She’s right. He was gorgeous.
“He had a good-looking dick, too…very big.” I size out with my hands. “That’s the only thing I miss about him.”
We both giggle.
Ava pulls off the highway, heading onto Sunset Boulevard. I watch out the window, taking in the sights.
“So, who else is on the team?” I ask her.
“It’s just me, you, and Logan.”
“Logan?”
“Logan Cheung.”
“I don’t think I know him,” I muse, tapping a finger to my chin.
“He’s an LA native. Wants to be an actor.”
“Who doesn’t in this town?” I quip.
“He’s lovely though. Told me he started working in wardrobe to try and get a foot in the industry. He’s real good, and he has a real natural flair for style. And, God, can the man sew.”
“And, without stereotyping, I’m guessing he’s gay?”
“Of course.” She smirks.
She pulls up in front of the hotel. I stare up at it. It looks okay. And I stayed in worse places back when I lived in Philly.
“You want me to come in with you? Then, we can go out and get some dinner,” Ava offers.
“Nah, I’m knackered. I’m just gonna get room service, if they do it, and crash. All this traveling has wiped me out.”
“Cool.”
“Thanks for the ride.” I reach over and give her a one-armed hug.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Show you around the wardrobe. Oh, you’ll need this to get into the studio.” She reaches over into the glove box, pulls out a pass on a lanyard, and hands it to me. “Your pass to get in the studio.”
“What time do you need me there?” I open the door, readying to get out.
“I’m getting in at eight thirty. Vaughn’s coming in for a fitting at ten. I’ve assigned him to you, as he was Millie’s, and I know how much you like him.”
She gives me a knowing smile, and I shake my head, getting out of the car.
I hook my bag on my shoulder and drop the lanyard in it. Leaning down, I say, “I’ll be there at eight thirty then. See you tomorrow.”
“See you then.”
I shut the door and get my case out of the trunk. I tap my hand on the roof to let her know I’m good. Then, I wave bye and head into the hotel.
Chapter 4
Charly
My sewing case in hand, I’m at the studio. I arrived here ten minutes ago, and Ava has been showing me around the warehouse where all the clothes and costumes for the studio are kept.
“This is the main wardrobe and props area…and this is our section for storage.”
I follow her over to the rails of clothes and storage units.
“Everything is labeled, so we know which is ours. But we have a trailer over by the studio they’re filming in, so we can do fittings there. All of Vaughn’s stuff is already over there. I had Logan move it over for you yesterday.”
“Brilliant. Thanks.”
“Here’s Vaughn’s sheet, listing what he’ll need on which days.”
“Great, thanks.” I take the file from her. “What about the other actors?”
“Logan has Natasha. The rest of the cast, I’ve split between the two of you, and we’ll work out the schedule as we go.”
“And you just sit back and give us orders?” I grin.
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Because we’re a small team, I’ll be on set for any alterations, and I get the awesome tasks of inventory and keeping your ass in check.”
“I am a handful,” I tell her with a serious face.
“No kidding.” She laughs, swatting me on the ass.
“Hey! Sexual harassment!” I call out with a laugh.
She shakes her head, laughing. “Come on, I’ll show you the trailer and introduce you to Logan.”
We walk over to the trailer. I follow her inside. It looks just like all other wardrobes I’ve worked in, nothing different.
Except for the hottie over by the table, who’s sewing a button on a Marc Jacobs blazer.
“Logan, I’d like you to meet Charly.”
He snaps off the thread and puts the blazer down. “Hey, Charly. Good to meet you.”
He stands up to shake my hand. I’d say he’s about five-eleven, and he has a lovely face, dark eyes, and jet-black hair. Best of all, he’s dressed in a snappy suit. I love a man in a suit.
“I love your top,” he says.
I glance down at it. I’m wearing my black You Can’t Sit With Us cropped tank. It’s my favorite. I love it. I teamed it with my ripped Gucci jeans that I got at a seventy percent off sale and my Zara wedges. My hair is down, and my makeup is light. I’m rocking the basics, if I do say so myself.
“Thanks. Love your suit. Tom Ford, this season, right?”
“Right.” He smiles.
I hear a phone beep, and then Ava’s saying, “Shit. I’ve got to go pick up Natasha’s dresses. I forgot they’d be ready this morning. Charly, will you be okay if I disappear for a bit?”
“Sure”—I wave her off—“I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t forget that Vaughn is coming in at ten thirty.”
“Ten thirty. Got it.”
I watch her disappear out the door we just came in through.
“I need to get this jacket to Marcus—supporting cast actor,” Logan explains, “and see if it’s right this time. I might be a while. He can be…tricky.”
“Gotcha. No worries. I’ll just familiarize myself with this place.”
Then, Logan’s gone, and I’m alone.
I have a look around, finding where everything is. I locate Vaughn’s clothes on the rail, so I get them off and set them up on the table. I get my sewing kit all ready.
And then I’m good to go, with time to kill.
Honestly, I’m feeling a little nervous.
Of course I’ve worked with actors before, but this is Vaughn West.
He’s a huge star.
And gorgeous.
