Chapter Two
Mia
I was buzzed. Okay, maybe a little more than buzzed, but I knew what I was doing. Brad thought I was hot. That made me giddy. I’d played it cool, or at least I thought I did. My brain was a little muddled from the vodka. I considered myself to be skilled in the flirting department. Unfortunately, I had never flirted with Brad, and it felt awkward.
“I think you’re really hot, too,” I blurted out. “I’ve only been a little jealous of all the women falling at your feet.”
“Now I know you’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk. You know you’re sexy. Girls are always willing to drop their panties for you. Why would I be any different?”
“Stop it.”
I giggled. “You know it’s true. Don’t be shy,” I cooed. “I’m a typical hetero girl who isn’t blind. I can see how good looking you are. I’ve just been polite and never actually told you. I didn’t want to inflate your ego any more than it is.”
“Hey! I don’t have a big ego.”
I laughed. “Oh, come on. You’re not exactly hurting in the self-confidence department.”
“Neither are you,” he grumbled. “You know you’re a hot little thing, parading around in your sexy little outfits when we go out together and pretending you don’t understand why so many guys want your number.”
I giggled. “You never made a move.”
“You’re my best friend, Mia. Me making a move would have taken us right out of the friend zone and into a place neither one of us was ready for or wanted.”
“Hey, don’t speak for me. How do you know what I wanted?”
“Whatever. You’re drunk,” he mumbled into his glass, taking the last drink.
“Not really, but I agree. Us sleeping together would have been weird. I mean, I’ve seen you almost naked, but seeing you all the way naked could make things a little awkward between us. I don’t know if I could handle seeing your O face,” I teased.
He nearly spit his drink across the room as my words hit home. “My O face?”
“Yeah, you know, that moment you climax. Everyone has a different O face. If I saw yours, I don’t know if I could ever look at you the same way. I would always think back to the moment,” I said, teasing him but actually meaning the words.
He shook his head. “You think of the dumbest shit.”
“It’s a valid concern,” I protested. “Have you never had sex with a woman and then, say if you see her on the street, the first thing that pops into your mind is that look on her face when you brought her to her climax?”
He smiled. “Which time?”
I burst into laughter. “You’re such a guy. You do know women fake it, right?”
He shook his head. “Not with me they don’t. They don’t have to. I make a woman come over and over.”
His voice took on a deep, husky tone that felt as if he were pouring warm honey over me. It was his seduction voice. I had heard it before when we double dated, or when we went out to a club and he wanted to take a woman home.
“Brad!” I shrieked. “Don’t you use that tone on me.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “You’re the one who started talking about orgasms. It was a natural response.”
I shook my head. “You’re a smooth operator. It’s amazing I’ve been able to stay your friend this long without falling under your charms.”
“Only because I haven’t ever tried. If I tried, you would never be able to resist my charms, or anything else.”
I made a sound that was meant to be a scoff but came out sounding as if I were choking.
“You okay?” he asked, suddenly concerned.
“Yes. Just trying to digest your words. I think you underestimate my ability to shoot you down.”
He laughed. “You think?”
“I think it would so be the other way around. You’d be all mooning around after me. That could get old. So, I agree, our relationship was better left as friends. I can’t have another man begging to take me to bed,” I said with a wink.
“Now who has the big ego?” he joked.
“Only calling it like it is. I guess we’ll never know now since you are moving across the country.”
“If things had been different, you know I would have made a move,” he whispered.
“I know.”
We went back to sitting in silence. I hated regrets. I regretted not sleeping with him, but that was only one part of me. The more practical side knew I would have ended up regretting having sex with my best friend and tainting our friendship. It sucked either way. I smirked. At least one way would have led to a great deal of pleasure. Brad had a killer body and worked out every day to keep it that way. He was hard and muscular, and that naturally curly blond hair of his always made me want to run my fingers through it. As his friend, I got away with doing that. As his former lover, I couldn’t. It would violate some secret code.
He reached out and put a hand on my thigh. “I promise I will stay in touch. You better do the same. No matter how busy you are or how jealous your boyfriend gets, shoot me a text or an email from time to time,” he said.
I let out a long sigh. I felt like a chapter of my life was ending, just like with high school and then college. Another door was closing, and I really didn’t want Brad on the wrong side of that door. I felt as if I were losing him. I knew I was.
“I will,” I mumbled. “I hate this. I hate that you are walking right out of my life. You and I both know we’ll drift apart,” I said, not able to hide the sadness in my voice.
