Another Motherfaker: The G.D. Taylors Series

  Another Motherfaker

  Willow Aster

  Laura Pavlov

  Copyright © 2021 by Willow Aster & Laura Pavlov

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7373619-0-9

  Cover by Jena Brignola

  Editing: Edits by Sue

  Proofreading: Christine Estevez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To our husbands and kids and dogs for cheering us on the most. We love you so much!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by Willow Aster

  Other Books by Laura Pavlov

  Chapter One

  Caden

  I check my reflection in the windows, making sure I’m presentable for my last appointment of the day. The offices of Dubois Designs fill me with a combination of dread and anticipation every time I enter the glass doors and hear the echo of voices bouncing off the marble floor.

  But today, something is off.

  Susan, the receptionist, runs past me, her silk blouse untucked from her perfectly tailored pants. I’ve often wondered if there’s a dress code to work here because everyone looks like they’ve stepped out of a movie set.

  I hear a screech and see Vivienne Dubois running through, heels in her hand.

  “Louie,” she yells. Mascara is running down her face.

  The hell? Vivienne is the owner of the design company, and when I say I have never seen a hair out of place, I mean the woman’s hair wouldn’t blow if she was standing next to a helicopter. I look around for Cosette, Vivienne’s daughter and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Perfection in a petite yet curvy frame, white-blonde hair, violet eyes, and freckles … God, don’t get me started on her freckles—

  “Louie François Dubois!”

  The screech is real and makes every hair on my body stand on end.

  Vivienne runs by again, weeping. I think I hear her say something about chocolate, but that can’t be right.

  “What’s happening?” I ask Susan when she stops near her desk to catch her breath. “Who is Louie?”

  I’m half expecting a fugitive to dart through the building. A distinguished French cowboy—oh, or maybe French mafia? With that kind of name … the Dubois family has some kind of history with France and they must have a distant cousin who doesn’t fit their pristine mold. We all have an unhinged one in the bunch. My brother Gus comes to mind.

  I hear wailing and another screech and I’m getting really concerned. I hope Cosette is okay. Clearly, there is a maniac on the loose. I decide to take matters into my own hands since Susan isn’t giving me any answers and Vivienne is too distraught.

  I walk past the reception desk and tentatively check the conference room. No one is in there. In fact, it seems the office has cleared out. If Vivienne and Cosette let their employees go so they’d be safe, that’s really admirable. I look in several of the offices and am to the end of the hall where only Cosette and Vivienne’s offices are left.

  I’m about to open Cosette’s door wider, when out of the corner of my eye, I see something dart past me. I turn and rush through Vivienne’s door, and Cosette is inching toward a tiny brown fluff ball.

  Too big for a rat. Too small for a dog.

  No, wait. I think it is a dog.

  “Where is Louie? Are you safe?” I move toward her, looking around the spacious office. I check the bathroom, but it’s empty, and Cosette is still focused on the dog.

  Cosette whispers, “Stay back. He can be violent.” She takes a step closer and the dog growls as he digs into whatever he’s protecting at all costs. “Louie, it’s okay, I’ll give you another treat.” She makes a little sound with her mouth, trying to coax him away.

  I laugh—I can’t help it. “This is Louie?” I walk up to the dog, ignoring the way he snarls. “Oh, shit, he’s eating chocolate. Hold up.” I dig in my messenger bag and open my snack for later—a package of beef jerky. I take out a large piece and break it into a few bite-sizes for this little pup, still chuckling. I hold it out toward Louie and he looks up from the chocolate.

  When his mouth opens, I choke back my surprise.

  Fuck me, he only has three or four teeth at the most. Not sure how violent the little guy can get when he’s this tooth-deprived, but I’ll take Cosette’s word for it. He gives me a snaggletoothed pant, two teeth hanging out of his mostly closed mouth. His tail starts to wag.

  “Want this, little guy? It’s yours.” I carefully hold the jerky out, but far enough that he’ll have to move away from the chocolate. He snorts and his little pink tongue lodges between the few teeth he has. He’s so pitiful he’s cute. He gradually moves toward me and snatches the jerky out of my hand. Cosette moves in and gets the chocolate out of the way, while I give Louie the scoundrel a few more bites of jerky.

  A sound at the door makes us all look up, and Vivienne rushes in. I can barely recognize her in there. It’s like her long-lost twin, who lived a completely different lifestyle, has arrived and gone H.A.M. on the proper twin. Her shoulders shake as she swoops up the dog. He looks eagerly at me for more treats and tries to squirm out of her arms.

  “My poor darling,” Vivienne cries. “I don’t know if your stomach will take another pumping, but we’ll try.” She presses her lips together and her eyes close for a second as she gathers her strength.

