Chapter 10
“Good morning!” Freya shouts to me over the noise of the sewing machine as she strides in through the back door of the house. Her face falls to what I’m working on. “What is that?”
I lift my foot from the pedal and take a sip of my coffee. “A suit.”
Her face screws up. “I can see that. Why are you sewing it?”
“Because I feel like it,” I reply through clenched teeth and pull the fabric out and cut the thread with my scissors.
She looks down at what I’m wearing. “Why are you still wearing your coat?” I frown up at her and sniff as she adds, “Why do you look like you’ve not slept?”
“Because I haven’t,” I mumble, shoving the fabric under the needle and pressing the pedal to full speed again. “And I’m not wearing much underneath this.”
I’ve been up all night making this suit, carefully cutting out the custom pattern I drew to be exact to Gareth’s measurements. Regretfully, I’ve just barely finished the pants. I’m out of practice. I shouldn’t have let my sewing skills rot these last few years in Manchester.
Yet another way I’ve let men control my freaking life.
My machine suddenly stops. With wide, confused eyes, I look over and see that Freya has pulled the power cord from the wall. “What are you doing?” I bark, rage bubbling up inside of me.
“Explain why you look like a hungover Jackie Kennedy, then I’ll give you power back.” She props her hands on her hips and taps her foot expectantly.
“Because Gareth Harris is infuriating!” I growl loudly. “He wanted me to have all the power, but just when I started to get my footing, he ripped the rug out from under me.”
Freya’s green eyes are wide with excitement as she drops down on the chair beside me, plug still in hand. “Are you shagging Gareth Harris? Oh, God, please say yes because it would be the perfect sort of real-life fantasy my therapist says I need to engage in!”
“I didn’t even get a chance to shag him last night!” I peal, my voice nearly an octave higher than normal.
She glances down at the sexy bra peeking out from under the trench coat. “You showed up in that and nothing happened?”
I narrow my eyes and point my scissors at her. “Oh, something happened.”
She plasters on a fake smile and slowly clasps my hand in hers and lowers the scissors. “Let’s not use sharp instruments for vocabulary emphasis when you’ve had no sleep, shall we?”
Her sing-songy tone does nothing to calm my rage that’s been bubbling all night. “We messed around and then he told me to go home and think! What is that about?”
Her brows crumple. “Maybe he is worried it’s too soon since your divorce?”
“That shouldn’t be his concern. It should be mine!”
Freya exhales slowly. “Sloan, love, Gareth Harris isn’t a man about town.
He’s not pictured in the papers with women, ever.
He doesn’t even take women to red carpet events.
He’s advertised as England’s sexiest loner!
If he’s entering into some sort of relationship with you, he’s probably just being extra cautious. ”
“That’s an overly nice way of putting it,” I snap. “You know what I think he’s being? A cock-tease!”
She snickers but quickly sobers when I don’t crack a grin. “So, how did you leave it?”
“The ball is in my court again. I’d already taken the ball and bounced it in a fucking trench coat. Now I have to put myself out there all over again.” I prop my elbows on the table and massage small circles on my temples.
“Well, that’s far better than rejection, love.” Freya rubs my shoulder encouragingly.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I murmur.
Freya looks at the cut out patterned pieces of navy stretch cotton strewn about the table. Knowing Gareth’s texture issues, I am confident this fabric is one he’ll love. The very mild stretch also means that it can be fitted to his body to look more expensive than it is.
“Who is the suit for?” Freya asks.
I roll my eyes. “Who do you think?”
She lifts her brows. “Making a custom suit for a bloke must mean you like him.”
“I’d like to have sex with him! The suit is a…commitment of some sort I suppose.”
“Well, you’ve done the hard work of designing and cutting everything. Why don’t you go brush your teeth and get some sleep? A hot shower would do you good as well. I’ll take it from here.”
My face softens. “Do we have the time?”
“We most certainly do. Today we were going to start prepping pieces for that awards gala so many of our clients are attending. Last I checked, we had a dozen people to style for that night. But we have some time. Go take a sickie, Sloan. I got this!”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I do, indeedy!” Freya beams. “Besides, this angry, hostile, scissor-slinging Sloan is a vast improvement from the moping mess you usually are when Sophia is gone.”
