Chapter 11

Brooke

I'm not a slow starter. Unless I've been drinking, or slept very little, when I open my eyes, I'm full on. Current situation is familiar. Waking up in a strange bed, strong arms around me and an erection pressing against my buttocks. I wiggle a bit. A nice, large one, it seems. The feeling... Giddy? Is that the word? I feel like getting up and doing a little victory dance. Or maybe I'd rather stay quiet in his arms and think about what I'd like to do with that hard-on.

Staying quiet doesn't work for very long. I'm too restless. I get up, trying not to wake up Lucas. He grumbles a bit, tosses around, but goes on sleeping. He was dead tired last night, so it is only fair that he sleeps some more. I head downstairs. The door to the bedroom is open, and Rachel is curled up, the sheets wrapped around her. Sign of a restless night. I pick up some clothes and step out of my closet. Then I stare at Rachel for a while. We're close, like sisters, or maybe more. She's hurt. I love her and I know she needs me. Still...

I head back up. Lucas is still asleep, so I shower and change. Just a light blue summer dress, one of my designs, my hair tied in a loose ponytail. I check myself in the mirror. Without make-up I look young enough to get my boyfriend a jail sentence. Once we get around to doing it, of course. I climb on his bed and kneel next to him. He feels the bed moving and begins to wake up. He squints at me, his clever baby blues clouded with sleep. "Hmm. Brooke?"

I look at him, kneeling neatly with my hands on my lap. "Good morning." I need a little help from him.

He smiles at me. "Good morning." Then he takes in my serious face and frowns. He sits up, stretching a bit. "Are you breaking up with me?"

My heart beats a little happy tattoo. The bit of fear in his tone is the sweetest sound ever. My boy has it as bad as I do. I reply softly. "No, I'm not going anywhere, boyfriend." He smiles back, and I feel like a little puddle.

"So, what is it, then?"

I breathe in and dive right in. "What do you do when someone you care about does something really bad?"

He frowns as he looks me in the eye. "Rachel" He sighs, showing sadness as my expression confirms it.

I let it out. "Try as I might, I can't stop thinking of the little baby, and the father. He's a very nice guy, and he was really in love with her. I get it why she did it. I really do. And I know it was her right. She needs me, Lucas. I can see she does. I'm worried about her. I've never seen her like this, and we've been through a lot. I love her, I'm sad and worried but I'm angry too. I'm really angry. And I don't know what to do with that." In the middle of my tirade, tears begin to roll down.

He slides against me and wraps me his arms. I hide my face on his naked chest and climb on his lap, letting all my defenses down. I cry for Rachel, Mountain and their baby, and for myself. I hate feeling so weak, and I love it at the same time. Lucas stays silent, but he rocks me slowly. After a few minutes I stop crying and I just enjoy the warmth, twirling his chest hairs in my fingers. I hide my embarrassment on his chest, but when I lift my face, all I can see is the bright blue of his eyes on mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

Lucas

The kiss begins hesitant, innocent, almost shy. After the way she opened up to me, I'm afraid to say or do the wrong thing. I try to express how much I care for her with the kiss. The innocence doesn't last. She opens her mouth and her tongue dashes out, meeting mine. We shift, her breasts pressing into my naked chest, her ass grinding against my lap. I let out a needy moan, as we deepen the kiss, and our mutual hunger asserts itself. Before I can even think, I'm out of my boxers, and, sliding effortlessly, I'm deep inside her. We kiss, her hands holding both sides of my face, her legs wrapped around my waist. She mewls my name, doing a desperate grind while I try to help her, encouraging her movement with my hands on her buttocks. She is tight, and I'm so deep inside I can feel myself hitting her cervix. I'm at a hair trigger, so it doesn't last long. I can feel a volcanic orgasm coming. I try to slow it down, but she just growls, pushing deeper, grinding faster. As I come, I feel her pressing against me, her muscles tensing in her own orgasm, pulling me even deeper and sucking me dry.. A little noise, right from the back of her throat joins my own moans, as I empty myself on her, six or seven jets of genetic material right into the back of her womb.

Emotionally and physically spent, I lie down, pulling her with me. She lies on top of me, cuddling, as I turn flaccid while still inside her. My mind floats to an old movie sequence, my swimmers talking, while racing towards a talking giant sphere. The fresh package of condoms inside my night stand mocking me.

We're both reluctant to break the silence. I'm a little shocked at how suddenly things went down. She's the first one to whisper.

"Damn."

I lift my head. She's frowning at me, and I feel a little jolt of anxiety, frowning back. "What?"

Her voice is soft. "I didn't want our first time to be a stupid pity fuck."