“I hate it, too. So, we can’t let ourselves drift apart. We have to put in the effort to stay in touch.”
I smiled, knowing life would get busy for both of us. “I’m sure we’ll try, but you’re going to be busy, I’m going to be busy, and, you know…” I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t have to say the words. We both knew what I was saying.
“I tell you what. Let’s make a pact right now. If you and I are both single at the age of thirty-five, we’ll get married and have twenty kids together.” His face lit up with that familiar, loveable, cheesy smile.
I burst into laughter. “No way is this body popping out twenty kids. Will you settle for one?”
He shrugged. “We’ll start with one and see how it goes.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I know you’re joking, but thank you. I’m just feeling sorry for myself because you’re moving away and embarking on a whole new life without me. I’ll be fine.”
He turned to me and got serious. “I am absolutely not joking. I’m serious. If we are both still single and unattached at thirty-five, let’s do it. We know we get along. Even if sex between us is horrible, we can still have that companionship we’re looking for. Neither of us will ever have to worry about growing old alone.”
“Unless one of us is married and the other isn’t when we turn thirty-five,” I pointed out. “And by the way, sex would not be horrible,” I mumbled.
“I’m just saying, if we don’t like each other in a sexual way, we could work out a special arrangement. You could have your side guys and I could have a girl on the side. We would be discreet. Our kids would be loved, and we’d love each other enough to have a happy family,” he said with sincerity.
I gave him an incredulous look. “Are you being serious? I think you must be smashed.”
He nodded. “I am. Absolutely. I want to do this. I want to make sure you will marry my ass if we are both lonely, sad sops and in our mid-thirties.”
“Really?” I asked, still not believing it.
“Mia, I’m dead serious. Now, come on, let’s get you to bed. I need to get going.”
He stood up and reached down a hand to help me off the couch. Like so many times before, he led me to my bedroom and pulled down the blankets on my bed. I flopped down on the mattress, flat on my back, and waited. He began the familiar process of untying my tennis shoes. I looked down at him and smiled. He always took such good care of me.
“Scoot,” he ordered once my shoes were off.
I slid up the bed, resting my head on the pillow. He grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to my chin before sitting down on the bed beside me.
“I’m going to miss you,” he whispered.
I fought back the tears that threatened to fall, but I was not going to turn into a girly girl. No way. “I’ll miss you, too. You have to promise to visit.”
“I will.” He leaned over to kiss me on the forehead like he had done a million times before.
I turned my face up, staring into his eyes, demanding a different kind of kiss. I knew I was playing with fire, but I didn’t care. He hesitated, his mouth inches from mine. I could see him warring with himself. I reached up and put my palm on his cheek, encouraging him to make the move.
When his lips touched mine, I felt as if I would melt into the pillows. It was a feather-light kiss. I kissed back, waiting to see if he would take it a step further. More pressure and then it was a full on make-out session. His hands were in my hair, pulling out the bun I had piled on my head. My hands moved to his neck and then slowly rubbed down his back.
The kiss changed almost instantly. It went from playful and sweet to fiery hot. My heart raced at the thought of what could happen if I didn’t stop things. I didn’t want to stop it though. I had encouraged it and wasn’t about to back out.
“This is what you’ve wanted,” he breathed over my mouth, his hands moving to my neck. “I’ve wanted it too.”
“Brad.” I was going to say we should slow down, but instead his name came out in a give-me-more way.
“I know you want it. I’ve waited too long, Mia. I’m here now.”
I put my finger over his lips before he could kiss me again. “Promise me one thing?”
He grinned. “Yes, it’ll be good.”
I smiled. “Don’t get weird after this. Don’t walk out and never call or text me again. You have to promise we’ll still be friends.”
He nodded his head. “I promise.”
“Then kiss away,” I said, moving my finger from his mouth.
He kissed me gently on the nose and then things started to heat up. I closed my eyes, wondering if and secretly hoping this was the start of something new for us. My heart felt full. My best friend in the world was kissing me. I threw caution to the wind and let myself go. He was an excellent kisser. It was easy to forget about all the reasons we shouldn’t cross the line.
Chapter Three
Brad
My phone vibrated on my desk. I picked it up, looked at the screen, and groaned. When had birthdays become something I dreaded? It was only a little sad I had to set a reminder in my phone to tell me when my birthday was. It wasn’t like I had a special someone or family around to tell me. It was me and me alone. Jaxon, my one good friend in Los Angeles, had remembered tomorrow was my birthday and wanted to take me out for a drink.