  I look at Cosette for guidance because I’m at a loss here. The most awful sound erupts and Cosette stares at her mother in horror. I turn to look and Louie François Dubois has vomited all over Vivienne’s cream linen suit. She’s stunned and before she can move him away from her, horrifying things come out the other end of the dog. For a little thing, a lot can certainly come out of him.

  The smell is literally gagging.

  The Vivienne I’ve seen—with a confusing accent, more than a little snobby, pretentious, and always, always in control—would hand the dog off to Cosette to deal with the mess. But this Vivienne clutches the dog to her, whimpering, “It will be all right, précieux. It will be all right.”

  And God bless her, she bolts out of there—I guess to rush him to the vet.

  It’s silent for a few moments after they leave. I’m processing, and Cosette is … looking as gorgeous as ever. She looks at me and smiles, and I ignore the way my heart acts like we’re sweating away at a swing dance festival. Not that I can even swing dance, but—

  “Sorry for the madness,” Cosette interrupts my own madness. Seems to be a common occurrence when I’m around her. She finds a can of Lysol and sprays a few times, wincing. Perhaps the Louie madness is another common occurrence.

  I shake my head and make a face. “Are you kidding me? This
is the most excitement I’ve had all day.”

  She laughs and it’s like music. I keep things professional and so does she. We’re friends. Tacos come up in our conversations quite often, because who doesn’t love tacos? And we’ve bonded over our love of design. But damn, she’s also so fucking pretty. And sweet.

  “Do you need to reschedule the meeting? I should’ve asked that right away. You could’ve gone with your mom.”

  She shudders. “No. This meeting is a gift. That car ride to the vet is not going to be pleasant.”

  My face curls up along with hers, both revisiting all the disgusting brown spots on Vivienne’s cream suit. The smell starting to fade from the room.

  Cosette motions for me to sit down and I do, while she turns her computer screen to face us and sits down next to me instead of behind her desk. I catch her faint floral scent and want to stick my nose in her neck and inhale it like I would a bouquet of flowers. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and fiddle with the top of my shirt, needing some air.

  Cosette opens up the program she’s working on for her designs and I stare at the picture of the boutique hotel my brothers and I have been renovating in New York for months now. It’s been a huge undertaking—some would say we’ve bitten off more than we can chew—but so far, things are going as scheduled and the place is looking fantastic. Our projected unveiling is in three months and we’re going to nail that.

  Cosette grabs a sketchpad that’s sitting on her desk. “My mother would probably have a fit if she knew I was doing this.” She clears her throat and looks nervous. “She had another plan for you guys, and it’s beautiful. You guys love it and I’m happy with it too—I helped design it, I should love it. But...” She swallows hard and I want to reach out and take her hand to calm her.

  “Say it,” I encourage her. “You know me well enough by now to know that I’ll tell you what I really think.”

  “Well, I just know it’s too late to be coming up with something new, but—” She clutches her neck and I get distracted by the way her pale pink nails look against her black silky shirt. And then she lifts them to tug on her necklace and I imagine her tugging my hair the way she’s tugging that chain. Or tugging other things…

  Fuck me. I take a deep breath and look at the picture she’s holding out.

  “Wow, Cosette. This is … this is next level. That is gorgeous.”

  She’s nodding and beaming and looks ecstatic. “It is, isn’t it. Inspiration hit me in the middle of the night, and I wasn’t even going to show you since we are ready to place orders for everything and have even ordered some things already—which will still totally work with this aesthetic … should you choose to go more in this direction.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “Not that you would. Please don’t feel like you have to, just—”

  “Cosette.” I reach out and put my hand on her arm and she stills, her lips parting as she stares at me. “This is perfect. I loved the other sketches, but when I look at this, the old one feels too formal. This is alive. It’s fresh and it’s like I can feel the heartbeat of the room. It. Is. Perfect.”

  “Ahhhhh. I love you!” she yells. And then looks at me horrified, eyes round and wild. “I did not mean. I mean, I meant it, but not. I mean, you know what I mean.”

  I laugh so loud that it startles her at first and then she joins in, relieved. “I know what you mean,” I assure her. “We have to go this direction. My brothers trust me to make the decisions in this area and I’m telling you, I love it. I really do.”

  She leans back in her seat, legs stretched out. Her long legs are toned like a dancer and are just the perfect length to—

  “My mother will not like this.” She sighs. “But I just had to show you anyway.”

  “I’ll insist on using these. They’re better.” I shrug. “Surely she’ll be able to see that.”

