Chapter Twenty

Taryn

“It was seriously epic.” I waggle my eyebrows at Bailey. The image of the balloon-disguised-as-a-cake still floats at the front of my mind, and I can’t even think about Dante covered in cake and frosting without giggling like a pigtailed schoolgirl.

Bailey shakes her head, scoffing at my dramatics. “Girl, you are seriously crazy,” she says, but I notice that she’s grinning her approval. “I’m just glad Dante didn’t pop a cork. I can imagine him ordering a hit on you and demanding that you sleep with the fishes. What did Reagan think of your first practical joke attempt?”

“He liked it. I think he really appreciated the effort that I put into the whole thing.”

“He totally loves you,” she says, smirking. “Like it’s written in the stars or something. And somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that you’re falling for him, too. In spite of all your lame protests.”

I toss my hair and blow her a kiss. “Try again, chica,” I hedge. “But, I…I think I was wrong about him.”

“Told ya.” She claps her hands, clearly thrilled at that little bit of news. “Hey, is that the new Ivory Clause?”

I nod proudly, glancing over at the almost-empty rack of silk dresses and blouses. “It’s selling like hotcakes,” I say, making a ka-ching sound and throwing a fist pump in the air above her head. “I knew it would, but this feels good all the same.”

“Should be enough to keep that Dante piece of work at bay, at least for a while,” she says hopefully, catching my eye, and smiling.

The only thing that can knock the wind out of my Reagan-obsessed sails is the mention of Dante. He hasn’t been back to darken my doorway, but I can guess that the little cake stunt will cause someone to pay the piper. Hopefully, not me. Sure, he doesn’t know I did it – but Dante’s explosive temper and greed are a bad combination. I have a feeling that he’s not done yet, not by a long shot.

“I hope so,” I say. “It’s just frustrating.”

“What?”

“This feeling of anticipation,” I say after a long pause. “Not knowing whether Strict Nécessaire will be here next year, or even in the next six months. What if Dante wins, Bailey? What if he’s strong enough to push all of us out on our asses?”

“I seriously doubt Reagan and Nixon would let that happen,” she says, shaking her head. “They’re going to fight back with everything they’ve got. They’re tough, and they’re good people. Let them lead the way for once.”

“I know. I just don’t know if that’s enough. Dante’s evil, Bailey, he doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. I feel so out of control, and I don’t like it.”

“And? Why does that even matter? It’s always easier to defeat selfish bastards, anyway,” Bailey says, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance that’s very unlike her.

“It matters because literally nothing is off limits to him. He’s the kind of guy who would cut off his own nose to spite his face.”

Bailey wrinkles her nose and rubs it as if someone tried to slice it off with a dull butter knife. “Ouch. You know, I never thought he could get uglier…but thinking about him without a nose is kind of funny.” She laughs, but when she sees the dark look cross my face, she gives me a guilty smile. “Just kidding.”

“It’s not funny. He could totally ruin me. He could ruin all of us, Bailey. I’d be financial and social dead meat. I’d probably have to slink back to South Dakota with my tail between my legs. I can just hear my mom now. Ugh!”

Bailey looks at her feet. “I was just trying to make you laugh, Taryn. Chill out.”

Before I can reply, the door chimes. I plaster a smile on my face and whirl around, ready to sell my last Ivory Clause. Before I can even utter my standard welcome greeting, I see Reagan’s handsome face, and suddenly, my fake grin turns genuine. I’m really happy to see him.

Too happy.

“Hey,” Reagan says. He makes a show of pressing a hand to his forehead and fanning himself. “It’s so hot outside, I almost melted. I was going to see my brother, but I thought I’d check in on you first. How are things going with the fashion show looks?”

“A-okay. Thanks for asking.”

“She’s not okay,” Bailey interrupts. I glare at her, and she doesn’t even pause. “She’s worried about Dante.”

“Bailey, do you mind going in the back and checking for the delivery from Zac Posen?”

Bailey glares at me, thwarted, as she taps her foot on the marble floor.

“Please, Bailey?” I smile at her and bat my eyelashes. After a huge, heaving sigh, she wanders back to the stock room, but I keep my voice low because I know she’ll be eavesdropping.

