by Milly Taiden
“Golden tickets?” Isabel snorted again. “Who is this guy, Willy Wonka?”
“Oh, for the love of cinemascope! Google him if you really want to know. I don’t have time to draw you a flowchart of the movers and shakers in this town.” Candice eyed her. “And to be honest, you don’t have the time, either.”
Isabel pushed herself back from the sewing machine. Candice had three gold-lettered tickets in her hand. Three. Suspicious, she eyed the woman. “You only represent one client these days, Candice. Yet you scored three tickets.”
“Very good, Isabel. It’s nice to see you’re finally paying attention.” She leaned on the edge of the chair in front of Isabel’s worktable. “That brings me to why I’m here. I have a proposition for you. Alex Petrov’s party is in exactly fourteen days. That gives you less than that to come up with two extraordinary, red carpet-worthy dresses. You’ll need to outdo yourself, Isabel.”
“And?” Izzy asked.
Candice shrugged. “If you can do that, and manage to find something suitable to wear that won’t embarrass me or Alison, the third invitation is yours.” She fanned the gold-trimmed tickets in her fingers and then held them out, but when Izzy reached for one, she snatched them. “Not so fast. You can have the third ticket, but only if the gowns you make are a dazzling success.” She eyed her. “Like you’ve never done before. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” Isabel crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Although, I have one condition.”
The satisfied smirk on Candice’s face wilted. “Don’t kid yourself, Izzy. You are in no position to make demands.”
Isabel shook her head. Tess was right, and it was about time she did something about it. “Do you know anyone else who’ll make the kind of dresses you want in such a short time, without you having to sell a kidney?”
Candice blinked, but didn’t reply.
“I want my ticket now,” Isabel continued. “In my hot little hands before you leave here tonight or I walk. There’s nothing keeping me here, Candi. You know it and I know it. My debt to you has been paid in full, so if you want those dresses for Alison’s so called big break, then I get my shot, too.”
Candice pursed her lips, but then plucked a single ticket from the others and set it on the worktable. “You have our measurements on file, so I suggest you get sketching. Red for me and green for Alison.” She considered for a moment, completely ignoring what just transpired. “Yes, jade green will do nicely. Rumor has it Petrov’s production will be a Christmas release and what better way to send a subliminal message?”
The woman stood from the chair and sniffed, taking in the two padded mannequins, the colorful bolts of fabric stacked on the narrow table toward the back, the swatches pinned to the corkboard above the worktable and the organized shelves of thread, accouterments, and tools. Her gaze shifted to the painted trifold room divider and the hint of futon hidden on the opposite side.
“It’s rather convenient you live here, since I don’t foresee much downtime in the near future.” Candice walked to the studio door and then turned. “I’ll check on your progress in a couple days. Make sure you have something to show for the time.”
The front door to the shop closed with a snick, and Isabel got up to lock it, snapping off the front lights before walking back to the studio. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding.
Candice would never acknowledge the win in their little standoff, but it would be there from now on. This was her shot, too. Now, all she needed was not to screw it up.
Her eyes found the ticket on her worktable. It was on top of a menu she swiped from The Lunch Counter. She inhaled, letting the air out in a quick rush through her nose.
Zander.
Closing her eyes, she imagined walking into the event on his arm. Being with him would have made the entire evening, complete with Alison swallowing her tongue the moment she saw her with him.
She shut the studio door and then shrugged out of her shirt, unzipping her pants as well, kicking them both into a pile beside her futon. She took another breath and laid down, her mind spinning with ideas.
Funny, everything she pictured made her wonder if Zander would like it or not. Would he find it sexy? Would he find her sexy? Maybe Tess was right about him, too. Scents don’t lie, and Zander’s scent told her without a doubt, he wanted her. With a groan, she rolled over and snapped off the light, her hands already dipping into the front of her panties. She touched herself and sucked in a breath, thoughts of him making her wet. She moaned a silent prayer that he found her—fast.
