Chapter 2
He awoke lying facedown on his bed the next morning, in a large puddle of drool. Jazz groaned feebly as he stirred, whimpering at the pain in his head and the churning in his stomach. Had a bus run over him? No…he recognized these signs from his younger days in college…he was horribly hung-over. This right here was exactly why he’d stopped drinking so much. The morning after just wasn’t worth it. He felt like he could die and that would be good.
Moaning softly, he struggled to make his body move. He wriggled to the edge of the bed, feeling like there was a thousand-pound weight sitting on his body. His eyes lighted on the closed door of the bathroom, and he whimpered pitifully. How was he supposed to get over there? But somehow he had to; his stomach was roiling, and even if he didn’t toss his cookies his bladder was excruciatingly full. Feebly he tried to sit up, which was a mistake. Pain shot through his head like a jackhammer, and he fell on the floor as his muscles gave out on him.
He sobbed piteously at how much it hurt to fall on the floor, despite the carpet. He decided that he wasn’t going to try to get up again; instead, he began to wiggle across the floor like a worm. Inch-by-inch he scooted toward the closed bathroom door, refusing to give up. How pathetic he was; if any of his friends could see him right now…some would empathize and help him, some would lecture him that it was his own damn fault, and a couple would laugh at his plight. And right now, Jazz didn’t want empathy anymore than he wanted laughter or lectures. All he wanted was to get to the bathroom door and crawl inside…
Finally he reached it. Triumph welled up in him as he stretched up to turn the handle and push the door open. The tile floor was cool on his skin where his shiny shirt had rucked up as he slid across it toward the toilet. His stomach was no worse off than before, so he hauled his aching carcass up onto the seat and began to pull his too-tight pants down, wishing that they weren’t quite so confining. He wrestled with them, his fingers feeling so weak it was a wonder that he won. But he did; he sighed in acute relief as he shoved the pants down his narrow hips and peed in the toilet like a girl, holding his dick down so that it pointed into the bowl between his legs.
Ah, the wonderful feelings of his bladder emptying! The last few drops trickled out, and he wiped himself with some toilet tissue before he rose on trembling legs and staggered over to the sink. He looked terrible; he grimaced at his own face in the mirror as he ran some hot water and splashed it on his face and neck. He also rinsed out his mouth with some mouthwash, before he filled a cup and drank from it greedily. He drank several cupfuls of water, and felt better already.
Jazz took a long, hot, luxurious shower, scrubbing himself to get off the sweat and the stink of the alcohol fumes. When he stepped out, he felt far more human than he had just thirty minutes ago. Life was actually starting to feel like it was worth living again. He pulled on silken robe and padded out of his bedroom to look for something to eat. Something simple, that wouldn’t upset his stomach anymore than it already was. Some toast should do the trick.
He sat perched on a stool at his breakfast bar, drinking water and nibbling on some toast. He was texting at the same time, telling Basil what had happened to him last night at the club. Well, he was telling at least as much as he remembered, anyway, which wasn’t much after that fifth drink. In point of fact, Jazz had no memory whatsoever of how he’d gotten home! Clearly he hadn’t brought at guy back to his apartment; his bed was empty except for him, and there were no other signs that anyone had been here last night but him. Had he drunkenly forgotten that Basil was with him, and taken a cab home by himself? Maybe, but why wouldn’t he have snagged a guy to bring him with him for some sodden sex? Even in his drunken stupor, it was strange that he hadn’t picked somebody up.
Thinking about that made him remember that guy at the bar last night. His mouth thinned, and his eyes snapped angrily. It was that guy’s fault that he’d drunk too much, gotten wasted, and hadn’t ended up taking anybody home! If he ever saw that insulting brute again, he’d kick him right in the shins as hard as he could! But of course, the city being as big as it was, he had little chance of ever coming face-to-face with that guy ever again.