Not exactly the birthday celebration I had hoped for. Somewhere, life had passed me by. I couldn’t name the specific day I had realized that fact, but it was hitting hard today. I was officially heading toward the other side of thirty. I was middle-aged. Holy shit, when did I get old?
“Bout done?” my coworker, Tina, popped her head in the door of my office.
“Yep. Just getting some notes down for the show tomorrow.”
“Hot stuff?”
I winked. “Would I ever have anything less?”
“See you tomorrow.” She waved and left the doorway.
Tina was a married mother of three. She was a couple years younger than me, but so much farther along the road of life. I envied her in many ways. Every night she got off work and went home to a loving husband and her cute kids. Her life was full.
I wasn’t scraping by or completely alone in the world, but I didn’t have that feeling of being complete. I was successful at my job. Having a nationally syndicated show on the radio was no joke. I knew that and didn’t take it for granted at all, but I wanted more.
I finished my notes for tomorrow, saved the document, and shut down the laptop. It was time go home, alone. As usual.
Once home, it was the same old routine. I opened the fridge and pulled out one of the meals that had been made fresh at the beginning of the week. Tonight’s dinner was a vegetable lasagna. I kept my intake of red meat to a minimum, preferring fish or chicken.
“Smells great,” I mumbled as I pulled it out of the microwave.
I sat down in my chair in front of a TV that was ridiculously big and ate my meal that had been prepared for me by my private chef. I looked around my apartment, took in the monochrome furnishings, and had a sudden realization. I hated it. Black, white, and gray did not say welcome home, kick off your shoes, and chill. It said you are a successful, single person. Period.
After eating my dinner, I showered and headed for bed. I was driving myself into a serious funk. I blamed it on the birthday tomorrow. I was apparently having a midlife crisis.
The following morning, I wasn’t feeling any better. I dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans, feeling a little Johnny Cash. I was mourning the loss of my youth. I headed for my office, hoping no one would stop me. I didn’t feel like hearing birthday wishes or having people ask me about my plans. I didn’t have plans. Well, technically, yes, I did. Jaxon and I were going to get a couple beers. Big fucking deal.
“Hey!” Tina said, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the hall into the employee breakroom.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
She smiled. “I think you know.”
She pushed open the door. As expected, the breakroom was decorated with balloons and streamers for my birthday. At the center of a table was a big cake.
“You guys are great! Thanks so much,” I said, faking enthusiasm. The cake had my name scrawled across it.
“Gabe brought that in,” Tina announced.
“Oh, I’ll have to thank him.”
“He’s already gone. Flew down to Phoenix. Trying to get your show on some stations down there,” Tina said.
Tina knew everything that went on in the office. She was the one you went to when you wanted to know something.
“I’ll text him,” I said.
Tina grabbed a knife from a drawer in the mini-kitchen. “You have to blow out the candles,” she said, holding the knife up.
I fought back the urge to roll my eyes, and like a good boy, I went through the whole process. When she handed me a slice of cake, I took it but only ate a few bites before saying I would eat it in my office. As soon as I was in my office, I tossed it in the trash. I didn’t do cake or sweets in general. I turned my attention to my day and got lost in work.
“Ready to go?” Jaxon said, stopping by my office.
I looked at the clock. “Shit. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m ready. Get me out of here.”
We took a car to one of our favorite bars. It was a bit more upscale, but the bar flies were still plentiful. I avoided them like the plague. I’d made the mistake of hooking up with one years ago. They were social climbers, and once they got their claws sunk in, they tended to cling. It had been like removing a wart once I decided to cut ties.
“Beer or whiskey?” Jaxon asked, sitting at one of the ridiculously tiny tables.
“Why do they make these tables so damn small? What’s the fucking point? It’s like something out of the Jetsons,” I complained.
“Whiskey it is.”
I was in a shit mood. I officially hated birthdays.
“Only one drink,” I said, not wanting to get hammered on a weekday.
“Sure. Two Jack and Cokes,” Jaxon said to the waitress.
“Thanks for doing this. Sorry I’m being such a dick. This birthday shit sucks.”
He chuckled. “Dude, I’m pushing forty. Trust me, I know.”
I stared at Jaxon. He was a successful salesman. He was wealthy, and I guessed women found him attractive. He was also single. Jaxon said it was his choice; he didn’t want to be tied down.
