Wild Love: Chapter 38

Rosie,

Reminding you that the fundraiser is tomorrow. It’s black tie, so I took the liberty of having an outfit delivered to the hotel in Emerald Lake for you.

—Ford

Good morning, Mr. Grant,

Your emails without all the formal shit are substantially less entertaining. If you ever want to get in my pants again, I require you to be witty and borderline mean.

What did you order me? What if I don’t like it?

All my best,

Rosalie Belmont

Reality Check Manager at Rose Hill Records

Ms. Belmont,

You mostly wear skirts. So, I’m not bothered by that statement. I’ll just bend you over and fuck you in that.

And I ordered you a dress and a pair of heels. You often wear fuzzy socks with Birkenstocks, which only proves that you have poor fashion sense and can’t be trusted to dress appropriately for an event of this caliber.

Have a miserable day!

Ford Grant

CEO and Fashion Police at Rose Hill Records

Mr. Grant,

I’ll wear the dress. But you can pry my socks and sandals from my cold, dead hands.

All my best,

Rosalie Belmont

Dick Manager at Rose Hill Records

Ms. Belmont,

I’m heading to the office from school drop-off. I expect you to be down on all fours sanding that paint stain when I arrive.

Have a miserable day!

Ford Grant

Overlord at Rose Hill Records

When Ford walks in, I am, in fact, not sanding the floor. Since yesterday, I’ve cleaned up the tray and drop sheet as best I can, but I’m not doing manual labor in my lace skirt and silky blouse.

He can go fuck himself if he thinks that.

My expression must be a dead giveaway because he takes one look at me, scowling at him from behind my desk, and smirks.

“Figures,” he says as he strides toward his desk and drops his bag on the chair. He proceeds to the mess of blue paint on the floor and props his hands on his hips, staring down at the stain on what were perfectly polished floors. “You ruined my floor, Rosie Posie.”

“Sorry, obedience isn’t my strong suit,” I needle him from my desk as I lean back to watch him.

His head tilts, and he gives me a dry glare. But the way he moves with such fluid grace is disarming. A simple head tilt exudes power and I feel myself shiver as his eyes trace my body.

“If I wanted someone obedient, I wouldn’t be chasing after you.”

I flush, not accustomed to comments like that. Comments where he speaks so freely about wanting me. It’s a thrill. An addiction.

It makes my stomach flip and my head flustered. So, I change the subject.

“What time are we hitting the road tomorrow? My car or yours?”

Now he’s back to smirking. “We’re not driving, Rosie.”

I hold a finger up as he prowls toward me. I left his bed mere hours ago, but I’m not sated. I already want to go back. Feel his weight on top of me. His teeth on my skin. His cock stretching me.

I lick my lips and swallow before crossing my legs and wondering how I went so damn long being oblivious to the way he looks at me. Ten years of living, ten years of perspective, and now it feels like the most obvious thing in the world.

I went from a man who barely glanced up at me from the cat videos on his phone to one who can’t look at anything but me.

“Oh.” I try to recover. “Are we going to ride there on the Death Star?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The Death Star is a space station, not a ship. But we are going to fly.”

My brows furrow. “There’s no airport here.”

“Not a public one.”

I pause as I work it through, my eyes widening as I realize what he’s saying. “Oh my god, you really did jack off while thinking about a private jet.”

“Maybe to thoughts of you on my private jet. And now you will too.” He smiles, striding closer, all confident swagger until he towers above me and bends at the waist. His lips are dangerously close to mine when he says, “Wait until you see my yacht.”

And then he kisses me breathless with a whispered, “Good morning, Ms. Belmont. I knew you’d be wearing a skirt.”

“Fuckin’ gross. Leave a sock on the door or something,” West announces as he steps into the space. He lets out a low whistle as he turns on the spot and gazes around the office. “Dang. I can’t believe this is the same dusty barn. I really gotta get over here more often.”

“Looks good, right?” Ford straightens and walks toward his best friend.

They hug with a firm, manly back slap. I smile as I watch them. I wasn’t sure how telling West would go, but the text I got from him last night was all the confirmation I needed. It said, If I could build you a boyfriend like a Build-A-Bear, he would come out as Ford Grant.

That was it. The only thing he said.