11
“Alex Petrov’s Malibu House Party?” Tessa raised an eyebrow at Isabel’s waiting grin.
“Didn’t I say I had something huge to tell you?” Izzy nodded. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
Isabel dug in her tote bag to show Tess her sketches, keeping her face down until the heat in her cheeks passed. She didn’t sleep for more reasons than just ideas buzzing. Zander’s image floated through her mind again and her clit throbbed. With how hard she worked her hand in her pussy last night, she’d be lucky if she could thread a needle today.
“I worried my mind would go blank with the stress of what Candice wants for her and Alison, but then my hands couldn’t move fast enough.”
Heat scored her cheeks again, and Tessa raised an eyebrow. “Fast enough for sketching or fast enough for something else?”
Isabel ignored her, handing the notebook over instead, but the older woman put it on the counter, unopened. “Petrov’s party is an A-lister only event, Izzy. How the hell did Candice score a ticket?”
“She scored three tickets. I don’t know how and to be honest, I don’t really care. For once in my life, I’m included. Up front and center with her and Alison. From what Candice said, the production company held some kind of a lottery this year. Something about opening up casting to give an unknown a shot at the big time. It’s got to be a publicity stunt, but who the hell cares?”
“Like Willy Wonka and the Golden Tickets,” Tess murmured.
Isabel laughed. “That’s what I said at first, but it’s legit, and this time I get to own my designs and network with industry insiders. Either I’ll break out like a firetruck or go down like a house on fire, but one way or the other, I own the moment.”
“I get you’re nervous about the event and its possibilities, but why are you so stressed? You’ve made knock out dresses for Candice and Alison plenty of times,” Tessa asked, her eyes falling to the sketchbook on the counter.
“Oh, I get it now.” She nodded. “Let me guess. Candice wants Alison to outshine everyone at the party, so she’s dangled an invitation in front of you as incentive. You outdo yourself like never before, and as a reward you get to go to the party.” She raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
Isabel avoided the question, opening the sketchbook instead. “I’m designing a dress for me, as well.” She turned the book toward Tess and tapped the page. “What do you think?”
Tessa exhaled. “Okay, Cinderella. Just remember my words when Candice hands you her lame excuse as to why you can’t go.”
Izzy closed the book with a muffled thump. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Really? And why is this time any different? What’s the reason behind this life-changing epiphany?”
Izzy reached into her tote bag and pulled out a gold-embossed ticket and held it out toward Tess. “Because she already gave me the invitation. It was my one condition or I was leaving her and Ally high and dry.” She dug in her bag for the accompanying letter. “See, I even have the confirmation letter to make it doubly legit.”
Isabel handed both over and the older woman skimmed the heavy embossed card and its confirmation. Shaking her head, she tapped the bottom of the letter with her finger.
“Izzy, it says right here you need to confirm your attendance or the invitation is forfeit.” She held the letter out as proof. “If Candice is the recipient, then she’s the one who has to RSVP. There’s her out f
or not taking you. It’s right here in black and gold, and Candice will blame some administrative lackey on the other end for why you were shit out of luck, while she struts off scot free.”
Isabel shook her head. “No, she won’t. Candice never does anything administrative. She gives it to Alison to do it, who in turn pawns it off on me. I already confirmed our names. All three names.”
“And what if Candice counts on that and changes the count? What then?”
“Then that, my dearest Tess, will be the absolute last straw.” Isabel shrugged. “Besides, the head count was done via Eventbrite. It’s electronically calculated and there’s no way to change it without going through chains of emails. Like I said, Candice can’t be bothered, and Alison is too lazy.”
Tessa flipped through the rest of the sketches. Impressed, she nodded. “Iz, these are amazing.” She looked at her with a grin. “Please tell me this one is yours.” She tapped the third design page.
“They’re all mine, Tess, but if you’re asking if that design is for me personally—” Izzy nodded with a grin.
