I can barely hear Jacob on the other end of the phone, despite having it pressed against my ear so hard it hurts. For him, the cacophony created by New York City streets is just white noise. After two years in this place, I'm still struggling. The engines, the shouting, and the blaring horns are like an assault as I stand on the curb, waiting in the fading glow of dusk.
"I said that the shoot went smoothly!" He pretends like he's shouting at the top of his lungs. I hear him chuckling. A car pulls up to the curb, giving a little screech as it comes to an abrupt halt. The driver is out of the car like a shot.
"Oh, that's great," I say. "I bet you were very handsome in your tuxedo."
"I don't know about that," he lies. "But Anton and his assistant were great. They'll make sure I look like Prince Charming."
The driver Jacob's father sent is on the sidewalk beckoning to me. He has the rear passenger door held open. "Good evening, Miss Emma," he says, with a hint of an accent; Spanish or Portuguese maybe. "I'm here to take you to your appointment at the Waterhouse." I give him a nod, and a quick smile, as he ushers me into the car. It's expensive and powerful. A symbol more than anything else.
"Hmm, maybe they can make me look like Cinderella," I giggle, relieved as the chauffeur shuts the door. The silence is a blessing. "And then we can live happily ever after. How's that sound?"
"Ever after, huh?" He laughs. "I'll settle for the next few weeks. As excited as I am, this wedding is gonna take ten years off my life."
"Don't worry, baby," I try to assure him, despite my own nerves. "It'll all be over before you can blink. Just think of the honeymoon."
"Oh, I haven't stopped." The car springs into motion, and soon we're weaving through the metropolitan night. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the sight of the city after dark. It’s beautiful. Now I can hear men on the other end of the line shouting impatiently at my fiancé. "Sorry, babe. The boys are getting hungry, and I can't promise they won't resort to cannibalism if I don't feed them soon."
"As long as they leave me some leftovers," I laugh. "Okay, hun. You have fun with the guys. I'll see you at home. I love you."
"I love you too, sweetie." The phone is back in my bag, and I take off my suit jacket. The July heat is still lingering from the day. Work was exhausting. I let out a sigh, realizing that my day is far from over.
"That your boyfriend?" I look up and make eye contact with the chauffeur through the rearview mirror. He's adjusting it to get a better look and certainly not at the road.
"My fiancé." I corrected him.
"Right, right." I see him smirk. The driver is unusually handsome. He has an olive complexion and his strong jaw is covered with a short, trimmed beard. He's also quite tall and fit and reminds me of some soccer superstar. I don't know, Ronaldo MacDonald, or Lionel Richie or something. Jacob would know.
I can feel his eyes on me, his gaze moving from my long, smooth legs to my breasts. The champagne-colored silk of my top reveals their shape more than I would like, and the plunging neckline perfectly frames my cleavage. Then, he's following the swirling locks of my boutique-styled hair until we lock eyes again.
"I'm Rafael, by the way." He's concentrating on the road again. He's an aggressive driver, but good. I can feel every confident swerve and acceleration. "I picked you up in front of the District Attorney's office. You a lawyer?"
"I am."
"Cool!" He smiles through the mirror. "Like Law & Order, right?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"You look a little too young to be a lawyer."
I roll my eyes a bit. "A lot of people have done a lot of things by twenty-five." I pull out my phone again, aimlessly tapping, hoping he'll get the message.
"Steven says he set all this up for you and his son. This whole photo thing. Wedding stuff, huh?"
Steven, he says. Not, Mr. Presfield. I shake my head a little.
"Yes, he did." I'm struggling to hide my annoyance. "My fiancé just finished his session. Now, it's my turn." Steven's been conspicuously generous lately. About a month ago, he told us he's been pulling strings and calling in favors. He's somehow orchestrated a photo shoot for Belle Mariée, an upscale wedding magazine. The haute couture fashion, the beautiful people, and the extravagant wealth within its pages always seemed like a fantasy to me. But, there I was, in an ultra-chic design studio, working with the owner to pick out a worthy wedding dress. And, while standing there in my underwear, getting measured, I made the mistake of asking how much it would all cost. She just smiled and told me that Steven would take care of everything. Rather than comfort me, the answer filled me with anxious dread.