“Why are we single?” I asked.
He grinned. “Because there are too many beautiful ladies to pick just one.”
“Seriously. Don’t you want a family? A wife? The whole picket-fence thing?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not my thing. I like coming and going as I please. I like being able to do what I want without checking in.”
I nodded. “There is that.”
“Drink up,” he ordered when the waitress brought our drinks. “You need to get drunk. You’re bringing me down.”
“I can’t get drunk.”
He smirked. “You can. You choose not to. Do an extra mile on the treadmill.”
It wasn’t long before the first drink was gone. We didn’t have to order a second round. Two blondes, wearing tiny little skirts and even tinier tank tops, had sauntered over with fresh drinks.
“Can we join you boys?”
Jaxon smiled, winked at me, and got up to drag another two chairs over to our table. I was worried there wouldn’t be enough room on the table for our four drinks.
Before my second drink was gone, Jaxon ordered a third. He was trying to get me drunk. The woman he’d claimed was hanging on him like a bad rash. The other woman kept trying to touch me, but I made it clear I wasn’t interested.
Halfway through the third drink, Jaxon decided he needed to get home in a hurry. His lady friend had her hand under the table, which, considering the size of said table, was doing very little to hide his erection.
“We better get out of here before you get the cops called on us,” I said dryly.
He grinned. “Call us a car, babe,” he whispered in the woman’s ear loud enough for the entire bar to hear.
“I better get my own,” I mumbled.
As usual, Jaxon had picked up a woman on one of our nights out. He usually did. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t innocent, but more selective.
“See you tomorrow, Brad. Happy birthday—again,” Jaxon said, as we strolled out of the bar.
“Have fun,” I replied, finding my ride and crawling in the back seat. I had a good buzz going. As the driver weaved in and out of traffic, I let the buzz run my thoughts. That was not the best choice.
My thoughts drifted into my memory bank and selected memories I had filed away years ago and never pulled out unless I was shit-faced. I didn’t think I was shit-faced, but I was in a fucked-up mood. I closed my eyes and Mia’s face was there.
I smiled, remembering the way she looked. I had missed her like crazy for years, then eventually it had faded to an occasional memory now and then. Soon enough, she was gone from my daily thoughts. I hadn’t thought about her in a long time. Today, I turned thirty-five. I couldn’t help but wonder if Mia had found happiness. I felt like an asshole for never calling or checking in with her. A month turned into three months, and then it was a year, and before I knew it, it had been four years, maybe longer. I couldn’t remember the last time we had talked. Despite all those promises, she had never visited me in LA and I had never gone back to New York.
“We’re here, sir,” the driver said from the front seat.
“Thanks,” I said, getting out of the car and looking up at the high-rise building I called home.
I climbed into the elevator and pushed the button for the twenty-third floor. I wasn’t in the penthouse—yet. Maybe one day, if that was still my goal. I wasn’t sure it was.
As I stepped through the door of my apartment, the emptiness had never felt so suffocating. I wondered if Mia was married. Did she go home to an empty apartment every night? Did she have any kids? Maybe she was a soccer mom living upstate in some big house with a big front yard. The last I knew, she had just gotten hired on as writer for some fashion magazine. I had no idea if she was still there.
It was my thirty-fifth birthday. Did she remember? I couldn’t help but think about that last night we spent together. We had made a pact I didn’t think either of us had actually thought would be called upon. I certainly hadn’t. Mia was a beautiful woman. I figured she’d be married or at least involved in a serious relationship. I was the loser in the equation. I was the one who couldn’t find a woman.
I was the one sitting alone in my apartment on my birthday and daydreaming about a woman I had only had sex with once.
I grinned. That was entirely true. It had only been one night, but multiple rounds. That night was burned into my memory. I could recall every detail about the way she smelled, the little gasps she made when I was pushing inside her, the way her eyes closed and her mouth formed a little O shape when she was on the verge of an orgasm.
I groaned at the memory of that night. It had been sweet and hot at the same time. I had left in the morning before she’d woken up. I’d thought I was saving us both that awkward morning-after experience. I had packed my bag and gotten on the plane to LA without a word. It was a dick move, but I’d been afraid if I had stayed and woken up with her in my arms, I would have never left. I did what I thought was best at the time.
Stripping naked, I flopped on my back on my big king-size mattress. My eyes closed, and it was her face I saw as I let the buzz carry me into sleep.
