Love in Lingerie(16)

“I just got off the phone with Paris.”

“And?” I grip his arm.

“They doubled their last order. They loved your designs.”

I shriek, throwing my arms around his neck, my clipboard catching him on the side of his face. I apologize as I grip him tightly, jumping up and down. When I release him, he rubs the side of his face with a wince. “Sorry,” I breathe. “I’m just so happy!”

“Are we able to deliver?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “I think so.” I nod, my fingers drumming excitedly over the clipboard. “If you stop interrupting fittings and turning my models’ brains to mush.”

He chuckles and steps back. “I’ll let you do your thing. I’ve got more pitches to make.”

I smile and hold his gaze. It’s his victory in sales, and mine in design. And this moment, this baby moment of joy before the panic returns, is the best in my career so far.

“They doubled their last order. They loved your designs.”

Marks Lingerie is on its way back.





The Honor Bar in Beverly Hills. We steal two spots in the corner, my purse hanging off the back of the chair, his jacket taken off, and order dinner. I ignore my diet and get a cheeseburger. He orders the same, then adds two Coronas.

I make a face. “I can’t drink tonight.” I pull at the clip, loosening my hair. My scalp burns, and I run my fingers through my roots, massaging the skin.

“Why not? We’re done for today. I’ll have your car brought to your house.” He smiles, and pushes the tabletop candle to the side. “I think you need a night to relax.”

“I’m relaxed.” I lean against the wall and close my eyes.

“You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.”

I am exhausted. Half of me is dying for my bed, my quiet apartment, my ability to sleep in late tomorrow. The other half of me feels like celebrating. It was that half of me that accepted his dinner invite.

“Why don’t you call Craig? See if he can join us.”

The waiter returns, beers in hand, and I watch him set down the bottles. “He can’t,” I reply. “He has a Chemistry Association meeting tonight. It’s a monthly thing.” I smile. “Exciting stuff.”

“Sounds like it.” He lifts his beer. “Cheers.”

I lift my bottle. “Just one drink,” I say. “I can’t be out too late.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “You’re the boss.”

I smile at the joke, and take a sip.





I lean forward. “So I walk into the room and they are both standing there, naked.” I giggle, a hiccup forcing its way out. “I thought they were gay. And I started to apologize, you know, for interrupting them—”

“You started to apologize to your boyfriend?” Trey leans forward, a confused look on his face.

“Yes,” I wince. “It was right when there was all this PC stuff about accepting homosexuality, and all I could think was that I wanted him to know that it was okay—you know—him being gay.”

“I don’t understand where this story is going.”

I lower my voice and lean in. “They weren’t gay. They were…” I glance to the table beside us to make sure they aren’t listening. “They were waiting for me.” He doesn’t respond and I sigh, forced to fully explain it. “They wanted to have sex with me. Together!” I take a sip of the beer. “It’s called a threesome.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “Oh yes. I’m familiar with the term.”

Of course he is. He’s probably had one. Or two. Or five. I move past his smirk and on with my story. “So anyway … that was my first boyfriend. A terrible candidate to lose my virginity to.”

“Wait.” He holds up a palm. “You just skipped over all of the good stuff.” He sits back in his chair and lifts his beer. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?” I eye my now-empty beer, and try to calculate how many I’ve had. Three? Four? The waiter swings by and delivers two more.

“The threesome.”

“Ew!” I make a face. “Seriously? You think I did that?”

He studies my face carefully, then shrugs, his broad shoulders lifting the crisp white shirt. “I guess not.” He sounds almost disappointed.

“Why would I?” I press, and now I’m getting irritated. “Do you know how offensive that is? Two guys taking turns on me? Using me? I didn’t even know the other guy. ”

“Easy, Kate.” He pushes aside his old beer and reaches for the new one. “I was just asking for the story.”

“The story is that I left. And I don’t know what they did amongst themselves.” I make a face, then realize my voice may have gotten a little too loud in my indignation. “Sorry for yelling,” I whisper loudly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers back.

I pick up a spoon and stab at the brownie, a desert from an hour ago, one that has been stabbed to death by my occasional tastings. It is okay. It’s more than okay. It’s normal. Normal people think that threesomes are gross. Craig would definitely think that threesomes are gross. I’ve never even told him that story for fear that he would judge me out of mere proximity to the act.