I decide to do some work on my latest design. I pull out my sketchpad from my handbag, set my cell on the table, and start my playlist. I open my pad at the drawing I’ve been working on this past week.
It’s a wedding dress. Strapless bodice encrusted with crystals and a lace ribbon stitched under the breast with the ends of the ribbon set with crystals as well. I just can’t decide on the skirt. It’s been bugging me all week.
Madonna’s “Dress You Up” starts to play on my phone.
I love this song! It’s my anthem.
Putting my pad down, I turn the volume up.
Then, I’m singing along and getting to my feet. Picking up a lint roller to use as my mock microphone, I’m singing my heart out, dancing around, twerking my ass off to Madge, and—
“Shit! Fuck!” I yell mid turn, the lint roller dropping out of my hand and to the floor.
Because Vaughn West is standing in the doorway—arms folded, his shoulder leaning on the doorframe—watching me.
Oh my God.
I dart over and silence the music, closing my sketchpad. “God, you scared me.” I’m breathing quickly. I press my hand to my chest, my heart pounding. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
His voice…dear God. Deep and raspy and sexy.
I take a good look at him, and he’s even better in real life than he looks on-screen.
He’s beautiful. And tall. I know he’s six foot two and a half. And, no, I’m not a stalker. I read it in a magazine once.
He’s dressed in blue jeans and a simple black tee that highlights the golden tone of his skin. His hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. And his lips, so full and kissable…and his eyes…they’re like melted chocolate with caramel in the center…
Then, I realize he’s laughing at me. Well, not laughing, laughing, but there’s definitely mirth in those gorgeous eyes of his.
And I’m back to planet Earth with a bang. Where I’ve
just made a complete fool of myself in front of Vaughn West.
Someone, please kill me now.
“I am sorry about that.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting you for a while, and when Madonna comes on, you just have to sing along, you know?”
“Oh, yeah. Every time I hear Madonna playing, I have to drop what I’m doing and shake my ass to the beat.”
“Right?” I exclaim, sounding a little shrill.
I might be a tad flustered and flying high on adrenaline right now, which is why it takes me a beat longer to realize he’s actually taking the piss.
“So, anyway”—I brush it off with a shake of my shoulders—“embarrassing moment aside, I’m Charlotte Michaels; everyone calls me Charly. I’m your new dresser. I’m replacing Millie. It’s really great to meet you, Mr. West.” I walk over to him and stick my hand out to shake his.
He seems even taller up close. I’m not exactly short at five-eight, and I’ve got my three-inch wedges on, giving me extra height, but I feel like a little girl standing in front of him.
Vaughn glances down at my hand like he can’t quite figure me out, and then he looks back up at my face with an expression that says he thinks I’m mentally impaired—which isn’t surprising, considering he just walked in on me wailing out to Madonna and twerking.
Honestly, I question my own sanity at times.
“Vaughn’s fine,” he says but makes no move to shake my hand.
“Okay.” I awkwardly pull my hand back, trying not to feel like a complete moron. “Vaughn, it is.”
Then, we’re just standing there, staring at each other.
“So…” he says.
“Right. Clothes.” I snap myself to attention.
I turn to the table where I left the clothes I need to alter for him, and I pick up the pants off the top of the pile. Black Armani suit pants. He’ll look super hot in them.
“To start with, I need you to try these on. Ava’s notes said they don’t fit properly. I just need to see them on, so I can resize them for you.”
He takes the pants from my hand. “In here?” He gestures to the curtained-off area.
“Yes.”
Vaughn goes into the changing area, pulling the curtain across. I turn to the table and bend over, dropping my head on it with a silent groan.
Ugh. God, I can’t believe I was just twerking to Madonna, and Vaughn West walked in on me and saw me. I’m such a fucking loser.
I hear the rustle of clothing from behind me. I pick my head up, righting myself.
Vaughn West is undressing and quite possibly naked, only ten feet behind me.
Holy crap.
I’m actually starting to sweat a little.
I fan my face with my hand.
Jesus, get it together, Charly.
A minute later, I hear the rail rattle, telling me the curtain is being pulled back.
I turn around, and…holy shit.
He’s shirtless.
He’s just wearing the pants.
No shoes. Just bare feet.
Sweet baby Jesus.
Bare feet and ripped chests are my kryptonite, especially if the man has nice feet—which, of course, Vaughn does—and his chest…man alive!
It’s the kind of chest you want to spend days licking all kinds of melted sweets off. To be honest, I’d happily lick his sweat off his chest. Run my tongue over those abs and ridges, down that happy trail—
“Where do you want me?”
Is that a trick question?
I cough. “Just over here, please.”
He walks toward me, and my vagina thuds in time with his footsteps.
When he reaches me, I get a whiff of male. He doesn’t smell like I expected. I thought he’d be all rich cologne and expensive fabrics.
But Vaughn smells outdoorsy. Like cinder and spice. Like he just got back from a stint in the woods, chopping trees.
He smells good. It’s doing wonderful things to my girl parts.
I want to take a deep breath and swallow a lungful of him.
This is what two years of sex with only a vibrator and my imagination for company does.
