Locking Lips (Kiss Talent Agency Book 2)

by Virna DePaul

  She walks past me and to the front door before I can even respond. This time, I don’t follow her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Heather

  It’s been three months since I’ve seen Caleb. Three months since I left his place, crying my eyes out, certain that he’d betrayed me to Fiona. When he didn’t try to contact me or prove his innocence after that, I knew I’d been right. It didn’t make me feel better, though. It made my heartbreak even more painful.

  After the days and weeks passed without hearing a word from him, I knew that despite everything, I loved him. I still love him. I never wanted to love him, but it happened.

  Now it’s autumn, and I’m trying to put my life back together. I considered going to Rebecca about Fiona stealing my designs, but I knew she wouldn’t believe me. No one would. Ironically, the only person who did believe me was Caleb himself.

  “I think I’ve lost weight,” I say to McQueen as I try on an older pair of jeans. I pull at the waist and frown. Although most people in LA would applaud me for my unintentional weight loss, I am aware enough to see that I look rather gaunt. I’ve lost weight from sheer despair, if I’m being honest. Now it definitely shows.

  McQueen swishes his tail next to me, watching me with his bright yellow eyes. McQueen and I have been spending a lot of time together lately, as I’ve not wanted to go out with any of my friends in the city. I just want to stay at home and try to mend my broken heart, even though nothing has worked so far.

  Tanya has wanted me to go out on a date with a friend of hers, but I keep resisting. What’s the point? I’m still in love with Caleb. Dating another man would be unfair to any guy I go out with.

  “I guess it’s just going to be us from now on, huh?” I reach down and scratch McQueen behind the ears. He purrs languidly.

  I strip out of the jeans and end up putting some sweats back on. My lack of motivation to do anything is truly pathetic. Maybe by the end of the month I’ll have the energy to get back into gear.

  I’m looking for something to watch on Netflix when my phone rings. It’s Rebecca from Bella. After the reshoot, we’ve been in contact somewhat, but once the proofs were approved and then I looked over the pages for the magazine itself, I haven’t heard from her. Not that we were ever best friends, of course.

  “This is Heather,” I say when I answer.

  “Heather, good, you picked up.” Rebecca’s tone is her usual no-nonsense kind of voice, brisk and efficient. “Have you looked at the latest issue of Bella?”

  I’m nonplussed for a moment. The issue with my shoot won’t be out for another month, so I hadn’t gotten around to looking at the Bella issue currently sitting on my kitchen table. “No, I haven’t yet,” I say, wondering if Rebecca has become some kind of phone saleswoman for the magazine.

  “Then you should, as soon as possible. Talk to you soon.”

  She hangs up before I can respond. I stare at my phone a second, as if it will reveal why Rebecca Harris felt the need to tell me to read her own magazine.

  “That was weird,” I say as I get up to get the issue in question.

  I don’t expect anything in particular. Maybe there’s a shoot that Rebecca wants me to see, or maybe there’s an interesting article. At this point, I’m halfway convinced that Rebecca has lost it and is just randomly calling people to read Bella. I flip through the issue, getting close to the end, when I gasp.

  An apology, the headline reads. But what’s more remarkable is that it’s an apology from Fiona Taylor. Could it be?

  Trembling, I start reading the article, my eyes roving the page. I take in the words—“copied” and “Flint” and “apologize”—until I have to set the magazine down to understand whatever it is I’ve just read.

  The last line, though, makes me cry: I acted alone, and no one is to blame but me.

  He didn’t do it. Caleb didn’t do it. The tears fall harder until I feel like I can’t breathe.

  He didn’t betray me.

  I betrayed him.

  The pain is unbearable, and so is the guilt. I’m about to call Caleb and apologize right then and there, but I know it’s probably no use. Why would he want to talk to me? He would be well within his rights never to speak to me again, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit for it. I accused him of something so awful that I’m surprised there isn’t another article detailing every horrible thing I said to him.

  I groan, covering my face with my hands. What have I done?