This thought cooled his ire a bit. Jazz finished his toast in peace and started to make plans for his day. Those included going out on the town and actually finding someone to bring home with him tonight, because he seriously needed to get laid now…
Jazz lay on his stomach and blinked sleepily at the sun streaming through his bedroom windows. He felt the weight of the arm lying across his back, and heard the grumble as the man sleeping next to him shifted a bit. Jazz yawned, thinking to himself that this was a much better way to wake up than the way he had yesterday morning. No drool puddle, no hangover, no angry ruminations about bastards who insulted you when you tried to pick them up. Just a warm, naked body lying next to him, and the memory of a night of sex (and maybe more to come this morning) to make him happy.
Well, okay, it hadn’t been the best or most creative sex he’d ever had, but so what? It had been adequate, at least. So the handsome young college student he’d picked up at a bar hadn’t had much imagination - or stamina - but it was better than nothing. Much better than nothing. He stretched a bit, luxuriously, and slid out from under the arm to go and use the bathroom.
As he washed his face in the sink, he studied his own face in the mirror. Much better than yesterday. No dark circles under his eyes, no wan skin or ratty hair. Sex was definitely better than drinking. Of course, great sex would be even better, but what could you do? He was sure that he’d be able to find someone else who could give him that. He just had to keep on looking.
“What do you think of this fabric?” Jazz asked, holding up the length of gauzy, ocean-colored cloth embroidered with shimmering golden birds.
“It’s lovely, Jazz!” Linda Fraine exclaimed in admiration.
“Isn’t it? It will make a beautiful blouse,” Jazz said, draping the cloth over the sewing dummy’s torso.
“You have a great eye,” Linda remarked admiringly. “No wonder Amelie trusts you to design so much of her collection.”
“That, and she loves spending most of her time attending parties and socializing, so she needs someone else to do the work for her,” Jazz said dryly.
“That’s true. But she made her your junior partner in the business, after all. That’s gotta be worth having to do most of the work,” Linda replied.
“Yes, it is,” Jazz agreed. “I’m not really complaining. Amelie has all the contacts that keep us doing a good business, and her name has great cache in the fashion world.”
His fingers nimbly began to pin the fabric in place. Linda watched him for a moment, then spoke up: “Aren’t you and she going to that party tonight?”
“Yes. Everybody who has anything to do with clothes or fashion will be there tonight. Amelie wants me there to mingle, shake hands, make nice…my only consolation will be that there will be lots and lots of pretty male models there. At least I’ll have that.”
Linda giggled. “The things you have to do for your career,” she teased.
Jazz grimaced. “Boredom is the least sacrifice I could make to forward my career. And at least there’ll be free food and champagne. It’s not all bad.”
“Definitely. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet your Prince Charming at this thing.”
Jazz chuffed with laughter. “The one who will sweep me off my feet and carry me off to his castle? Only if he has a harem of pretty boys waiting for me,” he added with a wicked grin.
Linda shook her head. “Don’t you ever want something more than just sex, Jazz?” she asked him.
His fingers paused at her question, because it hit so close to home. That guy the other night at the dance club… “No,” he said shortly. “Why would I? There’s so much variety out there; why would I restrict myself to one flavor when I can have dozens?”
She smiled wryly. “Okay, Jazz. It’s your choice. I just wish that you could experience what it’s like to be with just one person. My boyfriend is so great; it’s so wonderful to be in love. Are you telling me that you’ve NEVER wanted to try that for yourself?”
Jazz’s mouth thinned. “When I still believed in fairy tales, sure,” he drawled. “But I’m older and wiser now.”
Linda gave him a startled look. Had Jazz been hurt sometime in the past by somebody? She wondered to herself. She’d always just assumed that he was a fun-loving guy who liked to cat around, and who never tried to be serious about anybody. That that was his nature. Had he become that way because of something that had happened to him? She didn’t want to ask him aloud, since it was none of her business. But she couldn’t help wondering, just the same…
Jazz stood holding a glass of champagne, sipping at it occasionally as he glanced around the ball room. This event wasn’t a dance; this room was simply big enough to hold the large crowd attending. He was pleased to see at least a half-a-dozen extremely sexy and good-looking men in the crowd so far. And he’d bet dollars to donuts at least three of them were gay or bi. He’d make his move any time now, turning on the charm and luring one of those fine pieces of ass into his bed. But for now, he was content to drink champagne and nibble at some hors d’eouvres on a napkin he held in his free hand.
