by Amy Andrews
“Just say it, Steffy. I’m not going to bite.”
Steffy nodded to hide the fact that her head was now full of erotic images of his teeth grazing all the sensitive areas of her skin—areas craving the delicious friction of a man’s touch.
Bill wasn’t sure what was going on behind Steffy’s blue eyes but they were suddenly smoky, her pupils dilated, and he couldn’t help but think that her thoughts were not in this room. Not in any room that didn’t contain a bed.
He cleared his throat. “Steffy?”
“Right,” she said. Then she stood. “Do you mind if I walk around?”
Bill shrugged and indicated for her to take the floor. He watched her pace for a few moments.
Steffy stopped and looked at him. She folded her arms and took a deep breath, plunging in feet first. “What would you say about changing the direction of the magazine to less gossip and more actual fashion?”
Bill placed the pen he’d been holding down on the papers in front of him. Steffy Forrester was starting to show some gumption, some leadership. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to finally come into her own. He’d known she’d be a good lateral thinker once she got the hang of things.
“I would say,” he said carefully, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“I don’t think it’s broken. I think it can be improved. I think Eye on Fashion’s potential as a true leader in the fashion field is being stymied by its tabloid tendencies.”
“You don’t like the direction of the magazine?”
Steffy knew she had to tread cautiously; the magazine was the jewel in the Spencer Publications crown and she was just the new kid on the block. “I think it could be better.”
“It’s a market leader in its category.”
Steffy nodded. “I think it could be a market leader in a different category. A more lucrative category.”
“It makes me an obscene amount of money as it is. Why would I risk a sure thing for a could?”
“Because it will make you more money.”
Bill regarded her steadily. “You seem very sure of yourself.”
Steffy placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve done my homework.”
He liked the way she stood with confidence, exuding belief in herself. And he liked those buttons playing peek-a-boo with the little diamante he could just see twinkling in the depths of her cleavage. “What did you have in mind?”
Steffy’s heart was crashing madly in her chest but she hadn’t been tossed out and Bill seemed prepared to listen. She strode purposefully to the chair, sitting in it again as her pitch came back to her. She crossed her legs and tried not to notice how Bill’s gaze dropped to follow the movement.
“Focus solely on the fashion. No gossip. We can do what we’ve always done—go inside the fashion houses, report on the collections and the designs. What’s new. What’s coming out. The people in the industry. Cover all the shows. But focus on the fashion, not which A-lister had front row seats.”
Bill admired Steffy’s enthusiasm but he wasn’t swayed. “There are already market leaders in the high-end field.”
Steffy shook her head, leaning in closer. “But they’re big and glossy and expensive. They’re marketed to the fashionistas, the women with power and choice and money to burn. Just by their very nature they put the average woman off fashion. But if we don’t just cover high couture, if we look at knock-off designs and the other end of the market we can try and bring a whole different demographic to the magazine. I want to make fashion accessible. Make it available to the working woman. To the suburban mom. To the college girls. To the club crowd.”
Bill frowned. “You want to cover affordable fashion?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and leaning in even further. “I want to bring couture to the masses.”
“Even if they can’t afford it?”
“Ah, but,” Steffy said, sitting back, “I’m going to make them believe they can. I want to get them talking about it. Passionate about it.”
Bill almost laughed at her enthusiasm. Her blue eyes were glittering now, almost feverish in their zeal. The idea obviously excited her and he liked watching her come alive like this. That didn’t mean he was going to be swayed by her; he’d been in this business a long time and he knew what their demographic wanted.
“But our readership is used to different things,” he said. “Our weekly circulation is five million, Steffy. You know why they buy Eye on Fashion? Because of the gossip. Our readers like celebrity gossip.”
Steffy nodded, ignoring the spurt of anger she felt over Bill’s declaration. He was just stating a fact, even if it was repugnant and a poor reflection on today’s society.
“And we’ll give them that. Just in a more in-depth way. Go into celebrity homes, look in their closets, get them to talk about their favorite designers—Who? Why? What’s their most treasured article of clothing? Whose fashion sense do they admire? What’s their process when they’re planning on what they’re wearing to the latest gala event? Et cetera. Focus it on the fashion, not who they’ve slept with.”
“I think you’ll find our readership will still be resistant,” Bill said.
“I propose a transition to a kind of a hybrid magazine over the next year. Slowly pare back the gossip pages.”
“Slowly?”
Steffy nodded. “Yes.”
“The advertisers won’t like it,” he said.
“We may lose some, yes, but we’d gain a whole range of others. Especially as we gain popularity with women who haven’t read us before. And we will,” she added. “Advertisers flock to mediums that attract women.”
Bill smiled. Steffy had thought of everything. She was right, it was left of center, but he hadn’t risen to where he was without taking risks. And this sounded so crazy it might just work.
“Why?” he asked. “Why are you so keen to do this?”
Steffy took a deep breath. She could tell him some pretty lies about renewal and reinvigoration and how good it was for business. But she’d come this far, it would be pointless to blow her pitch by lying. And something told her Bill would know if she did.
