“Okay.” She gives him a half-hearted smile. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I love your hair.” He rubs a hand over it. “You’re so sexy.”
He heads back in the office, locking the French patio door after them. He pulls some air freshener out of his bottom drawer and sprays the air, followed by men's cologne, which he spritzes on his neck and wrists.
She grabs her tan purse, pulling a compact out. Glancing at her face, she wants to make sure her actions aren't entirely obvious. Speculation is different than confirmation. Rubbing on lip gloss and a quick brush through her hair, she freshens up.
“Have a good lunch.” She pulls on a pair of shades, not wanting to meet the receptionist’s eyes when she leaves.
“Yeah sexy, thanks for the afternoon delight.” He gives her a long, lingering kiss. Reaching in his closet, he shrugs into a sports coat.
While he's doing that, she drops the pair of black lace thongs in his bottom desk drawer as a surprise.
Giving him her juiciest smile and one last kiss, she pauses at the door, grinning to herself before she unlocks it. With one last wave, she walks out of his office, relieved Rebecca’s not at her perch, waiting to give her the once-over.
That was a success, she whispers to herself as she straightens the collar on her trench coat, hobbling to her vehicle.
Hopefully no one but him finds the panties or she could be in deep, deep trouble with his wife.
1
Stella
Stella’s lounging in her pajamas, feeling guilty that it’s a Monday and she still hasn’t finished her errands.
Or even begun them.
Clucking her tongue, the time on her laptop says after three. As the founder of SMK Beauty, she’s been buried in color palettes and brainstorming names for her next lipstick collection, the ‘desert survival’ edition, as she calls it. It features a lot of neutral and dusty rose colors, and is a nod to a trip she took to the Mojave Desert.
She glares at the pile of clothes that need to be dropped off at the dry cleaner, because she promised her husband she would take his dress shirts that need to be laundered and pressed along with her own dresses.
She wonders why he even needs them. His usual attire consists of jeans and zipped hoodies. He looks like an oversized, scruffy teenager instead of a forty-year-old man. Now that he’s established in his career, he can wear what he wants and gives zero fucks unless he has an important client meeting. There are occasional people he still cares about impressing, but not many.
Frankly, she wishes he would stop dressing like a slob and wear some of the tailored shirts and the pair of leather loafers she bought him, but he calls his look “California Casual.” She lovingly calls it “Pacific Highway Homeless,” a nod to the Pacific Coast Highway and their beachfront property in Malibu.
Speak of the devil.
It’s him.
Answering her phone, she’s casual, trying not to sound too guilty that she’s accomplished very little today.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
“What’re you doing?”
“I just finished lunch with Robert G.”
Stella mentally thumbs through the Rolodex in her head. “How is Mr. Gallagher these days?”
“He’s got a book he wants turned into a movie.”
“Decent?”
“I flipped through it,” he muses, “seems to be. I’ll talk to the team next week about it and get their notes.”
Recollecting a past conversation, she teases, “Better than the ones who assure you they have a blockbuster hit and then it turns out to be a novella about the post-apocalyptic zombies that can only survive on pineapples?”
Grant takes on a serious tone. “No, babe, you’re confusing two of them. One was zombies that had to eat rose petals to survive...”
“Aww yes...” she interrupts, “but they had to be ruby red rose petals.”
“...and the other was a pineapple that grew into a Hawaiian monster called a pinesquatch...”
They both chuckle for a moment at the sheer stupidity of both.
“How’s Robert’s wife?” Stella asks.
“Good. Pregnant with baby number three.” He snorts. “I told him he must have monster sperm.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen his wife not pregnant.”
“Seems that way, huh?” A ringing noise in the background cuts through. “Oh shit, babe, I got a call coming in. Hold on a sec.”
She hears a jumbled response, followed by a quick, “Call you right back, Tom.” He jumps back on the line. “I was calling to check if you dropped the clothes off yet?”
Contrite, she stares at the heap in the corner of the room. “No, not yet. That was my next stop.”
“Are you already out?”
“No,” she hesitates, “was planning to leave in a few.”
“Phew, babe,” he sounds relieved, “don’t take them quite yet.”
“I thought you needed one of these shirts for that dinner thing?”
“Yeah, but I have a couple more to add to the pile.” His fingers tap against the phone, a habit of his that drives her batshit crazy. It can only mean one thing - he’s indecisive.
“Yes, dear?” she mocks.
“Tell you what, just leave them there with your stuff and I’ll take it all tonight.”
“Will that give you enough time?”
“I’ll have Rebecca run them to the dry cleaners in the morning, not a problem.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She chomps on her nail, then her cuticle, one of her worst habits. “Will you be home for dinner?”
“I can be, but it probably won’t be until seven or eight. You wanna go ahead and eat?”
“Nah, I can wait.” Stella sucks at the spot of blood emerging. When will she ever learn?
“Been to the market?”
“Just grabbing my purse now.”
“Liar.”
“I am.”
“You’re not. You’re sitting in your pajamas daydreaming.” He laughs. “I thought you had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon?”
