Love in Lingerie(28)

I wake to a note from Mira, one slipped under my door, her handwriting big and flowery. In it, she cancels our lunch, full of apologies and promises to find me on a future trip. The note is attached to a purchase order, one that Trey must have prepared, the unit count enough to make our quarter, if not our year. I roll my eyes and toss it onto the bed.

There is a knock on the adjoining door and I open it, giving Trey a tight smile and returning to my suitcase, the zipper difficult. He pushes down on the lid and I work it closed. “Thanks.”

“Certainly.” He is in khakis and a polo, the bright blue cotton setting off his tan. This is country-club Trey, the preppy look that used to get me hot, the clean-cut exterior so easily twisted with just one smoldering eye-fuck. Used to get me hot. Today I am a new woman, one perfectly content in my Best Friend and Creative Director roles, one who doesn’t wonder what he looks like naked, or what that delicious mouth is capable of.

He strolls over to the bed, reaching forward and picking up the items from Mira. “What’s this?” He flips over the top page, his head dropping as he reads over it. “I thought she was sending this to me.”

“Did you see the note?” I say brightly. “She cancelled our lunch.”

“Yeah. I told her to.” He glances at me. “I figured you wouldn’t want to eat with her after…” He grimaces. “You know.”

“Oh yes.” I smile again, and his eyes narrow. “I know.” I step forward and pluck the pages back. “I would have been fine having lunch with her. I don’t need you running around and rearranging my schedule.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds unsettled, which makes me ridiculously happy. I can do this. I can be the cool girl, the friend who doesn’t care that her friend, her boss, is devastatingly attracted to her. I can roll my eyes at his slutty antics and go off and marry a different Prince Charming. We can build this company, be friends, and I can have smoking hot sex and babies who have nothing to do with Trey Marks.

I can have it all. I can. I will.

He looks at me and I look at him, and if he kisses me right now, I would fall apart under his touch.

He holds the gaze, and I look away, afraid of what my eyes might show.





chapter 11

Her

Four months later, I find my prince in a coffee shop downtown. Or rather, he finds me.

“Kate?” I look up and swallow the sip of coffee, my eyes darting over all of the details.

Soft brown hair, void of product.

Pale green eyes, the kind that smile. He wears glasses, and I unconsciously touch my own, glad that I’d skipped the contacts today.

His features are as advertised, a classic profile set off by straight, perfect teeth and an adorably crooked nose.

A blue sweater, the fabric snug around a manly build, his height tall enough that I can wear heels and still be shorter.

I rise, and extend a hand. “Hi. You must be Stephen.” We shake hands, and it is a good handshake, firm but not businesslike, his hands soft and warm, everything about him reassuringly conservative. “Please, sit down.”

He pulls out the opposite seat and settles into it, and there is a moment of awkward silence, one where I sip my coffee and he straightens his glasses, and I can’t, for the life of me, think of a single thing to say. Our eyes meet, he smiles, and I laugh despite myself.

“This is my fifth blind date,” he admits. “You’d think I would have learned something aside from my name by now.”

“My eighth.” I smile. “You look like you recently bathed, so you don’t really have to say anything. You’re already ahead of the rest.” It’s a lie, and he knows it, but he leans forward and conversation begins to flow.





“So you work in retail?” He tucks his hands into his pockets as we walk, his head down, ear cocked to me.

“Sort of. I work for an undergarments company. We supply to retail shops and some high-end chains.”

“Undergarments. Like underwear, hosiery?”

I nod, pulling back my hair into a low ponytail. “Yes. Less hosiery and more of the delicate items. Bras, panties, garters, babydolls. The sexier stuff. Our lines are fairly provocative.”

Trey would have made a sly comment, worked a compliment in, but Stephen only nods, his face a mask of concentration. “And what do you do for the company?”

“I model.”

The joke falls flat, and he only nods, as if I am serious, as if there is any chance of my frame on a cover. “I’m joking,” I hurry. “I’m the Creative Director; I’m responsible for the overall vision and the execution of it.” I feel the burst of pride that comes whenever I say my title.

“That’s nice.” We take the path into the park, a canopy of trees providing a break from the sun. His arm brushes mine, a reminder of where I am and who I am with. Not Trey, who is accustomed to my long stretches of silence, but this man, who probably thinks I’m odd. I am trying to think of something to say when he speaks. “How long have you been there?”

I relax a bit. “A year and a half.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I do,” I say honestly. “Trey is very good to work for. We get along well.”

“That’s nice.”