I struggle, without success, to find an answer to that. Finally, I just give up and shrug. "I hope next time you'll at least take off your panties."

She stares at me, and after a second, gives a thin smile. "Presumptuous, no?"

My heart skips a bit. "Sorry..."

She is quick to backstep. "I'm just kidding."

We stare at each other. Our first painfully awkward moment. I realize how little we actually know each other. Suddenly, the dam bursts. She giggles, and I start laughing. Then, both of us are lying down side-by side, laughing our heads off. It's still awkward, but the laughter drains away much of the tension. As we quiet down, we lie in parallel, facing each other.

"Brooke..."

"What?"

"Thank you."

She smiles sadly. "For the sex?"

"No. For opening up. I know it took guts."

She extends a hand and caresses my face. "Trust, boyfriend. More than guts."

I place my hand on top of hers."It was no pity fuck."

She looks into my eyes, and I can see little wheels turning inside her head. "I think I knew that. I was just kinda being bitchy."

I smile, entranced by the unending landscape that is Brooke Davis. "You told me that fucking was all you had to offer. But you give me so much more."

She snorts. "I'm just a broken girl, boyfriend. Keep me off that pedestal."

"Fine. We have a long, long way to go."

"Go where?"

"A long way to turn this crazy thing between us into something real. We barely know each other."

She stretches, humming softly. "Real, schmeal. You're a bit pompous sometimes."

I can't help laughing. "Writer and doctor. A common professional flaw in both cases."

She pouts. "Hm. Pompous." She gets up, lifts up her dress and removes her panties, smeared with fluids from both of us. She casually tosses the panties at me. Then she sticks two fingers inside herself, pulls them out, and looks at them, frowning cutely. She puts them in her mouth, sucking them and deadpans. "Hmm. Nice, salty, with a hint of red fruit. Long velvety finish."

It's both incredibly erotic and funny. As I laugh, she does it again and offers me the fingers. I feel seriously tempted in tasting it directly from the source, but I know where that would lead. Trouble is, I really want to take my time going there, and I have work to do today. So, I enjoy licking her fingers instead. All I get is slightly salty and the mixed smells of spunk and pussy. And a girlfriend who is looking pleased with herself. "What's your day looking like?"

"I have a meeting with my boss at two. Otherwise I'm flexible. You?"

"I want to stop at the Hospital to check on a patient. Then I need to go to Tarrytown. Wanna come? I'll have you back here long before your meeting."

Brooke thinks about it a bit. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm going to work a little on my business plan, and then head to the atelier. I want to put an idea I have on paper before the meeting. I'll see you at seven for our date."

"Any instructions on apparel?"

"A nice dark suit. Leave the tie to me." With a long kiss and a bit of regret, we go our separate ways for the day.

Brooke

It's past ten, and the apartment is still quiet. Rachel has been drugged up to the gills, so it's likely I still have a little time before she wakes up. I look at my bank balance, and I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken. The check for the car cleared yesterday. I know my little bug was just collecting dust, but I loved that car. The car, a couple of choice bits of jewelry and my parent's parting gift brought my investment account to close to one hundred and thirty grand. It's simple math. Now I have just enough cash to make my fly-on-a-shoestring business plan doable.

It's going to an be insane couple of years.

There are complications. I've read my contract with Victoria's Secret very carefully. It looks like they have no claim on my designs, but I need to confirm this with an industry lawyer. I have to complete my contract with them, because quitting early triggers a nasty non-compete clause. I need to work on my designer degree and I've already convinced myself I'll have to get an MBA as well. That is, if I want money people to take me seriously.

And I want to spend time with my boyfriend.

Thinking of him makes all the rates-of-return, marketing strategies and implementation schedules fly right out of my brain. I can still feel his big dick snug inside me, his blue eyes on mine and the taste of his cum. I recall this morning's quickie and my hand moves to a little moist spot.

I'm easily distracted. Not a good thing for an aspiring fashion mogul.

I save my work and shut down the computer. The business plan is basically done, I'm just fiddling with details now. I wish I had another twenty grand or so. My budget is tight, and I would love to have a cushion, in case something does not go as planned.

As I walk out, I get back to my favorite snag. I need a name. Catchy, trendy. Something fresh. Fashion Salad? Raspberry Rags? Nah. No food. I think of a pretty young woman, going for a makeover after dumping her latest squeeze. A new look. Freshly Squeezed? Damn. What's with the foodie names? Maybe I'm hungry.

Lucas

I'm about to enter the elevator when I hear my name. I turn around, to see my boss' boss walking fast in my direction, pointy heels clacking in the hard floor. "Good morning, Dr. Marsh."

"Dr. Scott."