I wrote back, Weird, but thanks.

And then we didn’t say another word about it.

I think that all went about as well as it could go, so I decided not to mess with a good thing.

“So, I just wanted to check your size for the shirts I’m ordering⁠—”

“What shirts?” I ask.

Ford’s head snaps in my direction and his eyes narrow. “No one likes an eavesdropper, Rosalie.”

It’s such a childish remark, and so him, I can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Hiding something, boss?”

West laughs, looking highly amused. “Yeah, our boy here agreed to wear team shirts at bowling in exchange for dating you.”

“It wasn’t in exchange! It was a gesture of good faith between old friends.”

Ford wearing a team bowling shirt is so quintessentially not him that the mere image sends me into a fit of giggles. “Oh my god. Please. I can’t wait to see you guys. This is so deeply satisfying. Is there a cheering section at your games?”

Ford presses his fingers against his temples, massaging in slow circles like I give him gray hair.

I have no doubt that one day I will.

It’s then that West pipes up, “Oh, man. Who messed up your floors?”

We all glance over at the giant smudge. The dark wood peeks through in several spots. I sort of… swished the drop cloth around in the paint when I cleaned it up, so it now looks like a giant swipe across the floor with a smattering of droplets around it. I wish I felt guilty about it.

Ford freezes but keeps his fingers pressed against his head.

I decide to throw him a bone.

“Oh, that? It’s modern art. All the rage in the city right now. Sort of… an… asymmetrical focal point for the space.”

It’s straight-up bullshit. But I hope my brother is removed enough from all things art and all things city to buy what I’m selling.

West’s hands land on his hips, head nodding as he examines the art.

And when he says, “Cool. I kinda like it,” I let out a deep sigh just as Ford clears his throat to cover a laugh.

“Have you told Cora you own this thing?”

From his ridiculously cushioned seat, Ford furrows his brows at me. “Of course. How do you think we got to Calgary?”

“Wait.” I raise my hand that isn’t holding a flute of champagne, gesturing for him to stop. “You flew to Calgary? That’s… that’s like a simple three-hour drive!”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t I know it. I thought it would be a fun treat, but Cora bitched at me the entire time about how bad for the environment these flights are. I’m sure she’ll tell my parents all about it while she spends these couple of days with them. But we need to be back in time for Sunday. She’s having an end-of-the-year get-together with some school friends at my parents’ place, and I don’t want to miss it.”

I stifle a laugh because I can totally see Cora giving him shit—while the entire Grant family hosts a party for her at their massive lake house.

“Well, this is truly over-the-top.”

He shrugs. “Get used to it.”

I smile shyly and slug back the rest of my champagne. I don’t know how this became my life.

“All right, what’s this fundraiser for again?”

“You’re the one who fielded the invite.”

“I know, but I was just looking for reasons to harass you via email. You’re lucky I didn’t forward you the one from People magazine asking for a rundown of your dating history for an article they were going to do.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “What did you tell them?”

“That you were a virgin and a hermit and in an exclusive relationship with your yacht. They asked why you’re never seen in public with women, and I was like… have you tried taking a boat that big out on the town? Just plain cumbersome.”

Now I get a glare.

“Okay. I didn’t respond. I just deleted it.”

He nods. “Good. And it’s a fundraiser to rebuild after last year’s big forest fire. They reached out because I told Bash he could give the organization my email.”

“Well, that was alarmingly nice of you.”

“Rosie, stop running your mouth and get your ass over here.” He pats his lap, and old Rosie wants to tell him to go fuck himself.

But new Rosie gets up, straddles her boss’ lap, and kisses him eagerly while smiling, because she is indeed wearing a skirt.

“Are you sure it’s all in? Don’t close the door until you’re sure. If this gets damaged in any way, I think I’ll barf.”

Ford drops his head in through the open car door. “If you barf on that dress, you’ll damage it. Hold yourself together.”

“Ford, this dress is worth as much as I make in a month.”

His brows scrunch together. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s appalling,” he says as he stands. “Remind me to give you a raise when we get back home.” He slams the door and rounds the vehicle to the other side.

When he slides in, I start to protest yet another raise, and he pulls his phone out to check if there are any messages. “Don’t even open your mouth to argue with me about this, or I’ll shove something in it to keep you busy.”

