by Amanda Aksel
I strip down, and hop into my steaming shower. Ouch! The water stings my lower back. Twisting around, I spot a rug burn-like scrape about three inches long right above my ass. “Ooh,” I say. I haven’t had a sex injury in years. Even though it burns in the hot water, I’m proud of it. That’s right, I had amazing sex, under a tree, in the rain, with a man who touches me like he has a PhD in Kate Golden’s body.
As I towel off, my phone sings from the bedroom. Maybe Drew woke up hungry for me too. I hurry to the nightstand, turning over the phone with its new, pristine screen. It’s not Drew. It’s Lisa, my stepmom—ex-stepmom.
“Hey,” I answer, tucking my fluffy, white towel around my body.
“Good morning! Are you excited about the show today?” she asks. I love that she still calls me the morning of my big events. She may be my ex-stepmom but she is the best mom.
I hold the phone with my shoulder and slide my panties up my thighs. “More nervous than excited.”
“Your new line is fantastic. It’s gonna be great.” Lisa is not shy about her frank opinions, so I want to believe her. But in the moment, her remark feels clouded in bias. I wish I could feel as confident in the new line as she sounds.
“Well, I did everything I could do. It’s up to the critics now.” Just saying the word critic makes my stomach churn. “But enough about me. How are you? I haven’t talked to you all week.”
“Oh, you know me. Same as ever. Spending my days at the Pilates studio and my nights binge-watching Netflix.” When Lisa “retired” from modeling, she got bored and started teaching Pilates even though her career earnings and alimony from my dad afforded her more than enough cash.
“Lisa, why don’t you go out? Meet someone? You’re in your forties and you look like you could be my sister.”
“I’m really not interested in meeting someone new. I just want to focus on me for a while.” Lisa’s been saying that for years. She was twenty-two when she married my dad, inheriting a six-year-old. She taught me how to make pesto sauce, apply perfect eyeliner, and use a tampon. One time, she even canceled a trip to Brazil for some launch party because I had a fever and couldn’t keep any food down. She took great care of my dad too, and he had loved her. A lot. But not the way he had loved my mother. That’s why she left. I hated watching them be so heartbroken—Lisa over my dad and my dad over my mom. If it hadn’t been for me I don’t think my dad would’ve remarried in the first place. He only dates casually now. Very casually.
But my relationship with Lisa has stayed the same, and I’m glad for that.
“Have you talked to your dad?” she asks, because after all that, she’s still in love with him.
“Yeah, he’s good.” I try to keep my tone neutral when she asks about him because if there’s any inflection in my voice, she’ll inquire further about what I mean when I say he’s doing “really well.”
“Good,” she says, and I can tell she wishes I would divulge more.
The bright-red numbers on the bedside digital clock glare nine forty-five. “Hey Lisa, can I call you later? I’m running a little behind.”
“Okay, honey. I love you. Good luck today. Talk to you soon.”
“I love you too. Get some sleep.”
I set the phone down on the sink and forgo my makeup primers. It’s a rushed makeup job, but I think Lisa would still approve. I grab my things and jet toward the elevator. Today, I opted for lapis lazuli-blue flats, which come in handy when I hurry along the marble lobby floor.
At the reception desk, a woman dressed in a floral maxi dress turns to me and I come to a screeching halt, nearly slipping on the slick surface.
“Beau?” I say, squinting.
She gives me a sunny smile, running over with open arms. “Kate!”
“Oh, my God, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for your show.” She hits me with one of her classic, big hugs. The scent of her body mist is so comforting and the tight knot in my stomach begins to uncoil.
“You are?” I pull away, giving her a suspicious stare.
“Yeah, and I missed you. With all your investor stuff and my Martino stuff, I thought we should be together.”
I rest my hand down on her bare, very tanned shoulder, grazing her sandy-blonde locks. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” She smiles, revealing her adorable dimpled cheeks. “You look amazing by the way. Did you have a facial?”
I laugh. “No, but I did have something done.”
