Just a Little Bit – Autumn
Just a Little Bit
Autumn
“ I need you to slip into every single restroom at this gala at twenty-minute intervals,” Ryder cups my face in the backseat of the town car. “Go to the furthest stall and place one of these behind the handle. They’ll stick easily.”
He presses a group of thin metal sticks into my palm.
“There are twenty total,” he says. “That’s all you have to do to help me tonight. Any questions?”
“I’m shocked you’re asking.”
“Only because I’m hoping the answer is no.” He smiles, looking me over. “Are you going to take off that coat so I can actually see your dress?”
“I would’ve if this was a real date,” I say, tucking the sticks into my pocket. “I’ll get it done.”
“Thank you. Oh, and when they ask for your name or who you’re here with, say Rush Banks.”
“Rush Banks,” I repeat.
“Good.” He presses a kiss against my forehead and orders the driver to pull the car over.
“Wait,” I say. “You’re not coming with me?”
“I’ll be there,” he says. “But you know I can’t be seen arriving with anyone.”
“So, we won’t get the chance to share a dance together?”
The driver shoots a strange look at me through the rearview mirror, and Ryder looks amused.
“No, Autumn,” he says, his voice soft. “We won’t.”
He opens the door and steps out, and another two cars pull up behind him.
“Call me if you have any problems,” he says. “I’ll be watching.”
An hour later, I’m tucking the metal bars into my clutch and shedding my coat off my shoulders as the driver pulls in front of a mansion that sits on Seattle’s coast.
From my window, I’ve watched women step out in beautiful designer dresses that are far more modest than mine, and I’m wondering if Adeline and I might’ve picked the wrong one. If my choice might interfere with my job tonight.
Swallowing as we approach the valet, I take a deep breath.
It’s fine, Autumn. You’ll be fine…
The driver stops the car, and a man in a white tuxedo opens the back door.
His jaw drops as he looks me over, but he quickly collects himself.
“Good evening, Miss,” he says. “May you tell me your name or invitee name for the guest list?”
“Mr. Rush Banks.”
“Very well,” he whispers that name to another tuxedoed guy behind him. Then he waits a few seconds before reaching for my hand.
“May I?”
I nod and grab it.
The wind blows kisses against my exposed skin as I step outside, and my gown gently falls to the ground.
As I step forward, I can feel more eyes staring in my direction; I can hear faint whispers.
Ignoring them, I take my time walking up the stone steps that lead inside the mansion.
As I enter the doors, I gasp at the lavish sight before me.
The ballroom is dripping in gold. Gilded moldings crown every arch and corner, and rows of glittering crystal chandeliers cascade from the ceiling like frozen fireworks.
Five ornate mezzanine levels spiral upward, each ringed with wrought iron railings where guests lean over to sip champagne and spy on the dance floor below.
The entire space glows with warmth and decadent intimacy.
I catch sight of my reflection in a mirrored panel to my left and take a long double-take as if I haven’t seen it before.
It’s a fitted, sleeveless silver gown that glitters with thousands of sequins, hugging my curves like a second skin.
A deep V-neck reveals the soft swell of my breasts, and the waist cinches with a delicate belt of hand-set crystals that match the long, sweeping diamond earrings grazing my shoulders.
“Miss?” Someone calls from behind. “Miss?”
I turn around to see one of the valets. “Yes?”
“Your driver says you forgot this in the car.” He hands me my masquerade mask, and its diamonds shimmer as I grab it.
“Thank you.”
I slide it over my face, watching myself in the panel. The shape is uniquely mine—half princess crown, half masquerade.
“You look amazing tonight, Miss Jane.” Chester appears beside me, cleaned up in a fitted tux. “If all goes to plan, you’ll make a very good mob queen for Mr. Rochester in the future.”
“That’s sarcasm, isn’t it?”
“That’s me saying I’m glad as fuck he never saw your dress before this event.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s also me saying tick-tock. You’ve wasted two minutes, and I’ve got men waiting to move.”
Right. “Thank you.” I walk away from him and follow the signs for the first “powder room.”
Pushing the doors open, I let out a sigh of relief when I see that there’s no one inside. I quickly make my way to the last stall and press one of the stickers on the back of the handle like Ryder ordered.
Before I can consider whether I’m supposed to keep him up to date, my phone buzzes.
Ryder
1 down. 19 to go.
Keep moving…
I set a timer and oblige, catching glimpses of the party and accepting compliments between slipping in and out of powder rooms. Unfortunately, none of the next ones are as easy as the first.
Between the crowding at the mirrors, the occasional line snorting off the sink, the last stall is usually occupied by the time I arrive and I have to stand around waiting.
Still, I manage to make good time.
Ryder
16 down. 4 to go.
As I’m stepping into seventeen, I notice a pair of custom stilettos in the last stall.
Sighing, I walk over to the mirror and take off my mask. I reapply a bit of eyeshadow and gloss, and suddenly the sound of my favorite concerto plays outside in the ballroom.
My heart aches a bit at the idea that I’ll never get to dance to it—or anything else with Ryder tonight, but the sound of the last stall flushing snaps me out of those thoughts.
Seven minutes…
The door opens, revealing a woman in a stunning red dress and complementary heels.
“Oh wow,” she says, smiling. “Your dress is incredible.”