My heart lurches at the mention of my daughter. Then I marvel over the fact that I went an entire twenty-four hours without crying and worrying about what Sophia is doing or how she is feeling. I can’t remember the last time I did that. “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to get your stink on this nice fabric.” She smiles and helps me out of my chair. “Off you go. Take a nice bath and close your eyes. I have a feeling things will look a whole lot better when you wake.”
A few hours later, I’ve slept, showered, and groomed myself. Dressed in a neat pair of houndstooth shorts with black tights and a white blouse, I feel human again. A phone call from Sophia telling me she’s home from school cheers me up even more.
But, unsurprisingly, my thoughts drift back to Gareth as I head downstairs and lay eyes on the suit I designed that’s now hanging on a clothing rack in the foyer.
My hands run over the seams, the stitching, the lapels, the navy button closures.
Freya’s been busy. She even finished off the blue-and-white-checked pocket square.
The two-piece suit has been pressed and sprayed with my signature vanilla essential oil that we spritz on the inside of all the clothes we send out to clients.
I lean in and inhale, imagining Gareth’s thick muscles inside the fabric, soaking up the scent of me. The stirring between my legs is all the sign I need to know that I’ll be delivering this to him today.
“Does it meet your superior standards?” Freya’s voice chirps from behind me.
I turn and give her a full, genuine smile. “Exceeds them, as usual.” I eliminate the space between us and pull her into a hug. Getting choked up over a suit is silly, but it’s such a representation of the life raft Freya has become in my life. “You are a true friend, Freya.”
“You’re bloody well right I am.” When I pull back, she hits me with a serious look. “You know this earns me some dirty details, right?”
I laugh and hug her again. “In due time, Freya. In due time.”
After a thousand more thank yous, I find myself in my car and on my way to Astbury. Freya gave me a calculated stare when I tucked Sophia’s booster seat into the concealed tailgate of my vehicle but let me escape without any questions.
I can’t explain exactly why it’s so important for me to keep Sophia a secret from Gareth. I suppose it’s since this is just a sex thing, I don’t see a need to share our life stories. Telling him I’m a mother also might change the way he sees me, and I don’t want that.
Today I’m going to be a sex goddess. Today I’m going to stroll into Gareth’s home and command his attention. I’m going to be the strong woman I know I’m capable of being, and I’m going to quit letting him tell me how this is all going to happen.
I pull up to his gate just as the sun begins to set. It’s so much brighter in the country than it is in Manchester. Maybe after Cal’s mother passes on, I’ll feel more freedom in where I live and I can move out to a place like this. Mind you, a much cheaper version.
I press the button on the security panel, and my heart jumps when a woman’s voice peals through the line. “Hello? Who is it?”
The flirty words I had prepared for Gareth get stuck in my throat, clearly unsuitable for whomever is on the other end of the line.
In all the times I’ve been out here, a woman has never answered Gareth’s intercom.
It’s always been him. Every freaking time.
Whomever this is must be very familiar with Gareth if she’s answering his line.
Is this why he kicked me out of his house last night? Was someone due to come home? A girlfriend? Freya said he’s never seen with women, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have some secret girlfriend he hides from the public eye.
I look down the lane that leads to exactly where I want to be. The place where I imagined stripping naked and losing myself for an hour or more. Clearly, someone has already beat me there.
“Hello, is anyone there?” The woman’s voice chimes into my car once more and my hands tense on the steering wheel.
“Yes, I’m here,” I reply as anger replaces shock. I lean out my window and shout into the speaker, “And I have a message for Gareth Harris. You tell him that I’m not taking a number and that he should find someone else to mess with!”
“What?” the lady asks, but I don’t hear what else she says. I slam my foot on the gas pedal to reverse and a loud thump startles me from behind.
My hands tighten as I press my forehead against the wheel with a groan. I think I know what I hit, and I dare to say it didn’t survive the collision.
I slide out of my car and wobble on the gravel in my heels to see what I’ve pummelled. A stupid stone bird bath that was once a quaint, ornate, little thing now rests in a heap of eight pieces on the side of the road.
“Son of a bitch!” I exclaim and move to look at the damage to my car.
A lovely bird bath-sized dent is imprinted on the corner of the bumper.
“Freaking hell!” I cry and kick some rocks because this is just my luck.
Why wouldn’t I damage my car in a blind jealous rage over a man I’ve barely started a relationship with yet? This makes perfect sense.