No strings attached

by Alison Kent

  “These are the six scholarship finalists. Each of you will find the profile of the contestant you selected from the first round of entrants you judged. You’ll also find profiles of entrants the rest of us chose. The awards ceremony is next Saturday night, which gives us over a week before deciding who will be our first gIRL-gEAR gIRL.”

  “We’re not judging just on these profiles, right?” Macy asked, flipping through the pages. “We do get to see the final round of designs, and meet the girls on Saturday.”

  Sydney nodded. “Also, the finalists have all been contacted and have sent in videotapes. I’ll have a television set up in the conference room by tomorrow.”

  “Cool. We can use these portfolios like program guides for taking notes,” Macy added.

  “Exactly. The portfolios have been put together to help you get to know each of the girls. They include the original questionnaire the girls filled out, the basics, really, on who they are, where they come from, etcetera,” Sydney clarified.

  “You’ll also find their essay explaining why they’ve chosen fashion as their field of study, as well as the pictures and descriptions of their submissions in the school wear, casual wear and business-wear categories. The formal wear they’ll model live at the ceremony.”

  Lauren nudged an elbow into Macy’s side. “Macy, if you’d come to the office once in a while you could keep up with what’s going on.”

  Macy pouted. “Hey, I have e-mail.”

  “Then read it, because this was all spelled out months ago when we established the scholarship competition.”

  “Go easy on her, Syd,” Lauren said. “Months ago her mind wasn’t mush from being in love. Now every brain cell is hopelessly devoted to Leo.”

  At Lauren’s comment, Chloe began humming the chorus of “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” the Olivia Newton-John version from the movie Grease. Melanie joined in with the words, and Lauren followed, both scrambling to their feet and swaying back and forth, hands together beneath their chins as if in prayer.

  Macy added her voice to Chloe’s hum, a sort of doo-doo-doo mouth instrument that Kinsey echoed another octave higher. Sydney could only sit and wait for her once again unruly crew to finish their ode to men.

  Chloe decided it was time Sydney loosened up. Pulling her to her feet, Chloe linked their hands together, swung their arms to and fro, finally drawing Sydney into a circular dance around the room.

  And then, as the impromptu girl group reached the end of the song, Sydney joined in, her voice clear and strong and full.

  Melanie stopped singing long enough to gasp, “Sydney! Why haven’t you ever told us you could sing?”

  Sydney shrugged one shoulder and barely finished the end of “Hopelessly Devoted” before launching into the middle of “You’re the One That I Want” by shaking her finger and belting out, “You better shape up.”

  Lauren and Melanie again joined voices to provide backup, echoing the words, “I need a man,” and Kinsey adding a lot of what sounded like high energy doowop.

  Chloe, by now, had stopped dancing and had perched on the arm of the sofa. She watched the antics of her friends with a smile on her face. What did she have to worry about?

  She had friends who loved her, friends she loved in return. And she’d get through this temporary crisis of career and of self with their help. What more could a girl ask for?

  Even as she fortified herself with the strength of her friendships, she looked over to catch the strangest look on Macy’s face. It was almost as if she were pulled between staying and having fun with her friends, and wanting to rush home to Leo.

  A month ago Chloe’s cynical side would’ve reached across the room and given Macy a shaking. But right now, what Chloe felt for Macy was kinship.

  Because the person Chloe wanted to see more than anyone else in the world was halfway across town, serving up chips and salsa and cold draft beer.

  A WEEK HAD PASSED since the partner’s meeting, and almost two full weeks had crawled by since Chloe had last heard from Eric. Rather, since she’d last seen Eric Sunday afternoon a week ago at the gIRL-gEAR open house.

  She had heard from him. He’d called. Twice at the office. Three times at home. Never for any particular reason. Only, as he’d told her, to say hello, to check up on her, to see how she was doing.

  The sort of things friends called friends to find out.

  Chloe wasn’t used to having a man call just to talk. Men called. And men talked. But rarely did the conversation end before they’d ask about getting together, then ask about the bee that had flown up her butt. Because lately she hadn’t been particularly kind when saying no.