Chapter Four
Mia
It had been another long day. We had all busted our asses to get our articles to print on time. The rest of the writers and editors had gone out for drinks. I’d chosen not to. I should have. I had somehow fostered a reputation for being a stuffy, stuck-up bitch. It was one of those things that had just happened. I wasn’t a big drinker and I didn’t even like most of the people I worked with. Turned out I was a bitch.
My eyes drifted to my calendar. May twelfth. It was a day I couldn’t forget. I had tried, many times. No matter how hard I pretended the day was just another day, I couldn’t. It was Brad’s birthday. The scoundrel.
I had been dumb enough to sleep with him. No matter how many times he had promised he wouldn’t, he got weird. The man had turned out to be like all the rest. We had sex and he got all weird and ran away and never called again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d sent some text messages and we exchanged silly Facebook Christmas cards and crap like that, but it had never been meaningful. It had all turned out exactly as I had known it would. He left and that chapter of my life was over.
“Happy Birthday, Brad,” I whispered into the empty office. I remembered the many birthday celebrations we had shared together. Those had been the best times of my life. I would always hold those memories close, but life marched on.
“Hey! You’re still here,” Tara said. “You going to meet at Bruiser’s?”
I shook my head. “No. I still have a lot of work to do. Then I have a hot date with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and my couch.”
“Mia, you never go out. Why not?”
I shrugged a shoulder. I truly had no good answer to offer. “It’s just not my scene. You guys are all younger than me. I always feel like the old lady.”
Tara threw her blond hair back and laughed. “You’re, like, five years older than me.”
“I’m just not the kind of girl who likes the bar scene. I prefer to be home in my jammies.”
“I take that back. You are old. Do you put curlers in your hair?” she teased.
“Ha ha. Have fun. I don’t want to see a bunch of hangovers tomorrow. Be responsible,” I called out in a sing-song voice.
“Oh God,” she groaned. “When did you become my grandmother?”
I smiled but didn’t answer. It had happened years ago. I had been out with some of the girls from work and realized I wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t enjoying the excessive flirting and the musical bed game. It had all seemed so childish and pointless.
I was approaching thirty-five. My ovaries were drying up and taking the eggs with them. I had always put off finding a relationship. Now here I was on the verge of menopause. I would never have kids.
The thought was depressing. I closed my laptop, slid it into my bag, and grabbed my purse. I really needed to go home and drown my sorrows in a pint of rocky road. I would call it my tribute to Brad’s birthday. I was eating ice cream to celebrate the big day.
“You headed out, hon?” asked the older woman who cleaned up and generally kept the busy office running smoothly as I walked by the break room.
“I am.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a knowing look.
“Excuse me?”
“Not going out with all those young, anxious hopefuls. They are all hoping to find that hookup that gets them to your level. You don’t need that kind of thing,” she said with a serious look on her face.
My brain whirred as I tried to remember her name. I was a stuck-up snob. I couldn’t remember her name. “Thank you. I think I was once one of those young, energetic people.”
“You were. You were one of the most anxious young women I’ve seen come through those doors in a long time. Unlike the rest of them, you had something else—real talent.”
“You’re very kind. Thank you.”
The older woman nodded. I felt terrible that I couldn’t remember her name. I didn’t even realize she had worked here that long. I had only recently noticed her.
“Judith,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Judith. I’ve been working for Helga since she was your age. I don’t have a job title. I’m just the lady who takes care of all the little things that maintenance doesn’t do and secretaries refuse,” she said with a smile.
I nodded and smiled. “Your work is invaluable. Thank you for all you do, Judith.”
“Take care, Mia. Things will get better,” she promised.
I gave her a strange look, certain I hadn’t said things were bad. I must’ve had a look on my face that revealed how bummed I was.
With a wave, I headed for the elevator. As I rode down the many floors, I took stock of my life. I was a successful writer for a successful fashion magazine. My word was gold in the fashion industry. I had climbed the ladder and felt as if I’d made it. I had arrived. Here I was at the top of the world and completely alone with no one to share my joy and success with. Except my mom. My mom was thrilled. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?
My night inside my luxury apartment was as expected: boring and totally comfortable. The following morning, I had managed to get rid of most of the melancholy. Brad’s birthday had triggered that pity party.
I couldn’t really complain about my life. I loved my life. I loved my closet even more. I grinned as I pulled open the double doors. It wasn’t actually a closet by normal standards. It was the spare room in the apartment transformed into a closet. I had paid a ton of money to have the space completely remodeled. I even had a small settee in the center I could sit on and contemplate what I wanted to wear.
