A/N: I think Teddy's bi, but I'm not really sure, so let us all pretend he's gay and that's that. I also omitted the name and gender of the LI Emily was on a relationship with, just fill in with whomever takes your fancy.
For more info, read the end notes. My ask box is open, and I have no shame, so ask what you must, but please don't send hate.
Now, let's get on with it.
Emily opened her eyes on Sunday morning. Or was it afternoon?
The curtains were drawn back and the sunlight flooded the room, which wasn't conductive to her killer headache.
Her sleepy dizziness faded instantly when she realized that was not her ceiling. She waved her arms on the bed, those were too nice to be her sheets.
Emily shut her blue eyes and silently prayed to whatever divinity paladin of the drunk, young and stupid, before she lifted the comforter to peek inside.
Yep, definitely naked.
Oh, God. She bemoaned internally. She was definitively alone on the luxurious room, and she had not even the faintest clue of how on Earth she could have gotten there.
She scanned the floor, looking for some garments of hers. She was never that glad to see a used pair of panties in her life.
She looked around, tried to hear some movement outside, but the apartment was deathly silent. Decidedly safe, she then dove to the carpet, where the underwear lay. Her bra was another story, so she had to parade around with her boobs on show.
The floor, however, contained all sorts of other things. The first thing she found was a pair of boxer briefs. So, it was a man. She was unsure if that was a good or a bad thing. She holds it up to her eyes, it was a medium-sized, black pair. The front was slightly stained white.
Someone was very happy to see me tonight. A smirk came to her face, but she soon repressed it. Control your impulses, Emily! They are the very reason you're in this mess!
She dropped the cloth messily on the floor, near to where she found it. Not that it really matters, she couldn't believe the man, whomever he was, had a method of scattering clothes around the room.
Closer to the door, there was a dress shirt. It was gray, graphite, and was very fashionable. And expensive, as far as she could tell from the designer label. She pressed the shirt against her nose. It had a deviant smell of aftershave.
She dropped it like it was hot. That smell was familiar, and it wasn't from last night. Yet, she couldn't quite place it.
This is SO FRUSTRATING! She shouted in her mind.
On the corner of the bed there was the tie, blood red. She held up to her eyes and thought it went well with the shirt.
Man, even piss-past drunk, Emily had good taste! She wished she had one of her friends here for a second, just to receive a pat on the back and give a high-five.
There were three doors on the quarters. The biggest one Emily supposed to lead outside, while another, smaller, seemed to lead to a en-suite bathroom. The third, half-opened, was a closet, one she rather not to pry. Preferring to go with the option least likely to lead to an undesirable encounter, she opened the bathroom door.
As expected, it was devoid of human presence. It seemed lived-on, though, with toothpaste, perfumes and aftershaves, among other amenities, scattered on the counter.
The place was of excellent taste, having a shower and a bath, everything decorated on white, clear marble. She picked up a salt jar. Oh, if only she had the time, or the shamelessness, she would have a blast testing some of those.
It was then she looked to the mirror in front of her, and her reflection scared her. Her hair was an absolute mess, branching over every direction. Her make-up was smeared, she looks like Pagliacci. A hickey was on her neck and was that a bitemark on her left breast?!
Her self-respect was getting to dangerously low levels.
Emily racked up the counter after some wet wipes, and she found them without much difficulty.
She cleaned her face with them, and her overall appearance improved, even if she still looked like a barechested skank after a night out in the town.
As a gesture of good will, she gathered the pieces of clothing scattered through the bedroom and put them on the laundry basket. She also supposed it would have helped her finding some other stuff of hers, like her purse, her phone or her damn bra.
Having no further clue on the bathroom, she gathered courage to leave the bedroom. As she placed her hand on the knob, she looked down to her girls. Whomever was behind that door, if anyone, was up for a show. Oh, well. Nothing that he hadn't seen before.
Breath in, breath out. Ready or not, here I come.
While she also did not find anyone lingering behind the door, she did find a mezzanine. Apparently, this was no ordinary apartment. It was a sweet-ass duplex. The living room window revealed an extensive view of Northbridge, right by the Central Station.
At least her overall location she was able to pinpoint. Even if it meant she was quite a few train stations from home.
She walked over to the staircase and made her way to the lower level of the apartment. The living room was similarly well-decorated, but with a darker color pallet. The couch was black leather, and the walls were painted a deep red. The furniture, which held an entertainment station, was a dark wood.
The first thing she saw was her dress, neatly tucked over the couch. She quickly put it on, before anyone else saw her… vulnerable.
Thank God she did not picked up a strapless, or else she wouldn't be able to hold it up without a bra.
She then turned to the kitchen. There, laying on the counter, it was her purse, a thermal and a card with her name on it.