His eyes scanned over the crowd, seeing who had come. He spotted many influential fashion designers, as well as famous models and the business-suited hordes of men and women who manufactured and sold clothing. Everybody who was anybody in the world of clothes and fashion attended this event. His roving gaze ran idly over a large man in a dark suit, then started to move on. But then his eyes came to a stop with an almost audible screech and backtracked to the man standing near the buffet table, talking to another man. Jazz’s jaw dropped, and his eyes threatened to pop out of his head. It was that guy! The guy from the bar!
At first he thought that he had to be wrong, but then the man’s head turned a bit and he got a look at his face. Oh, yeah, it was the same guy! That distinctly ugly but interesting face couldn’t be mistaken for somebody else. What was he doing here? Who was he? He just had to know.
Jazz looked around, finally spotting a fashion columnist who knew everything about everybody in the fashion world. He plowed through the crowds to her side, greeting her: “Hi, Miranda.”
“Oh, hi, Jazz,” she replied. They knew each other because she’d just written an article about Designs by Amelie for her column a few months ago. She’d interviewed him as part of it, and had been much taken with both his looks and his name. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Well, not much,” he replied honestly, making her laugh dryly. “Miranda, I have to ask you - do you know who that guy over by the buffet table is? The big one with the broken nose? The kind of ugly one?”
Miranda nodded sagely at his description, glancing across the room toward the buffet table. “Yes, I know him. That’s Xavier Paretiss, the former MMA fighter. He markets a very successful line of athletic gear now.”
“MMA? What’s that?” Jazz asked.
She smiled. “Mixed Martial Arts. Have you ever heard of the UFC?”
“Is that football?” Jazz said attentively.
Her lips twitched. “No, it’s the Ultimate Fighting Championship. Basically, large, muscular men get into a ring and beat the crap out of each other using mixed martial arts. It’s like boxing except with martial arts thrown in. Xavier there was a world champion three years running. That is, until he was injured pretty badly. Tore his rotator cuff. Had half-a-dozen surgeries, but it never got back to normal. So he had to retire, and after that he started his own company and used his name and fame to make money. He’s canny, that one. His business made at least ten million dollars in revenue last year, and it’s projected to do even better this year. And he’s taking the company public soon, so he’ll be making money hand-over-fist. I’ll admit I never thought a guy who’d been hit in the head that many times would be smart, but he is.”
“Oh,” Jazz said slowly.
She gave him a keen look. “Why are you so interested?”
“No reason, exactly,” he said quickly, since she had a bloodhound’s nose for news, and he had no idea if a macho man like Xavier Paretiss was out of the closet yet, “I just saw him somewhere before this, so when I saw him again standing by the buffet I got curious. You have to admit, he’s pretty distinctive-looking.”
“I’ll admit that, yes,” she agreed. “But still, he’s totally sexy, isn’t he? I’d let him into my ring anytime.”
“He is very sexy,” Jazz agreed, knowing it would look weird for him to say ‘no’ to that statement, after he’d asked about the guy. “But not really my type,” he added, lying like a rug. Xavier only wasn’t his type because he’d insulted Jazz. Otherwise, he’d be totally his type…
“If you say so,” she replied skeptically. “Anyway, is there anything else that you’d like to know?”
“Nope, that covers it,” he replied. “Thanks, Miranda.”
“Happy to help,” she said, waving a languid hand at him.
Jazz mingled after that, talking to lots of people and flirting with a handful of the best-looking men. He tried his hardest to avoid Xavier Paretiss, and he managed so well that the evening was half over and he hadn’t seen him again. That is, until the crowd parted and he saw the burly figure standing talking to a petite, dark-haired woman over by the bar…a woman he knew! It was his senior partner in the design firm, Amelie Benoit! Oh, Lord, why was Amelie talking so intently with that guy? He began to worm his way through the crowd, intent on finding out what their conversation was about. He had a bad feeling about this…
He arrived nearby, and Amelie saw him. “Jazz!” she called, waving a hand to bring him closer. “There you are, mon ami! Listen, I’ve just been talking with this oh-so-charming man, Monsieur Paretiss, and he has a proposition for us!”