“I do,” she gripes, “ugh, we’re getting rid of these cameras. I hate you can see what I’m doing.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I’m serious. It’s too creepy. I hate being watched.”
“We can always just keep them at the entrance or have dummy ones installed.”
“I don't care, but I’m canceling the inside ones.”
Grant teases, “Does this mean you’re doing something you shouldn’t be? Or that I’m going to catch you with someone?”
“Maybe,” she giggles, “but I’m more concerned with catching you on camera.” She waves her hand around to stop the stinging from her ripped cuticle. “What am I gonna catch you on camera doing?”
There’s silence for a moment and Stella thinks she’s lost him. The awkward lull makes her uneasy, especially with the timing of her question.
“Hello?” A sliver of fear shoots a warning to her brain.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Grant echoes.
“Oh, I thought I lost you.”
“Nah, babe, sorry, I’m getting bombarded by emails. You know I’m the most boring husband in our zip code.”
Stella chuckles. “Thank God for that.”
“I wish our lives were more eventful,” he pauses, “but then that would bring a wave of drama.”
“We can live vicariously through our friends.”
“True, plus I’m sure I’ll hear a lot of gossip when I go to the gym. I’ve gotta start getting in shape,” he sighs. “I need to lose that twenty I gained before we moved to the ‘Bu’.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Stella smirks, “you’re one of the best-looking guys in Malibu. I love your dad bod. Don’t you realize those are all the rage?”
“If Ryan Reynolds mentions it in an article, it must be a thing.”
“He, for one, does not
have a dad bod,” Stella admonishes. “I can attest to that.”
“Oh, you can, can you?” Grant teases, “Yeah, yeah, I know, he’s a hunk.”
“Foursome with him and Blake Lively?”
“Ditto.” Grant chuckles, “but only for them.”
Stella hears a door open and a whisper. Grant murmurs into the phone. “As much as I love running through the roster of Hollywood elite, I gotta get back to work so it’s not nine before I get home. Can you grab me some whey protein at the store?”
“Did I hear you right?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What for?”
“The gym.”
Stella whistles. “Oh, you’re serious about that?”
“Well, now that we live in Malibu, I gotta get in shape.”
“Running on the beach or rollerblading doesn’t work?”
“That’s more of a Venice Beach activity, baby. I’m going balls to the walls. Probably CrossFit.”
“Don’t injure your back,” she taunts. “Maybe start with baby steps, like toddler tumbling.”
“I love and hate you.” He makes a smooching noise into the phone. “Bye.”
Pressing the end button, Stella grins. She knows how lucky she is, even fifteen years later.
She first laid eyes on Grant Masen at a dinner party thrown by her best friend Lucy’s older sister, Lisa. Lisa’s husband Tom knew Grant from their alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania. When he moved out to Los Angeles, Tom and Lisa took him under his wing.
Stella shakes her head, wondering where the time went. She was a baby then, twenty years old. Immature and reckless, Stella dated bad boys that had tattoos and wore biker jackets even though, go figure, most of them had never been on a motorcycle.
Grant was the opposite - he wasn’t built and muscular, like the archetypal guys she was attracted to. He was tall, but sturdy, a few pounds overweight. A sloppy dresser, he looked like a forlorn East Coast transplant, used to cold winters and hibernating underneath his clothing. His jeans were baggy, pulled up too high on his hips, his basic t-shirt was stretched out, and his sneakers were grubby, the laces a dirty gray. He could’ve been a member of a grunge band, his face sporting a scraggly, unshaven beard. His greasy brown hair was long, hitting his shoulders. It looked like the rest of him, in need of a wash.
In fact, Stella assumed he was in a band. He just had to be, going out like this in LA. And to a dinner party no less. The only people who could get away with this disinterested attitude in their attire were musicians or venture capitalists.
When Tom introduced them, she asked Grant what instrument he played.
“Instrument?”
“Yeah, you know, like guitar or drums?”
He had a nice laugh, a deep, guttural-sounding one. “Uh, we East Coasters do know what instruments are. I don’t play any though.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
Stella remembers that night clearly. Her bright red halter dress matched her lipstick, her twins resting dangerously against the wide V that dipped down between them.
She was even more astonished that his eyes never drifted down, but stayed firmly planted on her face.
Tom opens the screen door, interrupting them. “Stella, I see you’ve formally met Grant.” Handing him a cold one, he comments, “this is Lucy’s best friend.”
Lucy follows Tom out, raising her eyebrows at Stella, surprised to see the two of them engaged in a conversation. Her dark, naturally wavy hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, and she shoots Stella a dirty look.
Lucy touches Grant’s arm, flirtatiously rubbing it. “Can I borrow her for a minute?”
“No prob.” He raises his beer to Tom. “We will drink to the return of the ladies.”
Stella gives him a shy smile, begrudgingly following Lucy into the house, as she pulls her into the bathroom to gossip.
By the time Stella reappears on the patio, Grant’s vanished. Tom said he had other plans, but he never gives any indication that Grant wanted to speak to her again.
And she doesn't cross paths with him for another year.