“It’s better than spectacular. It’s stunning.” Tessa ran a hand over the design, moving her fingers to the small swatch of fabric stapled to the top of the heavy drawing paper. “You’re using the material I gave you.”
Isabel nodded. “It’s perfect, don’tcha think?”
Tearing up, Tess sniffed. “No, darlin’. You’re the one who’s perfect.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and then carried the sketchbook to her worktable. “Okay then.” She turned, chewing on her lip. “To pull off this miracle, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“We?” Izzy asked.
Tessa nodded, rummaging through papers on her desk. “Yes, we. I won’t give Candice the satisfaction of watching you break down because of unachievable chores.”
“You think I can’t do this?” Isabel’s eyes looked at her, concerned.
Tess reached out and patted Isabel’s cheek. “Not at all, honey. You can do anything you set your talented mind to. It’s the work required and the unreasonable timeframe that worries me.” She found her phone and scrolled through her contacts.
“Who are you calling, then?” Izzy gestured to the cell phone in Tessa’s hand.
“Birds of a feather, sweetheart. I’m calling my sewing circle. A few are as shy as mice, but they all love you and would love to help.” She gestured with her chin to the ticket still on the counter. “Better put that away before it gets lost in the confusion.”
Isabel put the ticket and the confirmation letter in her tote along with her sketchbook. “I’m pinning that ticket to my design board the moment I get back to the studio.”
“Good. Keep the visual to stop you from ripping Alison a new one over the next two weeks.” Tess winked. “I’m going to rally the troops. We’ll meet you back at your studio in one hour. Be ready.”
Izzy threw her arms around the older woman’s shoulders. “Thank you, Tess.”
She nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Save your energy. We’re in for a marathon sewing bee.”
12
Zander looked out his bedroom window at the prep for the party. The house buzzed with workers and security, with June orchestrating the entire project like a five-star general. After two weeks of planning and expectation, it was only a matter of hours now. So much rode on what transpired tonight. Not just for his business, but for his life.
The thought of how his world had been turned upside-down by one woman in just a fortnight, still threw him. He was Alexandr Petrov. He smirked, sipping his drink. Alexandr had the world by the balls. Zander, on the other hand, only wanted one thing.
Isabel.
The sun had set on the beach across from the end of the property, and he slipped the sliding glass doors wide to let in the breeze and the sound of the surf. The trees below were in shadow, even with the moon cresting toward full. Security had been put on notice. The gardens and his small orchard were off limits, as was access to the beach from the house.
Contrary to appearances, he hated these events. In businesses, they were a necessary evil, and the money raised and the deals made kept his pack and their mountain along the Russian River pristine and untouched. Land in California was at a premium, and more than one developer had tried to manipulate the system to get their grubby hands on their land. Zander never told his father what he had to do to protect their little kingdom, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell him now. Not with him being so sick.
He glanced up at the moon and smiled. He’d learned to take comfort from its silver light and let the excitement of being a shifter course through his veins from his time in the mountains. No one would touch his home, and if his father wanted him mated to help preserve that, so be it.
Problem was he didn’t want just anyone. He wanted Isabel. Now, if only the fates would grant him his miracle. That would be a win-win for everyone. Especially him.
“Isabel.” Her name was barely a murmur. A prayer whispered into the night sky.
Jezebel’s head popped up from her bed and she whined. Zander turned his head toward the sliders and smiled at the fuzzy shepherd.
“I know, old girl. I can’t stop thinking about her, either.” He walked inside and stood at his desk, lifting a file from the blotter. “I tried. No one can find her.”
He put the file down and walked to the end of his king-sized footboard to squat beside Jezebel’s bed. “How can one girl be such a ghost in this town where everyone is clamoring to be noticed?”
Jezzie barked and he scratched her ears. “You’re right. Because Isabel isn’t like everyone else.”
Zander gave the dog another scratch and then straightened. He walked back to his desk and flipped open the file. On top of the private investigator’s reports was an old napkin, its crumpled edges smoothed, but still creased. He lifted the napkin and ran his thumb over the hardened fibers and the red smudges that was Isabel’s note.
