14. Adrian
CHAPTER 14
ADRIAN
A video call notification shows up on my phone.
It’s Sydney, so I pick up immediately, as this is usually my chance to see Piper, even if it comes at the cost of interacting with her mother.
Piper appears on the screen first, and as usual, when I see my little girl, I feel my chest squeeze painfully and fill with joy, all at the same time. It’s something about the little toes and fingers. And the chubby cheeks.
Sydney pulls her back and smiles, sapping the moment of some of the joy.
Seeing my ex-lover, I want to cringe, but I keep a friendly demeanor. Sydney inherited her Barbie-like looks from two generations of trophy wives, and on top of that, she takes care of herself with a vanity-driven obsession. She’s lost all the baby weight quicker than anyone thought possible and is sporting what looks like lip injections, which probably explains why she hired a wet nurse the other week. Objectively speaking, she looks good. Unfortunately, she’s too shallow to understand that it’s not her physical appearance I find unmarriageable—it’s the rest of her.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says sweetly, voicing Piper in a mockery of what I do with Leo.
“Hi,” I say, determined to stay cordial.
“About the visitation this weekend,” she says. “I’m not sure if I can make it. Can we move it to Monday?”
My jaw ticks. “That’s fine.”
In reality, every moment of delay is like getting stabbed, but right now, I have to pick and choose my battles.
“Great,” she says. “Are you going to The Ball?"
So this is the real reason for her calling. “I almost forgot about that, but yeah. I’ll be there.” Not that it will change anything. No matter how often Sydney contrives to be around me, it will not make me want to tie the knot with her. Quite the opposite, actually.
“It’s a date then,” she says, and before I can reply, she hangs up.
I blow out a weary breath.
If Jane pulls out, I’ll need to find someone else to attend the event with me, or else Sydney will be even more sure that it’s a date.
Leo walks into the room, wags his tail, and points his nose at the empty water bowl.
“Sorry.” I pour him some water as my phone dings.
When I check the notification, my heartbeat skyrockets.
“She did it. She signed everything,” I tell Leo excitedly.
He looks up from his water bowl, his whole face drenched, as usual.
See? You got this. Just sniff her butt very gentle-like when you see her next, and all will be forgiven and forgotten.
My elation lasts all through my evening walk in the park with Leo. Between Jane’s acceptance and the successful completion of the internet scrubbing, I can dare to hope that the hearing might actually go my way, and I’ll get to be in Piper’s life.
Only one thing sours my mood. I can’t shake the expression on Jane’s face when she saw those stupid nudes in the gallery.
Hmm. If Jane had a negative reaction, so might someone else. A prudish judge, for example.
Shit. Could the gallery bite me in the ass?
Sydney doesn’t know about the art, but many people do, so she or her lawyers could find out. Not to mention, Sydney has access to my building to make Piper’s visitations easier, so she could theoretically stumble upon the gallery, recognize one of my subjects the way Jane did, take some pictures, and hand them to her lawyers.
Nope. I’m not taking any risks as far as Piper is concerned—not to mention, this way, Jane can come back to the gallery without getting upset.
Making a snap decision, I get in touch with a few people until I find out the most secure and private storage location for the art and arrange a move. In a few years, I might give the pieces back to the women who modeled for them, but for now, it’s best they remain out of sight.
Still, even after doing that, I feel uneasy—because I don’t think I’ve resolved what bothered Jane the most: the fact that my former lovers are working for me.
Could Sydney’s lawyers use that against me? Twist things to make it seem like I slept with some of the women while they worked for me or in exchange for their jobs?
Nope. Can’t take that chance either. In fact, I feel dumb for not thinking of this sooner.
Perching on a bench, I type out an email to Caroline and then call her. She’s another person whose painting I’m going to be storing away, and she also happens to be the most talented headhunter in New York.
“I need you to find some people new jobs,” I say. “Higher paying than what they’ve got now.”
“Who?” Caroline asks.
“The links to their LinkedIn profiles are in your inbox,” I say.
I wait until she reviews them all.
“A dog walker?” she exclaims. “You know I usually place C-level executives.”
“I know your usual comp is a percentage of their salary, but I’ll pay you directly for some of these more unusual placements,” I say. “Oh, and I’ll need you to find replacements for them—where, again, I’ll pay a fee.”
“What kind of a fee?” she asks.
“Name a number.”
She does.
“I’ll give you double that,” I say. “And there’s something else, for which I’ll put a zero next to that number.”
Her voice goes breathless. “What?”
“I’ll need you to recommend me a headhunter,” I say. “Ideally, someone as good as you.”
“No one is as good as me,” she says confidently. “But I can do my best… if you tell me why.”
I explain about the hearing and how my former reputation might come up.
“Oh,” Caroline says. “I’ll say it again: Piper is one lucky girl.”
“Thanks. You and I can still be friends, of course, and we might be able to resume working together in the future.”
“I’ll have my own firm by then,” she says. “And I’ll consider taking you on as a client—or not, depends on how charitable I feel.”
“That’s a deal,” I say. “And I will recommend you to some people who’ll keep you very busy in the meantime.”
She thanks me and I hang up. I proceed to have a similar conversation with the folks who are about to find other employment, and everyone seems okay with it, except maybe Susan, whose husband also works for me.
“How about I find your husband and you a job together?” I offer.
“You think you can?” Susan asks.
“Of course.”
That seems to pacify her, and I get back with Caroline to tell her she has one more candidate to add to the list.
Okay, I should feel calmer now, but I don’t.
I guess the prospect of getting married—to Jane—is like a shot of espresso.
Speaking of Jane, once I get back home, I grab my Kindle and buy the first of the Bridgerton books in an effort to better understand my soon-to-be bride.
To my huge surprise, I get hooked on the novel and can’t stop reading until it’s finished. Wow. I really liked it, despite the fact that the target audience for this genre seems to be women, and that I knew what would happen since season one of the show was faithful to the book.
Well, pretty faithful. The book was more humorous, which is one of the reasons I prefer it over the show.
I end up buying the sequel but don’t start it as it’s already late. Instead, I shower and brush my teeth before jumping into bed.
Time for Yoda’s daily Force training—or beating the bishop, as they probably called it in Victorian times.
Thanks to all the erections Jane has given me, this should go record fast.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t think about Jane when I do this. I promised her things between us would be platonic, and this violates that promise, as do any fantasies where I violate her.
I empty my mind and just picture anonymous boobs and butts.
Nope.
The face they’re attached to is Jane’s.
Shit. I also realize that I might’ve lied to Jane when I said I was celibate. Does choking the chicken make you not celibate?
Whatever. Even my epistemological musings are related to Jane.
Must think of disembodied boobs. And butts.
I fail yet again because an image of Jane’s oh-so-kissable lips invades my mind—and they are wrapped tightly around my cock.
And just like that, I come.