Taylored to Perfection (Taylor Made Book 2)
© 2016 by Kj Lewis Books
ISBN: 978-0-9976414-2-4
All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Anna Esquivel
Cover Design: Regina Wamba at maeidesign.com
Interior Design: Champagne Formats
Proofreading: Monique N Tarver
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Acknowledgements
Other Books
To my sisters – two of the strongest women I know.
“So, you bailed.” Jackson eats a forkful of eggs with ketchup on them. Yuck. Ketchup on eggs.
“I did not bail,” I respond, even though it was a statement and not a question.
“Emme, sweetheart. You bailed. You saw the easy way out and you took it,” he says from his side of the orange plastic booth we are sharing. We’re at Mel’s where the windows proudly boast the world’s best coffee.
“Do you really want to have this conversation with me? Do you? Because I seem to recall a time when you’ve taken the easy way out.” I am referring to the time he left Patrick before they were engaged.
“Damn. Taking the easy way out makes you a bitch,” Jackson half teases with a twinkle in his eye.
I throw my head onto the table resting it on my arms. “I know,” I mumble into them.
He leans across the table and pushes my shoulder up, forcing me back into a sitting position. His look is genuine, caring.
“Why did you?” he asks softly.
“Why does anyone? Same reason you did, I guess. I’m afraid of getting hurt. I’m afraid of this being more to me than it is to him.”
“You’re in love with him.”
I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question.“Uggghhh,” I whimper and throw my head back down onto the table. Jackson lowers his head even with the table so we are at eye level.
“Are you or are you not in love with him? That maimed, pitiful look is not an answer.” He raises the one eyebrow that I have come to love, but today it is my nemesis.
I nod my head.
“Answer me. Say it out loud.”
I am surrounded by bossy men who think they are the boss of me. Yet, I still comply.
“Yes.” I sit back up. The weight of finally saying it out loud is both lifted and heavier than before my admission.
“Have you told him?” he asks, sitting up with me.
“Told Mr. I-only-do-affairs-and-three-week-ones-at-that? No, I did not tell him.” I hate myself a little for turning into such a drama girl.
“By your own admission, he went from three weeks to six. And then, I believe, somewhere in there” he motions his finger like he is sifting through something, “he said he would never have his fill of you.”
“That is not an ‘I love you’.”
“Do you want an ‘I love you’?”
“I’m not expecting one.”
“Did they starve you?”
“What? No. Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
Again he raises his eyebrow and looks down at what I have ordered. A smorgasbord of food. French toast, eggs, bacon, ham, hash browns, and biscuits. And a side of fruit.
“You know I eat to self-medicate.”
“Better than getting drunk,” he shrugs.
“Actually, that’s tonight.” I lean across the table and put my fingers on his forehead, trying to smoosh his eyebrow down.
“Stop with the raised eyebrow. You’re not the Rock,” I bitch, shoveling food into my mouth.
“I’m better looking than the Rock,” he says raising both eyebrows for extra affect. My laugh lets loose a mouthful of hash browns.
“Now that’s sexy. How’s it going with Adam?”
“Really great. I must admit I have enjoyed working with him these last couple of weeks. I never knew what a strong business mind he had. I always see the Adam that loves Jules and enjoys hanging out. Business Adam is new but pretty impressive.”
“Adam is a quiet force in business, but not one to be overlooked. What are you doing tonight?”
“The girls are taking me to celebrate the end of my time at the office. And to drown my sorrows.”
It’s been two weeks since I left the Hamptons, Graham, and Hollingsworth Imaging. Two weeks of a full-court press push to launch the mentor program. Two weeks of avoiding this conversation with Jackson, and two weeks of faking it ‘til I’m making it.
“You aren’t far away. And you’ll be back at Hollingsworth Imaging once the program is up and running.”
“I will, but since it’s going to be at least eight weeks, they thought we should spend time together before it gets too crazy.”
“Where are y’all going tonight? Who’s going?” The “y’all” is Jackson’s way of teasing me about how my accent always thickens when I talk about, go to, or come back from my hometown of Memphis, Tennessee.
“Some club called Purgatory. It has three levels. Hell is the bottom floor with heavy rock and clashing music; the middle floor is Purgatory, the bar and seating area; the top floor is Heaven, club dancing. Amanda, Jules, and Joy are taking me.”
“So,” he’s done eating. His arm is draped across the back of the booth and he’s watching me eat the rest of my meal. “If you’re not expecting an ‘I love you’, why leave?” He raises a shoulder in question.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Jackson patiently drinks his coffee. I know from experience he can and will wait me out.
“Because. He won’t stay. And where will I be when he’s gone? I can barely contain the pain of walking away from him now, much less the loss I would feel in a few more weeks. I have to protect myself.”
