by Julie Kriss
Sexy As Sin
Julie Kriss
Copyright © 2019 by Julie Kriss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Coming Next
Also by Julie Kriss
One
Ava
* * *
Ava Winters, you are a mess.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, feeling the throbbing pain in my skull. The air was stuffy and smelled heavily of sweat, and the sound of the train vibrated through my head. The New York subway was definitely not a good place to have a hangover.
Too many margaritas with my roommate last night. Whose idea was it to go drinking on a Tuesday? I couldn’t remember. I also couldn’t remember much after the third drink. Or was it the fourth?
And why hadn’t I stayed in bed today instead of getting on this godawful subway, which was hot and reeking in a New York summer? Oh right, because my brother wanted to see me.
My rich, perfect, successful brother, Aidan, who was the CEO of his own venture capital company. He made more money in an hour than I made in a month, and he lived in a gorgeous penthouse on the Upper East Side. He never had to figure out exactly how he was going to make his half of the rent on a tiny Brooklyn apartment. He never had to figure out where the next check was coming from, and he never ate ramen noodles when the bank took a few days to clear the funds. He never ate ramen noodles at all. Oh, and he had a beautiful wife named Samantha, who was as successful as he was. Did I mention Aidan was also gorgeous?
I didn’t hate my brother, really. We were close. He’d offered me money plenty of times, and no doubt if I asked him he’d gladly pay my rent. But just because he could didn’t mean I wanted him to. I had my own career—sort of—and I wanted to pay my own way. Be my own success. I was determined to make it by myself, rich brother be damned.
Okay, so being a fashion stylist and blogger didn’t earn as much as a CEO. At least I was following my passion.
I rubbed my forehead. Why had I gone drinking on a Tuesday again?
I opened my eyes to see the man across from me was staring at me. He was about sixty, wearing baggy jeans and a dirty sweatshirt. When he noticed me open my eyes, he smiled. His teeth were yellow. His hand moved slowly to his crotch.
I didn’t even think about it. In my loudest voice, I said, “If you take your dick out, I swear I’ll scream.”
The other people in the crowded car turned to look. “Don’t do that, man,” a black guy said. “Just don’t.”
“Yeah,” said a woman with big, teased hair. “Take your hand offa your pants right now.”
The man paused. The train screeched to a halt at my stop, and the doors opened. I grabbed my bag and got off.
As I climbed the stairs to the street, I dug two aspirin out of my bag and dry-swallowed them. “Jesus, Aidan,” I said out loud. “This better be good.” No one looked twice at me, talking to myself.
I felt a little better when I got outside. The summer city air wasn’t exactly fresh, but since I’d been born in Chicago and had left it for New York, city air was the air I was used to. Besides, this was Tribeca, away from the noise and bad-pizza smell of Times Square. I put my shoulders back and pushed my hangover down. I’d just had my hair done and it was extra blonde now, almost platinum, tied in a knot on top of my head. I was wearing a sleeveless dress over a lacy camisole, the outfit completed with a narrow, bright red belt and high heels. Most of the clothes I wore were designer, though on my laughable income I didn’t pay full price for them. Not even close. I knew some of the right people in the fashion world and I wrote the right things about them. So I had access to designer clothes for next to nothing, a perk I took advantage of as often as I could.
The only thing that made it difficult for me to get designer clothes was my figure. To put it bluntly, I had tits and an ass, and no one in fashion made clothes for tits and asses. But I was creative, so I could usually put a few pieces together, or alter the clothes I got, or take a simpler piece and dress it up with designer shoes, accessories, and jewelry. No one looking at me would guess that I slept on a futon at age thirty and that my bank account was so empty I had to use a spatula when I needed money.
“How are you today?” the security guard in Aidan’s office building said when he saw me, giving me a wave. I didn’t come here very often, but the staff knew who I was.
I waved back. “Hung over,” I replied. He laughed, and I wanted to say No, really, I’m hung over, it hurts. But I smiled at him and got in the elevator.
“Ava!” said the receptionist on Aidan’s floor when the doors opened. Her name was Mina—no, Tina. Definitely Tina. She was five feet nothing, a tiny pixie in her early twenties who weighed a hundred and ten tops. I felt old, fat, and tragic when I looked at her, but I smiled and waved.
“Is he in his office?” I asked. When she nodded, I said, “Go just an inch shorter with your hem. It would suit you better,” and walked past her across the open office space.
“Thanks!” she said after me. Everyone was used to me dressing them when I met them. If they weren’t used to it, they got used to it quick. It wasn’t a criticism on my part—I wasn’t telling anyone they looked bad. But those of us in fashion critiqued each other, and ourselves, all the time.
