by Alexis Angel
Katerina’s betrayal at our last fashion show together still pains me, enough that I’m going to have to take it out on Tanner, or I’ll explode.
“Tanner, it looks like your model has a little muffin top going on. Should we switch her into the control top, or do you want to put her in a bigger size?”
Katerina just laughs. The insult is intended for Tanner, not her, and she knows it.
“I think she looks like an angel,” Tanner says. “It’s too bad she’s a Vixen now.”
His words are cocky, but he’s still fighting his preshow jitters. I can tell by the way he hardens his jaw and rubs his temples with his fingers. It’s endearing, really, to see him so nervous.
He looks handsome, too. He’s dressed in a classic groom’s tuxedo and simple black patent leather shoes. He even has a boutonniere pinned to his coat.
It makes me wish he were standing at the end of the runway instead of the beginning. Then I can walk towards him in a cloud of tulle and lace, with my arms full of flowers and my wedding veil trailing behind me. It’s hard for me in Tanner’s design room, preparing for a wedding-themed runway show when I know our relationship is just a wedding-themed business deal.
But I can’t let him think he’s here to upstage me with his models. We’re in this together or not at all.
Katerina looks down and frowns. “Tanner, I think she’s right. The cut’s a little off. Can I change into the bikini briefs?”
I take it back: I forgive Katerina for everything she’s ever done to me. She’s a lovely girl with a flat stomach and a bright future.
“Fine. But be quick about it.” Tanner’s voice is clipped, but he doesn’t argue. He would never put our feud ahead of his ego. If Katerina looks bad, so does he.
“Well, in that case, I think I’ll prepare one of my models to go out first.” I look around for the leggiest, bustiest model I’ve got. She’s got to be larger than life and dressed in my best lingerie.
“There’s no need for that,” Tanner says. “Evan’s ready. Aren’t you, Evan?”
Evan, the other traitor who left me for Tanner, seems to have come a long way since she made her debut. Her makeup and hair are flawless, and she’s pinned her lingerie just right for lengthening her legs and emphasizing the curve of her waist.
“She’s wearing a bridal teddy, though,” I point out. “We’re going to want to start out with one of the bridesmaid designs.”
And with that, I’ve won the fight. Tanner steps to the side while I summon a bridesmaid in a bra-and-panty set covered in flowers. But before she reaches us, Katerina returns with her new underwear.
“It looks like I made it just in time!”
Tanner kneels down to inspect the miniature train stitched at the back of her panties and whistles. Katerina and I have roughly the same measurements, which is a big part of why we were rivals. And here I am, dressed like the mother of the bride in a blue satin blazer and pencil skirt while Tanner admires her ass.
The sound engineers don’t know that all hell is about to break loose, so they cue the music. Katerina steps onto the runway, wiggling her mini train behind her.
I don’t know what comes over me, but before she’s out of my reach, I stick my hand out, grab her lacy dog leash—or whatever that’s supposed to be—and yank her backward. She yelps, and the lace comes off in my hand.
Tanner turns white as a wedding veil on a bedsheet next to a vanilla sheet cake. He snatches the lace from my fingers and stares at it for a moment. I think he’s about to lose his shit, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he calmly tucks the lace into the headband of one of my models, making a cute little fastener that could double as a wedding veil. I’m starting to see where he’s going with this.
I lean in and whisper instructions in the model’s ear.
When Katerina makes it to the end of the runway—fortunately, she’s escaped my grabby hands and has lived to tell the tale—my model pulls the biggest, brightest flowers off her bra and tosses them her way. Katerina tucks the blooms down the front of her white pleather bustier—pleather at a wedding? Come on, Tanner!—and grins all the way back.
Tanner nods his approval. “Now my model is a bride…”
“And yours is a bridesmaid who caught the bouquet.”
For the rest of the rehearsal, Tanner and I have all our models trade accessories and fabric with one another. We’re on the clock, so there isn’t much time to argue about the merits of peonies versus roses or Chantilly versus brocade.
Our goal is to create one lingerie line instead of two.
I would never admit it to Tanner, but the colorful flowers really do pop against the simplicity of the white pleather. And the lace he adds to my floral designs make them so soft and feminine and gorgeous.
When the last model has sashayed her way backstage, Tanner holds out his elbow for me to grab his arm.
“We’re up,” he says, smiling at me.
“No, I don’t need to go out.” I stand my ground while the models start clapping in time with the music, waiting for the two of us to come out and take a bow.
“This is our show. They’re going to want to see us, the bride and groom. Have you prepared your vows?”
“Oh, stop it.” I can feel myself turning red with embarrassment. In my haste to get my new models dressed and up to speed in time for the big show, I’d forgotten about my own triumphant return to the runway.
“But I’m too boring to go out there. I’m wearing a suit!”
“That’s not all you’re wearing.”
Tanner smiles wickedly at me, and I wonder what he’s up to.
He takes my arm and links it in his. “Just trust me.”