He doesn’t respond because he doesn’t have to. He understands me. I finish the rest of my meal in comfortable silence. I look up when I take my last bite to give him my best smile but find he’s watching me with a seriousness he usually reserves for our deepest talks. His expression is one of contemplation.
“Whatever you want to say Jackson, just say it. I can take it.”
He leans forward, weaving his fingers together.
“I understand that you think telling someone what you’re afraid of is giving them the necessary in
formation to use against you when they need the upper hand. And based on your history, I understand why you feel that way. But you can’t let being scared control your life, and that’s what you’re doing. If you lose him, you lose him, but you have to take the risk. You know that I would never let you get hurt, if I could help it. And as much as I hate to admit it, as reluctant as I have been about this relationship, based on what you’ve told me about Graham, I would guess that he feels the same way, only tenfold.”
On the subway to Taylor Organization, I replay my conversation with Jackson. I have a meeting in half an hour. I have officially been working in the office for a week, and this was planned long before Graham ever came into the picture. But a week of seeing Graham around corners, watching him command an empire, sitting across from him in pitch meetings—I deserve an Emmy for making it through it all unscathed. Especially since he has not made it easy. The man doesn’t walk away from a fight. I swear he was picturing me naked in a meeting yesterday. His look was combustible. I was damp between my legs by the time it was finished.
I scan my ID as I enter the elevator bay.
“I have the elevator waiting for you, Miss James,” Troy informs me.
“Thanks, Troy, but I’ll take the regular ones like everyone else.”
“Actually, Mr. Taylor is waiting for you—Adam Taylor,” he quickly clarifies in his thick Jersey accent. “He requested you go straight up.”
Looking at my watch, I slide my card into the slot to activate the elevator. I couldn’t remember scheduling a meeting with Adam this morning. I scan through my calendar to make sure I didn’t miss something.
“Thanks, Troy,” Graham says entering the elevator, pushing the button to the forty-third floor.
“Take another step and I’ll restrain you Emelia,” he says when I attempt to exit the elevator.
“Traitor!” I say to Troy, catching his grin as the doors close and we begin our ascent to the top floor.
Graham prowls around me, cornering me like I’m his prey.
“Emelia.” His arms cage me, his nose almost touching mine. He’s wearing a dark navy suit that showcases his midnight blue eyes. His hair is tamer than usual, his jaw sporting a slight shadow.
“You smell like cinnamon and peaches,” I say before I can stop myself. I push my hips back slightly, applying pressure to my sex, trying to gain some relief from the tremors moving through it.
He scans my body and pauses to watch the rise and fall of my breasts. I’m wearing a tight, high-waisted navy pencil skirt that falls to my knees, accentuating my waist and ass. Yeah, I did that on purpose. I paired it with a cream silk blouse that’s sheer enough you catch a hint of the lace bustier I am wearing underneath. Topped off with a pair of nude-colored stilettos that make my mile-long legs look even longer, I know I look killer.
He closes his eyes, leans in, and takes a long, deep breath.
“You left your hair and body wash. It reminded me of you, so I’ve been using it.” His admission catches me off guard. He presses his body into mine, and I have to bite my lip to stifle the moan that tries to escape.
“We’re done doing this your way, Emelia. Don’t even fucking think about it,” he says thwarting me my inevitable protest. “We have a meeting that Adam has arranged. It’s not on your calendar. After that I expect you in my office at eleven-thirty. If you’re late, I will punish you. Do you understand?”
“Our affair is over.”
“Do. You. Understand?” His lips brush mine. My legs shiver at the contact.
“If you want to see me, make an appointment.” My tone is strict, in the hopes that I’ll gain some ground back.
His hand leaves the bar it was resting on, and he stops the elevator at the thirty-ninth floor. He puts his hand back on the bar before I can slide out of the corner.
“Do. You. Understand?”
“Graham.”
“Emelia.”
When I don’t answer, he runs his thumb over my nipple while his lips lightly brush mine again. He pinches my nipple hard.
“Open your eyes,” he demands. I protest inwardly when his hand leaves my breast. His thumb traces my lower lip, and he runs his finger down my neck and over the swell of my breast. His lips follow in their wake.
I move my hands to his shoulders, and he stops the trail he’s making.
“Leave them on the bar or I’ll restrain you.” He starts his path again, this time applying suction between the kisses and licks. My head bobbles back, my body disobeying my mind, craving his touch that I’ve desperately missed. I gasp as his hand releases my breast out of the bustier, bolstering it against the cup. I grab his hair as his lips clamp around me.
Releasing me, he stands and uses his hips to hold me in place while he removes his tie.
