Chapter Eight

A week passed without Eden.

The first night was torture, and I slept in her old bed. Gigi had changed the sheets, so Eden’s scent was gone, but I still found comfort in cuddling the pillow she’d once set her golden curls on.

Still found relief in touching myself atop the mattress where she’d often pictured me naked.

Still found satisfaction in climaxing right where we’d climaxed together not that long ago.

Silver Silk, my evening wear line, was officially announced a few days after Eden’s departure. There’d been a lot of hype around it, not only because of the article making me even more famous, but because of Eden.

She’d worn several of the gowns I advertised as part of my collection, and my fashion peers remembered that. Rave reviews poured in once people realized that that picture from the article, the gown she wore in it, was Silver Silk.

Those who still supported me and didn’t believe I was a predator shared the announcement across the internet. I received praise, excitement from influencers and fans of the brand. My regular line’s numbers boomed, with followers buying attire in bulk—in case she gets canceled, some of them claimed.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if that cancellation was on its way. I still got numerous bad reviews, too. Some left one-star ratings on the listings on my website, not bothering to critique the clothes, but instead, me.

“Silver Bell is a predator, and her clothes can burn.”

“She abuses her power, her position; I’ll abuse her website and make her collapse.”

“I can get better dresses at a cheap-ass grocery store; she doesn’t deserve any sales. Not after what she did.”

Thankfully, the balance still toppled towards positive feedback. All the one-star reviews didn’t match the multitude of four- and five-star responses since Silver Silk’s release.

Other articles came out, too. Interviews from fellow members of the fashion community, stating I was evil and abusive towards my staff, not only my assistants. Fans claiming they’d met me before and I was rude, refusing autographs.

I’d never been asked for an autograph in my life.

Even among those who supported me, the consensus was that I had taken advantage of my status to sway Eden. They continued to buy my product, but they didn’t disagree that I’d indeed been a predator.

The proof was there, in that damned picture. It showed up everywhere, all the time, with captions like, “they look like they’re about to fuck against that pillar,” or “don’t you see the lust in their eyes?”

Every few days, a new instance of Eden being the abuser came up. She’d seduced me, made herself out to be the victim when in fact she’d tried to capture my heart to steal all my money.

That gossip came from fervent, more right-winged supporters, which, unfortunately, I couldn’t ask to shut up, lest they remove their support.

It made me feel so dirty, so corrupt, to let them spread their stories about Eden, but my lawyers told me to.

“Truth or not, this is how we get the camera off you,” said Mickey one evening, as I tried to unwind after a hectic day of meetings surrounding my scandal.

“By sticking it on Eden? By putting her in the spotlight?” I scoffed as I lifted my feet up onto my desk. “That goes completely against the decision to keep her out of this. To keep her protected.”

“No,” Mickey pulled the receiver away and coughed, “we didn’t want her to involve herself, remember? She can’t speak to the press, but they can speak about her.”

“But how is that safe for her?”

“She is safe, Silver.” Mickey’s voice deepened. “You made sure of that, didn’t you? Didn’t Yanic hire an entire team to keep an eye on her?”

My upper lip curled. “He did.”

Yanic’s team was indeed watching over Eden, but they didn’t report to me. They reported to Yanic, and Yanic alone. He gave them strict instructions to never tell me anything about her, unless she was actually in mortal danger.

I’d heard nothing from anyone, which meant she was fine.

“You know, most of this would evaporate if you issued your public apology,” said Mickey, a hint of fatherly scolding in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m aware.” I glowered at the tiny area of my computer screen where I’d typed the word, apology.

I’d typed nothing else in that space since that word, and that was three days prior.

“We’re waiting for you to compose it, but if you don’t do something or say something soon, Eve will have no choice but to issue it for you.” The irritation in his voice made me imagine his frown. “And you’ll hate it.”

“I’m trying,” I said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. I had been pulling up the document and doing my best to figure out what to say, but the inspiration simply wasn’t there.

It didn’t help that I drank myself to sleep every night, to get me tired enough to quit thinking bad things.

Sultry things.

Sexy things, all about Eden.

The excess of booze was the only thing that turned my brain off, no matter how awful it was for my health. I drank to the point of nearly blacking out, and it helped, to an extent.