  She shakes her head, sitting upright again. “I’m not so sure about that, but we’ll try. Oh, hey…” She reaches out and grabs an envelope that has The Taylor Family written on the front. “I’ve meant to give you this the past two times I’ve seen you. I hope I’m not too late. I wanted to invite all of you to the opening of my parents’ new restaurant this Friday night. Well, my parents and my ex, Jeremy…”

  I was tracking until she said ex, Jeremy. And now that’s all I got out of that conversation segue. Jeremy, the bastard I met when my brothers, Spence, Gus, and Jesse, and Spence and Jesse’s girlfriends, Emma and Mya, and I went to Vegas before we started the hotel renovation. I remember him practically snapping his fingers at Cosette for her to follow and how sad she looked before I went over to talk to her. Ex. I like the sound of that. A whole damn lot.

  The guy was a real dickshart to Cosette.

  “You and Jeremy broke up?” I say like the creep that I am. I can’t even inject the slightest bit of sympathy into my voice. I am thrilled she dumped that dickloop.

  “I actually broke up with him a couple of months ago, but my parents and Jeremy can’t seem to get it in their heads that I mean it.” She smiles again, but this time it’s forced.

  I get the sense that there is so much she’s not saying. Volumes.

  “I’ll be there and I’ll share this with the brothers too.”

  “Tell them to bring their girlfriends, and you’re welcome to bring a date too, of course.”

  “I will be flying solo,” I tell her.

  And now I’m distracted by the way her full lips pucker slightly and her icy violet eyes light up.

  What a day this has turned out to be.

  Chapter Two

  Cosette

  My head is pounding after a grueling conversation with Jeremy. The man is relentless. For a guy who wasn’t faithful, he sure isn’t taking the breakup well. I’ve encouraged him to go play the field, especially since he’d been doing it the entire time we’d been together. That should have hurt me, right? But it didn’t. All I feel now when I think of Jeremy Toussaint is relief.

  Relief that I’m free.

  Relief that the relationship finally ran its course.

  I can finally breathe.

  Even if no one in my family is on board.

  Even on the night of the restaurant opening, he’s pressuring me to get back together. I look around the new restaurant, proud of how I helped it take shape to become what it is, yet still not feeling tied to the place. Probably because I’ve been trying to do everything I can to cut ties with Jeremy, not get more sucked in.

  “Mon amour, where are you running off to?” my mother asks, as she walks toward me with Louie in her pink Chanel purse.

  Don’t let my mom’s faux French accent or handle of the French language fool you. She only spent a year and a half there when she was eighteen, but my dad, on the other hand, was born and raised there. They fell in love and moved here when my mom was twenty, raising my sister and me in the States with occasional visits to France. My dad’s family lives there, and my mom and sister have spent the equivalent of maybe a year there over the course of my life.

  It’s all about how she’s perceived. She grew up poor and on the outside looking in. Even now, married to someone extremely wealthy, it’s very important to her that she appears to be a woman of mysterious upbringing and distinguished beyond measure. It just doesn’t always add up, like the accent.

  She insists I call her Maman. We all do what we can do to make Maman happy.

  And poor Louie. The dog has been traumatized since he ate the French chocolates that my aunt sent and had to have his stomach pumped.

  Again.

  My mother’s obsession with this dog is fascinating. I’m fairly certain I accidentally ate raw tobacco as a child, and I do not recall having my stomach pumped. Nor do I recall ever vomiting on her, because I knew better. And there’s no way in hell she would’ve ever let me get anywhere near her Chanel purses, much less crawl inside one.

  I see my dad and wave at him. He comes over and I hug him.

  “I miss you,” I tell him. He’s cance
led on our weekly lunch dates for the past three weeks in a row.

  He doesn’t say anything and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something to upset him.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him, my hand on his arm.

  “What, my dear?”

  “I asked if you’re okay.”

  “Of course,” he says, but he glances over my shoulder and I know he’s too distracted to tell me otherwise.

  “I’m just going to greet a few guests,” I say, rubbing the top of Louie’s head. His eyes are closed and his snaggletooth is on full display. He’s wearing a ruffled puff-sleeved white button-up and a tuxedo onesie. Yes, this dog’s clothing is custom-made and he’s always dressed to the nines. My mother thinks he’s the most beautiful creature on the earth even if people gasp at the sight of him. And not in awe and wonder either.

  “That’s wonderful, darling. Did you hear anything back about the condo search?”

  I’ve been looking for a condo of my own for several weeks. My parents have a grand home in Manhattan and they’ve urged me to stay, but I need a place of my own. I’ve been living in New York for almost a year, and it’s time.

  “Actually, Caden Taylor thinks that one of their buyers fell through, so I’m going to look at it tomorrow after work.”

  “Ewwww, isn’t that in Brooklyn?” she scrunches her face up, but not a whole lot moves. My mother and botox are very well-acquainted.

  “Yes. I happen to like that area. It’s young and alive. There’s tons of culture and art exhibits,” I say, hoping she’ll understand.