“He said he grew a conscience.” Daniela sighed. “And didn’t want to spank his wife anymore.”
I grabbed my own drink now and took a swig, trying to get the image of this spritely woman being spanked out of my head.
“Should we…” I pointed to a piece of material hanging on a rack.
“Oh! Yes,” Daniela said, sliding her little pin cushion bracelet back on. “So what I’m thinking for this one is…”
Two hours later we were done, five new gowns pinned into shape ready for her sewing needle, me back in my clothes, Risa’s hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.
“Thanks for letting me crash your party today, ladies,” Risa said.
“It wouldn’t have been a party without you,” I said.
She turned to Daniela. “I’m really excited for what we have in mind for this shoot. We’re doing something a little different and seeing the clothes today has confirmed that it’s a brilliant idea.”
“Can you tell us more?” I asked.
“We’re going with a storytelling theme. Daniela’s designs bring to mind fairytales. They’re lightness and darkness. Good versus evil. The innocent and the villain. The seductress and her prey.” She paused and gave us a wink. “Her pieces tell stories, and there’s a juxtaposition within each one. We’re going to do a play on that by pairing each piece with actual literature. A line of poetry. A quote from a famous novel. A lyric from a song… And all by female artists. The words will scroll across the page while the models…” she looked to me, “…show off the clothing.”
“That sounds amazing,” Daniela said, her eyes lighting up.
“I love it,” I said.
“The best part is,” Risa said. “We’re trying to get an actual writer to play against you as your sexy adversary.”
A pit opened in my stomach.
“Oh really?” I asked, my voice faint.
“Yes!” Her excitement echoed off the small lobby of Daniela’s workshop. “We have a few names in mind but one definite favorite.”
“And who is that?” I asked.
But I knew before the name passed through her lips.
“Graham Forrester!”
Chapter 15
Graham
“Come on, B,” I said, coaxing my sweet girl from her bed. “You can do it.”
For the past four days it had taken a monumental effort to get her up and out of the house for our morning walks. Part of me thought maybe I was being cruel. Maybe she just didn’t want to. Maybe she couldn’t. But once she was up, she’d give that two-thump wag against my leg and look up at me with those big brown eyes, a spark of the younger gal I’d known still inside.
It had been hard being patient. By leaving later, I knew we were missing our opportunity to cross paths with Lior, whom I assumed was back in town because her social media page hadn’t been updated with new photos of her and her friend Addie in days. Either that or she was on a job somewhere. I imagined her on a beach in Ibiza. Maybe Costa Rica… in that red thong.
“Seriously, dude,” I said to myself. “Knock it off.”
But since our shared cab ride the previous week, I couldn’t stop picturing her wet hair, water streaming from the dark strands down her arms and collar bones. Her black satin tank pressed against her breasts, leaving little to the imagination.
“Fuck,” I whispered, running a hand through my hair and staring down at Brontë who was now looking up at me with concern. “Sorry girl. My brain is having untoward thoughts. Let’s go.”
It was an hour later than we usually left, and as had happened the past few days, I was tempted to walk by Lior’s house. But it felt a little stalker-ish, and so instead we loped along at a leisurely pace and stopped at Mornin’ Joe’s for a visit with the man himself, a cappuccino and cardamom bun for me, and homemade doggie treats for B.
“How are my two favorite customers today?” Joe asked, pulling out the metal bistro chair across from me and taking a seat.
“It’s taking us a while to get going this morning,” I said.
