Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(64)
Peggy patted Harper’s hand in gratitude, then blinked back a little moisture. When the blinking didn’t work and the tears became real, Peggy diverted the attention off her by asking, “Is that magenta trim on the blue netting?”
“It’s actually bougainvillea-colored silk trim on aqua mesh. I think it will capture a lot of foot traffic.” It was vibrant, breezy, flirty—and exactly what they needed to appeal to a new variety of clientele. The same clientele Lulu Allure was targeting. “And it would go lovely with your eyes.”
Even though Harper knew she’d have to rehang and reshelve everything the ladies touched, and make sure Clovis didn’t put the girdles in the window display the second Harper left for work, she loved spending time with her grandma and the girls. They’d been a steady fixture in her life since she was a little girl. Her mom would shuttle Harper from theater to theater, but when a big role came along she’d drop Harper off at Clovis’s.
All three of these ladies had taken her in as if she were theirs. Embraced her and all of her eccentricities. Treated her as if who she was at her core was too special to be overlooked.
Harper’s phone buzzed from the pocket of her dress. She fished it out and sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. It’s Chantel.” She showed the caller name on the screen to Peggy. “She must have received the few photos I sent over.”
Harper had wanted to make sure that what she was doing matched Chantel’s expectations. But she’d only sent them that morning—it was too early to hear back. Unless she loved them.
Or didn’t.
“If you mean the ones of Mr. July pulling a Magic Mike in my back room, then put it on speaker so the girls and I can hear,” Clovis said, dropping the girdles and hobbling across the store.
Harper didn’t bother to ask how the girls knew about those photos. They’d been taken in this very shop and touched up in her apartment, which her grandmother had a key to—and used at will.
“We don’t have all day. Answer it before she gets impatient and we miss out on talking about those photos,” Ida said.
“You think this will be one of those video chats?” Clovis asked, her voice all atwitter. “If so, she might hold up those photos so we can get a better look at them. See if he was stuffing the shorts or if it was real.”
It was real all right. Everything about Adam felt real when they were together. So real that the tingling had lasted for days.
Harper took in a few calming breaths so she wouldn’t sound as if she were hyperventilating, or daydreaming about her faux-mance that was turning out to be the most real romance she’d ever had, and swiped the screen. “Hey, Chantel.”
“Sorry I’m calling so early. It’s going to get crazy busy here later, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to call.”
“It’s perfect timing, I’m at the shop,” Harper said, and walked out the front door to gain some semblance of privacy. Not that it worked, as three frosted heads and one drooling dog pressed their faces to the window. Harper turned to face the street. “Actually, I’m working on a new window display for National Underwear Day.”
“If it’s anything like the images you sent over, I want to see it,” Chantel said, and Harper swallowed.
She looked at the bright, whimsical, summer-loving theme and then thought about the deep masculine undertones of the photo shoots. “It really makes a statement, if that’s what you mean.”
“Statement?” Chantel laughed. “Those images were a visual orgasm. They were raw, erotic, captivating, a feminine take on male sexuality. I had to open a bottle of wine while looking at them. Your branding for the line is light-years ahead of what our marketing team came up with.”
“It is?” Harper did her best not to giggle, but it was hard. That tingling she’d been feeling all week spread to encompass her entire body.
“Lulu Rous agrees. She said the concept was inspired.”
Harper nearly passed out. Lulu Rous was the founder and artistic genius behind Lulu Allure. She was one of the most creative minds in lingerie, and she thought Harper’s ideas were inspired?
“Thank you,” Harper said, sure she was gushing, but she didn’t care. “I had amazing designs to work with and a subject who is a natural in front of the camera.”
Adam was a natural at everything, it seemed. Modeling, cooking, firefighting . . . sex. He was a real sex ninja—and the idea of sparring with him again was tempting. The thought of doing more with him was dangerous, but dangerous had never seemed so alluring.
“That might be, but your style is in every photo you sent, and the concept sets them apart. It’s so refreshing to see a real man, the kind whose muscles come from hard work and not the gym. I am so tired of these metro-sexual models who know more about fashion than me.”
Harper smothered a laugh, because that was exactly what Adam had said. “I wanted to capture the kind of magnetism a guy puts off after a hard day’s work. Then shoot him in his element to show that swagger is earned, not bought off a rack.”
“‘Swagger is earned, not off the rack,’” Chantel said slowly, as if she was writing it down. “I can’t wait to see the final mockups. And your window display is probably as edgy as your photos.”
“I can send some pictures of the window when it’s done.” Which, based on Harper’s mental calculations of just how long it would take to redo the entire display to match the mood of the photos while putting together the online catalog, helping out with Beat the Heat, and doing her day job, would be Friday night. That was, if she skipped all meals and learned how to sleep standing up.