“Fine.” She flares her nostrils, spins, and practically stomps out of the room. I know what I just did was kind of bitchy, but I don’t care. Something about Reagan makes me feel selfish, like I want him all to myself. That, and I’m a little sick of explaining my every move to Bailey, best friend or not.

“She’s in a bad mood,” I lie, glancing at the back door just in time to see it bang shut. “I’ve been talking her ear off about Dante all morning, and she’s been trying to talk me down from the ledge.”

My hungry gaze sweeps over him. Reagan looks all business again, straight and tall and muscular in his Valentino suit. Like a lawyerly dessert I want to devour. “I know it’s not much comfort, but try not to worry. There’s nothing we can do, at least not right now. We just have to wait. Nixon and I can handle him. He’s been doing it for years all on his own, and now I’m here to help. What could go wrong?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Everything. That’s what I hate about this whole situation. If a charity event goes south, the only people who suffer are those that would have been helped by the funds raised.”

“Can I get some water?”

“Of course,” I say, darting across the room and opening the mini-fridge. “Sorry, I should’ve offered.”

Reagan smiles, a fluid warm smile that makes my lower belly jump with excitement. “Taryn, relax,” he says. “You’re really keyed up. How about taking an early lunch with me?”

“What about Nixon?”

“We can always talk later. Besides, it’s probably better if I don’t bother him in the middle of the day. Nix tends to get surly when he’s in the middle of something important, and the word Dante comes up in polite conversation. He’ll end up ruining my day.”

“Lunch does sound good.” I’m not hungry, but any excuse to sit across from Reagan and stare at his sexy face sounds very good. And maybe a glass of wine, or two…just enough to relax and flirt, and forget all about Dante.

“Go tell Bailey you’re leaving, and I’ll see if I can get us a table at Ruth’s Chris,” Reagan says, pulling out his phone. “Steak sounds good to me, what about you?”

“Perfect,” I say, unable to stop my lips from spreading in a wide grin. Just as I’m about to turn and head back into the storage room, the door chimes again and my heart sinks. Crap. Just when I was about to leave, too.

“Welcome to Strict Nécessaire.” My greeting’s automatic as I whirl around. Thankfully, it’s not Dante…but it’s not anyone I recognize, either. A pretty blonde in her late twenties smiles tentatively at me as she saunters into the store.

“Hi, I just thought I’d stop in. I heard from Nixon that you opened your own boutique. That’s so cool,” she gushes. “I’m so happy for you.”

Behind her back, Reagan wrinkles his brow as if to ask who this girl is. Nervous energy bubbles in my throat, and I force another wide smile.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

“Taryn, seriously.” The blonde gives me a chastising look. “You don’t remember me?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling helpless. “Have we worked together before?”

The girl looks stricken, then suddenly drops into a split and throws her arms in the air. My heart stops dead in my chest as the realization hits me like a ton of bricks – it’s the signature end move from my old burlesque troop.

My hand flies to my lips. “Tawny? Is…is that you?”

Tawny nods and laughs. “I know, I look a little different,” she says, gesturing to her perfect ski-jump nose. I can tell she’s had it done, but now that I know it’s her, she does look familiar. Her warm brown eyes are still the same, and the light smattering of freckles across her now-perfect nose and high cheekbones is a dead giveaway. She’s blonder and tanner, if that’s even possible for an Orange County girl like her.

I haven’t seen Tawny in years – not since I quit dancing and opened the store.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my mouth going dry. How am I going to explain her and her sexy gymnastics to Reagan? “Can I help you find something?”

Tawny frowns as she gets to her feet. “No,” she says, sounding confused. “I just thought I’d stop by and visit. I heard through the grapevine how good you’re doing, and I wanted to say hello for old time’s sake.”

“Right.” I cast another look at Reagan. “Well, um, I was actually just about to head out to lunch.”

“Oh, I’m starving! Can I come with?” Tawny asks. “We can get a burger and fries just like back in the day.”

“Uh,” I say nervously.

“Are you a friend of Taryn’s?” Reagan steps closer, giving me an odd look over the back of Tawny’s blonde head.