2
Stella
Getting ready to jump into her Porsche Cayman, Stella realizes her phone’s still on the counter. She left it there to charge while she changed out of her coffee-stained PJ’s into light faded blue jeans and a baby blue V-neck cashmere sweater. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, the soft color flatters her high cheekbones and the smatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Pressing the start engine switch, she hits the garage door button, ready to reverse, when her cell shrills beside her. Bluetooth hasn’t picked up yet and she shoves the sports car into park, her eyes darting to the side mirror.
Staring down at her phone, she hesitates a moment before answering.
She gets a lot of unknown numbers, but this flashes a Los Angeles area code, and she’s wary it could be someone she doesn’t want to hear from, someone from her past.
“Stella McKinney,” she chirps.
“Hi, Stella, this is Morgan Chandler from Saks Fifth Avenue Corporate Headquarters. Do you have a couple minutes to chat?”
Leaning back against the smooth tan leather, Stella closes her eyes in awe. “Hi Morgan, yes, I do.”
“Great. As I mentioned, I work for Saks, but I represent our West Coast region out in California. I’m part of the buying team in the new products acquisition division.”
Stella twists her wedding band around her finger, trying to stay calm when she just wants to jump out, scream, and pound on the hood of her car.
Morgan continues, “The Saks brand is synonymous with luxury goods and providing our clients with a positive shopping experience. Most of our clients are loyal, return shoppers, who make a majority of their department store purchases with us. They shop with us because we introduce them to timeless designers, but one of our key initiatives is upcoming and new designers.”
Stella pauses, waiting to see if Morgan's just taking a breath or is waiting for her to respond. She adds, “Which brings me to the reason I’m calling. You’ve come across my radar. I’ve seen your name popping up in magazines, on models, and just last week, a few celebrities were featured in US Weekly and People wearing your lipstick shades.”
“Yes, it’s been an honor to see my colors represented in magazines and on the runway.” Stella adds, “I’ve loved the positive feedback and traction SMK is receiving.”
“I’m curious, how did you get your start?”
“Grassroots marketing. One of my stylist friends shared that some of her makeup artist friends were having a tough time finding shades of lipstick that worked well with their client’s skin tone. I played around with some colors and it snowballed from there. I started having numerous requests from personal assistants and stylists along with the press.”
“Sounds like your tactic is working,” Morgan says. “I found out all I could about you. Native Californian, married to a literary agent who encouraged her to start her own business instead of going to grad school for an MBA. Your company’s only a few years old and was founded after you couldn’t find the right shade for your famously pale Norwegian skin.”
“Vanity Fair article, four months ago, yes.” Stella has to remind herself to breathe. “The last six months have been a whirlwind.”
“Lipstick is the only product category at the moment?”
“Currently. We have over thirty-eight shades, designed and tested on the lightest of complexions to the darkest.”
“I see that. Your website has them listed and I love the names. The rosy pink color called Blushing Bride to the nude tone Fairest of Snow Whites. A team think of these?”
“No, I thought of them. I have a test panel but for that part of the business, I’m the creator.”
“What’s the end goal?”
“In terms of?”
“Expanding your product line to skincare and other beauty products?”
Stella licks her lips. “Yes, right now we�
��re testing out fragrances and creating palettes of eyeshadow colors.”
“When do you plan to have a full product line out?”
Before she loses her courage, Stella stammers, “As soon as you buy it.”
There’s a short pause and Morgan’s now waiting for her to elaborate. “If we keep moving forward at this pace, it’s more than attainable for us to broaden our product offerings.”
“Perfect, that’s what we like to hear. As a lover of lipstick, it’s hard to have just one product and build loyalty off that without other sources of revenue.”
“Absolutely.” Stella watches as a surfer walks behind her driveway, board in hand. The usual comings and goings of Malibu. “It’s all in the works.”
“You’re carried at a few stores right now?”
“Thirteen boutiques and one large department store,” Stella says. “Most are southern Cal, one in Texas, two in New York, one in Vegas.”
“Well, we don’t want to be left behind. As I’m sure you know, our clients are always in need of a fabulous lip. Plus, the beauty industry has continued to soar profit-wise. We’ve been impressed with how well designer makeup has done.”
“We all want to feel desired.” Stella lowers her voice to a husky, seductive voice, one she practiced when delivering her pitch. “It’s my job to make women feel like they're invincible, and take the guessing out of the right match...”
“...because they should focus on their lifestyle and not their lips,” Morgan finishes.
“You have done a lot of research on me.”
“It’s my job. Where are you at?”
“In Cali?” Stella taps her foot on the wheel, “outside of LA.”
“Perfect. A couple people on my team are flying in from New York next week. We’d love to discuss how we can create a Saks and SMK partnership.”
“Absolutely.” Stella breaks into a huge grin. “Thanks for calling, Morgan.”
“I look forward to meeting you, Stella.”
When they disconnect, she wants nothing more than to step out of the vehicle and do a happy dance, or some kind of break dance that she never learned to do.
The Perfect Stranger Page 2