Beau’s eyes widen. “Like Botox?” she asks with a slack jaw.
“No, but I did get poked.” I raise an eyebrow.
She gasps. “No . . .”
I nod, still trying to believe the whole thing myself.
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Beau jokes.
“I know.” I laugh, holding up my hands in surrender and catching a glimpse of my watch. “Anyway, I know you just got here, but I really have to head over to the show. We go on at two.”
“What?” She drops her arms by her side. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and disappear.”
“Well, I am. We can talk later.” I leave a kiss on her cheek and wave goodbye.
“I always knew you were a tease,” she hollers after me, and I catch an insulted glare from an elderly woman in a yellow tweed suit.
Twenty minutes later, I arrive at the venue bustling with London fashion goers, celebrities, journalists, and photographers. I peek through the crowd, looking for my British photographer, but there’s not a single leather jacket in the room.
“There you are,” Garret sneaks up next to me, wearing a two-toned blazer. “I called and tweeted you last night. Where were you?”
I pick the tiniest piece of lint from his shoulder. “Is this the new Dior?”
He grins, striking a pose. “It is. Isn’t it fabulous?”
“You look amazing,” I say.
Garret drops his smile and folds his arms. “So, where were you?”
I shrug. “I was probably asleep.”
He rolls his eyes, making a clicking noise with his mouth. “Please, you don’t sleep. I get emails from you at two in the morning.” True, I like to check my email when I pee in the middle of the night. But last night, I slept like a rock.
“Well, I’m here now. Oh!” I say, covering my mouth in excitement. “Guess who else is here?”
He makes a wide-eyed owl face. “Who?”
“Beau. She surprised me.” I clap my hands like a high school cheerleader.
Garret looks around the crowd. “She is? Where? I love that woman!” Garret is totally straight for Beau. He told me once that she’s the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in real life. Then he said that I shouldn’t feel bad, I was very sexy too. For a girl. I took it with a grain of salt.
I was used to men fawning all over her. Beau was gorgeous, even during those awkward ages when we were kids. But it never fazed me until middle school when the boy I liked only wanted to date her. And I hated myself for resenting her for it. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she liked him too. but she never went out with him because she knew it would destroy me. She’d always been that kind of friend to me.
As I grew into my twenties, I discovered my own beauty, but not my own sexy. It’s like I wasn’t born with that gene or something. I couldn’t own it the way Beau could. The way Lisa could. I thought if I could design the kind of lacy garments that I thought were sexy, I’d be sexy too. But having seen many different types of women, not only models, in my designs, I realized that sexy has nothing to do with underwear, figure, or even hair and makeup. Sexy comes from within. And I just didn’t have it.
Until the photo shoot with Drew. It was the way he looked at me over the lens. That wild, hungry look, like I was the sexiest thing in the world. It awakened something in me, something I can only describe as primal, because I’ve never lost control like I did under that tree.
“She’ll be here later,” I tell Garret. “I wonder if that investor g
uy is here.” I scope the room for any Wall Street types, but I can’t spot any. In the end, I have to abandon the search and go get ready for the show.
Backstage is just as chaotic as the auditorium. I meet my hired London team in the back corner and we review the showpieces. Over the next hour, the models sit for hair and makeup, and I help dress each woman, admiring how beautifully they wear my designs.
Runway shows are a lot like Thanksgiving dinner—all day to make, ten minutes to eat. Or, in my case, weeks to plan and seven minutes to show it off. The audience seems to respond positively, though not as positively as Beau. I hear her from the wings, hooting and hollering like she’s at a Bruno Mars concert. My heart pounds in my chest for every beat of the two songs that play during my show. At the last minute, I changed the music to the artist that Drew played during my boudoir session. A very sexy lingerie accessory.
After my show, Beau brings her big voice backstage. “Omigod, omigod, omigod! That was amazing. Seeing your pieces live like that—just . . . best line you’ve done yet. I’m so glad I’m besties with the designer. I need to get my paws on some of those pieces.” She mimes a cat claw. “We have to celebrate!”
