admire. I’d never be class valedictorian, but I was street smart and knew drugs and alcohol were stealing her beauty and youth. In three years, they’d take her life.
“What do you want this time, Cricket?” Nicola asked in a bored tone. She sat in front of a mirror applying another coat of lipstick.
“You stole my set. I was supposed to go first today.”
Nicola turned in her chair and laughed, dismissing Mom’s outrage. “You were late.”
“I didn’t make a dollar after I paid the house fee. How are we supposed to eat tonight?” Mom pulled a tattered shirt over her body.
After she took a quick glance at me, Nicola shrugged and said, “You’ll have to keep the needle out of your arm, Cricket.”
In one swift motion, Mom grabbed Nicola by her hair and lifted her from the chair. She slammed her against the wall, and I took my backpack and headed to the car. When Mom said she didn’t make anything that night, I knew it meant we’d sleep in the car and I wasn’t going to school tomorrow. I was almost too tall to stretch out on the back seat, but there was no way I’d sit up front with Cricket and listen to her promises that this would be the last time this would happen.
“It’s only for one night, baby. You’ll see. Things are going to change for us tomorrow.”
And I had a bag of chips in the back she didn’t know about. I didn’t want to share.
Once Mom was gone, I slept in much worse places than the back of a car. Now I never have to wonder if I’ll have enough room to stretch my legs when I sleep. Although, I wake up every morning curled up like I’m still in the back of the Buick.
Ready to put this drama behind me, I strip out of my clothes, pop an over-the-counter sleeping pill, and crawl into bed determined to forget any of this happened. Talent Ridge doesn’t exist. I’ve never heard of him. Never smelled, tasted, or touched him. I select the memories of me sprawled on his desk the night before and click delete.
Cristian Dries is a world-renowned architect who designs magnificent concert halls and museums around the world. A maestro in his field of work, he rose to fame at an incredibly young age. As a result, he has a hard time compartmentalizing his priorities. The man is all work and nearly no play. Which is where I come in.
A little play.
“I need to learn when to say no,” he’s said to me before. “I’m only one person. One mind. There’s not enough time in a day to design everything this universe demands from me.”
Cristian likes to fuck where his design models are in sight.
I like it, too. Not because the sex is anything but typical, but his designs are truly remarkable. It gives me something to admire while he uses my body for his pleasure.
“What do I have to do to get you to come to me more than once a month? Name a price.” he asks, dragging the back of his finger down my bare arm.
He’s articulate, sharp, and a little full of himself. Cristian expresses the offense he takes to my busy schedule every time we’re together, as if I should drop my clientele to service him and him alone.
“When would you have time for all of this?” I ask, motioning toward the large table of scale models in every stage of development. They convey precisely how light will illuminate space, magnify textures and colors, and translate pride in the design before they’re built on a larger scale.
Cristian presses his lips to the top of my shoulder. “My team wants to create our models on the computer, but I love building them with my hands. It’s more rewarding than watching my design 3D printed in plastic. The computer software makes it impersonal.”
“If you did that, you’d have more time to build other things, like relationships,” I say with a small smile on my lips. “You could have a woman in your bed every night.”
I like the idea of Cristian in his office at all hours, building tiny museums with clay, wire, and wood under a bright desk light. He’s the manic artist type. Not the socialite.
“I only want you in my bed, Cara,” he says.
Turning in his arms, I work to unbutton his shirt and say, “You’ve never had me in your bed. You’ve had me against the wall, on the floor,