Chapter 24

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Fashion shows are usually more fun than this. Inside the Dirty Little Angel boardroom, the men and women of the board are sitting stiffly in their office chairs, waiting for Elsa and I to present our new line.

One of the men pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher. One of the women checks her phone messages. No one smiles.

Just in time, our army of professional lingerie models arrives to whip this meeting into shape. On the other side of the room, Elsa opens the door and herds the women inside. All around me, jaws are dropping to the floor when the board members see how beautiful they are.

The women are still wearing lace, pleather, and flowers like they were in rehearsal, but after a week of tweaking, reconfiguring, and resewing the designs, the lingerie looks absolutely stunning—and much more expensive.

Our floral bridesmaid set makes the model look like Eve in the garden of Eden. The bridal set, on the other hand, makes the model look like she’s spread out on a bed of fucking roses. I want to marry every bra and make babies with the panties.

This might very well be the best lingerie line I’ve ever created, and as much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Elsa. When I see how big her smile is as she watches her models show off our designs, I know she feels the same way.

Someday she’ll thank me for coming up with the idea. At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Always a bride,” Elsa steps to the front of the room to introduce our theme.

Her long blond hair is shiny and soft around her shoulders. Her red lipstick makes her full lips look even bigger and more kissable.

She is positively glowing, and is it just me, or are her tits even bigger than they were the last time I saw them? Boobs are so mysterious.

Maybe it’s the dress she’s wearing. It’s very form fitting. I like the way it looks in the front. And the back. Are we done yet? It’s hot in here.

“Ahem.”

That’s Elsa, reminding me that I’m supposed to be talking now.

“Always a bride, yes. A woman only gets married once…”

Elsa raises her eyebrow.

“Or as many times as she wants. Things happen. But my point is that wedding lingerie has an expiration date. Once the wedding is over, it goes back into the closet and doesn’t come out till Halloween.”

“When she covers it in fake blood for her slutty-zombie-bride costume,” Elsa finishes my sentence for me, and as she does, I see at least a few of the board members crack a smile and settle into their seats.

“But women go to weddings all the time—as bridesmaids, dates, and as friends,” Elsa continues. “They might bring a partner and plan to stay overnight in a hotel; they might meet someone new on the dance floor and do something totally unplanned.”

“Basically, weddings are great places to get laid.” This time, I have the last word. “The booze is flowing, the bride and groom are saying lovey-dovey things to each other, there’s soft, romantic music playing, and the guests are swooning all over the place.”

Now, the board members are chuckling. The man with the water pitcher goes for another glass and downs it in one shot.

“I would never wear a white lace dress to someone else’s wedding, but there are no rules about underwear.”

“Our designs are soft, romantic, and designed to incorporate everything that’s fun about weddings—the flowers, the luxurious fabrics, the bright colors—without screaming ‘brides only.’”

“You can wear our line on your wedding day, your anniversary, Valentine’s Day”—while Elsa is rattling off lingerie-appropriate holidays, I can see the board members counting the sales figures in their heads—“and you can wear it even if you’re single, just because you can.”

The models move around the room to allow the board members to see the designs up close. I feel a little sorry for them. I can only imagine the visions of HR violations dancing in their heads as they frown in their chairs and back away from the models, trying to keep a respectful distance.

“These styles make everyone feel like a bride,” Elsa says in conclusion.

When the last model has finished making her rounds, she joins the others to form a semicircle around the conference table and take a bow. I grab Elsa’s hand—she doesn’t even fight me this time!—and lift it to the ceiling.

The applause is not as loud as I imagined, but it’s pretty enthusiastic for such a small group of people. I know the real runway show will be much bigger and more awesome.

“Thank you all so much. These designs are going to look even better on the runway—and on our customers.”

Just when I’m ready for an encore, Elsa discreetly squeezes my hand and starts heading for the door. I want to tell her to hold her horses.

It’s not every day that a room full of cranky suits gets this pumped up about fashion. Elsa didn’t even have to show them the slideshow she had prepared with the demographic statistics and the sales forecasts.

More importantly, this is a really special moment for the two of us that we should savor for as long as we can. For too long, we’ve been letting our feelings get in the way of business. And we’ve been letting business get in the way of our feelings.

Maybe it’s time we…

The woman with the cellphone clears her throat. “Um, Elsa?”

Elsa looks back, surprised. “Yes? Did you have a question?”

“Where is your lingerie? I thought this would be your big modeling comeback.”

The other board members nod in agreement.

“Well, this fashion show was just a preview of the lingerie,” Elsa explains. “I mean, I’ll be wearing it on the runway when we’re ready to go public with it.”

“We’d like to see something from you before we sign off on this,” a bald man with thick, furrowed eyebrows says. “The shareholders are going to be expecting a show after all that build-up in the press.”

“Of course. That’s perfectly understandable.”

Elsa rarely loses her cool under pressure, so when she squares her shoulders and shows the board members her wolf teeth, I know it’s time to wrap things up. Right now.

“We have something very special planned,” I reassure them. “It’s top secret. I didn’t want to have Elsa do it with the other models in the room because it would detract from the…the…”

“You’ll know when you see it,” Elsa cuts me off with the patience of a hungry hippo snatching a marble. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to step outside for a minute.”

Elsa has grabbed my arm and is practically pulling me toward the door. I can feel her digging into me with her nails, and while I’m alarmed by it, I have to admit it’s also kind of hot the way she’s dragging me out of a room like a cavewoman.

Despite the abrupt transition, the board members seem to have taken her vague promises at face value and gone back to their scheduled meeting, which is a relief.

Especially when I look at Elsa’s face and see that she has turned into a very unflattering shade of green. She’s swaying back and forth a little, and I’m not sure if she’s going to faint or barf or both. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she bolts for the door.

“Just give us one moment,” I squeak. “I’ll be right back.” I follow Elsa out of the boardroom and into the hallway. She has one hand on the wall and the other on her stomach. And the noise she’s making is not a moan of pleasure.

“Elsa? What happened in there? Are you okay?”

“I’m not feeling so hot,” she says.

“Well, what should we do? How can I help?”

I forget about everything that just happened in the other room. Whatever the board members are expecting from us can wait. All I care about right now is making sure Elsa is safe and comfortable.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

She nods and takes my hand.