  McQueen meows at my feet. I pick him up and stroke him, hoping his proximity will provide some temporary relief of my anguish. It helps a little, but there’s nothing to stop the guilt from flowing freely through me.

  Caleb was right: I rejected him because I was scared. I was so scared that our relationship would turn out like my relationship with Bo that I decided I’d rather end things preemptively. I never considered that Caleb is nothing like Bo, and he’s never acted like my ex, either. Bo was selfish and immature, and I know in my heart that Caleb would never be so childish as to resent me for achieving success.

  Caleb would be the one to applaud me; he’d be the one who’d support me no matter what.

  “Oh, McQueen, I’ve really screwed up this time,” I say as the tears keep falling. “I’m such an idiot. The biggest, stupidest, most useless idiot.”

  The rest of the evening I try to figure out a way to show Caleb how sorry I am, and how much I love him. I know he deserves an apology at the very least, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take me back.

  I toss and turn all night, trying to think of something, but my only answer is that I need to go to New York City to see him in person. Which means getting on a plane again.

  It’s like a bucket of ice water, the thought of flying for a third time. But for Caleb, it would be worth it. I’d brave anything for him, just to tell him that I love him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Caleb

  “Caleb, there’s someone here to see you.”

  My assistant stands at my studio door, waiting for me to answer. I frown, as I wasn’t expecting anyone right now.

  “I’m busy. Can you tell them to make an appointment and come back later?”

  She shakes her head. “She’s persistent. She said she’d wait however long she needed to see you. Should I call security?”

  “No, I’ll see her. Did she give a name? It’s probably some pissed-off designer wanting to yell at me.” I get up from the chair I sit in to look over photos. My studio’s in a converted warehouse in New York with huge windows that stream with sunlight. I just finished a shoot with a designer this morning and had been looking over the proofs before I sent them over.

  “I’ll talk to her. Thanks, Megan,” I say as I follow her out.

  I enter the front, which houses Megan’s desk and a few other desks. My studio is one of more than five in the entire building, although Megan’s only my assistant.

  When I see a blond woman sitting at the front, my heart leaps into my throat, just like it does every time I see a woman with blond hair like Heather’s. It’s been three months, and I still haven’t gotten over Heather Flint. Even after she accused me of stealing her designs, you’d think I would’ve learned my lesson. But nothing’s changed.

  She’s the only woman I’ll ever love.

  I shake off the thought when I get closer to the woman. But when she turns and stares up at me, I can’t breathe.

  It’s Heather. She’s here. In New York City.

  “Heather?” I don’t know what to say, or how to react. I wonder if I’m hallucinating.

  She stands up, wiping her palms on her jeans. She’s nervous, biting her lip and looking around like someone’s about to jump her. I also notice that she seems pale and overly thin with dark circles under her eyes. Has she slept at all in these past months?

  “Can we speak in private?” She glances at Megan over my shoulder.

  I escort her into my studio and find her a chair, which she collapses into. I can’t sit down, though. Agitat
ed, I start pacing in front of her.

  “Why are you here?” My tone is harder than I intended, and she winces.

  I’ll admit, after she ran out on me, I was furious. I was hurt, and angry, and part of me wanted to get revenge on her for what she’d thought I’d done. But after a few days of angry drinking, I decided to use that anger for a greater purpose: find Fiona and make her confess.

  It hadn’t been easy. Fiona was as slippery as an eel, but I have plenty of my own contacts in the industry. Once I landed on something I could use as leverage, I confronted her. She sobbed and then tried to have me arrested, but it was no use. I told her in no uncertain terms that I would expose her for criminal fraud if she didn’t write an apology to Heather for stealing her designs.

  Now, seeing Heather here, I wonder if she’s finally read the article. But the magazine released yesterday. That meant… If Heather was here about the article, she must have flown to get here.

  Heather, the woman who’s terrified of flying, got on a plane to see me.