“Because I came back from Paris determined to be a better person. To leave bitterness and regret and revenge behind and start anew. And I think this magazine can do the same thing—start anew. I think it can be a better magazine.”
She hesitated for a moment but, what the hell, she’d come this far.
“I know your magazine isn’t about me, but I want to be proud of where I work, to hold my head up in this industry. To have their respect. And I want Eye on Fashion to do it too. Don’t you want that?”
Bill stroked his beard, unsurprised at her passion. She’d told him as much in the limo the day he’d driven her home from the airport and she’d proven she was serious. Bill didn’t care what the fashion industry thought of him but their respect would make things easier for the magazine.
“Do you have figures? A proposal?”
Steffy shook her head, her pulse tripping a little at the thought he may be considering her idea. Also at the way the delicious rasping of his bristles against his hand pricked at her nipples. “I didn’t want to presume. But I can do one, complete with projections and I can have it to you within the next month.”
He nodded after a few moments. “Okay. Go ahead. Get something together.”
Steffy’s heart just about burst out of her chest as she leaped to her feet. “Yes, sir.” She grinned. “Yes, sir!” She’d felt for sure he would laugh her out of his office. Or pat her on the head and tell her to run along and not to think for herself.
Or possibly sack her.
Bill held up a hand. “This is just a preliminary thing, you understand?” he clarified. “I just want to see some projections, explore its viability. It’s not a done deal, Steffy. It’s not a rubber stamp.”
Steffy nodded vigorously. “Of course.”
He shook his head, grinning back at her. “You look like it’s a done d
eal.”
“Nope, not at all. I’m just relieved you didn’t toss me out of the company on my ear.” Bill chuckled and Steffy allowed herself a triumphant moment as the throaty noise spread like a warm breath over her skin. “I understand that it’s a big change and it has to be viable. I understand that you’re probably just doing this to humor me. But I appreciate it anyway.”
Bill laughed again at Steffy’s self-deprecation and astuteness. “Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”
“Nope.” She smiled. “Just a business person, like you. One who understands the realities of a tough economy.”
“So if I come back and say no, you’ll understand?”
Steffy nodded. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop thinking it’s a good idea or stop trying to chip away at you.”
“Well,” Bill murmured, acutely aware of how good it might be to have Steffy chipping away, constantly seeking him out, trying to wear him down with her charm and her smiles and her easy-on-the-eyes manner; slowly eroding him with all the silky coolness of water over rock. “I’ll look forward to that.”
“Hah.” Steffy grinned. “You have no idea how persistent I can be.”
Bill quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I think I remember.”
Steffy became conscious of his eyes on her mouth and her grin faded a little. Her exuberance had led them into dangerous territory and she became aware of a primal pull, aware of being a woman standing in front of him instead of a colleague. Aware of the way his gaze had changed from business-like to personal—or maybe predatory. Either way, she was glad for the solid barrier of the desk.
“Well … I guess I’d better get on it,” she said.
Bill nodded, pulling his gaze back to her eyes, ridding his brain of the images of reaching across the desk and pulling her onto it. “Good luck.”
He watched her walk away, her skirt clinging, the pinstripes neat and straight, as though she’d checked them with a ruler. Her back was erect as she reached for the handle.
Was it sappy to admit he didn’t want to see her go? He’d missed her company this last month. “Steffy?” he called as she turned the knob. He watched with dismay as her back stiffened just before she turned to face him, her features deceptively neutral.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to the LA Fashion Awards gala on Friday night?”
Steffy nodded. “Yes. I’m covering it for the magazine.”
Bill was inordinately pleased. Maybe outside of work they could just be themselves. “Okay. I’ll see you there.”
Steffy shut her eyes briefly before flicking them open to acknowledge him. “Looking forward to it,” she said. Like a hole in the head.
Steffy sighed as she slipped from the room. Bill in a tux. Might as well dip him in jelly and paint him with peanut butter—the man looked positively edible in a tuxedo.
Chapter Six
Friday night came before Steffy was ready for it and any enjoyment she might have felt at attending the gala she’d been going to since she was sixteen years old was totally stripped. It wouldn’t have mattered so much had Steffy been able to concentrate instead on the proposal for the new magazine direction, but that had been impossible too. All her thoughts had been preoccupied with the gala, with seeing Bill socially. Outside the safety of their colleagues-only work environment.
In a tuxedo.
And she’d been right to be worried, because the man looked amazing. In a room full of glamorous people—gorgeous male underwear models and a who’s who of Hollywood A-listers—he more than held his own, and Steffy was painfully aware of where he was at all times. The only thing saving her sanity was being seated at one of the four Forrester tables and surrounded by her family. Thomas and her grandfather sat either side of her. Rick, her cousin, and Thorne, her uncle, sat opposite. Thankfully, Brooke and Hope and Liam were sitting at a table two away from them and Steffy could just relax and be herself with the people who loved her.
The ceremony was as lively and entertaining as usual and Steffy was proud when Forrester Creations took home several awards. She stood and cheered madly when her grandfather accepted an industry recognition award.