“Ah, I see. You have a lunch date with him. Well, Taryn and I used to–”

“We used to work together,” I say, cutting her off. She gives me an odd look, but I don’t care. The last thing I need is for her to reveal all of my sordid past to Reagan. I’m sure he already thinks I’m a little rash and showy in comparison to his buttoned up exterior, but I don’t need him knowing the gritty details of me dancing for Dante. If he makes the connection, he will try to take over the situation, and I can take care of myself.

“You’ve turned into quite the businesswoman,” Tawny says, giving me a long, appraising look. “You’re so…mature.”

I shrug, feeling helpless. My anxiety grows by the second, causing my heart to gallop. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” she says, tossing her long curls. “I’m just going from appearances. I’m still dancing, doing a limited engagement at Crazy Horse tonight, isn’t that cool?”

“Sure.” I give her an overly bright smile. “Congratulations.”

“Where did you say that you and Taryn worked?” Reagan asks. There’s a curious gleam in his eyes, and the sight of it makes me want to melt into the marble floor.

“We just worked together. That’s all,” I say, flashing Reagan my biggest fake smile. My palms are damp with perspiration, and I wipe them on my designer-clad thighs. “You know, just old friends, re-connecting.”

No one laughs. The uncomfortable silence in the room ratchets up, making me feel even worse, and sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I wish more than anything that I hadn’t sent Bailey out of the room – she’d know how to handle this. But I can’t exactly run after her now, not with Tawny and Reagan in the same room. If he finds out about my dancing at the Mona Lisa, it needs to be from my lips and not from some random blast from the past.

“This is nice,” Tawny says, running her fingers over the silk of an Ivory Clause gown. “Can I try it on?”

“Sure,” I say brightly, grabbing the gown off the rack and hustling across the store to the dressing room. “Can I interest you in anything else?”

“You didn’t even ask my size,” Tawny says, pouting.

“No need,” I say, putting a hand in the small of her back. “I can tell you’re still a two.”

Tawny laughs and her pout turns into a blinding smile. I can tell she’s about to make a joke about how well I know her body, so I grab her by the elbow and guide her across the room. As soon as she’s locked in the fitting room, I turn to Reagan.

“Would you mind getting Bailey from the back and telling her that we’re about to leave?”

Reagan gives me an odd look. “Taryn, what’s going on? You’re acting really weird.” He took a step closer. “If this isn’t a good time, I can always come back. We can make it dinner instead of lunch.”

“No, no, lunch is great,” I say, smiling. “Just go get Bailey, okay? Please?”

Reagan narrows his eyes. Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the dressing room door flies open and Tawny steps out, clad in a curve-hugging gown.

“That looks amazing on you,” I say. “You should definitely buy it.”

Tawny gives a nervous giggle. “I don’t know, Taryn, this is kind of out of my budget.” She glances down at the tag. “You know as well as I do, dancing pays well but not this well.”

My stomach drops like I’m riding down the first hill of a roller coaster, and I suppress a groan. There it is. Now, everything is out in the open. Reagan’s going to start pressing me about my dancing career and where it all went down.

“Well, Taryn?” Tawny asks and bobs her eyebrows. “I mean, unless you’re going to give me a discount.”

I can feel a flush creeping up my neck to land on my cheeks. I have to do something fast and get out of the room before Tawny says anything even more incriminating. I’m just now realizing I’m falling for Reagan, and I don’t want the magic to end before I’m ready.

“Uh, I’m going to model these,” I say, grabbing a fedora and a silk scarf from the accessories table. They don’t match, at all – the fedora is a houndstooth print, and the scarf is covered with bright Pucci swirls, but I grin and wrap the scarf around my neck. “I should be out, you know, doing some viral advertising for the fashion show. I’ve been slacking. What would Nixon say?”

“What about the dress?” Tawny asks, looking down at herself in confusion.

“What about lunch?” Reagan looked equally confused. “Taryn, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say with false enthusiasm as I grab my purse and walk to the door. “Gotta go. Bailey can handle everything from here. Tawny, great to see you. Tell Bailey to give you the employee discount. Reagan, catch you later.”

Before anyone can cast light on my dark past, I walk away and out on the Promenade, my ludicrous disguise trailing behind me.