Most of the stuff hanging in the closet had been given to me by various designers and young hopefuls, anticipating I would wear their stuff and write about it. Sometimes I did, and sometimes it went straight to the donation pile. I had more clothes than a well-stocked Barney’s. Whenever I was feeling down, I grabbed a cocktail and hung out in my closet.
Now dressed for the day, my earlier sadness forgotten, I headed into work.
“Hi, Helga,” I said, knocking on my boss’s door.
“Come in, come in,” she said, pushing aside stacks of papers on her desk.
The woman was a train wreck. She had to be the most disorganized woman on the face of the planet. Despite her hectic appearance and rather awkward personality, she was an extremely successful woman. She was the face of fashion. She wasn’t like an Anna Wintour but was equally famous and successful.
“I just wanted to stop by before I headed out to that launch.”
She nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Yes, yes. Today?”
“Yes. I’ll be out of the office all day.”
“Okay, good,” she said, looking around her sprawling office. She wasn’t actually looking for anything. It was just what she did. She was always looking for something, but nothing. It was part of her quirky personality.
“Do you know anything about this launch?” I asked, curious as to who’s it was. I had very little information on the designer. I knew he was fresh out of school and here from Seattle.
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. That’s great, right. We need fresh and new. There has to be that one guy or gal out there. We’ve got to be the magazine that shines a light on the next big thing. We can’t lose our edge,” she lectured.
“I understand. Hopefully, this is it. I’ll give you a call and let you know if it looks promising.”
The woman continued pacing her office, looking for something. “Good, good. You do that,” she said absently.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” I told her, walking away and leaving her to whatever it was she was looking for. The woman’s disorganization was astonishing. I had no idea how anyone as successful as her could be so completely unorganized. It was one of those mysteries that would likely never be solved.
“Have a good time,” she called out.
I laughed. No wonder Helga had Judith. I had a feeling Judith was the only reason Helga functioned and stayed on top of things as well as she did. I used to have a Judith. It got too annoying for me. I did have an assistant, but she stayed out of my way. She wasn’t all up in my business and constantly yakking in my ear about where I should be or who had called. It was an efficient system. Every morning she left a sheet of paper on my desk letting me know about any appointments, lunch dates, or events that evening. I rarely saw the woman, which was fine by me.
When I showed up at the factory where the new designer was hosting his big launch, I grimaced. The latest trend in fashion shows did not thrill me. The designers went out of their way to find the scariest buildings in the city to host their debuts. It was supposed to be edgy, but I found it scary and difficult to concentrate on what I was seeing.
“Hello!” a handsome, young man said, opening the massive warehouse door. “You’re Mia Hunter!”
I smiled. “I am. You are?”
“I’m George’s assistant. He’s putting the final touches on his designs.”
Walking inside the warehouse, I did my best not to cringe. The man had created a makeshift runway with folding chairs in a row on either side. It wasn’t exactly luxury accommodations, but everyone had to get their start somewhere. The use of the warehouse had probably cost him a small fortune.
“You’re our guest of honor. Please have a seat,” the young man said, walking me to one of the folding chairs near the end of the runway.
I smiled at the other men and women already seated. I recognized a few of them. They were mostly fashion bloggers, and one was from a competing magazine. That was not a good sign. I was going to have to ask my assistant why she’d added this to my calendar. This could have been covered by one of the junior columnists.
“I’m David,” the attractive young man said. “I have to tell you, you’re stunning. I’ve seen you at other shows and your picture by your column of course, but seeing you up close is a totally different experience.”
I smiled. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”
Inside, I was doing cartwheels. The guy had to be in his early twenties and was very good looking, and here he was flirting with me. It gave me a boost of confidence while helping to soothe away the anxiety I had felt yesterday. Yes, I was pushing midlife, but I still had it.
“The show’s about to start. Maybe I can give you my number in case you have any questions about the show?” he said with a grin I recognized for what it was.
“Thank you. If I have any questions, my assistant will get in touch with you,” I said as politely as possible. He was cute, but I wasn’t into younger guys.
He nodded and walked away. I pulled my notepad and pen out of my bag and prepared to take notes. I hoped the guy was good. I hated to waste time scoping out a new designer only to find out they were simply regurgitating the same old styles made successful by established designers. Then there were those designers who used Lady Gaga as their inspiration. If anyone walked out wearing a steak, I was going to walk out.