Xavier Paretiss turned, an expression of surprise on his face. “Jazz,” he said. “Well, hello again.”
“You’ve met before?” Amelie twittered.
“Yes, we met at a bar the other night,” Xavier told her.
“Bien! So now you are not strangers, oui? Jazz will be designing your line of clothing for you, Xavier. He is extremely talented. You will be very pleased with his services.”
“I’m sure I will,” Xavier replied, his intense eyes boring into Jazz’s.
“Amelie…” Jazz began, trying to protest.
She waved a negligent hand at him. “Monsieur Paretiss has made us a very lucrative offer, Jazz. He wishes us to design a line of athletic clothing for the haute monde, the bon ton. You understand?”
“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “He wants us to design a line of athletic clothing for wealthy people.”
“Oui! And you are just the man to do it, mon ami Jazz. Your sense of style is impeccable. All of the wealthy ladies of Manhattan will wish to wear your designs when they work out to keep their svelte figures. And the name of Designs by Amelie will become even more widely known. It is, as you Americans say: ‘a win-win proposition’.”
Jazz wanted to howl at the workings of fate and the universe. He had to work for a man that he loathed? Xavier Paretiss spoke up just then. “I assure you, Mr. Sullivan, that I can make it worth your while to work for me,” he said. “Whatever our personal differences, they can be set aside so that we can do business together. Can’t they?” he looked keenly at Jazz as he said this.
He sighed. “Yes,” he replied tightly. “They can.”
“Excellent!” Amelie cried, clapping her hands together. “Jazz will do a marvelous job for you, Monsieur Paretiss, I promise. You will not be disappointed. Come now, let’s all have a drink to celebrate our doing business together.”
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He awoke lying facedown on his bed the next morning, in a large puddle of drool. Jazz groaned feebly as he stirred, whimpering at the pain in his head and the churning in his stomach. Had a bus run over him? No…he recognized these signs from his younger days in college…he was horribly hung-over. This right here was exactly why he’d stopped drinking so much. The morning after just wasn’t worth it. He felt like he could die and that would be good.
Moaning softly, he struggled to make his body move. He wriggled to the edge of the bed, feeling like there was a thousand-pound weight sitting on his body. His eyes lighted on the closed door of the bathroom, and he whimpered pitifully. How was he supposed to get over there? But somehow he had to; his stomach was roiling, and even if he didn’t toss his cookies his bladder was excruciatingly full. Feebly he tried to sit up, which was a mistake. Pain shot through his head like a jackhammer, and he fell on the floor as his muscles gave out on him.
He sobbed piteously at how much it hurt to fall on the floor, despite the carpet. He decided that he wasn’t going to try to get up again; instead, he began to wiggle across the floor like a worm. Inch-by-inch he scooted toward the closed bathroom door, refusing to give up. How pathetic he was; if any of his friends could see him right now…some would empathize and help him, some would lecture him that it was his own damn fault, and a couple would laugh at his plight. And right now, Jazz didn’t want empathy anymore than he wanted laughter or lectures. All he wanted was to get to the bathroom door and crawl inside…
Finally he reached it. Triumph welled up in him as he stretched up to turn the handle and push the door open. The tile floor was cool on his skin where his shiny shirt had rucked up as he slid across it toward the toilet. His stomach was no worse off than before, so he hauled his aching carcass up onto the seat and began to pull his too-tight pants down, wishing that they weren’t quite so confining. He wrestled with them, his fingers feeling so weak it was a wonder that he won. But he did; he sighed in acute relief as he shoved the pants down his narrow hips and peed in the toilet like a girl, holding his dick down so that it pointed into the bowl between his legs.
