9
The runway is a long, bright, gleaming-white rectangle set in the center of a large room. There’s nothing particularly special about it aside from the freestanding mirrors we’ve strategically placed on each side. Four in total. The surrounding space is charcoal gray to help with any potential distractions around the runway. Chairs are stationed up an incline on each side so every position gets an unobstructed view of the stage. I take the steps up the side of the runway toward the back and stop at the first mirror.
I pull out the tube of red lipstick and smile, thinking back to Sophie, Skyler, and Christina. I’m becoming a bit of a sap. These cases I work are starting to affect me on a personal level I hadn’t anticipated. When I set out to create International Guy, I had no idea how big it would become and the clientele we’d encounter. At first, I thought we’d be analysts and consultants, working with businesses to help them thrive. And we do that, but the slant we’ve taken now bends toward the personal side of life. As such, I’m finding I’m more interested and invested in my job. It’s fulfilling me in ways I never dreamed. Meeting and becoming friends with Sophie. Skyler and I entering a relationship together. Hell, I helped two royals work out their differences and become the next king and queen of Denmark. Who does that?
No one.
No one but my team.
I’m proud of the work we’ve done these past few months, and with our staff expanding and our caseload filling up with a waiting list, I’ve never been more fulfilled. I’m happy with my life as it is. A great job. A gorgeous girlfriend. Amazing friends. Sky’s the limit.
Sky.
My thoughts go to her as I write her mantra on the mirror. It will be the first one people read as each model poses in front of it.
Live your truth.
I smile, thinking about how I’m going to see my girl tomorrow. My girlfriend. Who’d have thought I’d be back in a relationship? Definitely not me. I truly believed Kayla had screwed me up for women forever. Guess it proves if you find the right woman, anything can happen.
People change. I’ve changed. Grown over the past few years. I’m ready to commit to a woman. To Skyler. She’s everything I could ever want and more in a significant other. Beautiful. Funny. Kind. Compassionate. Teasing. Cute. Thoughtful. I even adore her jealous streak, probably because it matches my own.
I make my way over to the next mirror and think of my dear friend Sophie. The only woman I’ve ever been close friends with. Sophie makes it easy. She’s patient, considerate, and gives great advice. I enjoy having her friendship in my life, and I want her and Skyler to be friends one day. I can’t say I expect them to be “sisters” the way the guys and I are “brothers,” but I’m hopeful. Sophie’s a force. Once we got her past her timid nature in business, and the grief of losing her father wasn’t so fresh, her tenacity and passion in all things came to the surface full throttle. Eventually I have to trust that the women in my life, my mother and assistant included, will find a happy balance.
Imagining Sophie’s smile, I write on the second mirror.
You are golden.
The red stain streaks along with each word, giving it a graphic effect I know T-Bone will like. When I approached him about the mirror idea and the mantras, he positively jumped with glee. It was frightening to see T-Bone jumping around like a bullfrog from lily pad to lily pad.
I shake my head. Fashion people are weird. The entire lot of them. You never know what’s going to strike their fancy. It’s all a crapshoot.
Next, I move to the third mirror, closer to the front, and remember Princess Christina. I imagine she and Sven are gallivanting in some foreign country, celebrating their honeymoon, happily in love. With the two of them and the years of commitment under their belts, they may come back ready to announce Christina’s pregnant with the next heir to the throne. I distinctly recall Christina’s mother, Princess Mary, pushing for that exact outcome. Though I think her words were, “Don’t come home until you’re expecting the next king,” or something equally ridiculous. She is all about being a royal, all the time. At least now that Christina is queen, she doesn’t have to listen to her mother; her mother has to listen to her. I’ll just bet she loves every minute of the role reversal. I sure as hell would.
I write Christina’s mantra for the world to see.
Own your future.
Twisting the lipstick to add more, I make my way to the front of the stage where the last two-way mirror is stationed. This time, I write on both sides of the mirror, wanting not only the models to see the words but the audience as well.
Embrace your sexy.
I smile as I swirl the y down to underline the entire word. Hopefully each of these mantras will help the models connect with their image and what they’re doing on stage. Given the cabaret teachers, the lessons Bo and I have given them this week, and of course, T-Bone’s incredible collection, I hope each and every one of them feels like a million bucks.
