckwheat paste.

Taddy thought about what her father used to like to eat when she was growing up. ”You noted Aunt m.u.f.fie came by yesterday.”

”Yes, she brought a friend,” he shouted from the kitchen in broken English.

”Who?” she asked then sipped her orange juice.

Dima popped his shaved head out of the kitchen. A whiff of meat sausage filled the room. ”A small woman, late fifties, black hair. She introduced herself with a regal t.i.tle. I did not get name.”

”Flat-chested?”

”Very.”

”C-Countess?” Taddy choked on the t.i.tle as it left her lips. ”Countess Irma Brillford?” The citrus nectar in her stomach turned over to acid. Her mother had accompanied her aunt?

”I don't recall. m.u.f.fie mentioned she will ring you today.”

”Dima, I'll take a rain check on your sausage. I better get into the office.”

”What is a rain check? It's sunny outside.”

Ignoring his lost-in-translation question, she grabbed her bag and called down to Jose, who pulled the car around. As she rode to work, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She just needed to work.

Taddy headed straight for Blake's executive offices on the opposite side to her suite. Pus.h.i.+ng her mother and Big Daddy from her mind, she focused on the day ahead. a.s.s kissing remained on her agenda to cover up for her s.e.x-filled weekend. But she wasn't looking forward to Blake filling her in on the Neve Adele account. She imagined his tone would be bitter.

She walked into his office, unnoticed. Blake sat at his desk surfing Craigslist for a.s.s. ”Happy Tuesday, Blake.”

Blake grinned. ”For someone who claims to have worked the Cannes film festival this weekend, your smile is anything but media related.” Sporting Prada, he walked out from behind his desk. ”Did you attend the parties I emailed you?”

”Well...”

Arms crossing at his chest, Blake examined her. ”My Vanity Fair peeps reported back that you didn't show up to any of the events. Not a one.” He made a tsk-tsk noise, as if he'd already come to the conclusion she'd spent the weekend in bed.

”I worked on Hotel du France for three days.” On purpose, she kept her voice flat, so she wouldn't raise suspicion. ”Time escaped me. Please tell your magazine friends I'm grateful for the invites, and I'll be sure to go next year.”

”Work doesn't explain why your lips look like you've had a collagen injection.” Blake's signature wit and sarcasm never stopped.

”It's from Baden Cosmetics' new lip treatment. It's called Blow Me,” she lied.

”You sucked d.i.c.k.” Going in for the attack, he accused, ”I can smell the s.e.x coming off you.” Blake stepped closer, breathing in. Sniff.

”Stop it.” She pushed him back. ”Jealous green isn't becoming on you.”

”Pardon me.” He laughed. ”Over-s.e.xed red looks fabu on you.”

”Ha ha. And how long has it been since you and your hubby got it on, Blakey?” She attempted to redirect his interest but realized they were tormenting one another as if they were kids again.

His manicured eyebrows rose. ”My soon-to-be ex-husband and I haven't topped or bottomed in years. Speaking of bottoms...” Whack! He smacked her a.s.s.

”BLAKE.” Taddy rubbed her heinie. Inching back to the door, she realized her office visit had backfired.

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