Page 55 of Our Elliana

Despite all this craziness going on, having Tristan, Noah, and Jackson around makes me feel protected. I might’ve been joking when I told Diego that they were my bodyguards, but what’s remarkable is how much more secure I feel with them around me.

Andre, let me just say thank God for my BFF, has handled replacing the window and display case, so the shop has the same appearance that it once did. If someone didn’t know what had transpired, they’ll never guess by looking at it now. He’s also initiated having a security team come in and add cameras that will capture whatever is going on outside the building.

The only problem, even if I don’t like admitting it, is how skittish I am any time I’m at Blingblang now. I jump at the teensiest of noises, and every shadow requires me to drop whatever I’m doing to take a closer look.

The worst part is the creative boost I received from hiring the guys has evaporated in the breeze. Poof. Like it never was. And no matter how hard I concentrate, my equilibrium is all shot to hell or, to use one of my mom’s favorite terms, cattywampus.

I’m agitated and afraid, and it’s pissing me the hell off.

Home has become my sanctuary. There I can cuddle up with my new kitten or with one or all of my men. I used to feel periodically lonely before discovering Elegance. Not that I don’t consider myself a tough-ass boss lady, because I do. I am one. I don’t think I need a man or a group of lovers even now. But I do want them.

All of them. And each for their own exceptional reasons.

I never tire of listening to Jackson as he plays his guitar. The tranquility he brings to me is unparalleled, and I never would’ve anticipated that going into this. That’s not even mentioning when he comes to visit me at the shop. Since it went down, he hasn’t missed even one lunch.

And rather than stalking around staring everyone down like Andre has been, Jackson knows to quietly meet me up in my workshop and boink my ever-loving brains out. Sometimes, it takes a solid hour after he goes home for me to feel even a hint of trepidation again.

I like to lick every inch of him, including all those spectacular tats of his. Yet the thing about Jackson is he’s layered. I know he doesn’t want people to think that about him. He tries to come off as this boisterous party boy, but there’s been several times when I’ve privately questioned that. Not that he’s not fun-loving because he is.

Yet there’s more to Jackson McTierney than meets the eye.

That’s what my instincts are telling me, anyway.

Tristan is so different from Jackson, yet I’ve discovered that his rough edges are far more sanded than I first would’ve thought. His bark is always worse than his bite, and in bed, I enjoy both. I grin all the time when I overhear him grunting and muttering in the kitchen.

I know full well that he’ll be scowling something fierce at the ingredients in a mixing bowl or whatever only to produce the most impeccable eats I’ve ever stuck in my mouth. It’s so adorable and charming, although I’ll probably never tell Tristan that. Either he won’t believe me, or it might embarrass him.

He has yet to make anything I haven’t gobbled down like there’s no tomorrow. Even dishes with Brussels sprouts. And I loathe Brussels sprouts. But not when he prepares them. Unlike Noah and Jackson, who became attached to Three Socks instantaneously, Tristan has seemed more ambivalent toward her.

Yet I’ve also seen him feed her fresh salmon and chicken right there in the kitchen and once, I even caught him bent over and scratching her under the chin as he timed something in the oven. I suspect that man is far more tender-hearted than he lets on.

And Noah. My sweet and oh-so-youthful honeybunny. He’s often an open book, as him spilling his guts to the group the other night about such a personal matter proves. I would never condemn his openness. Oh, no. Quite the opposite. I love that about him.

I love that even with such a heavy-hitting topic, he felt safe enough to confess his fears to us. To talk it all out. He and Tristan are honorable and authentic types, my candid-to-the-core men.

Likely, they don’t know how to be any other way.

Noah’s a brave one, as well. Both in his chosen vocation and as a person in general. He’s also so young that he’s still figuring himself out, so I’m glad we can all be there for him to help him on whatever journey he might be walking. And I couldn’t care less what his orientation might be. As long as he’s content to be here with me, I’m thrilled to have him.

Ecstatic, in fact.

As fantastic as things are going, however, it’s always in the back of my consciousness that this contract won’t last forever. It’s hard to believe that so much of it is over already. If I plan to carry on with these men of mine, I’ll have to renegotiate with each of them through Elegance.

The question I keep asking myself is whether I should or not.

I’m not ready for our time together to be over, but is our current dynamic—a paid one—how I desire to move forward with them? We’re all consenting adults who made the choice to agree to the contracts we signed. And right now with all the stalker shit going on, I can’t imagine not renewing.

Yet there’s this huge part of me who feels that maybe I should put off thinking about this until I have to.

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