The impolite greeting annoys me a bit. It must be the southern boy my mother raised. I give her a cold smile. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like a word. My office?"

I frown. "Now?"

"Unless you have something urgent..."

I shrug. "No, that's fine."

We take the elevator to her floor and walk together in silence, until we reach her office. Her walk is stiff, and her shoulders tense. Her manner is intended to intimidate, but the effect is lost in me. People in finance call a bank balance like mine 'fuck you money'. If I get mad, I can just say 'fuck you' and walk out.

She sits behind her desk and I stand in front of it. She picks up a folder and begins to look at it. "Twelve days ago you brought Rachel Gattina, age eighteen, into our ER. You requested a blood panel and a pregnancy test, and, when it came out positive, you requested a OB-Gyn consult and had a vaginal sonogram made to verify age and the health of the embryo. You signed the prontuary as the girl's physician of record. Then a week later Miss Gattina came back for a termination. According to records you also personally covered Miss Gattina medical bill. Almost four thousand dollars."

I smile. "That is all correct."

She stares at me, expecting that I will try to explain, or justify myself. I just stay quiet, waiting. After about a minute she decides to continue. "It is against the law to act as physician of record for a woman expecting your child, Dr. Scott."

"I am well aware of that, Dr. Marsh." I exaggerate my drawl a bit. "Unfortunately, I was never intimate with Miss Gattina."

She frowns and steps right in it. "Unfortunately?"

I smile. "She is a very attractive young woman."

Her voice acquires a shrill undertone. "Why did you pay for her termination, then?"

"I am sorry, ma'm. That's none of your business."

She seems to deflate a bit. There is still malice in her voice when she continues. "Very well. I'm also informed you are in a relationship with one of our attendings..." she checks her folder. "A Dr. Allison Cameron. You are aware that hospital rules discourages such relationships."

"Yes." I cross my arms across my chest. "I find your interest in my personal life a little... disturbing."

She raises her voice a bit. "Dr. Scott! The position you occupy at this hospital has great visibility and strategic importance. Two of our board members have expressed specific interest in your work here, and several of our regular donors are connected with the Knickerbockers. It is imperative that you maintain a measure of decorum in your personal life. Bringing a pregnant teenager into this hospital for a questionable pregnancy termination while maintaining a relationship with one of our permanent staff is not full compliance with the morals clause of your contract."

I sigh. The Cameron-Scott plug patent application will have to wait a bit. "We will have to agree to disagree on that, Dr. Marsh."

She points a finger at me. "Consider yourself warned, Dr. Scott. Keep your nose clean, or your fellowship will be summarily canceled."

According to my contract she would need a majority vote of the Hospital board, and concurrence from the corporation that owns the team to dismiss me without heavy penalties. Since she is probably as aware of that as I am, I'll let her threat slide as so much hot air. "Very well, Dr. Marsh. Anything else?"

She sits straight in her desk and her voice regains the professional polish. "In a couple of months, the Board holds its annual benefits gala event. The board requests that you give a brief presentation on the contract between Mount Sinai and the Knickerbockers."

The distaste in her voice is unmistakable. This is probably the actual reason for her interest in my personal life. Trying to find a reason for the board to withdraw its request. I understand, and even sympathise with her reasons. Surely a young fellow managing a sports medicine contract is not the best medicine a world-class hospital has to showcase. Her strategy, however, royally sucks. "Length?"

"Ten to fifteen minutes. There will be three other presentations, by the heads of Oncology, Pediatrics and General Surgery. There are millions of dollars of funding riding on this, so don't screw up."

"I'll do my best."

As I close her door and head back to the elevator, my mind heads straight to Brooke. I usually hate these stuffy events. But with her in my arm... what happens if she gets bored? I can hardly wait to find out.

Brooke

I put the finishing touches in my sketch. It's a vaporous babydoll, lace-trimmed, with an inch-wide satin cinch in a complementary color. A couple of staff designers come around, giving unsolicited advice and just plain gawking at my work. I'm sure similar designs will pop-up, as the atelier looks a little more predatory than I expected. I do a high-resolution scan of my drawing and use a graphics tool to produce images of alternative color schemes for the same outfit. I print three alternative-scheme versions and place the original hand-drawing and the printed copies in a portfolio folder.

I stop by the restroom to retouch my make-up and get ready for the meeting. I'm still floating a bit over this morning's ittie bittie fuck. The meeting, though... I turned in my sketches as soon as we arrived in New York. Twenty-one little ideas. Today I'm gonna hear, whatever! Shit! Fuck! I have a date tonight. And I'm gonna screw my boyfriend blind this weekend. Fuck this meeting...