I grabbed a coffee from the coffee station in the middle of the open office, saying hi to the other employees of Tower VC. My brother’s office door was open, so I walked in. He was sitting behind his desk. Tall, handsome, dark-haired, clean-shaven, Aidan was wearing his signature all-black suit, black shirt, black tie. It made him look severe and a little scary, but he smiled when he saw me.
“You made it,” he said. “Only fifteen minutes late.”
“In my book, that’s early.” I sat down on the chair opposite him, biting back a groan. I loved high heels, but the older I got, the less my feet liked them. At least it was air conditioned in here, unlike in my apartment in Brooklyn. “Okay, here I am,” I said to Aidan as I took a sip of his excellent coffee. “I almost saw a dick on the way here, so I hope this is important.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”
I took another sip. “You never ride the subway, so you wouldn’t understand.”
He frowned, trying to look stern, but he was happy to see me. “I grew up in the same shit neighborhood you did, remember?”
He had. Our childhood in Chicago was hardly my favorite topic. “Okay, fine,” I said. “You’re still street.”
“I’m going to guess that people who are actually street don’t say that.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair. “How are you, Ava? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
I’m tired. I’m hung over. I’m broke. My feet hurt. My last boyfriend dumped me and it still hurts. “You know me,” I said. “I’m
fine.”
He looked at me for a long minute, his gaze steady. Aidan could usually see through me, but today I didn’t want him to. I cocked my head and blinked my mascaraed eyes at him. “Did I grow a third eye, big brother?”
“You look lovely,” he said, his voice gentle and sincere. And for a second my throat closed, my eyes burning. Because no one ever told me that. Not ever. And it was so nice to hear.
But I swallowed, unwilling to burst into tears in my brother’s office. “Samantha is having a good effect on you,” I said. “You’re nice. Almost.”
He smiled. “She’s definitely having a good effect on me. She’s out at an appointment right now, but you’ll see her when she gets back.”
I sipped my coffee, regaining my composure. I liked Samantha. She was a successful career woman, like me. The only difference—a vast difference—was our bank accounts. Fake it ‘til you make it was the mantra in fashion. Your bank account didn’t matter—it was how you looked that counted.
Which was why I was surprised when my brother said, “Do you want a job?”
I looked around. “Here? I’m not exactly the office type, Aidan.”
“Not here at Tower VC.” He scratched his chin. “Though you would be working for the company in a way. Performing a valuable service.”
I laughed, because something about this was hurting me and I didn’t want to let on. “Do you want me to be the janitor? No thanks. I already have a job.”
“How much styling work have you been getting?”
“Enough.” Not nearly enough. Not even close. A stylist was hired to be on a photography set, choosing and styling the clothes on the models, making sure they fit right and sat right for the shot, making sure there were no wrinkles or crooked seams or imperfections. The model and the photographer were the famous ones, but the stylist was the one who made everything sing. The stylist was the one who made sure no one looked bad.
It was good, lucrative work, but it was freelance, and the jobs had dried up, even in Brooklyn, where a lot of the shoots took place. I wasn’t getting as many calls. Summer was a dead time of year for work. The industry was being pinched, and I was thirty. Thirty was a million years old in the fashion world.
That was bad enough, but what was I going to do at forty? Fifty? I tried not to think about it, about my lack of savings. How much had those margaritas cost last night, anyway, and why didn’t I keep track?
“The whole industry is lean,” Aidan said, annoyingly right. “I hear there’s a glut of students coming out of design school, and designers are paying less than ever.”
My throat was tight, trying not to think about the younger, hotter stylists with bigger Instagram accounts and better connections than me. “I do just fine, Aidan.”
“This isn’t about your pride, Ava. I’m not trying to give you money. We’ve been through it enough times and I know better than that.”
Why were the tears burning again? Why was I so fucking tired? “No, you’re not giving me money. You’re handing me a job.”
“Not handing. I’m offering you a job.”
What the hell could I do for a venture capital company? “You’re offering me a job I guarantee I’m not qualified for.”
“That’s just it.” He pushed back his chair and stood, walking around his desk toward me. “You are qualified. You’re uniquely qualified. In fact, I believe you’re the only person on earth who can do this job and get it done. This isn’t pity, Ava. I need you.”
I gaped up at him. “What do you need me for?”
“I need you to clean up Dane.”
Two
Ava
* * *
I stared at my brother, confused. “Clean up Dane? I wasn’t aware he was dirty.”
Aidan leaned on his desk, looking serious. Dane Scotland was one of the Tower VC partners. There were four in all: Aidan here in New York, Alex in Dallas, Noah in L.A., and Dane in Chicago. We’d all grown up in Chicago together, where the four of them had first become partners. Dane was a computer geek, the programmer who had created the software that had launched the business.
Dane and I also had a history that was… too X-rated to share with my brother. But I wasn’t going to think about that right now.
