“So you think I need to work on my confidence?”
“Yes, definitely. In this business, perception is everything. You’ve got to own your look and own your ideas. Don’t be afraid to speak up in a meeting, okay? You’re here to learn and expand your knowledge base. This internship is supposed to complement your education at the fashion institute. This”-Whitney gestured around the room-“is where you get your hands-on training.”
“So if I have an idea it’s okay to speak up or make suggestions?”
“Absolutely.” Whitney smiled. “At my first New York Fashion Week, I got to sit in as the designers arranged their models and the producers put the shows together. I took a chance and pointed out that the shoes at one show were totally wrong. Wrong color, wrong style, just wrong all around. And you know what?”
Kadie leaned forward like a little kid hearing a campfire tale. “What?”
“The designer took my advice and let me choose the new shoes for the show. The write-ups all mentioned the way the shoes made the outfits pop, and the shoe designer, a little nobody back then who I’d run into down in the Garment District, was literally an overnight success. And guess what happened next?”
“Tell me!”
“I landed my first paid job as a stylist’s assistant.”
“Wow! Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Anytime.” Whitney glanced toward her desk. “I have some shots of the new line on my desk. I’ll go grab them so you can familiarize yourself with the designers we’re visiting this afternoon.”
Whitney headed back into her office, the clack of her heels echoing in the warehouse-like space. As she reached for the glossy pages, Whitney heard her phone buzz. She glanced at the screen and saw Mick’s smiling face. Her heart sped up at the sight.
In the last few weeks, things had gotten progressively more serious between Whitney and her men. Her well-used body still hummed from the night prior’s amorous activities. Mick had been almost wild when he’d taken her as Eddie watched on from his bedside seat. Her pussy clenched at the memory of his dirty words and that talented tongue of his.
“Hello?” She held the phone against her ear as she gathered up the pages.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Mick always sounded so happy to hear her voice. “How’s your day? You’re not busy, are you?”
“No, no. I was thinking about grabbing some lunch. Are you free?”
“Sorry, but no. Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” He paused. “Um…about tonight…”
Whitney sighed. “You’re kidding me, right? This wedding date has been on our calendar for two weeks, Mick.”
“I know. It’s just that Sam came down with food poisoning, and I’m the only trauma surgeon available to cover until tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got a call in to Maggie, but she isn’t answering.”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose as she tried to be understanding. “It’s okay, Mick. I know how frustrating scheduling conflicts can be.”
“I really am sorry, Whitney. I so wanted to see you in that sexy new dress. I even had my tux dry-cleaned and everything.”
“Well, maybe you can take me out somewhere special and get some use out of that spiffy clean tux.”
Mick chuckled. “Name the place and date and I’m there, baby.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I’ve got something else you can hold.”
Whitney snorted. “Behave. You’re at work.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” Mick sighed. “Speaking of…I should get back on the floor. I ducked into my office to call you, and my pager is going crazy. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“All right. Get some rest, if you can. You worked all last night and now today.” She winced at the idea of how tired he probably was already. “And eat something,” she added quickly. “I know how you forget, and then you get grumpy, and no one likes a grump.”
Mick laughed. “Yes, dear.”
Whitney rolled her eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Bye, babe.”
“Bye.”
Whitney hung up and considered what to do next. She hated attending weddings solo. It was so depressing. Plus she’d have to spend the whole night fending off drunken groomsmen. No, thank you.
There was only one option. And she’d drag him to the wedding kicking and screaming if she had to.
Whitney thumbed through her list of contacts until the right name popped up on the phone’s touch screen. She hit the call button and waited for an answer.
“Whit-whit!” Julian Primero’s familiar high-pitched voice hit her eardrum. “How the hell are you, girl? I heard you jumped ship and started a new business with Delilah Kant.”
“You heard right.” She leaned back against her desk and made chit-chat with her old friend. They’d been style interns at Teen Vogue years earlier before heading different directions. He’d gone directly into design after college and worked for one of the top new labels for a year before joining a celebrity styling firm that handled everything for their clients, including award shows.
“So what you need, Whit-whit?”
“You remember that tux you put on that linebacker for the big sports award thing a few weeks back?”
“Of course!” Julian sounded as if he was about to swoon. “Fitting that big hunk of sexiness with my snazzy tape measure? Biggest thrill of the year.”
Whitney giggled. “Nice, Julian. Really. Nice. So obviously you remember that tux.”
“Sure do. Why?”
“You know that favor you owe me?”
Julian laughed. “Tell me when and where you want it, sweet cheeks, and it’s yours.”
Eddie wiped the sweat from his face with the hand towel looped over the side rail of the treadmill. He and his teammates were nearing the end of their daily workout. It had been a surprisingly slow week for SWAT. No warrants. No crazies taking hostages. No drug busts gone bad.
He found the calm unsettling. In his experience, these moments of quiet were usually followed by all hell breaking loose. Another bank had been robbed that morning, and yet again the robbers were in and out so fast even the beat cops hadn’t made it there in time to get a glimpse. They’d really shot up the place, but there were no deaths this time. Eddie found that rather curious. Were they changing up their M.O. or had something happened during the robbery to spook them?
Maybe he’d see what Carol knew. A ball-busting detective and truly one of LAPD’s finest, she was working the case. For some reason, the old crone had a soft spot for Eddie. Maybe he could work her for a few interesting tidbits on the case.
“Yo, Sarge!” Jackson, one of the desk cops from downstairs, stepped into the gym. “You got a visitor.”
Brow furrowed, Eddie punched at the treadmill’s display. His heart rate had slowed some, but he’d only managed two of his usual five cool-down minutes. A long whistle of appreciation pierced the air. Eddie glanced at the nearby mirror as he stepped off the treadmill and nearly tripped over his own feet.
Whitney strode into the room in those killer heels that made her legs look so damn sexy. The tanned skin gleamed under the bright lights of the gym. Her blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders in loose waves. She’d squealed this morning when he’d walked into her bedroom without knocking and discovered her in those big, scary rollers. He’d dodged a thrown shoe as he beat a hasty retreat. Apparently Whitney wanted to preserve the mystery of just how she emerged from her bedroom looking good enough to eat.
His mouth curved downward as he took in the short hemline and low neckline and bared shoulders of the dress. There were short sleeves to the pale-blue number, but they were split down the middle and fell on either side of her arms. Way too much bronzed skin on display, he decided. It was one thing if he and Mick were benefiting from the skimpiness of her clothing but quite another when every other male-or female, for that matter-could partake of the visual buffet.