Ah, the wonderful feelings of his bladder emptying! The last few drops trickled out, and he wiped himself with some toilet tissue before he rose on trembling legs and staggered over to the sink. He looked terrible; he grimaced at his own face in the mirror as he ran some hot water and splashed it on his face and neck. He also rinsed out his mouth with some mouthwash, before he filled a cup and drank from it greedily. He drank several cupfuls of water, and felt better already.
Jazz took a long, hot, luxurious shower, scrubbing himself to get off the sweat and the stink of the alcohol fumes. When he stepped out, he felt far more human than he had just thirty minutes ago. Life was actually starting to feel like it was worth living again. He pulled on silken robe and padded out of his bedroom to look for something to eat. Something simple, that wouldn’t upset his stomach anymore than it already was. Some toast should do the trick.
He sat perched on a stool at his breakfast bar, drinking water and nibbling on some toast. He was texting at the same time, telling Basil what had happened to him last night at the club. Well, he was telling at least as much as he remembered, anyway, which wasn’t much after that fifth drink. In point of fact, Jazz had no memory whatsoever of how he’d gotten home! Clearly he hadn’t brought at guy back to his apartment; his bed was empty except for him, and there were no other signs that anyone had been here last night but him. Had he drunkenly forgotten that Basil was with him, and taken a cab home by himself? Maybe, but why wouldn’t he have snagged a guy to bring him with him for some sodden sex? Even in his drunken stupor, it was strange that he hadn’t picked somebody up.
Thinking about that made him remember that guy at the bar last night. His mouth thinned, and his eyes snapped angrily. It was that guy’s fault that he’d drunk too much, gotten wasted, and hadn’t ended up taking anybody home! If he ever saw that insulting brute again, he’d kick him right in the shins as hard as he could! But of course, the city being as big as it was, he had little chance of ever coming face-to-face with that guy ever again.
This thought cooled his ire a bit. Jazz finished his toast in peace and started to make plans for his day. Those included going out on the town and actually finding someone to bring home with him tonight, because he seriously needed to get laid now…
Jazz lay on his stomach and blinked sleepily at the sun streaming through his bedroom windows. He felt the weight of the arm lying across his back, and heard the grumble as the man sleeping next to him shifted a bit. Jazz yawned, thinking to himself that this was a much better way to wake up than the way he had yesterday morning. No drool puddle, no hangover, no angry ruminations about bastards who insulted you when you tried to pick them up. Just a warm, naked body lying next to him, and the memory of a night of sex (and maybe more to come this morning) to make him happy.
Well, okay, it hadn’t been the best or most creative sex he’d ever had, but so what? It had been adequate, at least. So the handsome young college student he’d picked up at a bar hadn’t had much imagination - or stamina - but it was better than nothing. Much better than nothing. He stretched a bit, luxuriously, and slid out from under the arm to go and use the bathroom.
As he washed his face in the sink, he studied his own face in the mirror. Much better than yesterday. No dark circles under his eyes, no wan skin or ratty hair. Sex was definitely better than drinking. Of course, great sex would be even better, but what could you do? He was sure that he’d be able to find someone else who could give him that. He just had to keep on looking.
“What do you think of this fabric?” Jazz asked, holding up the length of gauzy, ocean-colored cloth embroidered with shimmering golden birds.
“It’s lovely, Jazz!” Linda Fraine exclaimed in admiration.
“Isn’t it? It will make a beautiful blouse,” Jazz said, draping the cloth over the sewing dummy’s torso.
“You have a great eye,” Linda remarked admiringly. “No wonder Amelie trusts you to design so much of her collection.”
“That, and she loves spending most of her time attending parties and socializing, so she needs someone else to do the work for her,” Jazz said dryly.
“That’s true. But she made her your junior partner in the business, after all. That’s gotta be worth having to do most of the work,” Linda replied.
“Yes, it is,” Jazz agreed. “I’m not really complaining. Amelie has all the contacts that keep us doing a good business, and her name has great cache in the fashion world.”
His fingers nimbly began to pin the fabric in place. Linda watched him for a moment, then spoke up: “Aren’t you and she going to that party tonight?”