  She sighed, realizing how long it had been since she’d even cared about going out with anyone, and wondering why Eric never called to do more than talk. And why that should bother her in the first place, when all she wanted from him was the friendship he was giving.

  Most of all she wondered why she was wasting time letting her mind wander, and procrastinating when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t leave the office today until she’d answered the letter on her desk.

  She’d printed out the e-mail submitted through the Web site to gRAFFITI gIRL’s feedback forum. Each week she did her level best to answer every letter she received, often combining similar queries and offering one cover-all-bases answer. It was the only way to keep up with the volume of mail requesting makeup and accessory advice.

  Lately, the number one topic was the prom. And Chloe had to stop herself from popping off and telling the girls that dolling up to impress a boy was such a waste of time. But she managed to keep her mouth shut and remember that a lot of the dolling up was done to impress—and out-doll—other girls.

  Whatever. It was all so pathetically shallow, anyway. Especially when Chloe considered the letter she could quote verbatim sitting on her desk, the letter whose author would not be going to any prom. The letter that was less of a search for skin-care advice and more of a cry for help.

  Chloe wasn’t sure she had it in her to answer.

  Her office phone, colored like a cherry lollipop, chose that minute to ring. The distraction was welcome, even more so when she picked up and heard Eric Haydon’s voice on the line.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “You caught me needing a break.” She needed time and a clear head to answer the letter.

  “Kinda late for a break, isn’t it? I figured you’d be about ready to head home.”

  Chloe glanced to the right of her office door where, hanging on the wall, which was papered with a textured white weave, the bright purple clock, three feet long and shaped like a wristwatch, told her she’d been here eleven hours already.

  “What can I say? A girl’s work is never done.”

  “You the only one still there?”

  Chloe listened. “No. Someone else is here. Either Sydney or Poe, I imagine.”

  Eric chuckled. “You want I should rescue you from the clutches of the dragon lady?”

  Smiling to herself, Chloe began to doodle in pink ink on the letter she’d yet to get out of her mind. “I think I’m okay. Poe’s been fairly mellow this week.”

  “A dragon prone to mood swings. Hmm. At least promise me you’ll keep out of her fire-breathing range.”

  Chloe sketched a long tongue of flame. “Why, Eric. Sugar. I’d almost think you cared.”

  “Just keeping an eye on my end of this bargain. I don’t want you toasted to cinders before I even get my second wish.”

  What she didn’t want to tell him, because it would mean she believed it herself, was that even remembering the exquisite stroke of his fingers set her to smoldering. “You’ll get what’s coming to you as soon as I get mine. Saturday night is the gIRL-gEAR gIRL ceremony. Then I have the Wild Winter Woman fashion show in another couple of weeks.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Chloe didn’t even wonder if she’d imagined the slight hesitation in Eric’s voice. She knew. And she
waited for him to tell her he’d changed his mind and was dumping her before they’d reached the end of their bargain.

  “I know I’ll see you this weekend. But I really think I should get my second wish before you get your second shot at my escort service.”

  Hmm. Typical greedy man. “Not that we agreed to take turns here but, okay. You can go next.”

  “Great,” he said, and this time what she heard was both relief and anticipation. A tiny flutter tickled the pit of her stomach.

  “Chloe?” he asked, so seriously, so properly and politely, that she had to respond in kind.

  “Yes, Eric?”

  “Would you like to go out with me Friday night?”

  “You mean, on a date?” This was his second wish? A date?

  “Yeah. I was thinking of dinner and a movie.”

  “I see,” she said, drawing the letters E-R-I-C into the dragon’s devouring flame. “Forgive me for doubting your boast, but I seem to remember you bragging about how much fun you’d be to go out with. And then you ask me to dinner and a movie?”

  “Aha! But I didn’t say a word about taking you back to the bedroom.”