In the little downtime between meetings and getting drunk, I spent time transforming my pent-up anger into energy that I used towards working on designs.

By the time that first week had gone by, I had a brand-new palette of outfits and styles to submit to my associates and investors to ask for their feedback.

One evening, I’d stayed up in front of my computer for so long, I missed dinner. Gigi, ever the caring staff-member—sort of an assistant in the absence of Eden or someone to replace her—brought me a tray to my office.

The door was open, but she always knocked first; a habit she refused to fix. “Silver?”

I’d already asked her many times to quit calling me Miss Bell, which I knew she did in front of other members of the staff, including Pete.

“Gigi?” I leaned forward to see her entering the room with an assortment of cheeses and crackers, all set up in a charcuterie board style. “What’s all this?”

“You never ordered anything from the chef for dinner,” she said, depositing the tray without asking me. She knew me—the cheeses would make my mouth water, and I often craved that salty crunch from a cracker.

“So you made me a charcuterie board?” I eyed the masterpiece before me—all my favorites were there. Swiss, cheddar, brie, saucisson—a French type of small sausage—and prosciutto rolled up near piles of freshly chopped baguette and a ramekin of what smelled like blueberry jam.

“It was nothing,” she said, flushing as she made to leave the room. She was in her sweats, meaning she’d technically clocked out for the night.

I hadn’t checked the time in hours, and when I did, I gasped. “Shit, nine-thirty? Why didn’t you interrupt me?” I waved at her to come back. “You didn’t need to do this, Gigi.”

She shrugged, no expression on her face. That was why I’d hired her; she was quiet, discreet, and rarely spoke her mind. I could trust her to never leak a thing to the press, and she’d always adhere to the multiple NDAs I’d asked her and Pete to sign. “It wasn’t much trouble.”

“Why did you do it?” I couldn’t help myself and snagged a cracker and a square morsel of Swiss. “Oh, gosh, is this the stuff from that authentic French place a few blocks down?”

Gigi nodded, averting her gaze. “I told Chef Anthony to always have some on hand. Especially nowadays.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Especially nowadays?”

“Oh, you know…” She grumbled something under her breath, acting like a shy schoolgirl confronting her least favorite teacher.

“Gigi.” I motioned at the seat across from me. “Sit. Have some of this with me, will you? You put this spread together, and I’m in the mood to share.”

Though she sat, she regarded the platter hesitantly, at first, as if it would combust if she were to touch a single inch of it. Finally, she caved, grabbing a slice of bread and a large chunk of brie.

“Oh, man.” She chewed, relaxing as she savored the bite. “I forgot how good that is.”

“What’s up, then?” I shoveled down another piece of Swiss with prosciutto wrapped around it. “What’s all this? Not that you’re never attentive, but this is more than I pay you for.”

Gigi always responded to my every need without a single complaint, and absolutely earned her keep here. But she didn’t speak easily about whatever was on her mind, though I’d asked her several times to always be candid with me.

“It’s…” She rolled her shoulders, then grabbed a cracker. “Well, with everything going on, lately…I feel like you need extra care. Extra relaxation. That mess, the other night…”

I winced. She’d caught me attempting to clean up the aftermath of my explosion, in the middle of the night. The broken objects, the spilled wine, the torn cushions—it’d been awful.

I’d left her a note of apology, initially, but couldn’t sleep when I thought of all the shit she’d have to pick up. She’d woken up, saw me scraping the floor for lingering pieces of glass, and shooed me back to my room.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. You should have let me wipe everything down.”

Gigi chuckled, her eyes squinted. “Forgive me for saying this, Silver, but you’re terrible at cleaning up. And that’s why you have me.”

She wasn’t wrong; without her to tidy up after me, I tended to be a bit of a slob. I recalled out of nowhere the state my office had been in when Eden first saw it—my cheeks heated up in shame, still to this day.

“The article, the crap—I feel bad. Responsible.”

I cocked my head, eyebrows arching. “Responsible for me?”

“For what happened.” She sighed, shoulders drooping forward as she hung her head. “You, Eden, the…affair, is that what you’re calling it?”

I shuddered. “I’d rather not call it anything.”