Once I’ve finished the mantras, I head back to where the craziness is. All twelve models are either undergoing a final on-the-spot fitting or getting hair and makeup done.
I find Anna-Maria and lean into the vanity while the hairdresser is curling her hair into ringlets.
“How are we feeling today?” I smile, wanting her to see I’m here for her. I’m here for all of the ladies.
“Actually, really good.” She nods. “Last night, I gave my husband a preview of the walk and poses.” Her cheeks and neck flush a rosy color.
“Did you, now?” I grin. “And how did it go for you?”
“Um, really well. He told me I was the sexiest woman alive and even more so after having his babies. He loves how my body has changed, because it shows how our lives have grown and changed together. I’m a mother now. It’s a new role, a new body. And when I’m an old woman, a grandmother, I’ll have a grandmother’s body, and he said he’ll love me even more then too because I will have given him a legacy.”
I smile wide and crouch down to her level, placing my hands on the arms of the chair. “It sounds to me like your husband knows he has a good thing and wants to keep it that way for a long, long time.”
She grins. “Yeah. I love him so much.”
“Will he be in the crowd?”
She nods and bites her lip. “He says he can’t wait to ravish me after the show, after all the audience sees what only he gets to touch.”
I squeeze the ball of her shoulder. “Your husband rocks. Make sure you reward him well tonight.” I wink.
As I’m about to leave she grabs my hand with both of hers. Her pretty eyes are shining with a glassiness that usually means tears. “Mr. Ellis. Um, Parker. Thank you for helping me see what I couldn’t before. I like who I am. I’m happy to have a healthy body regardless of the extra weight and saggy areas I didn’t have when I was twenty. I get it now. I need to love the body I’m in and be thankful for it.”
I squeeze her hands and pat the tops. “I never said such things, though I’m glad you’re seeing what you need to see. You’re a beautiful woman. Anyone can see that. I’m happy your blinders finally came off.”
“All because of you and Bo.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Sweetheart, it was all you. Own it.”
On that note, I leave her to finish getting ready for the show.
As I make my way through the throngs of people rushing around backstage, I find Bo with a needle and thread dangling from his mouth. He’s holding up the strap of a camisole.
“Not the right fit?” I ask as Bo pinches the fabric together and flips it so he can sew it back together.
“No. Miss Excitement over here pulled it over her head so fast she didn’t center her arm in the right place and stretched the strap past its breaking point.”
“I said sorry, Bo.” She frowns.
He grins and winks at her. “You can make it up to me later, hot pants.”
She licks her lips and leers at Bo. “With my mouth or my body?”
Oh shit.
“I’m thinking a little . . . nah . . . a lot of both.” He leans closer to her breast and bites off the thread in a smooth, if not racy, move.
She gasps, shamelessly pressing her boobs closer to his face.
“Aaaaaaand . . . that’s my cue.” I turn around and leave them both chuckling at my awkwardness.
I touch base with each of the models before I notice a familiar face in the distance. I’m happy to see Martina is also here coaching the women on-site. She commands all the attention in a room. Her bombshell looks, height, and sparkling personality have people everywhere gravitating toward her. Me included.
I head to where she’s speaking with one of the more timid ladies. I think she’s a preschool teacher, unmarried, and all of twenty-five, though her innocent look makes her seem barely of age.
“Remember what I told you. Confidence is key. Some say fake it until you make it, but I don’t think that’s right. You are perfect in the two outfits. You know your poses; do exactly what you’ve learned, and you’ll have accomplished what you set out to do. Won’t that feel good?”
She nods. “Yes, thank you, Martina.”
“’Tis nothing, sweet angel.” She pats the preschool teacher as if she were the model’s mother, though she couldn’t be more than a couple of years older.
“Hey, you didn’t have to be here today. The contract didn’t include the show.”
She purses her lips. “No, but these are my girls now, and I support my girls. This show is important to them and to me. I want T-Bone’s vision of empowering women to be exemplified by women who feel powerful in his clothing.” She shrugs. “I’m doing my part for the cause.”