“I am going to teach you that I mean what I say, Emelia. You are no longer in charge. I am.” He ties my wrist to the bar with one end of his tie, then slides the other end across my hip to tie the other wrist. He checks to make sure they are tight and that I am truly restrained.
“Not a word.” His eyes bore into mine. “I will gag your smart mouth,” he says, anticipating my next move. “A promise I will keep,” he adds at the hitching of my breath. His eyes continue to sear through mine, waiting to see if I will comply or fight back.
Satisfied that I will stay silent, he moves his mouth to my breast. He palms my thighs, slowly working his way up, trussing my skirt up as he goes. He slides a finger into the top of my nude silk thigh-highs. His hands continue until my skirt is up to my waist, revealing my pin-striped silk panties. His tie pulls tight across my hips. He skates his fingers over the silk covering my sex.
“God you’re soaked.” His fingers move to the edge of my underwear. He tugs until his fingers begin to puncture the silk, ripping it off of me. I watch as he buries them in the pocket of his pants, caught off guard once again when he pushes two fingers into me. Leaning the weight of his body flush against me, his tongue glides over mine, pulling back when I try to deepen the kiss.
Damn this tie! It reminds me I don’t have the freedom of my hands to do as I please.
His thumb begins to circle my clit as his fingers continue to cruise in and out of me. His lips leaving my breast, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Do. You. Understand?”
He stops his movement when I don’t answer. I push my hips against his hand, frustrated, trying to get some friction. He pulls them out altogether.
“Do. You. Understand?”
“Graham, please,” I breathe.
“Please what, Emelia?” He runs his nose down mine, his fingers sliding back in me and looping around once, then stopping again. His thumb pushes into my clit.
Fuck me. I know I am not going to be able to resist him much longer. What’s more, I don’t remember why I wanted to.
“Do you understand, Emelia?”
“Yes.”
He smiles and rewards me with another loop. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Another reward. “What do you understand? What do you understand, Emelia?” he asks again, when I don’t answer the first time.
“If that’s how you want to play this, Emelia. That’s how we’ll play this.”
He removes his fingers from me and puts them in his mouth, one by one, sucking them dry. Taking my panties out of his pocket, he wipes the wetness from my sex and legs. His doesn’t take his eyes off of me as he undoes his tie, putting it in his pocket with my panties.
My eyes issue a hint of defiance as he unbuttons the collar on his shirt. He wraps his hands around the bar on each side of me, taking a minute to collect himself. Turning, he puts the elevator back into service and adjusts himself, buttoning his jacket to cover his hard-on. The doors open on the forty-third floor and, without a word or a glance to me, he exits the elevator. I release a long breath. With shaking hands, I push the button that will take me down a floor to Adam’s office.
The doors open to the reception are
a. Despite my pleas to be like anyone else he works with, Adam has my office on this floor with his. He says it’s more convenient for him this way, but I know it’s so he can keep an eye on me.
There are two offices on this floor besides his. I insisted he move me to the smaller of the two. I’m not going to be here long and most of my things are still at my office at Jackson’s. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a great view of the city and a partial view of the water. It’s decorated in modern furnishings, with a sitting area that has two couches. The large, modern desk is skirted by two chairs. Behind my desk is a glass credenza that displays the gorgeous flowers Jackson sent me on my first day. There is a small bar cart in the corner and a door leading to a small bathroom and closet. It’s a beautiful office, but a bit egregious given that I’m only here for eight weeks.
I greet Holt and Reggie who are waiting for me in my office when I enter. Holt had some time before school started, so he has been my shadow every day, putting in a full day’s work. Reggie’s brother is the reason I started this program to begin with. I lived next door to his grandmother when I lived in the Bronx. I would help her with her shopping, and Pearl and I would often eat a late dinner together. I am very fond of her. She always had a word of wisdom to pass off to me each day. Leaving her to move in with the dwarfs was difficult. She was the one who finally told me I had to start living my life for me. It was a pivotal moment of awareness for me. I still call her almost daily to check in on her and make it a point to go by there once a week whenever I’m in town.
Pearl has two grandsons, Reggie and Terrance. Both are the apple of her eye, though the two couldn’t be more different. Terrance is the leader of The Apostles, a notoriously tough gang that runs parts of the Bronx. Pearl lost Terrance to the gangs when he was twelve and Reggie was eight. Based on the stories Pearl and Reggie have told me, I am shocked that Terrance is still alive. As he moved up in the ranks, he made it clear Reggie was not to be messed with. For all the wrong Terrance is involved in, his love for his family is evident, the love for his brother even stronger. It was Terrance who was the architect of the mentor program. I just followed his lead in hopes maybe one day, I could convince Terrance to save himself like he did others.