"Good morning, beautiful. I am sorry I could not stay. There is coffee on the thermal. D.D."
D.D.? Whom on Earth is D.D.?!
Then, the memories of last night hit Emily hard. Oh, God, what have I done?!
She had gotten on a fight with her significant other two nights ago. All the Abbie/Tyler drama was catching up to them, as they discussed living arrangements, and it turns out they had different approaches to the problem.
After a big fight, they were on that grey area between a relationship and a break up. Tired of being angry and depressed, and going into the fifth stage of grief, doing something stupid, she picked up a train and went to Northbridge, where Teddy, James' comedian friend, was doing a gig.
When the show was over, she went to say hello to the artist. Apparently, despite the proximity, none of their group of friends went to the venue. Her presence made the man very glad, but he apologized and said he could not accompany her to an afterparty, as his father not-so-kindly asked for his presence at a reception on an upscale hotel of the city.
In a spur-of-the-moment idea, Emily offered to be Teddy's date. She knew about Teddy's preferences on terms of dates, and that she did not quite fit on those, but she also figured whomever he would like to take to the event would be a little too much for his father's sensibilities.
And so they went over to the reception. Soon after a triumphant arrival, the two friends split: as Teddy went over to greet his father's business partners, Emily went doing what she came to do, which was to drink.
A few glasses of wine later, she felt a chill passing through her spine. It was like the Devil himself was standing behind her. The reality was much worse.
Dorian Delacroix.
She remembered him saying something on the line of "A lady shouldn't drink so much.", to which she responded "You try to take away my home, try to wreck my relationship, and now try to take away my booze. Well, fuck you."
For some reason, he found her amusing, and they talked, and then they kissed, and then they came to his place and then they did other stuff. Several times.
Oh, God, she slept with Dorian Delacroix. With the man who is currently trying to take away her house. With the father of her courtyard arch-nemesis. With a married man. With a married man way over twice her age.
With a fine specimen of daddy. A salacious part of her mind said. Emily slapped herself. FOCUS!
She needed a drink. Dorian probably had a drinking cabinet around, but she did not want to open anything, her dignity has suffered enough. Besides, for all the beautifuls in the world, she wouldn't put past him to send her a bill if she, inadvertently, drunk something shamelessly expensive.
She looked to the thermal. If he wanted her dead, he would have smothered her with a pillow, so the coffee probably was not poisoned. She might as well drink it.
Emily picked up a mug from the pantry and served it. Taking a sip, she was enchanted with its rich taste.
She opened her purse and inspected its contents. Her documents seemed to be in order, as was whatever little cash she brought. Her phone was in there, too. Teddy seemed to be worried about her, what brought a new wave of shame upon her. She took another sip of her coffee.
Emily typed a quick apology. Perhaps she could talk to him and apologize properly before he left for New York. She then shot a message to Zack to come to Northbridge immediately. With a change of clothes.
An hour and a half later, Emily and Zack sat on a bistro by the station. The girl, with a fresh change of clothes, no longer seemed like a prostitute, could not hold the boy's staring.
Tired of waiting for the girl start talking, Zack probed: "Care to tell me what we are doing here?"
Emily sighed. "I made a terrible mistake."
"That much I figured." He looks at her pointedly. "What did you do?"
"I slept with someone." She breathed out.
"What?!" He shouts. "What about…?"
She cut him off. "That's not it! Well, it is part of the problem. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. The problem is with whom I slept with."
That seemed to sober up Zack. "Who? Teddy?"
"No."
"Darren? Oh, boy, Amara's going to beat you up to a pulp."
"No!" Emily seemed offended, not she had the right.
"Was it Manny?" He looked deep into her eyes. "Em, he's gay."
She hid her face into her arms. "Worse."
"Worse? Who could be worse?"
"Dorian Delacroix."
He did a double-take. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I slept with Dorian Delacroix."
"Jesus Christ, Emily!" He screamed. "When you screw up, you really screw up."
"I know." She bemoaned.
"He's, like, fifty!"
"I know."
"He's married!"
"I know."
"You're dating!" He said. "What are we going to do about…?"
"Right now, I don't really care about that." She bit. "I'm still hung up on the 'fuck, I slept with Satan'. What if I'm pregnant? Will I spawn the Antichrist?"
"Speaking of Satan's children, you realize he's Sebastian's dad, right?"
"It comes and goes from my conscience." She said, laughing humorlessly. "The one good thing that might come from this whole debacle is the fact that, whenever I meet Sebastian now, I can imagine how would he react if I told him I sucked his father's dick. And he liked it!"
"I don't know if I should laugh or groan." Zack said, with a frown. "But I admit, knowing Sebastian, he'd make a scene."