The driver starts the engine, and I press my lips together as I stare out the window over the arid mountains and sloping vineyards that lead to the lake’s edge, trying not to laugh at how rude Ford can be and how scandalized this poor older man looks.

Rather than take the seat behind the driver, Ford slides over into the middle and buckles himself in next to me without even glancing up from his phone.

Ford’s thumbs tap endlessly as he sends message after message. He hasn’t said it out loud, but I can tell he’s nervous about leaving Cora. He texted his mom asking about her, and she told him to take a Xanax and go enjoy himself. Based on how quickly his fingers are flying over the screen, that was the wrong thing to say.

I reach for him and slide a hand over his muscled thigh. He looks edible in a tuxedo. I’m so used to seeing him in jeans, chunky sweaters, and rugged plaid shirts that I nearly fainted when I walked out of the bathroom to see him in this midnight blue getup.

Then when I saw the receipt for my dress in the trash bin, I almost passed out all over again. The dress is… otherworldly. I feel like a glowing Greek goddess wrapped in dusty, pale pink silk. The neckline dives deep, and the fabric gathers at the waist, where it ties in a knot, the ends of the sash tumbling to the floor like waterfalls. It has long sleeves, but the wrist cuffs stretch high up my forearms, dotted with round silk buttons.

The dress screams femininity and the nude suede pumps with ankle straps and a bow over the toes don’t hurt either. I’m wearing simple gold hoops and my hair is half up in loose waves. This dress needs nothing else.

I’ve never been this dressed up before. But even I wouldn’t ruin this outfit with socks and Birks only to piss Ford off. It would be an affront to all that is right in the world.

I squeeze his leg gently, trying to reassure him that Cora will be fine. “She’s going to have a blast with them.”

“I know.” He sounds tense, and my lips twitch. Watching him in dad mode is a kink I never knew I had. Like, Ford was hot before, but make him all concerned and hyper-protective of a little girl who I’m also a huge fan of, and he becomes downright irresistible.

“They raised two really amazing humans.” I squeeze again. “She’ll be lucky to spend time with them too.”

He doesn’t respond to that—just slides his hand over the silk covering my leg and mirrors my motion.

“I feel like a princess,” I murmur, watching the setting sun over the peaks of Emerald Lake.

“You are one.”

I sigh.

The things he says are just subtly elevated. He doesn’t tell me I look like one. He tells me I am one. Such a simple differentiation, yet so profound.

We ride in silence the rest of the way, taking in the low-lying mountains and arid landscape. Where Rose Hill is craggy and wild, Emerald Lake has a certain polish to it. A college town rich with wineries and orchards. It’s a place where NHL players and politicians keep their summer houses.

It’s small enough to be charming, but ritzy and close enough to Vancouver that it plays host to an event like tonight’s.

When we pull up in front of the lakefront resort, it’s brightly lit, with tall pillars and a grand entrance.

I feel like I should be working here, not attending an event. I keep that thought to myself and just soak it in, leaning into the firmness of Ford’s strong body at my side, lending support.

The tips of his fingers graze my neck as he reaches across and pushes my loose hair behind my shoulder. His head inclines toward me. It feels a bit like that moment in the movies where Dracula is about to bite the girl, but there’s also something really horny going on.

“You ready?” he whispers against the shell of my ear before dusting his lips across the curve of my neck.

“Honestly, if this dress wasn’t so pretty, I’d tell you to take me back to that absurd suite overlooking the water and rip it off.”

He smiles against my neck. The way his lips tip up and the light dusting of stubble on his face tickles my skin. “I can still do that, you know.”

I whip my head to him, giving his chest a little shove. “If you ruin this dress, I’ll break up with you.”

Break up.

My eyes widen because I feel like I just prematurely slapped a label on us.

God. How many girls must try to attach themselves to him? And who could blame them? I’m there too. I have puppy-dog eyes for childhood dickhead, Ford Grant.

I flush and turn away, scrambling out of the car before he can make fun of me. Although I ask him to do it all the time, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take his mocking over this particular slipup.

The driver holds the door open, and Ford says nothing as he slides out behind me. He just presses his hand to the small of my back and guides us toward the red carpet near the entrance.