“Yes. Everybody who has anything to do with clothes or fashion will be there tonight. Amelie wants me there to mingle, shake hands, make nice…my only consolation will be that there will be lots and lots of pretty male models there. At least I’ll have that.”
Linda giggled. “The things you have to do for your career,” she teased.
Jazz grimaced. “Boredom is the least sacrifice I could make to forward my career. And at least there’ll be free food and champagne. It’s not all bad.”
“Definitely. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet your Prince Charming at this thing.”
Jazz chuffed with laughter. “The one who will sweep me off my feet and carry me off to his castle? Only if he has a harem of pretty boys waiting for me,” he added with a wicked grin.
Linda shook her head. “Don’t you ever want something more than just sex, Jazz?” she asked him.
His fingers paused at her question, because it hit so close to home. That guy the other night at the dance club… “No,” he said shortly. “Why would I? There’s so much variety out there; why would I restrict myself to one flavor when I can have dozens?”
She smiled wryly. “Okay, Jazz. It’s your choice. I just wish that you could experience what it’s like to be with just one person. My boyfriend is so great; it’s so wonderful to be in love. Are you telling me that you’ve NEVER wanted to try that for yourself?”
Jazz’s mouth thinned. “When I still believed in fairy tales, sure,” he drawled. “But I’m older and wiser now.”
Linda gave him a startled look. Had Jazz been hurt sometime in the past by somebody? She wondered to herself. She’d always just assumed that he was a fun-loving guy who liked to cat around, and who never tried to be serious about anybody. That that was his nature. Had he become that way because of something that had happened to him? She didn’t want to ask him aloud, since it was none of her business. But she couldn’t help wondering, just the same…
Jazz stood holding a glass of champagne, sipping at it occasionally as he glanced around the ball room. This event wasn’t a dance; this room was simply big enough to hold the large crowd attending. He was pleased to see at least a half-a-dozen extremely sexy and good-looking men in the crowd so far. And he’d bet dollars to donuts at least three of them were gay or bi. He’d make his move any time now, turning on the charm and luring one of those fine pieces of ass into his bed. But for now, he was content to drink champagne and nibble at some hors d’eouvres on a napkin he held in his free hand.
His eyes scanned over the crowd, seeing who had come. He spotted many influential fashion designers, as well as famous models and the business-suited hordes of men and women who manufactured and sold clothing. Everybody who was anybody in the world of clothes and fashion attended this event. His roving gaze ran idly over a large man in a dark suit, then started to move on. But then his eyes came to a stop with an almost audible screech and backtracked to the man standing near the buffet table, talking to another man. Jazz’s jaw dropped, and his eyes threatened to pop out of his head. It was that guy! The guy from the bar!
At first he thought that he had to be wrong, but then the man’s head turned a bit and he got a look at his face. Oh, yeah, it was the same guy! That distinctly ugly but interesting face couldn’t be mistaken for somebody else. What was he doing here? Who was he? He just had to know.
Jazz looked around, finally spotting a fashion columnist who knew everything about everybody in the fashion world. He plowed through the crowds to her side, greeting her: “Hi, Miranda.”
“Oh, hi, Jazz,” she replied. They knew each other because she’d just written an article about Designs by Amelie for her column a few months ago. She’d interviewed him as part of it, and had been much taken with both his looks and his name. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Well, not much,” he replied honestly, making her laugh dryly. “Miranda, I have to ask you - do you know who that guy over by the buffet table is? The big one with the broken nose? The kind of ugly one?”
Miranda nodded sagely at his description, glancing across the room toward the buffet table. “Yes, I know him. That’s Xavier Paretiss, the former MMA fighter. He markets a very successful line of athletic gear now.”
“MMA? What’s that?” Jazz asked.
She smiled. “Mixed Martial Arts. Have you ever heard of the UFC?”
“Is that football?” Jazz said attentively.