  Chloe remembered telling him that the bedroom was usually part of any date she was offered. She wondered why he hadn’t offered. “Would you if I wanted you to?”

  Eric was quiet for more than a few beats of Chloe’s heart. “What are you suggesting here, Chloe?”

  “I’m not necessarily suggesting anything, sugar. Just doing a little bit of thinking out loud.”

  “Well, do you want to turn up the volume? Because I’m on my cell and I’m getting lousy reception.”

  Chloe laughed. “If you’re not picking up, it’s because I’m not broadcasting. Forget I said anything. Now, what about this date?”

  “To hell with the date. Let’s talk about the bedroom.”

  “And, just like a man. He blows off the romance the minute he sees a chance to score. Is your laydar standing at attention?”

  “Actually, no. Right now I’m all-ears. What’s going on with you, Chloe?”

  She sighed. She was out of sorts and he’d sensed it, and that had her sighing all over again. And wanting to use him as a sounding board. Which was a sign she was thinking of him as more than an escort.

  “I’m working on answering a letter Macy forwarded me from the site. A girl, asking for advice, and I’m at a loss.”

  “And you’re taking it out on me.”

  “I hadn’t intended to, but maybe I am. And I apologize. One thing about my reputation—I’ve never been known as a tease.”

  “That would lead me to believe you’re not teasing.”

  Was she teasing? “About taking you to bed?”

  “Wasn’t that what we were talking about?”

  “I thought we were talking about going out on a date.”

  “A date. Right. Lost my head there for a minute.”

  Chloe settled back in her chair, swiveled from side to side, her bare feet propped on the lower drawer she’d pulled open. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Being a good sport. Not pressing the point.”

  “I don’t do the kick-me, beat-me, make-me-beg routine. I think I told you that.”

  He had told her that. He’d told her at the same time that she’d never know what he liked in bed. And now she wanted to know. She wanted to offer him that pleasure.

  She was so in over her head. “You did tell me that. But it’s nice to know you don’t talk out of both sides of your mouth.”

  He was quiet for a minute, as if gathering his thoughts, digesting her response to his actions, before giving her more to consider. “I’m pretty much a straight-up guy, Chloe. What you see is what you get. You may find it hard to believe, but there are a lot of us single nice-guy types out here.”

  “You’re right. I do find it hard to believe. Because the only ones I’ve met are already taken.”

  “Ouch. That hurt.”

  She really had to quit doing that. Opening mouth and inserting foot. And thinking of Eric as a shoulder for dumping her relationship woes. “Hey, until a few months ago, you were taken.”

  “Past tense being the operative here. Feel free to think of me as available.”

  She couldn’t think of him as available. He was the closest thing to Cary Grant she’d found. And thinking of Eric as the fulfillment of her fantasy would mean not thinking of him as a friend. And right now, she needed him to be a friend.

  No matter how much she was considering taking him as a lover.

  HAVING HUNG UP THE PHONE after agreeing to go out with Eric on Friday night, and having wiped from her monitor every attempt she’d made at a congruous reply to the letter she needed to answer, Chloe was staring at the second hand of the clock on the wall when movement in her doorway brought her head up.

  “Poe. Hey.” Chloe forced herself to smile, when her insides were snarling. The last thing she needed tonight was a snarky confrontation.

  Especially when the other woman looked like she’d just pulled her teal-colored pants and long-sleeved swing top from a dry-cleaner’s bag, while Chloe’s own hip-hugging knee-length skirt in pale pink shantung desperately needed a good pressing.

  “Do you mind?” Poe gestured toward one of the brushed velvet, deep-grape visitor’s chairs that faced the room’s big desk.

  “Sure.” This was strangely out of character, Chloe mused. Poe stopping by for no obvious reason. “What’s up?”

  “Honestly? I’m exhausted, but I just can’t face going home.” She wilted into the chair, crossed one long leg over the other, flattened her hands on the seat at her hips, dropped her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes.

  Chloe was never sure what to expect from the other woman, but this collapse would be about the last thing on the list. “That looks more like defeat than exhaustion.”