With an exhale, he put her note on his desk and picked up his drink, downing it in one shot. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and frowned. It was showtime.
Zander put his glass down and then tucked the note back in the file before locking the folder in his top drawer. He smiled to himself, watching Jezebel’s eyes droop, her head on one of her toys in her bed. With another exhale, he stripped, tossing his clothes in the hamper outside the bathroom. He snapped on the light and turned on the shower.
Restless, he stepped into the hot spray, letting the water pulse on his shoulders and back. This edgy feeling had been his constant companion since he walked into the diner with Jezzie to find Isabel had gone. Everything hinged on tonight. But what if she didn’t show? What if every one of his instincts were wrong, and she wasn’t out there hoping for him, as well?
The warm water soaked into his flesh, and he dipped his head, trying to alleviate some of his tension. His wolf growled, pacing. The beast was as frustrated as he and the idea of never finding Isabel left him hollow and his wolf ready to rip through his skin.
Leaning his forehead on the tile, Zander pictured Isabel in his mind. Her lush curves and the sway of her hips as she walked. Her full, sensual mouth and the way her dark hair gleamed in the sun. He’d only touched her hand, but the silk of her skin sent a punch to his groin. His cock thickened at the soft, remembered feel.
What was so different about this one woman? He’d had plenty. Why was she the one to haunt his dreams and plague his mind to the distraction of all else? The answer was innate and as ancient as his kind. She was his mate. He knew it and his wolf knew it. The beast howled as the water cascaded over his skin. He groaned at the thought of him claiming her and her body, and his cock jerked as if in agreement.
Images of Isabel combined in his mind, from her full, soft body to the sexy pink of her tongue, and his balls ached for release. His cock throbbed and he wrapped his hand around his shaft and squeezed, running his palm over his corded flesh. Zander’s body tensed, his hand pumping fast and hard over his
sensitive head, over and over again, until he came—Isabel’s name a guttural groan on his lips.
“How’s that? Better?” Isabel walked behind the woman’s back, watching Candice’s expression in the three-sided mirror. She’d had her nip and tuck and add and subtract for the last two hours, and at this point Izzy was exhausted. Maybe that was her plan all along. Work her until she was too tired to move, let alone go to the party tonight. She laughed to herself. Fat chance.
Candice’s eyes glowed as she turned, taking in every aspect of the gown and how it hugged her curves. Accenting the best of her shape while hiding a myriad of sins as well. “It’s splendid, Isabel. Absolutely stunning.” She turned, giving Izzy a nod. “As good as Alison’s, if not better. You truly outdid yourself.” With an appreciative smile, she winked. “As always.”
Isabel felt her cheeks warm. Candice Gordon was not one for praise. “I hope Ally didn’t hear you say that or she’ll make me design a new dress for her on the spot, and considering this is your place and not my studio, she’d be shit out of luck. Even if I had the time.”
She looked around. “Where is she anyway? It’s getting late, and I want to check her hem one last time before I get in the shower. She can’t keep changing her mind on the kind of heels she wants.”
Candice looked at her reflection again, her eyes meeting Izzy’s in the mirror. “I don’t know where she went. Maybe she’s upstairs.”
Isabel raised an eyebrow at her evasive tone. “Why would she be upstairs? Her dress and everything she needs is in her room down here—” She glanced at the steps, alarm bells going off in her head along with Tessa’s words.
She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs, her gut churning.
“Tell Alison to come down when she’s done dressing. We really need to get going.”
“Don’t worry. None of us wants to be late.” Isabel looked over her shoulder, but Candice was too busy admiring herself. Maybe Tess was wrong. After all, what could they do? Her ticket was safe and sound back at her studio. Her eyes flew wide. Her ticket might be safe, but her dress wasn’t. It was upstairs in the guestroom with the rest of her stuff.
