“Is it true?” André asks, taking custody of Truffles as I plop my purse, file folders, and jacket on the top part of my desk.

Truffles immediately supplies André a barrage of licks to the face.

“Yes, it is true. Make sure Celesté knows we are expecting Antonio Michaels, CEO of CraveMe lingerie this morning and to make him feel as comfortable as possible when he enters the building.”

Antonio is the designer I have a meeting with this morning. Sure, his new wife, Daniella, will start working for me later this week, and I could have waited until then to schedule this meeting, but time is a ticking. I need to lock in my first advertiser.

André fans his face. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Oh. My. Gosh. I, am going to meet the Antonio Michaels. Boss, you know I’m a total fanboy. I feel like it was just yesterday I told you this.”

I tilt my head to the side. “It was just yesterday,” I say, annoyance unhidden in my tone.

Truffles stops drowning André’s cheeks, only to look at me, letting out a single arf as if to scold me.

Brat.

Last night, when I sifted through all of the designers André provided information on, I couldn’t seem to find one, who in my mind, fits what I am after for the birth edition of Haute Couture Magazine. I want to feature clothes made by the guest designer to be edgy.

Relevant. Sensual. Cool.

Diór won’t be interested, not this early on anyway. Others seem to be borderline competitors. I don’t want to parade competitors. Then I thought about reaching out to branding departments of vehicle manufacturers, have them include a spread of one of their sexiest line of cars, but the brands I had in mind are out of reach on such short notice.

That’s when CraveMe came straight to mind. Sure, it’s sexy lingerie. But it’s also tasteful elegance I think women will want to wear underneath my line of clothing. And I have an idea that may make Antonio happier than a billionaire in Costa Rica.

An hour later, Celesté, the office receptionist, informs me via the intercom that Antonio has arrived for our meeting. André is beside himself, but promises to reel his fanboy ass in for the meeting.

“I’ll be back soon, hun. Just lay here on your bed until I come back,” I say to Truffles before I head out of my office.

Inside the conference room, André and I are greeted by the very handsome Antonio who was peering out the window, with its spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower, the star. Seeing him in person, I can totally see why women and André swoon over him. He is damn yummy looking.

Daniella is one lucky woman.

He walks over from the window to us, his mouth wearing a half-smile.

Tall. Suave. And he smells good, too. All suited up in Armani.

“Good morning,” he says, shaking first my hand then André’s—who is so far, playing it cool, even though he keeps fanning his face. Gosh, I hope he doesn’t pass out. Like when he met Beyoncé. It wasn’t really her by the way. It was in Las Vegas. A marketing gig at the wax museum. We don’t really talk about it anymore.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. I know you and Daniella are busy getting settled into your new home, part of the reason she won’t start working here until later this week.”

He nods and flashes a warm smile. “No worries, Daniella wanted me out of her hair for a while anyway so she can decorate the house.”

The three of us stand, in an awkward silence, before I gesture for Antonio to have a seat at one of the chairs around the circular conference room table. This room has got to be one of my favorites. It’s the room where members of my design team present ideas to me once a month. The three walls are painted a cool promenade white, each wall adorned with one word splashed across it in a thick onyx-colored brushy font. Dreamy. Influential. Posh. Three words that will always embody the makeup of Haute Couture.

We all choose a seat to ease into, and while I feel a twinge of nervousness brewing in the pit of my gut, I clear my throat and say, “So, Antonio, I called this meeting because things are about to heat up at Haute Couture.”

He shifts in his seat and rubs the stubble growing along his chin. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What’s up?”

I spill the same pitch I gave La Boutique—my vision of Haute Couture Magazine, it taking over the fashion and shopping world.

The gleam in his eyes tells me his interest is piqued.

So I continue.

“La Boutique has given me an interim, yes. But I’ll need to secure my first guest designer. In other words, they want to know who my advertiser will be.”

He nods, but offers no clear response. No smile. No lifted brow. No fingers tapping along the coal-colored tabletop.

Nothing. Rien. Or Niente…since he’s part Italian.

So, once again, I continue, internally praying the words spring out of my mouth as I melodically rehearsed this morning in the shower. There, I was confident this would all play out superbly. Everything sounds better in the shower.

Including pitches to lingerie designers.

“My vision for HC Magazine’s first advertising partner is of a brand that is not only chic and stylish, but a brand that is rich in form and elegance. CraveMe lingerie is all that. And more. We can pair CraveMe pieces with some of Haute Couture’s. A woman wearing a signature HC pant suit, and under the open blazer, a CraveMe bustier. An HC sheer blouse, with a stylish CraveMe bralette underneath it, for example.”

An eyebrow lift emerges.

Yay, we are getting somewhere.

“Here’s the thing, Antonio. With CraveMe trying to penetrate more of the international markets, this may be an ideal way to see that into fruition. I plan to launch the first edition in a few weeks.”

He sits up tall in his seat before he asks, “And how much is the advertising space?”

André opens the file folder labeled Haute Couture Ad Space, removes the cost sheet, and slides it over to Antonio, who is now wearing eyeglasses.

He still looks yummy, by the way.

Antonio’s eyes breeze over the cost sheet, then he slides it back over to André, removes his eyeglasses, looks at me, and says, “I want four whole pages, the middle of the magazine, and my beautiful wife, Daniella, to be in charge of the shoot.”

My mouth flies open—awed by his quick response. “Uh, sure, that all seems quite reasonable”—I beam not only internally, but I’m pretty sure externally as well—“and Daniella is the one I had in mind to help spearhead this project. She’s got an impeccable eye, so yes, she can be in charge of the CraveMe shoot for the magazine. One more thing”—I raise my index finger—“are you okay with CraveMe pieces being paired with HC’s for each spread?”

Antonio looks to the ceiling for a brief moment before he says, “How about three pages with the HC/CM collaboration and then one page with a solo feature. I have a new campaign launching in a few weeks—the introduction of my men’s underwear line called ALLMe. I was planning to purchase a spread in Alpha Male Magazine, with someone who was named that magazine’s Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year, wearing a pair of the sexy men’s underwear.”

André clears his throat. “I subscribe to that magazine. Love, love, love it.”

Antonio looks at him and smiles. “Right.” He looks back at me. “Anyway, if you can agree to those terms, I say we have a deal.”

I’m OMG giddy. CraveMe’s my first real advertiser. And to have him debut his new line ALLMe? That is a dream bonus. I wonder who this Alpha Male Magazine’s most eligible bachelor of the year is? I’ve never bothered reading that magazine. It’s not really my thing.

“Absolutely. I’ll have my legal department draw up the contract and email it over to you this afternoon.”

André grins and claps, then we all rise from our seats, exchanging hand shakes.

Haute Couture Magazine. I did it!