“I want to, but I have some cleanup and a few interviews to do first. You better get back out there if you don’t want to lose your seat.”
Beau’s crystal-blue eyes wander, then latch onto a brawny, cut underwear model with shaggy, light-brown hair. “Oh, can I have that seat?” She points at him, then runs her finger along her lower lip.
“Go for it.” The guy’s hot, but he’s got nothin’ on Drew.
She trots behind him in her four-inch heels. “Hey, panty boy!”
I chuckle and go back to racking up the lingerie. A man in a tailored suit enters my periphery, followed by a strong, musky cologne. I look over at his handsome, clean-shaven face. He shows off his pearly teeth and his hazel eyes shine in the bright overhead lights. “Are you Kate Golden?” he asks with a proper London accent.
“Yes.”
He extends a firm hand and I take it. “I’m Kent Bonnaire, pleasure.”
“Oh, thank you for coming. It’s great to finally meet you in person.”
“You as well.” His stare lingers. “The show was great, by the way.”
“Great enough to invest in my company?” I say. Good one, Kate. Why not nudge him with your elbow while you’re at it?
He rubs his chin for a moment like he doesn’t know how to respond. “Um . . . yeah. I’d like to continue the conversation over lunch. How’s tomorrow?”
Whew! I almost thought I lost him. “Yeah, that would be fantastic.” Hopefully, continuing the conversation means we’re close to signing a deal and bringing Kate Golden Lingerie back to its prime.
“Brilliant! I’ll have my assistant send you the information.”
“Perfect! I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say, grinning.
Kent nods, seeming pleased. He takes my hand and plants a kiss just above my knuckle. “I look forward to it.”
Is he looking forward or being forward? He saunters away and I shake off the notion that he’s offering something more than money.
Garret steps up, his eyes glued to his phone. “Holy shit, have you seen these yet?” He hands me the mesmerizing device.
I stare at a black and white photo of myself, half naked, holding on to a tall bedpost. “Whoa.”
He swipes the screen to another shot. “These are stunning. This is not the shy Kate that walked into the room that day. What happened in there?” He wiggles his brows.
I feel my cheeks flush, think about what happened last night. “I told you. Nothing.”
“You see that?” Garret points to my eyes. “That’s not nothing. I know I said Beau was the sexiest woman, but I’m starting to reconsider. This is going to sell lots of lingerie.”
I blush and give him a playful shove. “Garret.”
“Seriously, this is the best publicity you could’ve done. You might not even need an investor after this comes out.”
“Actually, you just missed the guy. We’re having lunch tomorrow. He wants to continue the conversation,” I say.
“Who wants to continue the conversation?” Beau asks, startling both Garret and me.
“Beau!” Garret calls, engulfing her in a hug. “Girl, you are lookin’ hot!”
She tilts her head to her shoulder, showing off those dimples again. “Thanks.”
“Hey, I thought you were going to watch the show,” I say.
“Nah, I got that guy’s number. He has the hottest British accent. Just what I need to get over Martino.” The best way for Beau to fall out of love with one guy is to fall in love with another.
“Kate.” The sound of Drew’s voice echoes from behind me. My stomach tightens and my hands begin to tremble.
I take a deep breath and turn around. “Hi.”
He leans in and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me backstage in front of everyone. But he moves his head, leaving a soft kiss on my cheek. “Your show was brilliant. I got some great shots.”
I blush, quickly combing my fingers through my hair as my body wakes up. “Thank you. Garret was just showing me the photos from the shoot. They’re incredible.”
“You were incredible.”
My breath gets caught in my lungs. By the way he says it, I know he’s talking about last night. Beau stares at Drew, while Garret waves the photos in front of her face. She finally looks at the screen and her jaw drops.
She gasps. “Kate. You look like Lisa. Except sexier.”
Drew smirks and raises his brow.
“Beau,” I say, looping my arm through my friend’s. “This is Drew, the photographer. Drew, this is my best friend, Beau.”
The two greet each other with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you. Kate told me you’ve been mates since grade school.”