Gigi gritted her teeth, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t be bringing this up. You and Eden—listen, I was vouching for you. And I did everything I could to act like I—”

“Oh, fuck, Gigi.” I dropped the piece of cheese I’d grabbed. “You knew? Did you…did you see us?”

“No, no seeing. I…heard a few things. Discussions. Some, uh…noises, I guess.” She flushed bright red and scrunched her nose as she struggled to look at me. “None of my business. We maids keep our mouths shut, but…I dunno, I liked Eden. She was…good for you, I thought. Stable. Reliable. Nothing like—ugh, I won’t say his name, but you know how I felt about him.”

I cringed. Gigi loathed Noah. She was my maid, hired to do those menial cleaning tasks that I couldn’t, but that didn’t mean I treated her in any demeaning way. But Noah? He was a jerk to her, from the get-go.

That should have been my sign to cut off all physical ties with him, but the sex really was so damn incredible—

Like with Eden. Except Eden was good. She was a decent human being, and never disrespected Gigi, not that I’d noticed.

“Anyway, I don’t mean to worsen your mood, but lately you’ve been sulking and throwing things. So I figured a nice, well-thought-out cheese platter might make you smile.”

I did smile, despite my heart not being one hundred percent in it. “I appreciate you, Gigi. You have no idea how much.”

“Yes, well…” She plucked a few more crackers and cheese before standing up. “You’ll appreciate me better if I go to bed and wake up on time tomorrow, hm? Sleep well, Silver. Please, let me know if you need anything else.”

She hastened out, leaving me to feast on the food on my own.

After I’d scarfed down three-quarters of the cheese, scooped up most of the jam, and destroyed the bread and crackers, I felt heavy, but strangely energized.

Gazing around my empty office, I wished I had someone to share that energy with, but Gigi had gone off to bed, and—

And I didn’t want to be alone. With my thoughts, my bad urges; I wanted company, needed affection. Needed a distraction.

What was that saying? “Get under someone to get over someone?” I chuckled.

Well, I needed to get over Eden. And the best way to do that was to entangle myself with someone else.

It’d prevent me from spending another night emptying a precious bottle from my collection.

It’d get me inspired, maybe, to write that damn apology and get my scandal out of everyone’s mind.

“Fuck it,” I said, shoving the platter aside as I moved across the room, to a prototype outfit I’d been working on. It was a pantsuit, similar to the one I’d worn the night I’d fucked Eden in the storage space of my store.

The same opening between my legs, the same smooth fabric of the pants, but in a vivid shade of tangerine, with a matching coat to accompany it.

It was covered in sequins. A tad fancy for a random Thursday night, but did it matter?

I’d grab the first person I saw, but I doubted they’d care much about what I was wearing.

I shrugged on the outfit, then went to my bedroom to fix my hair and makeup into something presentable. I also snuck a change of underwear and deodorant into my purse—I wouldn’t bring anyone home, but instead I’d book a hotel or sleep at the house of whoever my conquest ended up being.

For the first time in a long time, I wished I still had a little black book of former friends-with-benefits. Someone to call on an absolute whim to itch a sudden scratch without consequences.

I’d have to settle for another one-night-stand.

My security team didn’t protest when I let them know I was going out. And after some debate with Pete on where was the best place to get a drink and score a lover for the night, I landed where all my problems began.

The bar where I met Eden.

It took me a few minutes to make the correlation, to remember that I’d been near the counter, having noticed her backside, before she whipped around and bumped into me and made me spill my beverage.

My initial reaction was to be pissed, but then I discerned her pouty lips. Her striking eyes. And that body—a body worth getting a new suit for.

She’d bedazzled me entirely, and the way she’d kissed me later left me starving.

I’d returned to the scene of the crime without even meaning to. Was it subconscious, accidental? Or did a part of me want to be here, thinking somehow, by some miracle, I might bump into her again?

I sipped on my martini, scouring the crowd. Redheads, brunettes, neon shades of long, short, medium length hair. Men, women, enbys; mini-skirts and tight pants and low-cut shirts that should have left me salivating.

They danced, flirted, drank; I watched them, without interest. Flashing lights triggered memories of dancing with Eden, but I didn’t want to dance with any of them.

Not a single person sparked my curiosity. Not a single person gave me any motivation to approach them with some cheesy pick-up line to attempt a move.

Not a single one was Eden.