I've known Steven was wealthy, but the cost must be obscene. What could I have done to deserve this? And who am I to think I could be in the pages of Belle Mariée? I'm nobody; a public servant, not a fashion model. I never asked for any of this. But, I have to admit, I'm dying to see Jacob's expression when he sees me in this dress.
"You're lucky," says Rafael. "Steven treats his friends and loved ones very well. Oh, yes. And I bet the camera's gonna love you too." He's impudently bold. Why would Steven hire this man? I see his predator's eyes through the mirror again. My jaw grows tight and I frown, a heat rising in my cheeks. But, I feel something kindling below as well.
"You're getting paid to drive, Rafael. Maybe you should pay closer attention to the road."
"Of course, Miss Emma," he says, returning his attention to the traffic ahead. "You're the boss." I see that insolent smirk again.
~~~~~
We arrive at the Waterhouse Hotel, another bastion of conspicuous wealth in the city that I'm not yet used to. Rafael is leading me through the plush and gilded lobby. It's the definition of opulence. The building is over a century old, and the authentic Art Deco styling screams refinement and exclusivity. My middle-class, suburban upbringing hasn't prepared me for any of this, and I can't help but feel like an impostor.
I've never felt claustrophobic in an elevator until now. The ascent is excruciatingly long. Rafael is leaning back in the corner of the lift, casual as you please and too close for comfort. I can see him reflected in the surface of the doors. His eyes are like hands, groping and fondling every inch of me. He's a pig! A crass, impertinent, beautiful pig.
An ember of lust is sparking in my loins. My heart beats a little faster and I can't help imagining the contours of his muscled physique beneath my fingertips. I envision the shape of his engorged manhood, and I can almost taste it. He grabs me roughly about the hips and spins me around. I'm hard against the wall now, my tits pressed flat. My skirt is scrunched up about my waist and I hear a ripping sound as my black, lace panties are torn away in one smooth motion. He kicks my feet farther apart, gaining easier access to my weeping cunt and blushing asshole. A strong arm grips a thigh, raising my leg and spreading me wide. The head of his cock furrows through the soft, wet petals of my sex until they're slathered with pre-cum. He grips a handful of my hair and tugs my head back until I feel the roughness of his beard against my smooth cheek. I can smell his cologne and the sweat underneath. With a single, powerful thrust he fills me to the...
What the fuck, Emma? Fight this! No more cheating. God, that video I shot six weeks ago was cheating enough for a lifetime. One could argue I had twenty-seven illicit affairs in a single afternoon, and I wouldn’t be able to deny the truth of it. Jacob doesn't deserve this, even if he lives the rest of his life none-the-wiser.
I start my meditative breathing exercises. They've helped me get past moments like this before, and the fantasy is fading. I've almost counted down to zero when the elevator doors slide open. There's a moment of relief when I don't have to see Rafael’s reflection anymore. But, he's quickly ahead of me, leading the way down the corridor. His stride is as confident as his driving, and I can see the powerful muscles of his back working through the tightness of his tailored jacket.
We're finally at the door to the suite. Rafael gives a knock and pulls out his phone. "I'm texting you right now, Miss Emma," he says. Steven must have given him my number. "I'll be waiting for you. Just respond when you're ready to leave."
"Thank you," I say, avoiding eye contact. "I will."
The door flies open to reveal a young woman with an infectious smile. "Hi! You must be Emma, our bride-to-be." I'm struck by how cute she is, and I'm at a loss for words. Her short hair is dyed a bold and brilliant red that transitions into shades of orange and yellow. It would burn me if I ran my fingers through it. Her carefully tousled locks frame a pixie's delicate face and a pair of oversized, gold fashion specs. She's beautiful and couldn't be a day over twenty. Her gaze flits over to meet Rafael's for the barest moment. The subtle change in the curve of her smile, and the shape of her expression, reveals that they've met before. He grins and gives us a two-fingered salute before sauntering away. The relief is palpable.