“Like it?” Briar asks. “It’d look cute on you.”
“Try it. See how fast I quit.”
“Right,” Michel sings, leading Briar to the centre of the room and setting her in front of a wall-to-ceiling mirror. “Let’s get you sorted. How many lives have you ruined today, babe?”
Briar examines her nail beds. “Depends. Matt, is your life ruined?”
“It’ll take more than you could ever give me, princess.”
She sighs. “Then I guess I haven’t ruined any. But it’s only early.” She tilts her head. “What have you got for me?”
“Somuch gossip,” Michel chirps. “I swear, people tell meeverythingwhen I’m getting them done up. It’s like they think I have some kind of confidentiality policy.”
They both laugh. I grimace, crossing to the window. It’s facing away from the street, and looks out over a large square courtyard filled to bursting with bushes and flowers. I scan the foliage. I can’t see anybody down there, but the plants are too dense to be sure. I grab the white curtain and drag it over the windowpane.
There’s a gasp from behind me. “What are youdoing?” Michel cries.
“She’s going to be changing. I’m closing the curtains.”
“We need the natural light! How else am I going to correctly match the shade of her nude pump?!”
My head is starting to ache. “I’m sure you’ll work something out,” I mutter.
“Leave them open,” Briar orders. “He needs light to work. I’m not coming back here and doing all of this again.”
I can’t hide my irritation. “And what if paps get down there?”
She shrugs. “I’ll beat them up.”
I snort. “Yeah? You know how to fight?”
“I do all of my own stunts. I’ve been trained in four different martial arts.” She pauses. “I’m also great at kicking men in the nuts. That’s my speciality.”
“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” I mutter, watching as Michel heads to one of the racks, pulling out a dress. It’s a silver flapper dress, with long, glittery tassels sewn into the fabric.
“Here you go, love.” He hangs it up next to the mirror.
“Thanks.” Briar reaches behind her neck and unties the back of her shirt. It’s a tiny thing; it looks more like a silk handkerchief tied over her chest than an actual piece of clothing. As it falls away, I catch a glimpse of her pale pink bra reflected in the mirror, before I spin on the spot, turning to face the wall. Blood thumps through me.I can feel myself getting hard.
Fuck.
Eight
Matt
?
I take a deep breath. “That’s an interesting fashion choice,” I say, to cover up the heat rising in my face.
I hear a zip being pulled. “It’s a nod to my new film.”
“Is it a reboot ofChicago?”
I can practically hear her glare. “It’s a murder mystery film set in a 20s speakeasy. I play a flapper. One of the patrons is mysteriously killed in a backroom, and we have to find the murderer before they strike again.”
“Hm. Is it you?” It’s probably her.
She gasps. “My, how on Earth could you accuse me of such a thing, you impetuous little dewdropper?” She purrs, dropping seamlessly into a 20’s southern accent. “Why, I was simply tucked away in the powder room, sharing a glass of giggle water with one of ourfinegentlemen visitors.”