I smile and nod. “Yes, you are.” I scan her form and notice she’s in yet another sexy corset, this time with black leather pants, a low-slung sparkly belt, and her dark hair a wild mane down her back and over her shoulders. Her lips are coated with the bold red lipstick and paired perfectly with smoky eyes. She looks as if she were going for a night on the town, not to sit down and watch a fashion show.
Martina looks at me from the top of my sport coat to my dress shirt open at the collar and down my slacks to my Ferragamos.
“I like your attire,” she says, her voice a husky timbre I haven’t heard before.
“Yours isn’t half bad either.” I clear my throat and run my hand over the back of my neck.
She steps closer, placing her hands on my chest. The woman is already five ten, but in the sky-high heels she’s wearing, we’re at eye level. “I think I’ll like what you have under it . . . very much. How about you and I test out my theory after the show?”
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
Normally I’d be all over her invitation like sauce over a meaty steak, but I stop cold. This woman is every man’s wet dream come to life. Except mine. I’ve already got my dream girl, and there is no way in hell I’m going to risk losing that for a night with a sinfully hot dancer.
“Martina—” I begin to decline when we’re interrupted by a photographer.
“Picture, Martina?” he asks, and she smiles wide, cuddling up to my chest, pressing her breasts close, and cocking a hip.
I barely know what’s happening when he says, “Smile.” On autopilot I smile, but the second he’s got his shot, I back away.
“Martina, your offer is very generous, and a few months ago, I would have gladly taken you up on it. However, I’m in a relationship.”
She pouts, her perfect red lips puffing out, making her look like a sexy, sad dominatrix.
Jesus Christ!
Skyler. Skyler. Skyler.
“Are you sure? We could have some serious fun together. Just the two of us. No one would have to know . . .” She starts to reach for me, and I place my hands up and out, keeping her at arm’s length.
“I’m sorry. You’re beautiful and a wonderful woman. What you did for the ladies in the show was beyond great. Unfortunately, I have to decline. Thank you again, though, for your contribution. We were lucky to have your assistance. It made all the difference.”
Without allowing her to say anything more, I smile and back away fast. “I’ve got to meet up with T-Bone. Enjoy the show!”
As I beat feet to another section, far away from Martina and her offer, I start to realize I turned down a night of wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sex with a gorgeous woman. And it wasn’t even hard. Thoughts of Skyler swirl around in my vision.
Her smile.
Her laugh.
Her teasing.
Her humor.
Her sexy body.
Her talented mouth.
Her everything.
She’s all I need or want. I grin, pull out my phone, and glance at the picture she sent me the first night after I left. Hair tousled all over from sleep. Face free of makeup. Lips swollen from my kisses. Eyes gentle and sleepy. Breasts pushed up in tantalizing handfuls. And right then and there, I realize, she’s it for me. I want to be with her. I want to be what she needs in a man. I want to have all of my ups and downs with her. I want this relationship to work, to see it flourish into something even more permanent.
I think I’m falling for Skyler Paige. Hell, I may have already fallen.
The stage lights flash on and off, signaling the show is about to start. I’m sitting next to Sophie, between her and Bo. She grabs my hand and interlaces our fingers. “Mon cher, this is so exciting! I love fashion shows!”
I grin, squeeze her hand, and wait for the lights to dim to a candlelight setting. T-Bone appears from the back of the stage and walks about a third of the way up the runway, a mic in his beefy hand.
He speaks in English instead of Italian. “Welcome, everyone! Thank you for coming to my show.”
“Why didn’t he speak in Italian?” I whisper into Sophie’s ear.
“Fashion is a worldwide business. The international language of fashion is English.”
T-Bone continues. “I notice in the fashion industry, clothing caters to women who are from size zero to size eight. Only the average size of a woman is somewhere between an American twelve and sixteen. Nowhere near the size of the standard runway or catalog models. Fashion has forgotten women come in all sizes and shapes, and I for one want to share in that beauty.”
Wow. T-Bone is finally coming through on his message.
“Besides, no man wants to fuck skin and bones.”
And . . . he just lost it.