I sigh and let him walk me down the aisle…um, I mean runway. This is just a rehearsal, right? I know I can come up with something amazing in time for the show.
Tanner takes his time while Felix Mendelssohn’s classic Wedding March blasts from the speakers.
“We can pick a new song, right?”
“Whatever you want.”
When we get to the end of the runway, he stops and gets down on one knee. I’ve seen this move before.
But instead of teasing me with a ring box, he slides his hand up my skirt. I gasp involuntarily, forgetting that all our models are watching us. “Higher,” I whisper.
“Not yet, naughty girl,” Tanner laughs. I feel a tug, and that’s when I realize that he’s found my garter. I put it on when I got dressed this morning without even thinking about it.
I let him slowly slide it off my leg, savoring every moment of his touch.
“How did you know?”
“When I was on my knees inspecting Katerina’s train, I took a look at yours as well.”
He gives me a little pat on the backside. “I like yours better.”
I burst out laughing. He holds my garter and raises it to the sky, pretending to choose a target in the invisible crowd.
The models are enjoying the spectacle, too. Some are jumping up with their arms raised to catch the garter. Others are throwing flowers and rice at our feet.
Finally, Tanner stretches the garter back like a slingshot and releases it, sending it soaring to the front of the stage. When Katerina catches it in one hand, I’m happy for her.
I’ve just done something I never thought I could do. I remember when Tanner and I broke up, I never wanted to be in the same room with him ever again. And now here we are, working together on a lingerie line, sharing a stage, even sharing models.
I feel as happy as a bride on her wedding day, and as horny as a bridesmaid at a bachelorette party.
Chapter 24
Tanner
Fashion shows are usually more fun than this. Inside the Dirty Little Angel boardroom, the men and women of the board are sitting stiffly in their office chairs, waiting for Elsa and I to present our new line.
One of the men pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher. One of the women checks her phone messages. No one smiles.
Just in time, our army of professional lingerie models arrives to whip this meeting into shape. On the other side of the room, Elsa opens the door and herds the women inside. All around me, jaws are dropping to the floor when the board members see how beautiful they are.
The women are still wearing lace, pleather, and flowers like they were in rehearsal, but after a week of tweaking, reconfiguring, and resewing the designs, the lingerie looks absolutely stunning—and much more expensive.
Our floral bridesmaid set makes the model look like Eve in the garden of Eden. The bridal set, on the other hand, makes the model look like she’s spread out on a bed of fucking roses. I want to marry every bra and make babies with the panties.
This might very well be the best lingerie line I’ve ever created, and as much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Elsa. When I see how big her smile is as she watches her models show off our designs, I know she feels the same way.
Someday she’ll thank me for coming up with the idea. At least that’s what I tell myself.
“Always a bride,” Elsa steps to the front of the room to introduce our theme.
Her long blond hair is shiny and soft around her shoulders. Her red lipstick makes her full lips look even bigger and more kissable.
She is positively glowing, and is it just me, or are her tits even bigger than they were the last time I saw them? Boobs are so mysterious.
Maybe it’s the dress she’s wearing. It’s very form fitting. I like the way it looks in the front. And the back. Are we done yet? It’s hot in here.
“Ahem.”
That’s Elsa, reminding me that I’m supposed to be talking now.
“Always a bride, yes. A woman only gets married once…”
Elsa raises her eyebrow.
“Or as many times as she wants. Things happen. But my point is that wedding lingerie has an expiration date. Once the wedding is over, it goes back into the closet and doesn’t come out till Halloween.”
“When she covers it in fake blood for her slutty-zombie-bride costume,” Elsa finishes my sentence for me, and as she does, I see at least a few of the board members crack a smile and settle into their seats.
“But women go to weddings all the time—as bridesmaids, dates, and as friends,” Elsa continues. “They might bring a partner and plan to stay overnight in a hotel; they might meet someone new on the dance floor and do something totally unplanned.”
“Basically, weddings are great places to get laid.” This time, I have the last word. “The booze is flowing, the bride and groom are saying lovey-dovey things to each other, there’s soft, romantic music playing, and the guests are swooning all over the place.”
Now, the board members are chuckling. The man with the water pitcher goes for another glass and downs it in one shot.
“I would never wear a white lace dress to someone else’s wedding, but there are no rules about underwear.”
“Our designs are soft, romantic, and designed to incorporate everything that’s fun about weddings—the flowers, the luxurious fabrics, the bright colors—without screaming ‘brides only.’”
“You can wear our line on your wedding day, your anniversary, Valentine’s Day”—while Elsa is rattling off lingerie-appropriate holidays, I can see the board members counting the sales figures in their heads—“and you can wear it even if you’re single, just because you can.”
The models move around the room to allow the board members to see the designs up close. I feel a little sorry for them. I can only imagine the visions of HR violations dancing in their heads as they frown in their chairs and back away from the models, trying to keep a respectful distance.
“These styles make everyone feel like a bride,” Elsa says in conclusion.