  She’s wringing her hands, tears in her eyes. But she wipes them away and sits up straight, not breaking eye contact with me. “I’m here to apologize.” Her voice is croaky, and she clears her throat. “I’m sorry for saying what I did. For accusing you of helping Fiona. I read the article, and I just…” She trails off, biting her lip. “I had to tell you I was sorry.”

  I stare down at her. “You could’ve called or emailed with an apology. Why are you really here?”

  “I wanted to apologize. I told you that. You deserved for me to come here in person, because what I accused you of was terrible. I feel so awful about it, and I’ll never forgive myself.” Her voice hitches, like she’s about to burst into sobs.

  I finally sit down next to her. “Like I said, you could’ve called to tell me that. But you got on a plane—something that’s completely terrifying to you—to tell me instead.” I lean toward her. “Tell me why you’re really here, Heather.”

  A flush darkens her cheeks, which I must admit, looks much better on her than being pale and sickly looking. “What the hell do you want me to say?” she almost yells. “I told you I was sorry, and I am! Truly, deeply sorry. I fucked up, Caleb. I fucked up and I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

  “This isn’t about making things up to me, or apologizing, or any of that. I got over what you said to me weeks ago because I know why you said it. You were scared. You lashed out.” I inhale a breath. “So tell me: why are you really here?”

  Her bottom lip trembles, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her. She looks away, and I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far.

  Finally, she says in a quiet voice, “I love you.”

  It’s so quiet I wonder if I imagined it. “What?”

  “I said I love you!” She stands up to yell, “I love you, Caleb! What else do you want me to say?”

  I can’t help but grin. “That’s what I wanted to hear, sweetheart.” Standing, I grab her and kiss her for all she’s worth. I kiss her with everything I’ve wanted to say to her over the months we’ve been apart. She moans, opening to me, and I lick inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness.

  Her hands are all over me, and her fingers trail up my spine underneath my shirt. I just kiss her even more. I can’t get enough.

  But to my annoyance, she pulls away. “So you have nothing to say to me?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  She huffs, about to push me away, but I hold her close. “I love you, too,” I murmur into her ear. She shivers.

  “Do you? Even after the terrible things I said?”

  “Even then. But you still owe me.”

  She gasps as I grab her ass and press her against my hardened cock, desperate for her now. I tangle my fingers in her hair and it takes everything in me not to have her right here in my studio. I wonder if we could manage a quickie without Megan noticing. Then again, that would assume Heather could keep quiet, which is not something she’s ever been good at.

  “I love you, sweetheart. I don’t know when it happened, but it’s not something that’s ever going to leave me. You can say whatever you want about me, but my love for you is for eternity.” I caress her cheek.

  Her chin wobbles. “I don’t deserve that kind of love. I was so awful to you.”

  “You said those things because you were scared. I don’t know what that ex did to you, but give me his address and I’ll happily pummel the shit out of him.” I kiss her one last time before pulling her down to sit again. “I don’t care if you want to pursue your career or stay at home or have fifty cats that you take around the neighborhood in strollers. Whatever you do, I’ll love you for it.”

  She sniffles. “I was so convinced that there was no way I could have a relationship and my career that I decided I could only have the career.” Smiling through her tears, she takes my hand. “But I was wrong. I know that now. When I read that apology from Fiona, I couldn’t believe it. How did you do it?”

  I grin again. “It took some work, let me tell you. Suffice to say that Fiona won’t be working in this industry anytime soon.”

  Heather places her chin in her hand, an expectant expression on her face. “Tell me everything,” she demands.

  “Well, I contacted one of my photographer friends who’d worked with Fiona but had had issues with her. After much persuasion, I got him to admit that Fiona had refused to pay him for his services for months, and when she finally did pay, there were a lot of things that seemed suspicious about it. At any rate, after some digging, we both discovered that she’d committed fraud, and using that, I got her to admit she’d stolen your designs.”

  Heather looks amazed, and I’ll admit, it’s nice to see that she’s impressed. “How did she even know about my designs?”