Don’t think of the imaginary sex you’ve had with him in your head.
Don’t do it.
Of course I think about it. My brain flashes to the scene where he has me in the shower, up against the tiled wall, fucking me like a maniac. Exactly the same as what he did in the scene with Martha Vance in Ricochet. Lucky bitch. I just replaced her face with my own. I always come hard and fast to that one. It’s my favorite.
And, now, my whole body is on fire because I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face that I’m having sex thoughts about him.
Jesus Christ.
Forcing my mind back to work, I step back and look over the pants, making sure to check the fit and not the bulge in the front.
“How do they feel?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“They look a little loose around the inner thigh and crotch area,” I muse, tapping my finger to my chin.
“Are you saying I have skinny thighs and a small package?”
“What? God, no!” And, of course, my eyes go straight to said package. “I just meant that the pants are slightly oversized in that area, and you need them more fitted, not that you have a small cock—package! I mean, package!”
Holy fuck, someone, please stop me.
My face is on fire, and I’m sweating like a donkey pulling a fat man on a cart.
“Chill.” He laughs once. It’s deep and throaty and sexy as hell. “I’m kidding with you.”
“Oh. Oh, right. Cool.” I take a deep breath, pressing my hand to my chest.
Needing a moment to cool my face down, I turn to the table, get my wrist pincushion, which is already loaded up with pins, and fasten it to my wrist.
I turn back to him, feeling a little more in control, and without looking him in the face, I get down to my knees in front of him, putting me at cock-level.
I’m on my knees in front of Vaughn West. Sure, I’m only pinning his pants, but still…it’s one for the books.
“Okay, so if you could just spread your legs a little for me, that’d be great.”
I hear those words back in my head and want to die. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment and just shifts his stance, parting his legs for me.
I try to relax because I am nervous…because he’s him.
Come on, Charly, you’ve done this a thousand times. He’s just a man.
A hot, gorgeous, famous man. But a man all the same.
Sucking in a silent breath, I start on the right inner thigh, hemming the material in and tacking it with pins. Vaughn tenses.
Lots of people get uncomfortable when I’m doing this. I mean, it is weird, having a stranger this close who is sticking pins in the clothes you’re wearing.
I shift over to his left leg, and he tenses again. Discomfort is radiating from him, which is making me feel uncomfortable.
He clears his throat.
I look up at him. His brows are pinched. He looks like he’s in pain.
“Almost done,” I tell him.
Now, for the crotch area.
I’ve been purposely keeping my eyes away from this part of his body, but now, I have no choice but to look.
And…oh my God.
He’s got a boner. Well, not a boner, boner, but there’s definitely a semi going on there.
Then, it hits me.
Vaughn West has a semi over me.
The things that is doing for my self-confidence right now.
I feel like doing an air punch. And possibly another twerk.
But, of course, I’m a professional, so I pretend not to notice. Expression schooled—and I can’t even begin to tell you how hard that is, pun intended—I say to him, “Okay, a few more pins, and we’re done.”
I take a pin from the cushion and turn the fabric in to pin it. As I move my hand, my knuckles accidentally—and, I swear, it’s an accident—brush
against him. His hips jerk forward right as I’m pushing the pin in the material of his pants, and—
“Jesus! Fuck!” he yells, jumping back away from me.
I stare up at him in shock.
Oh, shit. No…
Please no.
I just stabbed Vaughn West in the cock with a pin.
I just stabbed the world’s biggest movie star. With a pin. In his cock.
I snap into action, leaping to my feet. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that! It was an accident, I swear! I can’t believe I stabbed you in your cock! I mean, penis! Oh, Jesus.” I cover my face with my hands.
“Ball sack.” He moans a pained sound.
I drop my hands. “What?”
“You got me in my ball sack, not my cock. Jesus, fuck, this hurts! What did you stab me with? A knife?”
“A pin. And it was only a small one.”
The glare he fixes me with makes me want to piss my pants.
“I really am sorry. So, so sorry.” I wince.
I’m so fired.
“Let me help you.” I move toward him, but he backs away from me.
“Seriously, stay the fuck away. I can’t believe you just stabbed me.”
“Pinned.”
He glares again.
“Sorry,” I mumble, dropping my gaze.
“Vaughn?”
“What?” he snaps.
“The pin…it’s still in…there.”
His eyes follow mine down. “Jesus Christ,” he groans.
“Do you want me to pull it out?”
“No, I don’t want you to fucking pull it out! I’m not letting you anywhere near me ever again. You’ve probably just killed all my best swimmers. I swear to God, if I lose a ball because of you—”
“That’s a tad dramatic. It was just a tiny pin.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as angry as he looks right now. His face his red, bordering purple.
“Okay, so let me stick a tiny pin in your clit and see how you get on,” he grits out.
“Okay. Point taken.” I clamp my thighs together.
And I watch quietly as he takes a few deep breaths before he takes ahold of the pin and yanks it out.
“Motherfucker!”
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not fucking okay!” he snaps.
He opens the button on the pants and carefully pulls the zipper down, and I realize he’s about to check his damaged goods.
Keep This Promise Page 91