Her lips twitched. “No, it’s the Ultimate Fighting Championship. Basically, large, muscular men get into a ring and beat the crap out of each other using mixed martial arts. It’s like boxing except with martial arts thrown in. Xavier there was a world champion three years running. That is, until he was injured pretty badly. Tore his rotator cuff. Had half-a-dozen surgeries, but it never got back to normal. So he had to retire, and after that he started his own company and used his name and fame to make money. He’s canny, that one. His business made at least ten million dollars in revenue last year, and it’s projected to do even better this year. And he’s taking the company public soon, so he’ll be making money hand-over-fist. I’ll admit I never thought a guy who’d been hit in the head that many times would be smart, but he is.”
“Oh,” Jazz said slowly.
She gave him a keen look. “Why are you so interested?”
“No reason, exactly,” he said quickly, since she had a bloodhound’s nose for news, and he had no idea if a macho man like Xavier Paretiss was out of the closet yet, “I just saw him somewhere before this, so when I saw him again standing by the buffet I got curious. You have to admit, he’s pretty distinctive-looking.”
“I’ll admit that, yes,” she agreed. “But still, he’s totally sexy, isn’t he? I’d let him into my ring anytime.”
“He is very sexy,” Jazz agreed, knowing it would look weird for him to say ‘no’ to that statement, after he’d asked about the guy. “But not really my type,” he added, lying like a rug. Xavier only wasn’t his type because he’d insulted Jazz. Otherwise, he’d be totally his type…
“If you say so,” she replied skeptically. “Anyway, is there anything else that you’d like to know?”
“Nope, that covers it,” he replied. “Thanks, Miranda.”
“Happy to help,” she said, waving a languid hand at him.
Jazz mingled after that, talking to lots of people and flirting with a handful of the best-looking men. He tried his hardest to avoid Xavier Paretiss, and he managed so well that the evening was half over and he hadn’t seen him again. That is, until the crowd parted and he saw the burly figure standing talking to a petite, dark-haired woman over by the bar…a woman he knew! It was his senior partner in the design firm, Amelie Benoit! Oh, Lord, why was Amelie talking so intently with that guy? He began to worm his way through the crowd, intent on finding out what their conversation was about. He had a bad feeling about this…
He arrived nearby, and Amelie saw him. “Jazz!” she called, waving a hand to bring him closer. “There you are, mon ami! Listen, I’ve just been talking with this oh-so-charming man, Monsieur Paretiss, and he has a proposition for us!”
Xavier Paretiss turned, an expression of surprise on his face. “Jazz,” he said. “Well, hello again.”
“You’ve met before?” Amelie twittered.
“Yes, we met at a bar the other night,” Xavier told her.
“Bien! So now you are not strangers, oui? Jazz will be designing your line of clothing for you, Xavier. He is extremely talented. You will be very pleased with his services.”
“I’m sure I will,” Xavier replied, his intense eyes boring into Jazz’s.
“Amelie…” Jazz began, trying to protest.
She waved a negligent hand at him. “Monsieur Paretiss has made us a very lucrative offer, Jazz. He wishes us to design a line of athletic clothing for the haute monde, the bon ton. You understand?”
“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “He wants us to design a line of athletic clothing for wealthy people.”
“Oui! And you are just the man to do it, mon ami Jazz. Your sense of style is impeccable. All of the wealthy ladies of Manhattan will wish to wear your designs when they work out to keep their svelte figures. And the name of Designs by Amelie will become even more widely known. It is, as you Americans say: ‘a win-win proposition’.”
Jazz wanted to howl at the workings of fate and the universe. He had to work for a man that he loathed? Xavier Paretiss spoke up just then. “I assure you, Mr. Sullivan, that I can make it worth your while to work for me,” he said. “Whatever our personal differences, they can be set aside so that we can do business together. Can’t they?” he looked keenly at Jazz as he said this.
He sighed. “Yes,” he replied tightly. “They can.”
“Excellent!” Amelie cried, clapping her hands together. “Jazz will do a marvelous job for you, Monsieur Paretiss, I promise. You will not be disappointed. Come now, let’s all have a drink to celebrate our doing business together.”
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