  “I need a wife.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  Brow arched, Poe peered through one eye before closing it again. “Hardly. Even if I were lesbian, you wouldn’t be my type.”

  Oh, but was that feeling mutual. As was the feeling of being overextended. Though a wife wouldn’t be Chloe’s first choice to help shoulder the burden. Maybe an assistant for her assistant, to start.

  She hadn’t realized Poe was snowed under as well. Though taking care of her duties as buyer while keeping her eye on Chloe’s job would make for a heavy workload, wouldn’t it?

  Office politics aside, Chloe couldn’t help but wonder who was Poe’s type.

  “Anton Neville,” Poe said. “What can you tell me about him?”

  Well, now. Chloe could tell the other woman any number of things about Anton, since he’d been part of her circle for over a year. But she wasn’t about to betray her friendship with Lauren. Not until Lauren had cut Anton loose for good.

  Her elbows on the arms of her chair, Chloe rolled her pen between index fingers and thumbs and swiveled from side to side. “We’ve worked together how long now, Poe? Without sharing a single detail of our personal lives? Isn’t this woman-to-woman bonding coming a bit late in the game?”

  And had she really just used a sports cliché? Eww. Ugh.

  “I thought we were keeping the woman-to-woman bonding on a need-to-know basis, since need-to-know still seems to define our working relationship as well.” Eyes still closed, Poe laced her hands over her middle. “I’ve decided I need to know.”

  “About Anton?” Chloe asked. “Or are you backhandedly hinting that we need to work on our professional relationship?”

  “About Anton, yes. But it might help ease the turbulent atmosphere around the office if we agree to calm any brewing storms rather than whipping the waves into a frenzy. Which I do. At times on purpose.”

  Shaking her head, Chloe snorted, tossed her pen to her desk. “I can’t believe you’re admitting it.”

  “Why not? I’m tired. And it’s not getting me anywhere, since you whip the waves right back.”

&nb
sp; Even though the constant antagonism was getting on her nerves, Chloe wasn’t ready to call an unconditional draw. “Fine. I’m willing to make the effort. If you’ll tell me one thing first.”

  Poe raised her head, raised both brows and waited.

  “Why are you after my job?”

  For a moment Poe met Chloe’s gaze, then she let her eyes drift shut. Her lips, painted a deep dark red, drew wickedly upward. “Why do you think it’s your job I’m after? How do you know I’m after anything? That I’m not just playing mind games?”

  “I’m not sure it matters. The end result is that it’s making for some seriously bad karma beyond that of our working relationship.” Chloe had enough going on making nice with Sydney. She didn’t have energy to waste deflecting this psychic vampire.

  “I’m kidding.” Poe waved a hand. “Of course I want your job.”

  Now that they finally had that out in the open, Chloe picked up her pen again and scratched the tip against the paper on her desk. “Why mine and not Melanie’s? Or Kinsey’s, even?”

  “Melanie’s is easy. I am not the least bit interested in technology beyond what it can do for me. And the gift line?” Poe gave a careless sigh. “I can only get excited about half of the products.”

  Both were reasons to which Chloe could relate. “And Kinsey’s lines? You can’t tell me you don’t get excited about clothes. I’ve seen what you wear. And if nothing else, I hate you for the size of your closet.”

  “Kinsey’s lines are great. And I’ve worked with her and Eleanor, one of the junior buyers, on selecting the products to showcase. But I don’t wear the clothes. Which means I’m not the best choice to grow the lines.”

  At least she was honest. More honest than Chloe would’ve expected. “And my lines?”

  Excitement seemed to jump from Poe’s smile into the room’s very air. She gripped the chair’s armrests so hard that Chloe was afraid the material would show puncture wounds once Poe let go.

  “God is in the details, Chloe. Have you ever heard that expression? The clothes, the hair.” Poe shook her head. “They’re nothing but a foundation. Add the jewelry, the bag, the right scarf or belt and the picture begins to take shape.”