After the awards came the dancing and Steffy kept herself busy on the dance floor to avoid Bill, whose eyes she could feel on her no matter where she was in the room. But she was so busy trying to avoid him, she didn’t anticipate Liam making an approach.
“May I have this dance?”
Steffy was startled by Liam’s voice so close to her ear. She looked over her shoulder to see him holding his hand out to her. She’d not long returned from dancing with a young up-and-coming designer who’d taken home the new talent award.
Liam looked as handsome as ever. When she thought about how much she’d loved him, how many years she’d fought for him, Steffy wanted to stand up and slap him. Why was he being so gallant now that she was lost to him?
She flicked a glance to Hope, who was glaring at them, and Steffy was pretty sure if looks could kill then Hope had just annihilated her from the surface of the planet. Brooke was also looking more than a little pissed about the situation.
“Steffy,” Thomas prompted when Steffy hadn’t moved.
Liam smiled down at her as Steffy still made no attempt to take him up on his offer. “Surely we can still have a dance? For old time’s sake?”
Steffy shook her head. She knew how this would go. They’d dance in this highly visible situation and people would start to gossip about them getting back together and then it would be back on again with Hope and Brooke, and her mother would restart her campaign. She didn’t want this.
“Go away, Liam,” she murmured, pleased that the music and chatter around the ballroom kept their conversation from those around them. “Go back and dance with Hope.”
“Steffy,” Thomas said reproachfully.
“Thomas.” Steffy glared at her brother for interfering. She turned back to Liam. “You need to dance with the woman you came with,” she said.
“Hope’s fine with it,” Liam insisted.
Steffy shook her head at Liam’s lack of insight. Had he always been like this or was he just really freaking clueless? “No, Liam, she’s not.”
“Everything alright here?”
Steffy shut her eyes as Bill entered the fray and people at other tables started to look over at the growing spectacle.
“It’s fine, Dad,” Liam said, tight-lipped. “Just asking Steffy to dance with me.”
Bill took about two seconds to sum up the situation. Steffy was trying to do the right thing but his bone-headed son was being stubborn and childish. And attracting a fair bit of interest into the bargain.
“Well, she can’t dance with you, son,” Bill said, taking charge, “because she’s already promised to dance with me.”
And without waiting for permission from anyone, Steffy included, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the table, leading her unhurriedly but firmly to the dance floor.
Steffy’s heart crashed in her chest as Bill cut a path through the dancers and pulled her into his arms in the middle of the floor as the jazz band belted out a slow sexy song. She fitted snugly against his chest and she was grateful for his height and the bulk of his shoulder as she turned her face into it, hiding for a moment from the eyes she could feel watching them.
“Thank you,” she said eventually.
Bill grunted, trying not to let her swaying body, and the way she fit against him so perfectly, affect him.
“You look fabulous in red,” he murmured in her ear. Because she did, but also because if ever Steffy needed a compliment it was now. “Far sexier than Hope,” he added.
Steffy pulled back a little, searching his face, seeing the wicked half smile in his too-innocent face. She smiled too as she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
He shrugged. “Just sayin’. She looks prissy and …”
Steffy cocked an eyebrow. “Virginal?”
Bill chuckled. “Yes. And you look sexy and …”
“Not virginal.”
He chuckled again. “Powerful. Female. But I’m guessing the dress was a deliberate choice.”
Steffy looked down at the long red strapless gown that hugged the contours of her body and flared at the bottom in an old-fashioned fishtail. Of course she’d worn it deliberately. She may have pushed Liam to Hope, but she wanted Hope to know, Liam to know, everyone to know, that her life hadn’t ended. That she wasn’t lying down and giving in.
“I may have been trying to make a statement,” she said. “Unfortunately, Liam didn’t get it.”
Bill grinned. His son was not blessed with common sense where Hope and Steffy were concerned. But, as the song drew to an end, he knew one statement his son was sure to get.
“Well, hang on, darlin’,” he said and dipped her quickly in front of everyone, laughing at her startled little yelp and the way she clung to his shoulders. “Let’s you and I make another, shall we?”
And then he kissed her full and hard on the mouth, deepening it as she whimpered against his lips, oblivious to the clapping and the lights flaring all around them.
*
Steffy hadn’t been home for thirty minutes after fleeing the gala when her mother was on her doorstep. She was fairly certain that Liam hadn’t been a witness to the spectacle but a dance floor full of people with iPhones and about a dozen photographers had caught the clinch. For all its glitz and glamor, LA was a small town where everyone knew everyone, and it wouldn’t be long before Bill’s little prank was trending everywhere.
And then it would be tabloid fodder.
Liam was going to find out. It was just a matter of time.
Steffy opened the door to an irate Taylor, who still managed to look beautiful despite the thunder on her face. “I’ve just been speaking with Eric. You and Bill?” she demanded, hands on hips.
“Not now, please, Mom,” Steffy sighed as she stood back to grant her mother entry.
“Since when are you and Bill an item?” Taylor insisted.
Steffy, whose head was starting to throb, really didn’t have the fortitude to go ten rounds with her mother tonight. “We’re not,” she said. “It was just—”