I hadn’t seen Dane in years. I thought about him more often than I wanted to admit, wondering if he was okay. Because I was definitely okay.
Definitely.
Why had I just said Dane was dirty? This was my brother I was talking to.
“We have a situation,” Aidan said. “Have you ever heard of Okada?”
I frowned, “Um, I think it’s a computer company.”
“Computers, software, and cell technology, yes. It’s based in Japan. It’s one of the fastest growing companies in the world, headed by a genius named Kaito Okada. Okada is apparently a big fan of Dane’s. Or, more specifically, he’s a fan of Dane’s software skills.”
I rolled my eyes, because it was too hard to resist. “A nerd fan club. Great.”
“Actually, it really is great,” Aidan said. “Okada has some major top-secret developments they’re working on, and they want investment capital.”
“This is such a gripping story, Aidan. Please tell me more.”
He shook his head. “You have an attitude problem, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
“Okay, fine. Okada is willing to give Tower VC the opportunity to invest. But only if Kaito Okada can come to Chicago, meet Dane in person, and do the deal directly with him one on one.”
I was starting to get it now. “So Dane has to meet with this amazing genius from Okada, and it could make Tower a lot of money.”
“A lot of money,” Aidan repeated drily. “A lot of money. It’s a little like getting a secret meeting with Steve Jobs while he was developing the iPhone.”
I shrugged. “Okay, fine. So what’s the problem?”
“I think you remember what Dane was like when we were teenagers.”
“Sure. Glasses, bad wardrobe, no social skills.” He’d also been cute and hot in a geeky way. And insanely good at sex, though I wasn’t going to mention that, because again, my brother. “You’re saying this Japanese CEO won’t like him?”
“Dane isn’t exactly the way you remember him. He’s changed his appearance a lot.”
I snorted. “Has he finally started wearing deodorant?” Because riffing on Dane was the only thing I could do. It was habit. If I didn’t insult him, then I had to think about the other stuff, and I wasn’t ready for that.
Aidan shook his head. “I’m not getting into it. Dane looks different than he used to, but his social skills haven’t improved. He doesn’t talk much, and when he does, he’s hard to get along with. His girlfriends have dumped him over it.”
I felt my nails dig in to the arm of the chair. Girlfriends? Dane had girlfriends? “Someone actually went on a date with Dane?” I said, keeping up the act. “I’m amazed.”
“He’s had a few serious relationships, yes. But they haven’t lasted. He also pays no attention to his grooming or his wardrobe. He rarely leaves his penthouse. In short, he’s in no shape to go into one of the most important meetings in the history of Tower VC and impress Kaito Okada. He’s also completely unwilling to do anything about it. The last time I talked to him about it, I was told to go fuck myself. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” My head was spinning. “Okay, I get it. You want me to dress Dane. Get him a few nice suits, that sort of thing.”
“More than that,” Aidan said. “Okada and his team are coming to Chicago for four days. They expect Dane to show them around the city, take them out for meals. He’s going to have to spend time with them. They don’t want me or any of the other partners—they only want Dane. He has to look the part, and he has to act the part. He has to be convincing.” Aidan stood, coming closer to me. “I’m proposing that Tower VC sends you to Chicago, all expenses paid. You take Dane under your wing. Buy him a new wardrobe, get him a haircut. Show him some m
anners and social skills. Go with him to a few high-end restaurants and practice manners. Get him prepared for this meeting. Do whatever you have to do. And in return, you get a large fee.”
My heart was speeding up in my chest, something that had nothing to do with the caffeine. “You want me to go to Chicago? To spend time with Dane? For how long?”
“The meeting with Okada is in a week. You can leave first thing in the morning.”
Now I sounded crazed. “Tomorrow? You want me to leave my apartment, my own work, for a whole week?”
A muscle twitched in Aidan’s jaw, the only sign that he was stressed. “Ava, the company needs this. And you’re the only one who can do it.”
“There are a thousand fashion stylists out there.” Why did I feel so panicked? My fingernails were digging into the arm of my chair again. I forced myself to unstick them. “Any one of them could do it. I’m not even that good.”
“First of all, you are that good, and second, you’re the only one Dane will let anywhere near him. If I hire someone else, he won’t even open the door. He trusts you. In his own way, he even likes you.”
A shocked sound left my throat, and I covered it by lifting my cup and swallowing half-cold coffee. “I think you’re imagining that.”
“Am I? He asks me about you regularly, you know.”
“Dane asks about me?”
“Yes, he does. He asks how you are. I think he feels big-brotherly toward you.”
Another sound left my throat, and I put down my empty coffee cup. Dane did not feel big-brotherly toward me. That much, I was very aware of. But I couldn’t let my face get hot and give it all away.