“Aw, she told you that?” Beau grins, shifting glances between Drew and me. “I’m looking forward to hearing more about you.”
Yep, she’s figured out this is the guy. I yank on her arm.
Drew chuckles. “I have to get back out there, but I’ll see you later, Kate.” He kisses my cheek again and waves goodbye to my friends. It takes everything I have not to tackle him and make him do things to me right there backstage.
Garret, Beau, and I watch him strut away in his dark jeans and white T-shirt.
“So that’s the guy you slept with, huh? Very nice choice,” Beau says.
“What? You slept with him?” Garret says and the surrounding models look our way.
“Shh!” I wave for him to drop it.
“Is that where you were last night?” Garret asks and I lower my gaze to the floor. He turns to Beau. “You know she made me find his home address the other day.”
“Really? What’d you do, show up in a trench coat and come-fuck-me heels?” Beau asks.
No. But that’s not a bad idea . . .
***
That evening, just as the sun sets, Beau curls up on my hotel bed as I slather my skin with black currant- and vanilla-scented cream.
“Kate, that is so hot! In the middle of Hyde Park!” Beau hugs a puffy white pillow over her chest like we’re gossiping at a slumber party as I finish my tale of last night’s escapade.
“No one could see us,” I say, swiping my eyelids with a dark smoky eye shadow.
“Still, the Kate I know doesn’t have sex in public places. I told you it was fun.”
“You did and it is.”
Beau crashes back onto the bed, gazing at the ceiling. “I’m not surprised it happened. I mean, he was only with us for like five minutes today and I could tell you two have some serious chemistry.” She rolls over, laying her chest on the pillow. “The sexual tension between you two was unmistakable. I see multiple orgasms in your future.”
I snicker and put the final touches on my makeup before slipping into my red, stringy teddy that covers up almost nothing. “So, what do you think?” I ask, posing for Beau in the bathro
om doorway.
She sits up, dropping the pillow, then sneers. “I don’t think you’ll be having sex tonight.”
My heart leaps into my throat and I fight to swallow it. “What? Why not?”
“Because as soon as he sees you in that, he’s gonna jizz in his pants.”
I drop my shoulders and release my breath. “Oh, my God. You scared me for a second.”
She giggles, crinkling her tiny nose. “I know. You should’ve seen your face.”
I take a seat on the edge of the bed and strap on a pair of red stilettoes with a snakeskin trim. “Thanks for letting me borrow these, by the way.”
“Keep ‘em. They look better on you anyway.” Luckily Beau and I share the same shoe size. I brought some very beautiful stilettoes, but nothing this hot.
“Really?” I ask, spritzing myself with my favorite Chanel perfume and slip into a black trench coat.
“Yeah, besides I won’t be able to wear them again without thinking about you and Drew. Together.”
I swing my arms around her, pulling her in for a squeeze. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. You know that, right?”
She smiles when I pull back. “You’re not so bad yourself. Now go blow the pants off this guy.”
Does she mean that literally or figuratively? I have a feeling that by the end of the night they’ll both be true. I walk toward the door, leaving Beau sitting in my room. “See you tomorrow!”
“Hey, Kate!” she calls and I look back. “I’m proud of you.”
I blow her a kiss and head out the door.
***
Downstairs, I hop in a cab and spout off Drew’s address. I’m taking a chance, not texting him to see if he’s there, but he did text me after the show to say he doesn’t have anything going on tonight but to call him when I’m free, and I’ve never felt quite as free as I do now. I don’t know where all this will lead, likely nowhere. All I can say is he makes me feel so good.
It’s about eight thirty when I waltz into his building. By the reactions of the men in the lobby, I’m giving off pheromones like crazy. My heart thumps in my chest harder and harder with every floor as I ride the elevator up. Finally, there’s nothing but a steel door between me and my sexcapade with Drew. I still can’t believe I’m going to show up at his doorstep like this, but after last night, I feel like I can pull it off. Like I’d be missing out on something if I didn’t just do it.