"Right?!" She laughed.
"Now, since we're on it," He said, with a deviant smirk. "How was it?"
Emily smirked. "He's big."
"Really?"
"Sure. I called it. Have you seen the thickness of his neck?"
He laughed. "Now that you mentioned it. But was he good in bed?"
"He's great, Zack. He really knows what he's doing, and, surprisingly, he's a very generous lover. He does something with his tongue that Jesus! And he's packing underneath that suit."
He sighed. "What now?"
Emily gave Zack the card Dorian had left her. "He left me his number. Right now, I have to find out whether or not I still am in a relationship, and that includes telling what happened last night, I guess."
"And then?"
"Then we'll have to resolve our housing impasse. Then we'll see." She breathed.
One Week Later
Her cab stopped by a glistening building. It was tall and full of glass windows, oppressing the city's skyline. It seemed appropriate, she thought.
Emily paid the driver and slid off the car. She confidently walked over to the building's reception and told the girl at the desk her name and her business. She was led to a private elevator, which took her directly to the very last floor.
There, her appointment was waiting for her.
"Good afternoon, Miss Emily."
"Hello, Mr. Delacroix. How have you been?"
"Very well, thank you for asking. And, excuse me for saying, you are a sight for sore eyes."
She smirked. "Thank you, Mr. Delacroix."
He motioned for her to sit, and then takes his own seat across from hers. "How do you find my office?"
"My, you ask me? I am hardly a specialist. My business is writing, not architecture and design."
"Indulge me, Miss Emily."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were overcompensating for something."
He laughed boastfully. "Now, that's what I enjoy about you. You take everything in stride, you face me fearlessly." He got up and sat right next to her. "Now, what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
"I came to speak about business." She said, melting in the man's presence.
"Is that so?" He smirked. "I assume you came with a proposition?"
"Yes, I came with our capitulation. We'll let you have your shopping mall, but we have our conditions."
"Hm?" He sniffed the nap of her neck. "I'm listening."
"First, I want for you to pay a generous price for the house to Gabriela. That offer of yours should suffice."
He grabs her arm and whispers sweetly on her ear. "Done."
"Second, Rebecca wants a job and support for law school, while Zack wants to intern on the team which will design the mall."
"Helping your friends?" He mocks. "How adorable. Done. What else?"
"Third, we want another house in Hartfeld. Similarly sized, free of charge for the next two years."
A shiver goes down her spine, as Dorian nibbles on her lobe. "So you want to play house with that significant other of yours?"
Emily turns her head to face the man. "My relationship is one of the things you were able to take away from me. We broke up."
He smirked, deviously. "Now, that is something that rejoices me. Then, I have a condition of my own."
"What would that be?"
"You'll live with me." He said, and then dove on her neck.
Emily pulled him away by the hair. "Where? At your garçonière? Aren't you married?"
Dorian smirked, despite having his hair still being tugged by the girl. "My marriage? Pure convenience. And if my apartment isn't of your liking, we can pick somewhere else."
She lets go of him. "Aren't you jumping the mark a little?"
"Miss Emily, I am a man who knows what he wants. I don't play meek when I am out to get it."
Emily weighed her options. To be honest, even though she was negotiating free housing for her friends, and even though that capitulation and its terms were widely discussed by the housemates and Gabriela, she was likely homeless. It was clear in which side her friends fell after her break up, and it wasn't hers. Unsurprisingly, living together is going to be decidedly difficult.
She supposed she could negotiate housing for herself, or for Dorian to weight his influence within Hartfeld to find her a place at the dorms, but with that demand of his, it is unlikely for him to accept.
Besides, he is very good in bed.
"Okay," She compromised. "We're trying your way. But if it doesn't work out, I want a place to stay until Summer."
He kissed her. "Very well, beautiful. We have a deal."
"Now, we have to seal our little agreement." Emily smirked, while straddling him.
Dorian returned her expression. "What do you have in mind?"
She ran her hands on his back and then pulled his suit jacket off. She kissed him quickly, and then says: "I'm sure we can whip something up."
End Notes: So… Back in July I did some stuff I am not really proud of. I mean, when you wake up naked on a condo in Laingsburg faintly remembering to have had sex to a recently-divorced older man you later find out is the father of the best friend of your ex-boyfriend who may or may not be a distant relative (small towns suck), you find you have never felt so disgusted with yourself.
I don't think Dorian looks like Trump? The hair is definitely similar, but it lacks the toupee-y look. Also, he doesn't look like a cheeto who (barely) learned to speak and tweet, neither the body of the upper half of Pac-Man. And, really, if I looked like that when I am seventy, I am pretty sure my grandchildren will run a wooden stake through my chest.