“Thank you. Yours, too.”
“I hate to see that you’ve spent most of tonight in the bathroom.” Her smile is gone. “You must have an extremely weak bladder, or…” She takes off her mask, revealing herself to be the FBI agent I saw weeks ago.
“My restroom habits are none of your business, Miss Poole,” I say.
“They are when I get the feeling there’s something behind them.” She sets her mask on the sink. “What does he have you doing?”
“He?”
“Cute.” She nods. “Playing dumb isn’t a good strategy against the federal government. I haven’t received a call from you.”
Six minutes…
“I haven’t had the time.”
“I doubt that.” She steps closer. “What are you really doing here tonight, Miss Jane?”
“Trying to enjoy the mayor’s event.”
“You’re not on the guest list,” she says. “Neither is your boyfriend, but… I’m not concerned about that since that’s his typical M.O.”
“Is your M.O. randomly bothering strangers?”
“You even have his witty cadence.” She smiles again. “The sex must be really good.”
“It is.”
She arches a brow, and I recall Ryder’s advice.
“He hired me several weeks ago to pick up some things, and we ended up crossing the line,” I say. “I did a few other minor jobs for him and when he’s in town he fucks me and I fuck him back.”
She blinks.
“Should I put my hand behind my back now?” I ask. “Is that a crime?”
“Getting too close to this man will eventually lead to one,” she says. Then she turns on the faucet to wash her hands. “Now, tell me what job he has you doing tonight and I’ll give you an extension on a formal phone call.”
Silence.
“Oh my god!” A woman suddenly bursts through the door. “Someone help me, please! My husband collapsed, please!”
Miss Poole dries her hands and points at me. “Stay right there. I’ll be back.”
She leaves the bathroom, and my phone sounds in my purse.
Ryder
She won’t be back for a while.
Move.
Relieved, I quickly place the sticker and when I leave, I move around the small crowd of people addressing a man on the floor. A man who looks… a lot like one of Ryder’s guards.
I hold back a laugh and make my way to number eighteen and complete it with ease.
Nineteen and twenty are handled between my favorite bass interludes, and Chester nods at me in approval from across the ballroom.
There’s no final text from Ryder, so I hang back and watch the dance floor.
As couples twirl and sashay to the music, I can’t help but remember the last time I was at an event like this—when I caught Nate cheating. And although this is different, my inability to make a scene remains the same…
I’m sipping my fourth glass of champagne, constantly checking and rechecking my phone for a message that says it’s okay for me to leave.
“Miss Jane?” A man in all black clears his throat at my left.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Rochester kindly requests that you take a ride on the elevator, to the fifth level.”
I glance up the atria, seeing nothing but lush greenery amidst twinkling lights hanging off the fifth level’s railing.
“Tell him I’ll take the ride after I have another glass.”
“You know he means now, Miss,” he says. “Don’t make me have to report any difficulties.”
“Fine.” I toss back the rest of my glass. “I’ll leave now.”
“Thank you.”
Slowly making my way through the crowd, I head to the elevator bank. When the glass doors glide open, one of Ryder’s men is already inside.
“What floor, Miss Jane?” he asks, and I know I don’t really have to answer him.
He presses five, and I watch the car move farther away from the party.
The doors open and I slowly step off and move to the railing, but a familiar hand grabs mine and pulls me into the shadows.
“You were supposed to call me when you were finished.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“Pardon my assumption.” He looks me up and down, eyeing every inch of my dress. “You look fucking stunning in that dress.”
“Thank you.” I blush.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what it looks like after I take it off you…” He pulls me against his chest, and I brace for a long kiss—but his lips don’t meet mine.
Instead, he claps my hands and holds them out in position before guiding me to the symphony’s notes from below.
Staring into his eyes, I let him lead until our bodies move in sync, until the world below disappears.
We dance together in the dark for another song, then another.
When the final note ends on the fourth song, he stamps his mouth over mine without a single word.
He runs his palms against the back of my dress, splaying his hand across the exposed skin. His fingers find the zipper, and he slowly pulls it downward.
“Turn and grip the railing,” he softly demands.
I oblige, facing the party.
He presses into me from behind in one swift, hot thrust. I gasp, my hands braced against the railing as he rocks into me, deep and possessive, his grip claiming my hips.
His hips drive into me harder, and I meet every thrust, matching his rhythm. The room blurs around us—only the slick sound of skin, our tangled breaths, and the dizzying heat between us exist.
When we come, it’s together. Intense. Shattering. His body shakes against mine, and I cry out his name, gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing anchoring me to earth.
There’s a near voyeuristic thrill to it, knowing that at any given moment, someone could look up and see him fucking me, owning me, in this ballroom.
I collapse in his arms, and he holds me until I come to, keeping me steady until I stop shaking.
He stays there for a moment, buried inside me, his lips pressed against the back of my shoulder.
“I’m very impressed with your performance tonight,” he whispers harshly in my ear. “You were perfect.”
“Thank you…”
“You’re very welcome.” He adjusts the strap on my dress and spins me around, pressing a long kiss against my lips.
“Are we able to go home now?” I ask.
“You are,” he says. “The car will be ready by the time you make it downstairs.”
“What about you? Are you done, too?”
“No.” He presses a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll never be done.”
End of Episode 20