The receptionist is still the same insane creature. When I arrive, she has her feet on her desk and she is painting her toenails. Dark blue, which looks good on her feet. "Monica, right?"

She doesn't bother looking at me and just grunts, pointing a thumb at our boss' door. I walk past her and open the door without knocking. Veronique is sitting behind her desk. There's also two women and a men, sitting around her office, and an empty chair clearly waiting for me. "Brooke! Excellent timing. Come in, sit down. Let me introduce you around. Guys, this is Brooke Davies. Brooke, these are Marie Solow, from Marketing, Jessica Biel, fashion strategist, working on the team that's putting together our Spring line and John Silva, from production."

I wave. "Hi guys. Nice to meet you." Veronique was her friendly self, velvet over steel. Marie looked pleasant, Jessica cold and serious and the guy looked just annoyed.

Veronique opened a folder and dived right in. "You presented us with twenty-one designs. Of these, sixteen do not interest us at all. We have a detailed written report, which we suggest you examine carefully. Of the other six, two we are willing to place in production without further modification." Those were a top-and-bottom pajama set in very light cotton with the Pink's dog stamped on the top, and the words 'hot Pink' on the left buttock cheek and an exercise drawstring shorts. "The other four can be used, with some changes."

The next two hours were a grueling, and exhilarating, lesson in modern mass-market fashion. The marketing girl spoke of taste trends, and precisely how some of my designs were not tracking them properly. I took this with a grain of salt, as I see the real designers leading the trends, not following them, but I promised to study a recent in-house document about it and to adjust my designs in accordance with her suggestions. The other woman talked about the thinking behind the Spring catalog, and how to make a coherent collection. She requested a few changes on color patterns and materials, plus details that would give the collection some conceptual coherence. The guy was by far the worst. He spoke of tensile strengths, differential stretching, joining of different materials, industrial stitching and the effect of repeated washings on cloth and stitching. He called me an ignorant fool, and informed me I was to spend every morning for the next three months at the production office in the Garment District, learning about materials and industrial fashion assemblage.

Despite feeling I had been run over by a bus, I was fully aware that this meeting was the highest compliment I had ever received.

Finally Veronique asks. "So, is there anything else?"

"I've finished a design this morning."

"Let's see." I fish the sketches from my portfolio and hand them to Veronique. She smiles and passes them around. Marie and Jessica whisper to each other and John stands next to Veronique, pointing to something in the hand-drawn version. "Will you wait outside for a bit, Brooke?"

"Sure."

I sit in Monica's chair, as the crazy one was not around. About ten minutes later. Marie, Jessica and John leave, and Veronique beckons me back to her office. We both sit again, and the smile on her face is the warmest I have seen. "We will take the babydoll too, if you adjust the sketches to the catalog's colors and make the lace-fabric stitching accord to the company's standards."

"Thank you." She picks up an envelope and slides it across her desk. "What is it?"

"A bonus. To show our appreciation for your outstanding work."

I pick up the envelope and put it in my purse, without opening it.

"As you know, your designs will be included in our Spring catalog. Time is short, so you will get another bonus, twice the size of the one you just got, if you deliver the finished sketches, incorporating the necessary changes, by this time next Friday." I open my mouth to protest, and close it again. That's a nearly impossible deadline, but I'm going to meet it. She continues. "Aside from your mini-internship in the Production Department, you will follow your designs through prototyping and shooting. Until that is done, you're off the design team and retail work. I'm also giving you a twenty percent raise."

"Again, thank you. This is a bit overwhelming."

"You exceeded my expectations, Brooke, which were already pretty high. One last thing. I'm having a party at my penthouse in two weeks. Saturday night, informal, mostly Company staff. The address is inside the envelope I just gave you. Bring a friend."

I'm out the building, walking home fast. The bonus is a check for ten grand. I let out a screaming "Fuck!" which makes a mother with two school-age children give me a well-deserved murderous glare. "Sorry." The second bonus will fit perfectly in my investment account, and this one... the Fall collections are going on sale. I'm thinking a couple of Kate Spades, one for me and another for my slutty best friend. A black Jimmy Choo and, just maybe, a Bottega outfit I was dying to try. And something for my boyfriend... "Shit!" This time a noisy bike is going by, and nobody hears it. The date. I've just been given what looks like a hundred hours of hard work to do in a week. There's no way I can take time off tonight. I promise myself I'll make it up to him. The best blow-job he's ever had, at least.

I just hope he doesn't get mad. Or worse, disappointed... I can take mad. But those baby blues... I shake my head. I'm Brooke Davis, aspiring fashion mogul. It's gonna be clothes first, boyfriends second. Hold it. Wait a second...