  “My only guess is that she knew I was working with you and investigated on her own.” I shrug. “She tried to get back into my good graces, but when I told her no, she got pissed and took out her revenge by screwing you over.” I squeeze her fingers. “So really, if you think about it, some of it is my fault to begin with.”

  “No, it’s not. It was Fiona completely. The fact that you got her to apologize so publicly…” Heather sniffles again. “That means I can use those designs again. I won’t have to start all over. The thought of Fiona profiting off of my ideas was such a terrible feeling. Thank you for doing that. I can’t ever repay you, but thank you.” Her eyes widen suddenly, and then she says, “She must’ve stolen them when she came to my store. I noticed her over at the counter—I could have left my sketchbook out. She had her phone in her hand. Probably took pictures of my designs then.” She shakes her head. “God, I’m an idiot!”

  All I can do at this point is kiss her. I want to tell her that she never has to repay me because I love her, but I’m making up for lost time. I need her in my arms. I need to feel her against me, knowing that her heart is mine.

  I reach for her so she can straddle my lap. While I kiss her, I reach underneath her blouse to touch her bare skin. She shivers at the contact. I trace her spine, feeling each vertebra, my fingers then dipping below the waistband of her jeans. She rocks her hips, and the heat of her almost makes me lose my mind.

  I growl before leaning down to scatter kisses across her chest. Unbuttoning her blouse, I finally free her from her bra to capture a nipple in my mouth. She arches, letting out a wordless cry as I suck one nipple and then the next, playing with each breast in turn. I’ve missed this so much that I know there’s no way in hell I’ll ever let her go again.

  This woman is mine—forever and always.

  As I’m about to unbutton her jeans and my own pants, I hear someone clearing their throat. Looking up, I see Megan in my doorway. She’s looking at the ceiling, a flush coloring her cheeks.

  “Your one o’clock is here,” is all she says by way of explanation before exiting.

  Heather and I stare at each other. Both of us are breathing hard, and her breasts are bare in front of me.


  That’s when we both start laughing.

  Epilogue

  Heather

  “Look what I got this morning.”

  Caleb hands me the brand-new issue of Bella, and I can’t help but let out a sound that’s a cross between a yell and a squeal. I flip through the glossy pages until I find our shoot—our second shoot together—and I almost start crying.

  After we got back together, Caleb and I were inseparable. The first shoot we did together skyrocketed my business and his own photography company into spheres neither of us could’ve ever imagined. I received so many invitations for shows and shoots and interviews that I had to hire an agent simply to handle them all—I ended up signing with Owen Kiss, of Kiss Talent Agency, the charming and extremely handsome man (Caleb teasingly growls at me whenever I say that) who already represented Caleb. We both received awards that year as well, and Caleb has gotten to work with some of the best photographers in the business.

  Now it’s a year later, and our second shoot in Bella has been released. It’s better than the first one, although I’d be lying if I said we didn’t butt heads a few times over the direction of it. But our arguments always result in better art because we’re always pushing each other to do our best.

  Our relationship is nothing like I feared.

  In fact, it’s better than I could’ve possibly imagined.

  “Oh Caleb, look at this,” I say with a sigh. I show him the photo of the models wearing my two favorite gowns. “Seeing it in print never fails to be amazing.”

  He grins. “It helps that you have such a great photographer.”

  I roll my eyes. “Cocky still. But then again, how could I go on knowing that you weren’t still a pain in the ass?”

  In revenge, he slaps my ass, which makes me laugh.

  Caleb and I laugh all the time. We can’t stop laughing, probably because we’re so happy. After we got back together, we were unsure where we’d live, since I was based in LA and he was based in New York. With some compromises, Caleb decided to move to LA while continuing to do some work in New York. He also knew that forcing me to fly across the country on a regular basis simply wasn’t in the cards, and when I dared to suggest that I could try to travel more, he vetoed that suggestion and wouldn’t hear of me mentioning it again.