Undaunted, he takes a couple of steps and stops, assessing the entire crowd with his beady gaze. “Women are sexy whether they are a school teacher, a mother, a librarian, a sales clerk, a soccer mom, or a college student. Sexy comes in all sizes. I hope women everywhere see these women in my designs and find their own version of sexy, no matter what size they are. Thank you.” He bows and turns on a shiny loafer, the sheen of his satin pants glinting in the lights. His floral sport coat, sleeves cut at the forearms, is a direct contrast to the simplicity of his pants.
I blow out a long breath and wait as the music pipes in. I smile as I note he changed it to the Pussycat Dolls’ “Don’t Cha.” It’s probably the best song for the more scandalous designs.
The lights dim even lower, and the first model walks out. She’s the librarian and the thinnest model in the show. I think it’s genius he starts with a body type they’ve all seen before. She makes it to the first mirror and does the standard hunched-back, hands-on-hip pose we’ve all seen a million times over in the fashion industry. I’ve never liked that look, but I love the ode to ordinary fashion it gives. Once she starts toward the next mirror, the lights cut out, and everyone gasps. Her bra-and-panty set glows a fluorescent green, like a neon glow stick.
The audience claps wildly as she continues walking, and the next girl comes out. They both stop at a mirror. The second woman is the preschool teacher. Her body type is a little fuller, probably around a woman’s size eight or ten. She looks amazing in the high-waisted, high-cut red panties, a bustier, and a robe falling off one shoulder.
She stops at her first mirror and stands like Wonder Woman, the robe falling enticingly to the crook of her elbows. Showing just enough of her body to make her look sensational and yet still leaving a bit to the imagination. The lights go out, and all the straps of her lingerie glow a bright red.
The models repeat the moves. Each one stopping at a mirror and striking a pose. When four of them are out at the same time, the lights go crazy and a disco ball comes out spinning, lighting the women in a dusting of sparkly lights. This time they do a few of their moves, showing off the lingerie in a variety of ways.
Once the four have moved to the back and the lights come up, the audience gets a great view of the back of the lingerie.
The next set of ladies comes out, and Anna-Maria is leading the charge. She looks positively stunning in her lingerie. Her size twelve body looks molded to perfection. As she starts walking, there’s a man across the aisle who stands up, shouting, clapping wildly, and screaming, “That’s my wife! She’s beautiful! You’re beautiful, baby!”
Every single member of the audience is eating up his excitement and her showing off for him. The lights go out, and her entire robe glows in the dark. She pulls it off, and the lace of her thong and the sexy bow at the tailbone light up the runway in a bright T of color. This has her husband whistling like a lunatic. I’m loving every minute. She’s rocking her design, and based on the smile she’s sporting, she’s having a blast doing it.
“I am going to hire this T-Bone to do a campaign.” Sophie leans into my space and points at Anna-Maria. “I love how he’s empowering women of all shapes and sizes to see their beauty. He’s doing an excellent job detailing their attributes.”
I inhale a deep breath and let it out. “Make sure you’re in control. He can edge toward raunchy when he’s not being advised, but his desire and intentions are sound.”
“I see you added your lipstick to the mirrors.” Her pink lips purse into a knowing smirk. “My message is still on my mirror at home. I like it there. Reminds me of you.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and nudge her temple with my nose, taking in her sugar-and-spice scent I love so much. It’s not peaches and cream, but it’s familiar and reminds me of a great couple of weeks in Paris.
“You are golden, Sophie,” I whisper near her ear. “I hope your new man understands that and treats you like the gem you are. Otherwise, he’s going to have one pissed-off Bostonian on his ass. I’d have to get on a plane just to open up a can.”
She jerks her head in my direction. “What can would you be opening? I do not understand this can you want to open.”
I sigh heavily. “Ugh, Sophie. You need to watch more Netflix. Open up a can of whoop ass.”
She tsks. “Whyever would you do such a thing?” Her nose crinkles, and her face is a mask of confusion. “There is no ass needing a whooping.”
I laugh hard, squeeze her shoulder, lean back, and enjoy the rest of the show. The models are killing it. The audience seems to be taking in each piece enthusiastically, and I’ve got my two friends sharing an experience with me.
Life is good.