Love in Lingerie(22)

“Still waiting on the Neiman Marcus order?”

“Yep.” We are already solidly in the black for this season. However, their national order could give us firm footing to launch proper advertising. I lock the phone and slide it into my pocket.

“By the way…” she shifts in her heels, and I look over, something in her delivery giving me pause. “Craig and I broke up.”

It is so unexpected that I take a step back, my heart doing a confused jig—made of elation and dread. I swallow. “Really.”

“Yeah. I just thought you should know.” She looks down at her clipboard, making a mark on the page. “Not that it changes anything. I just—”

“Why did you break up?” She had to have ended it. There was no way that he—that any man—would walk away from her.

“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lift. “I just felt that I might be making a mistake. And our relationship felt…” she pauses, and I feel my entire soul hang on the end of that sentence.

“…like a business relationship,” she finally concludes. I understand what she is saying, the sterile way they had interacted, Craig’s formal planning and execution of every task—but still. The word choice stabs at me.

I force myself to step closer to Kate, to return to our prior positions, my eyes on the models, the man now leaning over the woman, pinning her wrists to the bed. Kate tucks her hair behind her ear, and I catch a whiff of her perfume. She slides a hand down the shooting schedule, and I watch the delicate slide of her fingers across the page. She’s single. My Kate is single. No ring on her finger, no calls on her phone, nothing to stop me from hooking my hand around her waist and pulling her against me. I turn and step away, call out to a photographer’s assistant, and have him walk me through the lighting.

Working with her for the ten months—it has already been a strain on my willpower. Now, with Craig removed from the equation, will I be able to control myself? I glance back at her, my gaze moving up her body, enjoying the feminine curves, the casual slouch, the confident way she calls out to the photographer.

In my pocket, my phone vibrates, and I pull out the device, my heartbeat quickening at the email notification that appears. Neiman. The timing is suspect, and I glance up to the ceiling, wondering if the big man upstairs is trying to send me a message.

I open the email, and scroll quickly through the order, a smile pulling at my mouth as I see the purchase numbers. I stride over to her and wrap my arms around her, my chest to her back, my chin on her shoulder, my phone held out before her.

“Look,” I whisper, and I fight the urge to gather her against me, to press my hips forward, against her body, to feel the curve of that ass against me. “Look what you did.”

She twists around, throwing her arms around my neck, hugging it tightly. “We did,” she states, and when she pulls away, she is beaming.

She’s right. We did it. And dammit, I can’t mess everything up now.





chapter 9

Her

four months later

Las Vegas. I win three thousand dollars on a slot machine and am stretched out on my bed, basking in my newfound riches, when Trey walks in. He cocks a brow at me and holds out his wrist. “I need help. This cufflink is a bitch.”

I roll over and sit upright on the edge of the bed. When he steps forward, between my legs, I look up at him.

“This could get interesting,” he murmurs, a wicked gleam in his eyes. His shoes settle into place, and his pant legs brush against the inside of my knees.

It won’t. The man is a complete tease. He flirts like a teenage boy, then walks away and leaves me panting.

“There are certain lines I don’t cross, and fucking my employees is one of them.”

His line from my interview plays on repeat in my head. After our San Francisco road trip, I looked up Vicka Neece. Like I had expected, she is beautiful, and very different from me. Blonde instead of brunette. Taller than me, and thin instead of curvy. She has that sophisticated scowl that I’ve never mastered. I can see why a man would go for her. And I can see, in the tattered remains of Marks Lingerie, what interoffice relationships can lead to.

I hadn’t thought much about it while I was with Craig, but in the last five months as a single woman, Trey’s stance on fraternization has haunted me. And right now, his belt is at eye level, the buckle begging to be freed, zipper yanked down, and all of Trey Marks’s mysteries unveiled. My hand hovers above the belt. It would be so easy. I sigh and reach past it, for his waiting shirtsleeve, my hands quick and efficient as I fasten the cufflink. I look up at him and stick out my tongue.

“What is that for?” He extends the other hand, a smile playing across his lips.

“You. You and your ridiculous temptingness.” The truth slips out before I can harness it in. I bite my bottom lip and look down at the cufflink, struggling more with getting this one through the hole.

“Oh good. I was worried I was losing my touch.” He flips over his hands, offering them to me and I pull, getting to my feet.

“Nope. No worries there.” I eye his suit. “So it’s this kind of a dinner?”

“You were expecting the buffet? Keno and sweatpants?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I groan, moving past him and to the bathroom. “I’ve worn heels for, like, fourteen hours now.”