When the last model has finished making her rounds, she joins the others to form a semicircle around the conference table and take a bow. I grab Elsa’s hand—she doesn’t even fight me this time!—and lift it to the ceiling.
The applause is not as loud as I imagined, but it’s pretty enthusiastic for such a small group of people. I know the real runway show will be much bigger and more awesome.
“Thank you all so much. These designs are going to look even better on the runway—and on our customers.”
Just when I’m ready for an encore, Elsa discreetly squeezes my hand and starts heading for the door. I want to tell her to hold her horses.
It’s not every day that a room full of cranky suits gets this pumped up about fashion. Elsa didn’t even have to show them the slideshow she had prepared with the demographic statistics and the sales forecasts.
More importantly, this is a really special moment for the two of us that we should savor for as long as we can. For too long, we’ve been letting our feelings get in the way of business. And we’ve been letting business get in the way of our feelings.
Maybe it’s time we…
The woman with the cellphone clears her throat. “Um, Elsa?”
Elsa looks back, surprised. “Yes? Did you have a question?”
“Where is your lingerie? I thought this would be your big modeling comeback.”
The other board members nod in agreement.
“Well, this fashion show was just a preview of the lingerie,” Elsa explains. “I mean, I’ll be wearing it on the runway when we’re ready to go public with it.”
“We’d like to see something from you before we sign off on this,” a bald man with thick, furrowed eyebrows says. “The shareholders are going to be expecting a show after all that build-up in the press.”
“Of course. That’s perfectly understandable.”
Elsa rarely loses her cool under pressure, so when she squares her shoulders and shows the board members her wolf teeth, I know it’s time to wrap things up. Right now.
“We have something very special planned,” I reassure them. “It’s top secret. I didn’t want to have Elsa do it with the other models in the room because it would detract from the…the…”
“You’ll know when you see it,” Elsa cuts me off with the patience of a hungry hippo snatching a marble. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to step outside for a minute.”
Elsa has grabbed my arm and is practically pulling me toward the door. I can feel her digging into me with her nails, and while I’m alarmed by it, I have to admit it’s also kind of hot the way she’s dragging me out of a room like a cavewoman.
Despite the abrupt transition, the board members seem to have taken her vague promises at face value and gone back to their scheduled meeting, which is a relief.
Especially when I look at Elsa’s face and see that she has turned into a very unflattering shade of green. She’s swaying back and forth a little, and I’m not sure if she’s going to faint or barf or both. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she bolts for the door.
“Just give us one moment,” I squeak. “I’ll be right back.” I follow Elsa out of the boardroom and into the hallway. She has one hand on the wall and the other on her stomach. And the noise she’s making is not a moan of pleasure.
“Elsa? What happened in there? Are you okay?”
“I’m not feeling so hot,” she says.
“Well, what should we do? How can I help?”
I forget about everything that just happened in the other room. Whatever the board members are expecting from us can wait. All I care about right now is making sure Elsa is safe and comfortable.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
She nods and takes my hand.
Chapter 25
Elsa
I can feel the vomit crawl up my throat and the dry-heaves increase.
My hand covers my mouth, and I clutch onto my stomach to ease the pain.
I need to puke, and it’s coming up now.
Shit.
I run towards the coat-rack and reach for the nearest thing I can find. Without even looking, I grab a large bag and puke in it.
I swear, everything I’ve ever eaten falls out of me.
Nerves…no. Food poisoning? Hmm, maybe. But how?
Tanner runs behind me and grabs my hair, lifting it on top of my head and away from the mess I’m holding.
Fuck, why does he have to be here? He doesn’t need to see this.
I continue to puke everything I possibly could, and finally, I catch my breath.
Tanner hands me a handkerchief—I have no idea from where—and I pat my forehead and neck.
I hate the cold sweats.
My stomach finally settles, and I spit out the leftover saliva. I’m sure I look really hot right now.
I look down to see what’s holding my puke and grimace at the sight.
It’s fitting—the purse is as ugly as the contents inside. I’m amazed that someone can design such a hideous purse, actually.
Though another wave of nausea hits me once I realize how expensive the bag is.
Replacing this designer puke bag would cost me a whole collection’s worth of earnings. It’s way too expensive for how ugly it is. And frankly, it deserves to be puked on.
“Fuck, Elsa, are you okay?” Tanner asks, his voice heavy with anxiety.
I stand up and straighten myself, turning towards him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Must be something I ate.”
He squints his eyes and tilts his head, questioning me.
“We pretty much ate the same thing, and I feel fine.”
Once he says that, I immediately start to feel faint, my blood draining from me. I am now acutely aware of that fact.
And that’s what I’m afraid of, but I can’t tell him.
“Still, you never know with French food. We had different meals, so it was probably what I ate.” I piece together the most convincing case for my random food poisoning, but I can tell he isn’t buying it.
“But we both had fish. It’d be prepared the same way.”
“Tanner, seriously! I have no fucking idea. I’m assuming it’s food poisoning because there’s nothing else it could be.” My anger starts to get the best of me.
